If The Sky Is Pink And White

by Niel_C_Freckles, Shannee10

Summary:

In this alternate universe, Ian and Mickey are on the verge of building a life together. Their bond appears unbreakable, with a promising future ahead. However, one fateful night changes everything when Mickey disappears without a trace, leaving Ian shattered and alone, desperately seeking answers about what happened to the love of his life.

Chapter 1: One

Miserable, scared and feeling defeated, Ian climbs the metal steps of the huge staircase leading to the cells, a small white pillow and depressing gray blanket in hand. Every step feels heavy, as if his feet are made of concrete. And the higher he climbs, the grimmer the men around him look. Ian hears the other inmates shout disgusting, obscene things and he feels them stare as if he is indeed fresh meat that someone has just thrown into a cage full of hungry lions waiting to devour him.

“Ay, new fish in the tank!”

“¿Tú a cho-mo, pendejo?”

“New permanent pocket is what I’d call him.”

“Welcome to gen-pop.” The guard walking in front of him turns to Ian with a sly grin.

Ian sighs deeply and tries not to let his discomfort show as the guard shushes the inmates with an annoyed grunt. "Okay, knock it off!"

A moment later, Ian steps through the open door of cell A20, only to hear the heavy iron door slam shut behind him immediately. 

He looks around. It can't be bigger than eight by eight feet. In front of him is a rusty metal bunk bed dressed with two of the thinnest mattresses Ian has ever laid his eyes on, shocking even for him. Next to it is the toilet and an equally tiny sink. 

Nothing else.

Fucking hell!  

Ian closes his eyes for a few seconds, thinking about the fact that this will be his home for the next few months. He thinks about his family, and how his older brother Lip had been the only one to show up to say goodbye to him before he went to prison. 

Lip had dropped him off at Metropolitan Correctional Center only a few hours ago. Ian already misses him and his smartass mouth. He’s the only one Ian has ever really been close to out of all of his siblings, if he’s being honest.

He leans against the bed, putting his pillow and blanket on top of the degenerate mattress, and tries to block out the noise, the innate distant indistinct chatter that seems to be coming from every which way. 

When the door suddenly opens with a loud clang, Ian feels the blood freeze in his veins. 

Time to meet his new cellmate . 

He plucks up all his courage, takes a deep breath and turns around. 

“Holy fuck!” He gasps. 

All of his senses are heightened and he feels like he’ll faint. He can hear the blood rushing through his veins, an overwhelming, all consuming whooshing sound, then a cold shiver running down his back as he blinks an unclear amount of times. He clearly must be stroking out because the man he sees standing in front of him can’t possibly be here. 

He can’t possibly be real.

“Hey, Gallagher.” Mickey’s voice is soft within the confines of the tiny room compared to the sound of the leaden door that slams shut once more. Mickey stands there motionless, sneaker-clad feet planted firmly to the ground, as his legs shake. His arms hang heavy by his side, tingling. His heart visibly pounding beneath his intensely yellow uniform. 

It’s really him . 

Ian. His Ian.

Well, not his Ian anymore from the looks of it. Standing before him is someone different. He can already tell by the way Ian holds himself, the tone of his voice, the look on his face. He’s like a housecat that has been left out in the wild for too long. His eyes are laser focused. His body tense as if waiting to be pounced on and ready to fight.

No. This is definitely not the person he left behind all those months ago. 

He hadn’t believed it when he overheard the guards talking the other day, making their usual bets about the new “fish” coming into the joint. They had been going on about a giant ginger with an attitude that was coming from the Southside. Mickey had missed what the charges were against said redhead on account of his brain slipping into overdrive at the prospect of it actually being who he thought it was.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mickey?” Ian gasps, not believing that Mickey is really standing in front of him. He hasn’t seen Mickey or heard from the other man in over six months, wondering if he just left him or was lying in a ditch somewhere. And now he’s here, in prison, in his cell, smiling at Ian.

That smile instantly brings back the memory of the last time Ian saw him. 

They were standing on the porch of his house, kissing each other goodbye. Mickey had lingered a little longer than usual, smiling at him when their lips parted. Ian had taken in his intoxicating scent and enjoyed the feeling of the other man’s breath on his skin. 

Ian had played that night in his head over and over for the past six months, trying to look for clues, trying to understand why Mickey left him, why he just vanished like he did. And he’d always come up empty. They hadn’t known each other that long, but Ian thought they had something special. And then suddenly, Mickey was just gone - from one day to the next. 

Without a word, without a message, nothing.

“Could ask you the same thing, Red.” Mickey saunters over to the bottom bunk and takes a seat on the overly used mattress, his thumb rubbing his nose. His nervousness starts to show. “Thought you would be living some fancy life now with your brother and his new business? What was it again? Fixing scooters?” Mickey asks smugly, trying to ease himself into the conversation.

“Motorcycles, yeah.” Ian says, taking the focus of himself. “How? I mean what? How are you here, Mickey?” 

“I don’t know, the usual I guess. Got up, got dressed, had the dickhead guard walk me down here like a fuckin’ toddler while I had to listen to how much a bitch of his wife is.” Mickey gives a smart ass answer, knowing fully well that isn’t what is being asked of him. He grips the side of the mattress with both hands, trying to keep them occupied and the shakiness less visible from the haunting emerald green eyes that are darker than Mickey remembers.

“Fuck you, Mickey. You know what I mean.” Ian mutters and sits down on the bottom bunk as well, his gaze fixed on Mickey. 

“Got in here, I don’t know, maybe six months ago, I guess.” Mickey is coy, he knows it’s been exactly one hundred and seventy-six days since he last saw Ian. “Fuckin’ cops picked me up for some break and enter bullshit, said they knew it was a Milkovich behind it.”

“I just don’t believe this. It’s been six fucking months, Mickey. I didn’t hear from you for six fucking months. And this is how we meet again?” He lets out a long drawn breath before he continues. “I suppose it’s not a coincidence then you’re my cellmate, huh?” He arches a brow at the other man.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Red. I was just told I was moving bunks this morning. I’m as fucking surprised as you.” He lies boldly to his new roommate.

“This is a bad idea,” Ian pushes up and off of the low yielding mattress, shaking his head, “A real bad idea.” He paces back and forth in the small cell that suddenly feels even smaller. “I’m gonna talk to the warden first thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah sure. We can hold interviews for a new roommate. What time should I schedule them for?” Mickey replies sarcastically. 

“Oh shut up, Mickey.” Ian scrunches his face in annoyance. This all still feels like a fever dream to him. And an intense one at that.

“No really, you want me to vet them first, see if their cock is acceptable. Or maybe their asshole? You want me to make sure…” Mickey is interrupted by a flushed face Ian, who stops pacing erratically.

“You think this is fucking funny, Mickey?”

“I don’t think it’s not funny.” Mickey tries to bury his growing annoyance with humor, extending his arms behind him to lean backwards and enjoys watching Ian fall apart before him.

“It’s not!” Ian yells, his voice louder than he wants it to be, the echo against the cement bricks reminding him of where they are.  He just can’t control himself any longer, “I can’t be in here with you.” Ian shakes his head again and walks to the heavy cell door, leaning his head against the cold metal. 

“Feeling is mutual.” Mickey lies a second time.

“When is this thing opening?” Ian murmurs, more to himself than to Mickey, feeling an overwhelming sense of panic rising inside of him suddenly. He knows it’s only a matter of time now before he completely loses his shit in front of the other man.

“Not for another eight hours, so you might as well make yourself comfortable, Princess.” Mickey swings his legs onto his bed, kicking off his shoes and lies down. He folds his hands neatly behind his head and rests both on the paper-thin pillow provided to each inmate. 

Mickey’s stomach is in knots. This is not how he had envisioned this going. He hadn’t really had too many expectations. After all, he had left Ian high and dry. No explanations. Not even a phone call. He knew it was unfair of him. But the way he sees it, he had done Ian a favor, or so he had thought.

“So we’re stuck with each other until morning?” Ian closes his eyes for a moment and then pushes himself away from the door. He doesn’t understand how Mickey can be so calm about this, how the other man can be so composed after seeing him for the first time in over six months. Ian feels like his whole body is burning with all kinds of different emotions. 

Confusion, hurt, anger, rage. 

And he knows if Mickey keeps talking so matter-of-fact, he’s going to explode and may say something he’ll regret later, so he adds, “I really can’t do this with you right now. I need you to just shut the fuck up for the rest of the night and not talk to me.” 

For many long months, Ian has wanted nothing more than to fall asleep next to Mickey, to lie next to him, to smell him, to touch him - to love him. And yet he can't even bring himself to talk to the other man now. The hurt is all too real now that he knows Mickey is alive and well.

“Done.” Mickey closes his eyes and crosses his ankles, preparing himself for a night of unrestful sleep. He feels his heart sink with the bed as Ian steps on his mattress, and heaves himself to the top bunk. 

✱

“You two get a room already.” Carl uttered as he entered the living room of the Gallagher residence, snacks in hand.

“Jealous, shithead?” Mickey asked, barely halting his kisses. 

