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Summary
"D'you think I should lose some weight?"
Mickey freezes, his mind going blank, grip going lax around the handle of his coffee mug. "Excuse me?"
Ian isn't even looking up from his phone, still wearing that contemplative expression like he didn't just ask Mickey the most nightmare scenario question in the world. Ian? Losing weight? Is he insane? Why the fuck would he want to do that?
"I dunno, Lip sent a picture from a few years back and—"
What?
"I look more fit, y'know? Like I see muscle instead of—"
What.
"The sort of…pudge I've got right now? So I was just thinkin', like, I could lose some weight, get back in shape—"
What.
"Go to the gym and get some more defined muscles like before," he looks up from his phone then and startles. "Woah, hey, you okay? You look a bit—"
"I'm goin' to kill your brother," Mickey says.
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Or, Mickey's really into Ian being bigger than him.