I.C.Gallagher

“Didya think I was someone else? I’m not gonna give ya shit Ian-Jesus.” Brayden snorts and extends his hand for the lighter, pulling out his own cigarette. “You forget I’m killing myself with carcinogen and nicotine too?”

“Theoretically, I’d stare at you for a while, debating on just how much I want to deal with the crazy in this neighborhood, before saying ‘fuck it’ & offering to help.”

   “Uh- thanks,” he muses, appreciating the gesture. he shrugs towards his next question though. “Um, I’m not sure. Did you hear anything?”

“Work calls man.” He looks at the other male. “What are you doing today?”

      “ Remember when you wanted to kill me because I allegedly touched Mandy?” 

“I didn’t say that.” His voice broke and he could no longer hide it. Not even with the forced cough that was supposed to clear his throat - his voice was breaking and tears were stinging against his eyes. But Mickey Milkovich was not about to cry, not over anything and especially not over Ian. “We would stay until the laws stop trying to find me - until they give up.” His voice is barely a whisper. He knows its a far stretch, that the cops may never stop looking for him but FUCK, it was worth a shot at believing they would. He’s growing angry, how could Ian put the blame on him for shit he couldn’t help? “You really think I wanted to knock her up? You REALLY fuckin’ think i wanted a kid with her? Jesus, Ian. I never wanted a kid but if I had to choose -it sure as hell wouldn’t have been with some Russian skank.” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, everything was hurting - everything was pissing him off. Why did Ian have to try and fuck things up? He could run away on his own but not with the one he’s supposedly loved? His chest began to tighten, his fights balling at his sides - he wasn’t going to take a swing on Ian, but fuck he needed the anger to be let out. Tear away from him, anything. “Shut the fuck up.” His eyes are growing, trailing off and on away from Ian. He wants to look at him but it hurts too much. EVERYTHING hurts too much and for once, FOR ONCE, Mickey is on the other end of this shitty fucking stick. Mickey took a step in, bravery flowing through his veins - he reached for Ian’s hands and his eyes never once left the others face. “Then the fuck are we waitin’ on, Gallagher? The border is right over there. We can run and never look back and -” He stopped, taking a deep breath, trying to put pride into his voice before he continued. “And if you don’t like it, then you leave. You leave me and you forget where I am. You forget what we had. YOU FORGET WHO I AM.” 

      How difficult would it be to stop feeling so torn? Would it be more or less difficult if he let Mickey go? Would he miss his bothers and sisters, his job, his life more than he’d miss Mickey by his side? Could love really conquer all and bring him to cross the borders and never look back? Was Micky worth Ian’s freedom?

       How he wished to know the answers to that.

      ❝ They won’t give up, Mickey, ❞ his tone was defeated, more a sigh than a sentence. ❝ You know that, ❞

      He knew he was blaming Mickey for things he shouldn’t blame him for. Coming out wasn’t easy for him, not with the father he had, not in the community Mickey grew up in. Yet, the anger was clouding his judgment, turning his tongue into a sharp sword, ready to prod, slice and cut. He stayed silent at the accusation because Mickey was right.

      ❝ Or what? You’ll hit me? ❞ Ian dared, taking a step closer to the other after witnessing his clenched fists. Oh, how he wanted Mickey to break his face and then fuck, forget what was weighing them down for at least a little while. Blood, sweat and violence. Mickey’s blood. Mickey’s sweat. Mickey’s violence.

      Hit me. Hit me. Hit me. Fix us. Hit me.

      Instead of a fist in his face, he felt Mickey’s warm, nervous hands wrapping his own in a calming nature. Fuck. ❝ You know I can’t do that, Mickey. Don’t fucking blackmail me like this, ❞ he growled but didn’t let go of Mickey’s hands as he spoke. When he did slip them out of his grasp, they moved to cup Mickey’s face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. ❝ It’s not possible to forget you. I tried. Trust me, I tried, ❞

Mickey can’t help his lips from curling into a smile as he watches the boy sarcastically search for his phone. His heart is doubling in size and he doesn’t mind it one bit. Fuck, he really has gotten SOFT. He lets out a small laugh once Ian stops fucking around, “Least you’re able to joke,” He doesn’t say it but he’s thinking it and boy is he happy about it. “You’re an idiot.” He finally says but his eyes are still shining bright. The shine in MIckey’s eyes only stayed for a little, slowly fading as Ian began to comment on Mickey’s previous one. He let go of the boys hand, his arms pulling at his shirt to bring him closer. “I ain’t gon’ feel better until you do. If it takes weeks, months or years - i don’t want you ‘normal’, I want you back to yourself - “ He pauses, trying to make sure he’s not setting the other one off. He’s walked on eggshells around Ian lately, which is a new thing - because he’s never cared about being blunt with the other boy. But lately, he’s been softer, quite, more of a different man for Ian. Trying his best to keep him happy. “The only thing that’s gon’ keep me happy is when you are.” 

      When Mickey let go, Ian felt like they made two steps back instead of one forward. Why was it so difficult to understand that h couldn’t change like Mickey did? Not everyone was as mature as Mick, Ian surely wasn’t. Monica wasn’t either, the crazy bitch, but she was right in not wanting to take the pills. They altered personalities. He was broken. No meds could fix it. No therapy. If Mickey didn’t like it, he could easily just go and find something else rather than try to glue him back together. It was never going to work.

      ❝ This is me, Mickey. This is me being MYSELF, ❞ The meds were making a zombie of him, someone easier to handle, someone who was trapped within his own body. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a mental prison. 

      The only thing that’s gon’ keep me happy is when you are.

                   “You made it sound like IT. Can’t blame me.”