“Eww, that’s fuckin’ disgusting, that’s my brother.” Carl dropped his variety of munchies to the table that included Cheetos, fun-size candy bars and a couple of cans of carbonated beverages to wash it all down.

Ian laughed and gave Mickey’s chest a push, indicating he should probably get off, not wanting his little brother as an audience to their torrid makeout sessions.

“Move, asshole.” Carl kicked at Mickey’s legs to give him room on the dilapidated couch. Mickey pulls his arm back in an effort to punch the annoying teenager, but Ian moves his boyfriend out of the way and closer to him.

“Oh god, not this again.” Debbie sauntered down the stairs, Franny in tow. 

“Right?” Carl jumped in, reaching for the TV remote, “It’s like a gay sausage fest here 24/7.”

“There are kids that live in this house, you know? Can you two manage to keep your dicks in your pants for one goddamn night?” Debbie covered Franny’s eyes in mock horror, like she wasn’t exposed to the worst of the worst merely being in Debbie’s presence daily. 

“I like when Uncle Ian kisses his boyfriend. They make funny noises.” Franny giggled, adding in her two cents, as she pushed her mother’s hands from her eyes. She was a smart kid, god knew where she got that from.

“Of course, you do Franny.” Ian leaned forward and grabbed Franny by the overalls to bring her closer and into his arms for a bear hug. 

“Not like this bunch of ungrateful losers.” He whispered into her ear, then both held their fingers in an L shape over their foreheads. It was something Ian and Mickey had taught her the night Debbie left them to babysit a few weeks back. 

“Why don’t you go get a soda from the fridge?” Ian suggested and nudged his niece out of the room. After Franny was out of earshot, Ian turned to his sister and brother. 

“You know what? I think Mickey and Franny are both right. You’re both jealous of our funny noises.” Ian purposefully leaned over, grabbed the back of Mickey’s neck and sloppily kissed him, earning eye rolls and loud groans of disgust from his siblings - and maybe a content chuckle from his boyfriend. 

Ian pulled away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, satisfied with himself.

“And by the way, Debs, aren’t you looking for a place for you and Franny? Might be good for you, force you to get to all that so-called adulting you keep talking about, and we have yet to see.” He fake-smirked at his sister.

“Ugh. Smartass, I already am.” Debbie said, sounding surprised by her older brother’s honesty. 

“Can you take me with you, please?” Carl cut in and turned his baseball cap backwards on his head. “I need a place to lay low with my homies and boot the gong.”

“Boot the what?” Ian repeated questioningly, annoyed that his younger brother was still stuck in his wannabe gangster era.

“You know, cheeching? Fly Mexican Airlines? Mow the grass?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Carl?” Ian scrunched his face with growing annoyance.

“Damn, bro, you’re so lame.” Carl rolled his eyes and fumbled his phone from his low hanging baggy jeans. “Anyways. Reminds me, gotta make a call to my candy man.” And with that, Ian’s brother walked out the front door and slammed it shut behind him.

“Man, you are lame, Gallagher.” Mickey laughed, repeating Carl’s words and gently elbowing Ian in the ribs. “Your brother is a fuckin’ pothead.”

“Oh my God. I need to get out of here.” Debbie groaned and walked into the kitchen to join her daughter sitting at the counter, sipping a glass of orange juice she managed to pour on her own.

“Exactly what I’m saying!” Ian said a little louder than he needed to in order for Debbie to hear him.

“Fuck them, man.” Mickey’s hand cupped Ian’s face and pulled it to look at him. “Where were we?” 

“Hm, I don’t know. You tell me.” Ian’s mood changed instantly and he smiled seductively, turning his focus back to his boyfriend.

“I think you were about to give me a blowie.” Mickey grinned.

“That so?” Ian’s smile grew wider too as he stood up and pulled Mickey with him.

“Let’s go upstairs then.”

Mickey jumped up before Ian had time to finish his sentence, heading up the stairs, followed by Ian who delivered swift spankings to Mickey’s ass as they made their way to the bedroom. 

“Fuck your family is annoying.” Mickey stated bluntly as he was shoved onto Ian’s bed roughly. 

“I don’t wanna talk about them right now.” Ian crawled on top of his boyfriend, kisses peppering his stomach as he pushed his shirt north, revealing his chest, and finally his neck, forcing Mickey flat onto his back. Stretching his arms up above his head, Mickey allowed Ian to explore at his own pace.

Their jean-covered dicks rutted against each other as Ian lingered on Mickey’s neck, sucking and biting, tracing patterns with his tongue, drawing glorious sounds from his dark haired lover,

Just as Ian was about to remove Mickey’s shirt entirely, the bedroom door was pushed open.

“Christ, Lip!” Ian yelled.

“Oh fuck, not again.” Ian’s outburst halted his older brother short in his tracks, who dropped his head towards the floor. “It’s three thirty in the afternoon on a Tuesday, can you two not fuck at night like regular people?”

It was Ian’s turn to push himself off of Mickey and to the other side of the small twin bed.

“Hey asshole, ever heard of knocking?” Mickey asked, and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing a pillow to hide his arousal.

“Last time I looked, your name wasn’t on any of the bills.” Lip stepped further into the room, making his way to the small dresser shared by the three boys and pulled out fresh clothes. 

“Don’t you have a house of your own you two can fuck in? Or you scared your old man will find out, hmm Mikhailo?”

Mickey jumped from the bed, dropping the pillow to the floor and Ian followed suit, holding his quick to anger boyfriend firmly back, arms surrounding his chest.

“Fuck you, Philip!” Mickey spat at the older Gallagher. “You know nothing about me or my fuckin’ dad!”

“Can you get the fuck out, Lip?!” Ian demanded of his brother, fearing he wouldn’t be able to hold Mickey back for long, and not really wanting to. “Please?” He emphasized.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Let you two get back to pretending whatever the fuck this is.”  Lip huffed.

Ian, clearly angered by the way Lip gestured back and forth between the two men on the other side of the room, sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry, Mickey.” He pulled Mickey back into his arms and towards the bed, where they lay on the bumpy, old mattress. “Fucking Lip.” Ian drew Mickey to his chest, and felt his heart racing. “Don’t let that douche bag get to you. He would never say anything about us to Terry.” He comforted Mickey by placing a kiss on his forehead. “Hey, you okay?” He asked when Mickey didn’t say anything but let out a grumble.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” Mickey finally said a few seconds later when Ian pulled him in even closer. “You can let go now, you’re crushing me with your big fuckin’ arms.” He complained in fake annoyance.

Ian let out a huff. “You’re not okay, Mick.” He let go of Mickey, who quickly sat up on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. Ian sat behind him, his thighs cradling Mickey’s. “You thinking about your dad?”

“Fuck, no.” Mickey shook his head, edging closer to the edge of the bed. “I mean, yeah.” He sighed. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Ian reached for Mickey’s arm, but he shook it loose. Ian knew his boyfriend well enough to understand that whenever Mickey was like this he didn’t want to be physically comforted, so he backed off and stood up. 

“You know what? Fuck my siblings! Fuck Terry! Fuck everyone!” Ian crouched in front of Mickey, trying with a smaller gesture of grabbing one of his hands instead. There was no resistance that time. Ian went in for a kiss on the forehead and that was met with a sigh of relief. 

Ian always had a calming effect on Mickey, no matter the situation, he always gave him a sense of being grounded, secure. Safe.

“Yeah, fuck everyone.” Mickey echoed Ian’s words, a smile spread across his face, one that drove Ian crazy. 

A mix of angel and devil. 

Ian pushed forward from his squat position and pounced on Mickey, causing his boyfriend to giggle louder than he had intended.

They once again became completely enamored with one another, hands searched under clothing, thighs wrapped firmly on either side as they began to grind. Ian lowered his head to Mickey’s neck, his tongue traced intricate patterns from Mickey’s jaw to his clavicle. Ian nipped at his skin, a hiss escaped from between Mickey’s clenched teeth, a surprise. But not as big as what was to follow next.

“Move in with me.” Ian whispered, then bit the lobe of Mickey’s ear that caused the man on his back to jerk to reality with a sudden ferociousness.

“What? Did you just ask me to move in with you?” Mickey repeated, his breath taken away for an entirely different reason now - pure shock.

“Yeah.” Ian continued with his ministrations, his hands on Mickey’s chest, circling his taut nipples.

“Fuck, Gallagher! You want me to move in here? There’s like twelve of you already, where the fuck would we sleep?” Mickey had still yet to rejoin the makeout session, but was quite content on allowing Ian to enjoy himself.

“Not here, silly.” Ian kissed his way to Mickey’s chin and gave that a nip or two as well. “We could get our own place, you know, just us?” 

The suggestion hung in the air for three solid breaths.

“You fuckin’ serious?” Mickey asked, his ability to read Ian clouded by the blood that had rushed to his cock in the last few minutes.

“Deadly.” Ian pulled back and smiled, his face searching Mickey’s for some kind of tell as to which way he was leaning.

Mickey watched Ian bounce his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as he grinned a foolish grin. This kid was full of surprises. Their six months together had been nothing if not a rollercoaster of adventures, and not just speaking sexually.

