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Summary
"What the fuck."
Mickey groans around the cigarette between his lips, almost growling as he blinks blearily down at his phone, face down on the concrete below him.
His day hasn't even fucking started yet.
He's dropped his phone a hundred times since they bought upgrades a year ago, but he's never heard it make that sound when it fell before.
// post-canon: husbands dealing with a shattered phone screen
