Chapter Text
There was a letter stuffed in the back of Ian's underwear drawer-a reminder of a past life-that he'd never opened; he didn't need to read the damn thing to know it was just Mickey blaming him for what he'd done when he was Manic. He missed the brunette, but he had moved on without ever having to read what Mickey had written. "You ready to go?" Trevor-Ian's fiancé-asked as he stood in the doorway of Ian's bedroom. Despite being engaged, the two of them lived in separate apartments, which worked just fine for Ian; he liked having his privacy.
"Yeah, let's go." Ian agreed, kissing Trevor's cheek before leading him out of his bedroom without Trevor being any the wiser that Ian had been staring at the folded piece of paper his ex-boyfriend had left him six years ago just moments before.
"Can I get an Old Style and a Bud Light?" Ian asked, knowing Trevor would refuse to kiss him if he drank an Old Style, but he didn't mind; Trevor tended to be an uppity asshole on the best of days, anyway. The bartender passed Ian two bottles without much interest, sparing only a parting glance at Ian and his date. "Here ya go." Ian said, feigning happiness as he passed Trevor his drink.
"How the fuck do you drink that gross shit?" Trevor asked, scrunching up his nose in distaste.
"Grew up on it." Ian replied with a shrug, taking a long drink of his beer.
"Whatever. That fuckin' bartender is an asshole; he was lookin' at us like we're the bane of his existence." Typical Trevor; always the victim in every situation.
"He didn't do anything, Trev." Ian sighed, already wishing he was at home alone.
"HOMOPHOBIC PRICK!" Trevor yelled when the bartender glanced up.
"We got a problem, here?" someone called, snapping Ian's attention to the newcomer behind the bar, now staring at Ian with wide, blue eyes that Ian would recognize anywhere; Mickey fucking Milkovich was standing less than twenty feet away from him.
"Your bartender is fuckin' homophobic." Trevor snapped, glaring at Mickey. "Is everyone who works here a homophobe like him? Still stuck in the middle ages?"
"Trev-" Ian was cut off by a huffed out laugh from Mickey.
"Man, your boyfriend should be able to tell you I ain't homophobic; we were together for three years. Right, Ian?" Mickey asked, looking at Ian with bitter amusement in his eyes.
"What the fuck is he talking about?" Trevor demanded, glaring at Ian, now.
"I'm Mickey. Doubt he's told you about me; after all, who tells the boyfriend about the pregnant ex-boyfriend he dumped and then never fuckin' called, right?" This was like a slap to Ian's face; what the fuck was Mickey talking about? Mickey wasn't even a carrier! "You know what? You can take your break, Patrick." Mickey said, looking away from Ian as the man reached out to cup Mickey's hip in his hand.
Ian felt an unnecessary wave of jealousy when Mickey smirked up at the taller man-who, Ian had to admit was very attractive-as he walked away. Why was Ian jealous? And what the fuck was Mickey talking about? "You're not a carrier." Ian blurted out, earning another glare from Trevor and another laugh from Mickey.
"Knew you didn't fuckin' read it." Mickey chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned on the bar. "I am, actually-got the stretch marks to prove it-and I was pregnant with your kid."
"What... Was it a..." Ian couldn't form a coherent thought; he had a fucking kid he never knew about, for Christ's sake!
"Ian, we're leaving!" Trevor snapped, tugging on Ian's arm.
"No I'm not!" Ian shouted, pulling his arm away. "Boy or girl?" He looked back at Mickey, eyes pleading.
"Dead; lost it when I was six months." Mickey replied, eyes distant and sad. "It was a girl, though."
"Mick..." What was Ian supposed to say? His ex-boyfriend-the love of his fucking life-had lost their daughter! He never read the letter that would have told him she existed, and now he finds out she was gone.
"Ian!" Trevor yelled, still trying to pull Ian out of the bar.
"Go the fuck home, Trevor!" Ian shouted, turning to glare daggers at Trevor with tears in his bright green eyes. "Please leave." Trevor nodded wordlessly and walked away from Ian and out of the bar. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, Mick."
"Not your fault, man; shit happens. Do I miss Ana? Every-damn-day, but she's gone." Mickey said calmly, his blue eyes locked on Ian's green ones. "You moved on, and so did I."
"With Patrick?" Ian practically growled.
"With whoever the fuck can make me forget for a night." Mickey replied, seemingly not caring that it hurt Ian.
Ian couldn't sleep that night; kept dreaming about what his daughter would've looked like when he would doze off, and Mickey's words kept ringing in his head when he was awake. Mickey was fucking other men, and it killed Ian because he had no right to be jealous when he was engaged to another man. Ian couldn't help it, though; he wanted Mickey to himself. He always had, and always would.