“Yeah.” Mickey agreed quietly.

“Really?” Ian was actually shocked at the answer, fully expecting a debate.

“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s do it. Why not, huh?”

“Why not indeed.” Ian leaned forward, his smiling lips finding Mickey’s as they took what alone time they had together to celebrate.

✱

Ian hadn’t imagined that the silence in the prison could be this suffocating but as he tries to get some shut eye, it is wrapping around him and making it hard to think. He lies on the top bunk, stiff and tense, every muscle ready for something he can't quite grasp. Below him, Mickey's steady, almost annoyingly calm breathing fills the cell, a constant reminder of his presence that in a way comforts and haunts Ian at the same time. 

The pain of Mickey’s abandonment is still fresh, a raw wound that seems to hurt with every heartbeat. And Ian can’t help but think that now that they are stuck in this tiny cell together, the gap between them feels wider than ever.

Ian's eyes trace the cracks and shadows on the ceiling, searching for anything to distract him from the chaos in his mind. He can hear the faint murmurs of other inmates, the occasional clank of metal, the distant echo of footsteps. But it is Mickey's presence that consumes his thoughts, the weight of it pressing down on Ian like a physical force. And he hates this feeling, the one that he has been feeling ever since Mickey basically ghosted him.

Fuck . 

He blinks away the tears that threaten to fall from the corner of his eyes. And when Mickey begins to snore softly, Ian shifts on the thin mattress, suddenly wondering what Mickey is dreaming about - if he is even dreaming at all. 

Is he dreaming of their past, of the times when they were inseparable, when they faced the world together? Or is he haunted by his own demons, locked in a battle Ian can't begin to understand?  

No. He doesn’t want to even think about it, to acknowledge Mickey could be going through something himself - he is too angry, too hurt to care. 

And for now, all Ian can do is lie there in the silence, listening to the sound of Mickey's breathing and letting his thoughts swirl like a storm within him. 

He knows what he has to do in the morning.

✱

“What do you want, Gallagher?”

“Sir, I’m here because I need a new cellmate.” 

Ian sits across from the warden, Mr. Anderson, in the tiny office that is way too warm and way too stuffy. Ian hates this place and he wants to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. He can already feel sweat trickling down his back beneath the thick cotton of the yellow jumpsuit. But he needs to be here. He needs to ask for a transfer. He can't stay in the same cell as Mickey.

The warden, a middle-aged, all too serious-looking man that never seems to smile in the short time Ian has known him, tilts his head and raises his dark eyebrow. "And what the hell do you think this is, Gallagher? Fucking summer camp?"

“No, I know this is not summer camp, I’m just- I can’t-”

“Let me stop you right there. Nothing I can do for you. We’re overcrowded. And I can’t be handing out special treatments, Gallagher.” Anderson shakes his head violently. “So you’re stuck sharing a cell with Milkovich for the next few months.” He finishes, fumbling with a stack of paper on his desk, barely paying attention to Ian.

“But Sir-”

“You heard me, Gallagher. Now let me get back to work. And get your ass to breakfast.” 

Ian sighs in defeat and rises from the dirty, worn chair, feeling as though it’s futile to fight the warden on his decision not to grant him his wish. "Thank you for your time, Sir." He says deliberately, overly polite as he gets up.

“Close the door on your way out.” Anderson grunts as he looks up, nodding towards the door.

Ian stills for a second wanting to argue like he does with his siblings, but he decides against it, then turns around, grabs the door handle and closes the door a little harder than he should as he leaves the stuffy office. 

“Close the door on your way out.” He mocks quietly, but memories of the last time he saw Mickey on the outside flash before his mind's eye, with the echo of words. 

Mickey had been so angry at him. Ian tries not to think too much about that night, even though it still haunts him like a nightmare he can't shake. 

But the warden’s words have other ideas for him.

✱

“Holy shit, Mickey, look. This place has a dishwasher that actually works and its own washer and dryer.” He heard Ian gasp as he opened the door hiding the appliances.

“Mhm.” Mickey shuffled through the apartment, looking at the pool in the center court below from the picturesque balcony large enough for a nice rug, a couple of chairs and a table.

“And two bedrooms… for this price. We could have Franny sleepover.” Ian speed walked past him to the spare room to inspect it once again.

“Sure.” Mickey followed slowly and stood in the doorway of the tiny, yet suitable room.

“What do you think? I think we should sign. Like right now.” His boyfriend walked over to him, sounding firm in his decision, and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s midsection, pulling him close. 

“I don’t know, Ian.” Mickey tried to avoid eye contact, looking over the towering redhead’s shoulder at the room once again.

“What?” Ian leaned back to look at him, “What is it? Don’t you like the place?” He huffed. 

“I don’t know, I guess it’s okay.” Mickey wrapped his arms low around Ian’s hips, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

“Come on, it’s perfect!” His excited eyes grew even wider as he spun them to look at the expansive interior. “What’s not to like?”

“The neighbours seem pretty fuckin’ nosy to start.” Mickey halted them.

“You mean that old lady with the dog? The one that asked if we were having a good day?”

“That’s how it starts, next thing we’re throwin’ a goddamn fuckin’ party with cheese platters and that shitty bubbly wine you like so much.” Mickey looked Ian dead in the eyes as if that would be the atrocity of the year.

“Champagne, Mickey? And so what if we make a few friends, it’s probably what we need. We don’t have the best track record. Are we not supposed to be getting our fresh start?” Ian gently rubbed the tips of their noses together.

But Mickey managed to wriggle out of Ian’s hold and let out a deep sigh. “Shit, Ian. I don’t know, man.”

“Mickey come on, what is it really, huh?” Ian watched as Mickey rubbed his bottom lip with the back of his thumb, readying to speak and then holding back. Ian was patient and gave him the time he needed.  

“It’s really fuckin’ close to the fuckhead’s place.” He finally said, the confession dripping with shame.

“Your dad?” Ian watched as Mickey ignored the almost rhetorical question and made his way back over to the balcony and stepped outside. 

Ian joined him, both of them now standing against the glass panels of the balcony, elbows on the edge, and Ian reached for Mickey’s hand.

“Look, I know this is a pretty big step for you…” He began.

“You have no idea, Ian. You only know what I’ve told you about Terry. I keep you away because he will fuckin’ kill us and I think you are really not getting that.” Mickey shook his hand free from Ian’s and let them hang over the edge of the balcony instead.

“The man is fuckin’ psychotic. He beat the shit out of us as kids, stole from his own brothers, and I might be wrong, but something tells me he had something to do with my mom disappearing.” Mickey’s eyes were focused on the ground below them four stories down. 

There were children in the pool, people conversing with their dogs and a couple barbecuing in the shared space of the complex. Anyone else would be excited just like Ian was, but he couldn’t allow himself that luxury knowing that Terry would be mere blocks from him and Ian with the possibility of him finding out through one of his sneaky minions.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey. Why have you never told me you suspected that?” Ian resisted the temptation to wrap himself around his partner.

“Would you have stuck around if I told you all the things that piece of shit has done?

“Of course, I would, Mick. Whatever Terry has done is no reflection on you, you are not your father.” This time Ian placed his hand on Mickey’s shoulder and Mickey didn't move away.

“Fuck, I wish I was that lucky.” Mickey murmured, lacing his fingers together and breathed deeply.

“So, what do you say? Are we signing?” Ian asked full of anticipation.

“I thought I could Ian, but I can’t.” Mickey said quietly, his voice a weird tone Ian couldn’t place.

“Okay, well then we’ll look at another apartment, further away.” Ian suggested, trying to hide his annoyance.

“No, I mean like I don’t think I can do this at all. It’s too fuckin’ risky.”

“What happened to ‘ fuck it, let’s do it ’?” Ian asked, his tone a little more impatient than before.

They had been talking about nothing else for weeks, looking at websites, going to viewings all over the city and Mickey had always come up with an excuse for every apartment they had seen so far. And now… now he told Ian that he couldn’t do this? Had he been lying this whole time about wanting to move into together, had he just been trying to appease Ian? 

Ian could feel himself growing irritated.

“I just can’t, Ian. I can’t be lying awake at night not knowing if I’m going to wake up with a knife to my throat or worse… yours.”

"Aren't you being a bit dramatic though? Your dad can't be the murderous type." Ian huffed and raised both hands questioningly, stepping back from the balcony railing. "I mean, he made you, after all." He added with a slight smile as he let his hands fall to his sides. 

Mickey huffed, but didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared into the distance and Ian knew that usually meant something bad was coming. "Mick?" he asked, gently nudging Mickey's arm. “Come on.”

"Fuck, Ian! You really think this guy has a good bone in his body after what I just fuckin’ told you?" Mickey snapped as he turned on Ian, staring darkly at him, his words full of malice.

Ian wasn’t intentionally trying to offend his boyfriend or make him angry, but he thought if he gave him that push, the littlest of nudges that maybe… just maybe he would give his family the biggest fuck you and move in there with Ian - in that apartment. 

“No, I mean I don’t know. He’s your dad, so I thought…” Ian began but was quickly cut off.

“What, Ian? What did you think? Huh? That I would make up what this piece of shit did just so we don’t have to move into his neighborhood? That I’m fucking exaggerating he will gut us like goddamn fish if he catches even a glimpse of us together? Fuck, man! You have no fuckin’ idea!” Mickey yelled at him as he pushed himself off the railing to take a step back and face Ian.

“Mickey, I-” Ian tried to interject.

“He’s a goddamn psycho. He won’t hesitate, Ian. He will light this whole fuckin’ building on fire and burn everyone in it, just to keep us apart, you hear me?” Mickey was enraged. Ian knew it was fear that was triggering that response, and until now he never truly appreciated how scared Mickey was of his father.

“Okay, okay. We don’t have to live here. But please, promise me we can keep looking.” Ian pleaded, stepping forward and griping Mickey by his shoulders, trying to get him to forget, to focus.

“I can’t Ian. It’s too much pressure. I need some fuckin’ air.” Mickey stomped from the apartment, slamming the door and leaving a shell shocked Ian standing alone in the kitchen of the apartment.

He tried calling Mickey, texted, even reached out to Mandy, his sister and desperately, his brother Iggy. Neither of them had seen or heard from Mickey that entire afternoon or evening.

Panic set in and Ian found himself searching the streets of Chicago well until the middle of the night. He found himself at Mickey’s favorite bars, the strip clubs they frequented and even the old building where he had run his escort service from previously. But Mickey was nowhere to be found and he could feel his heart shatter into a million pieces. 

Once the panic diminished, fear replaced it. 

Had Terry somehow found out? Had he been following Mickey? He thought of going to the Milkovich residence and confronting the piece of shit, but from Mickey’s explanation, that was an idea that had no positive outcome. The man sounded like a regular Charles Manson, but worse.

The fear led to guilt and Ian started to grow weary when the sun came up and there was no word from Mickey still. No sightings. No messages.

If he had just listened to Mickey, not made a big deal over the apartment, followed him when he was angry and scared, maybe he could have prevented whatever happened to him.

Ian found himself in bed at dawn, his phone in his hand, the volume at max, and he stared at it until his eyes grew heavy, closed and a fitful slumber took over.

Mickey never returned that night.

✱

That was six months ago. And now, Mickey is just magically back in his life - or more specifically in his prison cell and Ian has no clue how he’ll survive seeing him every day for the next couple of months.

Ian is still in shock. He hasn't seen or heard from Mickey in months. Yet he has thought about the dark-haired man every second of every day. And though he tried not to, he failed every time. In here he can't run away. He can't hide from his feelings. He has to face them and has to face everything that went wrong between Mickey and him.

Dreading the return to his cell, Ian drags his feet. He wanders into the yard, where an inmate - a big, muscular, tattooed guy from Mexico everyone just calls Buffalo - asks him to join a basketball game with a few other inmates.

Ian happily accepts, figuring he actually can hide for a few more minutes.

Another forty five minutes where he doesn’t have to see Mickey and think about how they left things. 

Open. Hurtful. Unfinished.  

Chapter 2: Two

Summary:

With Ian stuck in his cell for the foreseeable future with Mickey, he tries other tactics to rid himself of his past. Unfortunately at the expense of another inmate.

Fifty minutes later, when a guard announces that yard-call is over, Ian is drenched in sweat, his once fresh white tank sticking to him, but his mind is clearer than when he woke up this morning, the endorphins an added benefit. In fact, he has managed not to think about Mickey for almost an hour.

“Yo, G! Great game!” Buffalo walks past Ian and pats him on the back. 

“Thanks, man.” Ian grins, “You, too.” He pulls his drenched tank over his head and rubs his sweaty abs, surprised that even though he just got here apparently not all inmates meet him with mistrust and dislike.

“You play a mean game, cabrón.” The oversized gentleman relays.

“Yeah well, growing up on the Southside…” Ian stops short. His attention has been averted elsewhere by the stout, dark-haired man, seemingly deep in conversation with someone in his close personal space.

So much for not thinking about Mickey.

“Hey, Buffalo, hold up a second. Who’s that over there?” He motions with a nod of his chin in Mickey and his friends direction.

“Milkovich?” Buffalo retorts. “You wanna stay clear of that psycho, Colega.” 

Ian chuckles. “No, no. The other guy. They together?” Ian hates the sound of jealousy dripping in his voice.

“Enzo? Fuck that guy, he’s a tool. Thinks he’s friends with everybody. He stays close to Mickey for protection.” Buffalo informs him, but the jealousy doesn’t subside. “Fuckhead owes me a carton of cigarettes."

“Thanks.” Ian seems not to hear anything after friends, but still cannot avert his eyes from the overly friendly couple off in the corner. 

He calmly struts away from his newly found basketball buddies and in Mickey and Enzo’s direction. He wrings the cotton material of his tank top in his fists unknowingly, knuckles white, brow creased as he takes in the exchange between the two men.

A quick flicker of Mickey’s baby blues towards him catches Ian’s eye, but it’s the tattooed hand on Enzo’s chest that really puts him into motion. As he gains proximity to the other two men, it feels like he is interrupting a personal conversation. But he could give two fucks at this point.

“Mickey.” Ian shouts to get his attention. Nothing. Not a sideways glance, a nod, no recognition whatsoever. “Mickey!” Louder this time with the force of his steps egging him on.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t see you there.” Mickey removes his hand from Enzo’s chest, but Ian hates the way it drags down the length of the other man’s body. “This is my friend , Enzo.”

“Ian! Hey, man. Nice to meet you, heard lots of great…” A solid punch lands on Enzo’s throat, knocking him to the ground, rendering him speechless. Ian takes that opportunity to jump on top of the stranger and strike him again in the face, before feeling what he assumes is Mickey behind him, trying to pull him off of the other man.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” Ian hears Mickey holler, apparently struggling to keep Ian from rendering Enzo unconscious. Ian only stops as he hears the heavy footsteps and the calls from the guards. He raises his hands in surrender, lacing his fingers behind his head, smiling smugly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mickey asks, surprise painting his face. Mickey kneels to tend to Enzo, as the two guards, Simmons and Palkowitsch, reach for Ian and pull him to his feet and place his hands behind his back. 

“Nothing wrong with me, Mick. Maybe if you stuck around you would know this about me.” Ian replies as he’s dragged off. “Nice to meet you, Enzo.” 

And all he can do is laugh and pray that maybe… just maybe this earned him a night in solitaire and away from Mickey.

✱

“I know why you did what you did, Gallagher. You think this is my first rodeo?” Anderson sits himself behind his desk and Ian smirks at the out of date euphemism. He also can’t help notice the cheap brown suit the warden is wearing as he unbuttons the jacket. 

A warden’s salary can’t be all that much, but you think the man would have the decency to play the part and fool the inmates into thinking he was better than them. But in actuality, he probably grew up poor like most of the men in the prison, luck had just been on his side and afforded him a better life.

“Guess, you’ll be sending my ass to solitaire now, huh?” Ian retorts, sure of himself, the self-satisfied look on his face saying everything he wants it to.

“Nope, this is your lucky day, kid. All the cells are full.” Anderson responds with just as much enthusiasm, a smile cracking his face for the first time since he’s been there.

“Can’t fuckin’ make me go back to that cell. I punched a guy. You heard Simmons, I was a maniac. Who knows what I’m capable of?” Ian throws himself under the bus. 

He can’t face Mickey after that. What is he going to say? 

Anderson pushes back in his chair, letting out one of his infamous long sighs while his eyes stay on Ian. “I’ve been doing this for a while now, Gallagher. Believe me, I’ve seen maniacs. And you-” he lifts his hand to point at Ian, one eye closed, “you’re not one of them.” 

Ian feels his heart drop. He knows there’s no way he’ll get out of his cell and away from Mickey. Yet, being as desperate as he is, he tries one last time. “So, you’re not even gonna punish me then? I mean, I broke a guy’s nose.”

“You didn’t break anything, Gallagher.” Anderson snorts with laughter, leaning back in his chair that probably cost more than his suit. 

“Even if your shirt here would suggest otherwise,” Anderson eyes Ian’s white tank that Simmons had instructed him to put back on even though it was now spattered with a few tiny blood spots, ”Rossi is fine and already back in his cell, just a few scratches and bruises.” 

Dammit, luck really isn’t on his side. And it’s at that moment, Ian thinks about what Frank told him when he was a kid about the Gallagher’s being a bunch of unlucky losers and for the first time in his young life, he finally understands. 

“But,” The warden gets up from his chair, walks around the table to get closer to Ian just to sit back down on the edge of the desk, leaning closer to the inmate. “You’re still getting punished for breaking the rules. Don’t think you’re getting off that easily.” He squints as if he’s thinking very hard about a suitable punishment. “No meals in the cafeteria this week.”

Ian opens his mouth to object.

“Something you want to say?” Anderson asks, one of his eyebrows raised questioningly. Ian silently shakes his head no, eyes reverting to look down at his cuffed hands. He knows when not to argue. “In addition to that, you’re also not allowed to purchase anything from the commissary.”

Great ! More time he has to spend in his cell and without his favorite snacks. 

“This just keeps getting better.” Ian mumbles to himself. 

“What was that, Gallagher? You want me to keep going?” Anderson stands, his full height towering over Ian.

“No, Sir.” Ian shakes his head in defeat, knowing that he has to face Mickey at some point. But he also knows this conversation with the man in front of him is going nowhere. 

“Good then.” Anderson clears his throat and makes his way back behind his desk. “Oh and a little word of advice, Gallagher?” He asks rhetorically as he sits himself down again, reaching for the stack of files in front of him. 

“You just got here and your sentence isn’t very long. Make sure to not add some time to it.” He gives Ian a curt nod and then buries his head in paperwork without another glance in the redhead’s direction. 

Ian knows this is his cue to leave the stuffy office, he’s been dismissed before and knows there’s nothing he can do right now about the fact that he has to go back to his cell, back to Mickey. Back to the past. 

He closes the door quietly on his way out and swiftly starts to think of ways he can get out of his punishment with Simmons leading him down the stark hallways and back to his prison within a prison. 

✱

Mickey makes sure Enzo is okay in the infirmary before leading him back to the cell beside his and Ian’s.

“You good?” Mickey asks, watching his friend climb up on the top bunk.

“The fuck is wrong with that guy? Thought you said he was sweet and innocent .” Enzo winces as he shifts into place, propping the pillow beneath his head. There’s a black and purple bruise starting to form nicely on his throat, and Mickey can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt for bringing that reaction out in Ian.

“He is. He was.” Mickey shrugs then leans into the metal frame of the doorway. “Haven’t seen him in awhile, guess things changed on the outside. Look, I’m sorry man.”

“Aaah, fuck, it’s okay, you’re not his keeper anymore, right?” Enzo asks, his voice hoarse from the injury. “Can’t control a guy like that.”

“Guess not, and yeah, you’re right. Fuck that guy.” Mickey pushes off of the wall, “You need anything before I go?”

“Nah, I’m good, bro. ‘Sides, you're right next door, not like you’re going far.” The brunet jokes, laughs and then hisses, the painkillers not having had time to kick in yet. 

“Yeah, might be good if you kinda keep a low profile while Ian is around.” Mickey suggests before leaving the cell. “Don’t need you anymore fucked up in the head then you already are.” Mickey dodges the pillow thrown at him, picks it up and returns it to his friend. 

“Careful Mick, okay?” The pillow returns under Enzo’s head. “If he seems different to you, maybe save yourself the heartache. I know you were looking forward to him coming here and sharing a cell, but you haven’t seen him in months and like you said, things change you on the outside. But man, they also change you in here. Who knows what he’ll get up to if this is his first full day in confinement.”

Mickey is silent.

He takes Enzo’s words to heart. The man gets a bad wrap, bullied a lot and that may be the reason he took him under his wing. But he’s a good egg and Mickey has way too much experience with bad ones to know the difference. Or at least he thought until he witnessed Ian’s eruption on the yard today.

“Take it easy, Enzo. I’ll check in on ya at dinner.” Mickey promises, taps the door frame twice before leaving his friend to rest.

Upon entering his own cell, Mickey huffs aloud, his lips flapping with the release of air.

“Fuckin’ Gallagher.”

“Lemme guess, you’re pissed with me?” The voice behind him is startling and he twitches at the sound. “Shocking.” 

The redhead struts by Mickey, hands in his pant’s pockets, blood spatters on his tank, and not a worry on his face. Mickey watches as Ian climbs on to the top bunk, props himself on the edge with his feet dangling nonchalantly over the side.

“Pissed is an understatement. The fuck got into you? You never even met the guy before.” Mickey unbuttons the yellow jumpsuit halfway down and then extracts himself from the displeasure of the short sleeves.

“Didn’t have to.” Ian offers bluntly. 

“Oh, so you’re that guy now, is that it?” Mickey ties the jumpsuit around his waist and then crosses his arms, standing in the middle of the small room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was always this guy, Mick.” Ian lies down now, swinging his feet onto the threadlike covers. “You just didn’t stick around long enough to find out, I guess.”

And there it is. A sucker punch to Mickey’s heart. The other man is relentless in his attacks today. This is definitely not the man he left behind all those months ago. This is a harder version. Someone who was hurt and suffered unimaginable consequences apparently.

But Mickey has hurt too. He is also a different version of himself and he thought, had hoped when he got out of here, explained himself, that maybe things could pick up where they had left off. 

It is becoming all too apparent that this isn’t going to be the case.

Ian's outstretched hands find the jumpsuit lying on top of the cover and he begins to fumble with it. The mere thought of feeling the uncomfortable, rough fabric against his body makes his skin crawl.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the air trickle out through his slightly parted lips, trying to somehow mentally prepare himself for the conversation he knows is now inevitable.

“Look,” Ian starts, “We have to share this cell until one of us gets lucky and moved or paroled - which let’s be honest, will probably be me ‘cause I still have no idea what the fuck you did to get yourself thrown in here.” 

He’s still too angry to fully look at Mickey so he stares at the gray, faded ceiling above him that clearly needs a new paint job. And in a way, so does he. Ian almost smiles to himself at that thought. This is all way too confusing to be real. And yet, here he is. With Mickey. And he knows he has to get a lot off his chest or else he’ll go crazy cramped up with him in a tiny cell. 

“I guess we can either give each other the silent treatment for months or we can fucking talk about it.”

"About what exactly?" Mickey looks up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

That's when Ian looks over at Mickey. "Are you fucking kidding me, asshole?" He pushes himself to sit up again, anger burning hot in his chest.

“Woah, when the hell did you get so potty-mouthed, Gallagher?”

Ian huffs, unable to believe that Mickey is able to provoke a reaction like this out of him. 

“Since you fucking up and left me without a word, a text or a call six months ago, Mickey. You know what that does to a person? To not know what happened to their lov- to the person they're supposed to be in a relationship with? I mean I guess that’s what I thought we were, but-” Ian feels himself rambling so he stops mid sentence. 

His heart is pounding against his chest and he's sure his whole face is flushed like a tearful toddler by now. He takes another deep breath, hoping to calm down a bit before continuing. “I'll tell you what it feels like, Mickey. It really, really fucks with you and makes you question everything! It feels like your fucking heart is being torn out of your fucking chest. So excuse me for being fucking pissed at you right now." He ends, knowing full well he exaggerated the cursing just to prove a point.

Mickey doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at Ian, his eyes a deep blue and unfathomable at this moment. Ian can't help but think back to the million moments when he was lost in Mickey's baby blues - during a candlelight dinner, on an afternoon walk or right after sex, pupils blown, the colour barely recognizable. 

But he can’t think about that now. He needs to focus.

Mickey swallows and rubs his thumb across his nose the way he always does when he's thinking. Ian's heart aches. He hates how well he knows the other man standing in front of him. 

It makes everything that happened so much worse. 

✱

“You still waiting for that asshole to call you back?” Debbie entered the kitchen, Franny in tow as usual. “Give it a rest, Ian. It’s been three days, he dumped your ass.”

“He’s not an asshole, Debs.” Ian sighed, letting his spoon drop down into his cereal bowl with a clink against the ceramic. “I’m worried about him.” He admitted as he saw his sister look at him with doubtful eyes, fingers digging into her waist, head cocked to the side. “What?” Ian leaned back in his chair. “What if something happened to him?”

“What if something happened to who?” Lip scurried down the stairs, rubbing both hands over his face.

“Mickey.” Debbie piped up, not giving Ian a chance, who rolled his green eyes hard in her direction. 

“Oh, come on. He’s probably just hiding from his homophobic Nazi dad somewhere.” Lip shrugged, taking a cup from the kitchen cabinet. “Nothing really bad ever happens to southside trash anyway, right?” He pours the last of the coffee into his mug.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ian said, annoyed with his older brother’s attitude when it came to Mickey. “Did you open your big mouth, Lip? 

“Fuck you. The fuck do I care about your shithead of a boyfriend.” Lip spat at his younger brother.

“He hasn’t called or texted in days, and his phone is off - I tried. This is not like him.” 

“I didn’t say shit.” The look on Ian’s face had his older brother changing his tone. “Have you been to his house?” He asked, sitting down next to Ian.

“Yeah,” Ian nodded, “I mean, I’ve watched it from afar. I’m not stupid enough to actually ring the doorbell or anything. But he never showed up. At least not that I know.”

“You been to the Alibi yet?” Carl joined in as he entered the kitchen, sounding so nonchalant like he had listened to their entire conversation. 

“What the hell happened to your hair?” Lip stared at his brother in shock, gripping his head to emphasize the question. 

“Got cornrows, bro.” Carl smirked, “like ‘em? I think they make me look gangsta.”

“Oh my God,” Ian sighed, he couldn’t with the best will in the world take his little brother seriously. “Please, can we talk about Carl’s hair, it’s not like anything important is going on in my life right now.” And once again, Ian picked up his spoon and dug into his cereal again and returned to scrolling through his phone. 

“Face it, Ian. He got cold feet. You move too quickly.” Debbie sauntered over to the table and sat across from her brothers, placing a bowl of Fruity O’s in front of Franny, who was quick to indulge in the morning treat.

“Shut up, Debs.” Lip retorted in his brother’s defense. “You’re not helping.”

Ian looked up from his phone, deep in thought. 

Had he moved too quickly? Had he scared off the one person he had truly thought he had a connection with? 

No, it was impossible. Mickey might have been scared of moving in, but there was no way he would leave Ian because of it.

“Did you call the doctors, Uncle Ian?” All three siblings directed their eyes at Franny.

“Shit Franny, you’re right. I didn’t call the hospitals.” Ian stood, the chair underneath him roughly pushed away from the table, as he leaned over to kiss the top of Franny’s head. “That’s why you’re my favorite niece.”

“Ay, Ian.” Lip grabbed Ian’s arm to stop his brother from leaving the kitchen. “You need some help asking around?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ian said, a soft smile spreading on his face. He knew when it mattered, he could always count on his big brother. “I’m gonna call South Shore and Jackson Park and you can do St. Bernard and Provident maybe?”

“Sure, let’s go upstairs, it’s too loud down here with the shitheads having breakfast.” Lip gestured towards his other siblings, “No offense, Franny.” 

“Watch your language, Phillip.” Debbie scolded before the two brothers could hurry up the stairs to their joint room. 

Ian could hear Carl chuckle, “As if she hasn’t heard worse before growing up in this house.” 

Thirty minutes and several phone calls to hospitals later, Ian sat back down on his bed, running his hand through his hair, feeling desperate.  

“Anything?” Lip asked, also sitting down on the edge of the old, worn bunk bed next to Ian.

“Nothing.” Ian turned to his brother, his eyes glossy. “How is this possible, Lip? Why hasn’t he called me? What the fuck happened that made him ghost me like that?”

“Come on, Ian. You know it’s not you. Milkoviches are just dicks, you oughta know that by now.” Ian was comforted by the hand that gripped his shoulder and gave him a shake. “Maybe Debs was right, maybe you gotta move on. He clearly has no worries about your feelings.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Both men laughed, and knew the repercussions that would follow if she ever did hear those words. “I don’t know, Lip. Something’s not right, I can feel it. I know Mickey, and this is not him.” 

“You want, I’ll go with you to the Milkovich house, but….” Lip’s offer was rejected immediately with a violent shake of Ian’s head. If there was an ounce of truth to what Mickey had told him, he wasn’t putting his family in that kind of danger.

“Then I don’t know what to suggest, little brother.”

Ian dropped his head, elbows on his knees and he sighed deeply. This hurt. This hurt more than he ever anticipated. It clawed at his core from the inside and made him feel dirty with rejection. 

How could Mickey have done this?

They had been lucky enough to find each other in a world otherwise against them, had decided to move their relationship along and then it was all just taken away in a blink of an eye. If Mickey was choosing to let his father dictate his life now, what would it be like in five years? Ten? Would they make it that long if this was the situation at hand? 

And then he thought about it. Maybe it wasn’t the rejection that hurt, but the why that was most painful.

Ian raised his head, a change of attitude filtering his face. “Fuck it. He clearly made his decision.”

“Really? Just like that?” Lip questioned him.

“No, of course not ‘just like that’,” Ian shook his head, “but what else can I do, Lip? Mickey clearly doesn’t want me to find him. So I guess -” he stopped because what he was about to say was just too painful. Yet he knew he had to say it out loud. “I guess he didn’t really care about me the way he pretended he did.”

“Look, man. I just fired a guy at the shop. Why don’t you come, spend some time down there with me, and we’ll figure shit, okay?” His big brother gave his shoulder another shake, gripping it tighter this time. “Okay?” He asked Ian again when there was a long pause of silence.

Ian stopped to think. 

What was the alternative? Sit here and waste his life pining over some guy that he thought he would spend the rest of his life with? 

He wasn’t working at the moment, his days consisted of playing house with Franny and listening to Carl talk about how he was going to be a famous rapper someday.

“Okay.” Ian answered simply.

“Yeah, you sure?” Lip asked for confirmation.

“Yeah. Let’s do this. You can show me the ropes and who knows, maybe some lonely old guy will bring his bike in and I’ll have me a sugar daddy.” Ian joked, knowing it would disgust his brother.

“For fuck sakes, Ian.” But he only laughs at Ian’s statement. “Always with dick on the brain.”

“You love me.” Ian pushed himself from the bed, turned and flipped his brother off.

“That I do, little bro. That I do.”

Ian smiled softly at his brother’s words. Lip always made him feel better even if he was being a pain in the ass sometimes. 

Ian knew his brother was right about getting his mind off of Mickey, distracting himself. Ian knew he would probably never be able to let Mickey go. But he also knew that for now, he had to. 

✱

“So? You gonna answer, Milkovich or you just gonna keep ignoring me like you have for the last six months?” Ian is rattled and ready for whichever way this conversation is heading.

“I didn’t leave.” Mickey mumbles, almost inaudible, but the ginger picks it up.

“Excuse me? The fuck you didn’t! I waited, Mickey. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. Christ, you had me sitting outside your house like a goddamn highschooler.” Ian admits.

“You what? The fuck would you do that for?” The look on Mickey’s face is of genuine surprise.

“‘Cause Mickey, I cared about you. I was worried as fuck. That’s what people do. They check in. Or are you that socially stupid?” Ian blurts out, unapologetic for his use of words. “The fuck you doing in here, Mickey?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher!” Mickey flips him off. “I don’t have to tell you shit.” He paces the small cell, hoping that either Simmons or Palkowitsch show up soon to lead him down to the cafeteria for dinner. 

He’s not ready to tell Ian anything. 

“Why don’t you tell me what the fuck got you in here, firecrotch? Trespassing? Speeding?” Mickey raises an eyebrow at Ian. “Ohh, fuck. Don’t tell me it was littering or some shit?” He chuckles. 

“You still think this is fucking funny, Mickey?” Ian feels like he’ll snap soon if Mickey keeps this up and he’s not sure what other punishment he can endure with the seclusion cells full up.

“Why you keep asking me that? Of course it’s funny, Gallagher. The thought of seeing your pale ass in here was not on my bingo card, that’s for damn sure.”

“Oh and you think I expected to see your big fat fucking head in here?” Ian replies with a huff. “Trust me, Mickey. I always knew you’d end up in prison but I never thought we would actually have to share a cell.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know me.” Mickey retaliates. But it’s a lie and they both know it. “Should have never got involved with a Gallagher, that was my biggest mistake.” Mickey stomps towards the door, looking for those damn guards. 

Fuck they always showed up when they shouldn’t, now would be a good fucking time.

“Oh, really, Mickey? That was your biggest mistake?” Ian asks sarcastically. “You’re so full of shit.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “And just for the record, Milkoviches are way more fucked up than Gallaghers.”

Mickey is not shocked by the statement, but fuck it , Ian clearly feels like fighting, so he doesn’t hold back, spinning around on his heels. “You’re all kinds of fucked up, Ian. Don’t let the designer jumpsuits fuckin’ fool you.”

Ian hops down from the bed. “The only person that fooled me is you, apparently. But guess what, Mickey? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. So why don’t you and I just stay away from each other while in here, huh? Otherwise I might have to break your fucking nose next time.” 

Ian hates violence, and besides some playful fights with his brothers, he has never actually hit someone, but punching Mickey in the face seems to be a good idea right now.

“Really, tough guy? You think you’re capable of that?” Mickey saunters towards Ian, their chests butting up against one another, blue eyes look up from below into dark green saucers. “The fuck happened to you?”

“So, we’re back there, huh?” Ian asks, feeling Mickey’s warm body close to his - too close. “You fucking happened to me, Mickey. You!” He pokes into Mickey’s chest with his long index finger. “So stop asking me that fucking question.” Ian growls. 

He can see Mickey’s nostrils flaring, can feel the other man’s hot breath on his face. This is all way too much . Ian has longed to be close to Mickey for months now - but not like this. 

“Get your finger off of me, Gallagher.” Mickey’s voice is low and rumbly as he looks from the densely freckled digit, and back up into those delectable eyes he has dreamed about for months now. He waits. The redhead stands his ground and keeps his finger on him, pressing in deeper. In retaliation, he gives Ian’s shoulder a push with his own tattooed fingers, refusing to be the one to back down. 

There’s a double tap on the metal doorframe heard from behind him. “There a problem here, ladies?” Simmons hollers at them.

Fucking finally. “No, boss. Just getting reacquainted, is all.” Mickey offers, still staring into pools of green. He can feel Ian’s heartbeat and it’s in sync with his own.

“Time for dinner, Milkovich.” The rotund guard reminds him. “Let’s go. Someone will be bringing your tray in a while, Gallagher.” 

Ian is the first to back down surprisingly. And with that, Mickey spins on his heels once again only to have to slink by Simmons who’s frame blocks most of the doorway.

Ian backs up until his knees hit the edge of Mickey’s bed and plops down onto the mattress with his back lying flat. He stretches out his arms, and involuntarily grabs Mickey’s pillow, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply.

The scent of Mickey makes his head spin and his body comes to life. Ian feels like every single emotion he’s been more or less successfully suppressing over the past six months comes rushing back - flooding his heart with an intensity even Ian didn’t know was possible. The man drives Ian crazy, yet he can’t help but love him. That is becoming abundantly clear to Ian as he is lying on the thin mattress, Mickey’s pillow still pressed to his face. 

Eventually, he slowly lets go of it and scoots back so his back hits the wall as he brings his knees up to his chest. 

His mind wanders back to the conversation with his big brother a few days after Mickey disappeared. Lip had offered him the job at his garage, Mayhem Motors, so Ian could ‘figure shit out’ and distract himself from thinking about Mickey.

Ian realizes now that everything he’s done to try to make himself forget Mickey has just been that. An attempt. A desperate attempt to protect his heart from the unbearable pain of abandonment. 

He had faced those fears his entire childhood being the middle child and well, just being one of Frank and Monica Gallagher’s kids was enough of an excuse to fear being abandoned. But he had felt it was going to be different with Mickey, had convinced himself that he had changed his trajectory in life, if not just a little bit at least when they had met.

Maybe he’s being unfair . Maybe he needs to hear Mickey out, like really give him a chance at explaining himself before he, Ian, fucks things up this time. He saw something in the way Mickey looked at him just now, he knows he can’t be wrong about that. 

“Gallagher!” A loud voice from outside the cell startles Ian, interrupting his thoughts. “Your five star meal’s here!” Guard Palkowitsch unlocks the heavy metal door with a loud, rattling noise.

And once again he feels doubt and fear creep up on him as he’s handed his tray. 

Could he be wrong?

Chapter 3: Three

Summary:

Ian opening up about what landed him in prison offers a glimmer of hope.

“Going back to your bunk so soon, ese?” Martinez, another inmate who clearly belongs to Los Zetas, judging by the huge Z tattoo on his face, hollers at Mickey as he returns his half eaten tray to the pile beside the industrial sized garbage can. His appetite has not been the same since Ian’s arrival.

“Yeah, food’s crap as usual today.” Mickey lies, unsure why he’s so eager to get back to the miserable state of his cellmate.

Because you still love him. His inner self speaks loudly and pisses him off, willing his brain to shut the fuck up as he trudges up the stairs and back to A20.

When he approaches the cell he sees another half eaten dinner left by the sink and the long-legged ginger already nestled in his bed. 

God, how he wishes he could climb up there and be the little spoon he had grown accustomed to being on the outside all those months ago. 

His presence doesn’t go unheard and Ian turns his head slightly to look at him. “How was dinner?” Ian asks, quietly clearing his throat when his voice comes out creaky.

“It was dinner.” Mickey replies in a curt huff. “‘S not the four seasons, Gallagher.” He sits down on the lower bunk, fidgeting, taking his shoes off.

“I know, tasted like ass.” To his surprise, Ian finds himself chuckling, “way too much mayonnaise.” 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mickey shakes his head, questioning lines forming on his forehead.

“It tasted fucking awful, is all I’m saying.” 

This is the first time both of them actually have something remotely similar to a normal conversation, Ian thinks and feels his heart skip a tiny beat. He rolls onto his side, facing the cell. “But at least I didn’t have to eat with the rest of them.” He adds, eyeing Mickey’s black hair over the edge of the bed, wishing he could just run his hand through it and feel the heat of Mickey’s skin next to his.

“The rest of ‘em?” Mickey huffs again. “You’re one of them, man.”

“Yeah.” Ian nods to himself, knowing Mickey is right. He is a felon. A criminal. He belongs here. “But you know what I mean,” he continues, “I’m no murderer or rapist, Mickey.”

“The hell should I know? You still haven’t told me shit.” 

“I know.” Ian nods again even though Mickey isn’t even looking up at him. 

He knows they need to talk - about everything. And because he is too tired of fighting and too exhausted from being angry at Mickey, he says, “I think we should talk.”

“You fuckin’ serious, Gallagher? You mean right now? I’m fuckin’ tired.”

Ian shakes his head, “Tomorrow, Mickey. And I mean we should really talk.”

“You want me to lie on a fuckin’ couch for you or what?” Mickey snaps at Ian as he turns to him, raising an eyebrow, his baby blue eyes so intense that Ian’s heart hurts from looking into them. 

“The bed will do.” And even though Ian doesn’t want to, he can feel his mouth turn into a small grin. 

How the hell did he go from not talking to Mickey, from being fucking pissed at the other man to… flirting with him?

Ian can’t explain it, he doesn’t want to - all he knows is that he’s very exhausted and that he needs sleep. As he feels his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, he can also feel something else brewing deep inside of him - a glimmer of hope.

                                                                                                                   ✱

Five months had passed and with each week, Mickey became a fleeting memory. Ian would still check his phone daily to see if any messages or texts were left, but that too soon became unbearable and hard to stomach.

He joined Lip at the shop, doing odd jobs, making runs to get parts for his brother and learning to master the art of an oil change. It wasn’t his ideal job, but it passed the time, as well as put money in his pocket.

But keeping his head above water was another story. In Mickey’s absence, he was out late at night in bars, drinking, doing drugs and running with the wrong crowd. He kept it from his family, but his brother was sure to have a clue the way he would stumble in on any given morning, still reeking of booze and cigarettes.

“Off the wagon, I see.” Lip commented, busy at work, tightening the bolts of a tire.

“Am I supposed to be on it?” Ian asked as he turned down the radio that sounded like a concert at Radio City Hall was being performed.

“Can’t keep this up, Ian.” Lip had still yet to look at him. “It’s gonna catch up to you one day, and from the sounds of it, nothing good is going to come from it either.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ian was short and abrupt with his older brother, not liking where this conversation was going so early on a Wednesday morning.

“Means, I hear things. Southside is a small part of the city, Ian. People talk.” Lip put the torque wrench down on the table beside him and his eyes caught Ian’s for the first time that morning. 

“Shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Ian’s words were sharp.

“So you’re not hanging out with the Brewster Boys at the Alibi?” Lip stood before him, shorter in stature, but his intelligence making up for it tenfold. 

Ian pushed past Lip, and towards the coffee machine, ignoring his question.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re gonna end up behind bars or worse, Ian.” Lip’s voice was concerned, worried. The older man always looked after Ian, as early as he could remember, always stopping him from stepping in a puddle, joined him in school fights and now even as an adult, tried to police who he spent his free time with.

“Fuck you, Lip.”

“What the hell is going on with you?” Lip spun on his heel. “Ever since your boy toy disappeared, you’ve been acting like a raging asshole.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Ian stirred three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, no milk, a habit from childhood when dairy was a luxury and not always accessible, unless they stole it.

“The fuck I won’t. Who helped you search hospitals for that prick, huh? Sat with you while you cried, drank with you when you were angry?” Lip reminded him. “Now answer me, the fuck is going on?”

“The universe is going on, Lip. Don’t you see?” Ian placed his mug on the stand and then motioned around the garage with his arms spread wide and high. “Every fuckin’ time something good happens, it’s followed by something shitty. So… I thought what if I didn’t give a shit like everyone else, did whatever the fuck I liked? Those are the people getting rewarded, Lip. I wanna be one of them.”

“You’re an idiot, Ian.” Lip shook his head, his head of curls tousled with the action. “You really think, shitheads like Bobby Brewster are winning in life?”

“He’s married, got a roof over his head, two cars, tell me what about that is not winning?”

“The guy is a criminal, Ian. His wife, we’re pretty sure, is his first cousin, he inherited that house when his mom died of a drug overdose from the drugs he supplied her and those cars, I know for a fact, are stolen.” Lip rhymed off, disproving Ian’s statement of success. “That the kind of life you want for yourself? Married to Debbie, popping out kids?”

“Jesus fuck, Lip.” Ian exclaimed at the statement.

“Well that’s the direction you’re headed in, little brother, now knock it the fuck off. We have one Frank, and I’ll be damned if we have two in the family. Franny and Liam deserve better than that.” Lip undid the zipper of his overalls and pulled his arms out of his sleeves, Ian noting that his brother had worked himself up during his speech, sweat littering his brow. “Now… you gonna go pick up those brakes for me, or you too much of a bad boy?”

Ian downed the rest of the hot, overly sweetened coffee, flipping Lip off, and dramatically rolled his eyes, so only the whites are left visible. 

                                                                                                            ✱

“Gallagher, where you been?” Bobby slapped him on the shoulder before taking the seat beside Ian. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days. You been in the closet again? Get it?”

Ian tried his damndest not to roll his eyes at the overweight, heavily bearded man, clad in a stereotypical plaid shirt, topped with denim overalls while a trucker hat covered his partially balding head.

“”Funny. ‘Coz I’m gay.” Ian faked a laugh and forced a smile, swigging his whiskey. “Nah, just been working lots.”

“For your brother, Lip, right?” Bobby asked, signaling for the bartender to come take his order. Ever since The Alibi had been taken over, the staffing seemed to have turned over at a high rate, and they never stuck around long enough to learn the regulars orders. “Got a job that might allow you to take an early semi-retirement.”

He had Ian’s attention. Not that he didn’t enjoy working with his brother, but fuck - it felt like a chore some days, just getting out of bed, and he’d love the option to move out of his house like he and Mic-... he stopped himself from completing that thought.

“Yeah, how legal?” Ian inquired of the man off the bat.

“Don’t ask and I won’t tell.” Bobby informed him. “The less you know the better, Gallagher.”

                                                                                                            ✱

Ian slept like shit - bits and pieces of his last night of freedom rummaging through his mind, voices and faces all mixed in a weird, very unpleasant dream. He feels like he's been hit by a truck the size of Illinois when he wakes up the next morning. 

Like every morning at six o'clock, a loud alarm blares throughout the prison. An annoying shrill so horrible it makes Ian’s ears ring. He remembers the first morning not very long ago and how it rudely awakened him from slumber, but Ian feels like maybe he is kind of getting used to it - like the train outside the Gallagher house that rattles through every morning. And that makes him nervous - like the train, he didn’t even hear it anymore. Or did he? He thinks, trying to remember what exactly it sounded like.

He hears a grunt from the bottom bunk bed and the sound of Mickey rolling over. Ian knows he told Mickey they'd talk today, but he feels like he's been run over and regrets suggesting it at all. He jumps down from the top bunk bed, quickly grabs his things for the shower, and leaves the cell when the door opens a minute later, squeezing through the small opening to escape as swiftly as he can.

As soon as he hits the shower, he allows the semi-cold water to pour down over his body, feeling the relaxation setting in. This is exactly what he needed this morning - a cold shower and to avoid Mickey. 

He’s not sure why he woke up wanting to avoid the man. Ian does want to talk to Mickey. 

Ian wants to know how he ended up here. But at the same time, he's afraid. Afraid he was the one to scare Mickey away, moving too quickly. Afraid he pushed Mickey away. He can feel the fear creeping inside every cell, his whole body feeling like a tingly mess. His breathing is laboured and he can feel a tightening in his stomach that he only feels when faced with uncomfortable situations.

He's stressed out and he knows himself. If he talks to Mickey in this state, all he will accomplish is starting another fight with his former boyfriend.

Ian takes a deep breath, then runs his hands through his wet curls and down over his shoulders and pecs. “Just chill the fuck out, man.” He whispers to himself as he loosens the cap of the shampoo bottle and pours a little bit in his palm.

Washing his hair under the cool water reminds him of the times he and Mickey would spend under the spray of their crappy nozzle at home. The water pressure was barely enough to keep them both wet, much like the one Ian is inhabiting now. But fuck, remembering Mickey’s lips on his skin, his mouth, his cock as the water cascaded over both of them, not much warmer than it is now causes his dick to stir involuntarily.

He continues to daydream rinsing the water from his hair, happy to be somewhat alone, only one other early riser who thankfully chose the last stall in the facility, furthest away from Ian. He allows himself to continue on with the thoughts of his escapades with Mickey as he washes his body, rubbing soap over his abdomen and in crevices that Mickey never neglected when they ravaged one another.

“Gallagher, jerk off on your own time. Hurry the fuck up.” The young new guard, Michaels, hollered from the doorway, wrapping on the metal door frame. Seemed to be a habit of the guards here, as if the prisoners couldn’t hear them.

Just like at home, Ian is interrupted, not that he was jerking off, but it is the only time he knows he will get to himself for the rest of the day and he has thought he would have more time to plan out what to say to his cellmate.

He turns the shower off, dries himself quickly, missing spots, then wraps the towel around his taut abdomen. He rounds up his toiletries and makes his way towards the exit. As he walks he can feel the towel shift, looking down he attempts to fix it but his hands are full and at the same time he is pushed to the ground by another clumsy inmate.

Mickey.

“The fuck, watch where you’re going, asshole!” Ian yells, the towel in a pile underneath him, his naked body exposed for his ex to see. He scrambles to his feet, dropping what is left in his hands, and reaches for the towel, wrapping it once again around his midsection and tucking it tightly. 

He turns to see a gawking Mickey. “Problem?” 

“N-no…” Mickey stutters, Ian hoping that’s an indication the man is still impressed with what he sees.  “Should watch where you’re going, man. Especially here.” Ian isn’t sure if Mickey means the showers or the prison in general, either way how dare Mickey blame him.

The two men stare intensely at one another. Goddamn those blue eyes. The tension runs thick, and Ian can feel himself stirring down below again. “Don’t gotta worry about me. Can take care of myself.” Ian replies, before pushing past Mickey. 

Ian tries not to look back, but he’s weak and glances over his shoulder, only to see Mickey looking back. And was he smiling ? Ian flips Mickey off and trudges off back to the cell to finish getting dressed and wait for his shitty breakfast.

                                                                                                               ✱

Ian doesn’t leave his cell, foregoing yard time, opting to spend his time reading instead. Lunch arrives and as to be expected it’s cold and stale. 

Did this place really not give a shit about their nutritional well-being? He was used to shitty food, but fuck this was barely edible. He munches away on the fruit cup, the healthiest thing on the tray and is interrupted when Mickey walks in with his lunch.

“What are you doing?” Ian asks, visibly dumbfounded.

“Eatin’ lunch.” Mickey responds and Ian watches as shoes are kicked off, and his roommate climbs onto his bed.

“I mean, what are you doing eating in here , Mickey?”

“Free world ain’t it?”

“We are in literal prison, Mick, so no, not a free world.” Ian drinks the juice from his fruit cup and places it back on the tray. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. Always thought you were so much smarter than me.” Mickey can be heard saying with a mouthful. Ian places his tray to the side and hops off the top bunk, feet landing with a loud thud.

“The fuck you talking about? You used to always call me an idiot.”

“‘Coz you fuckin’ were sometimes. Like this morning.” Mickey shoves a piece of stale bread from the sandwich into his mouth.

“The hell am I an idiot for taking a shower?” 

“For one…” Mickey holds up his index finger. “You don’t leave the bathroom with just a towel on, you’re just asking for it. Two…” A second finger is held up. “You always do the buddy system, never go alone, especially the new fish. Guys see that ass and they get weird fucking ideas, not the good kinds.” Mickey shivers in mock disgust. “And three, the fuck you jerking off to at six in the mornin’?”

“How long were you standing there? I wasn’t… Christ, never mind.” Ian turns to take a piss, disregarding Mickey’s meal time. 

“You fuckin’ serious, man?” Mickey asks, an eyebrow raised far into his forehead. “You really do want me to see your dick, huh?”

"What?" Ian has to fight the willpower not to turn around and face Mickey while he's still pissing and holding his dick in his hand. 

“I mean, it‘s the second time today, so…” Mickey smirks, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m- no! Oh, you know what, Mick? I’m-” Ian stops mid sentence, realizing that he has called Mickey Mick - which he hasn't done since they last saw one another. 

He turns his head so he can see Mickey, but the man just stares at him blankly, forcing Ian to abandon his vicious comeback and sigh heavily instead. “I’m- I’m not gonna do this back and forth with you right now.” He tucks away his cock after giving it a good shake then washes his hands in the tiny sink. 

“Okay, okay,” Mickey nods while finishing the rest of his meal. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. What else do you wanna do, then, huh?” Mickey pushes away the tray and gets up from his bunk, only to stand in front of Ian who is still wiping his hands dry on his yellow jumpsuit, the cell devoid of freshly washed linens. 

Ian knows what to do. 

It's time.  

He takes a deep breath, inhaling through his nose before letting the air out through his partially opened mouth. “Fine. You said you wanted to know what happened to me, how I got here. I’m ready to tell you.” Ian looks at Mickey, who seems to be surprised by Ian’s sudden seriousness. 

                                                                                                               ✱

“You’re a crazy mutherfucker, Gallagher.” Bobby laughed boisterously, slapping Ian’s back as they stumbled raucously into the bar they had left from together several hours earlier. “I didn’t think we were gonna make it out of there.”

“Fuck those guys, they couldn’t tell who we were with the masks and shit.” Ian pulled out the first available stool at the bar and sat down with cocky purpose. “They deserved to have their shit stolen. Who runs a garage and has no cameras? Fuckin’ idiots.”

“You might wanna keep your voice down.” Bobby reminded him, but Ian was running off of adrenaline.

They had just robbed the oldest garage in town, one that only worked on custom bikes, replaced parts that were vintage and hard to find. Parts that had value and would sell quickly on the black market. If they played their cards right, they could be in for half a million each, and then Ian could live the life he intended, even if it meant alone.

“The fuck should I keep it down for, everyone in here is a goddamn criminal, who they gonna rat me out to, huh?” Ian took a swig of his beer that he had ordered, and looked around the room. “Gonna be fuckin’ rich, we can forget about all these losers.”

“Gallagher, shut the fuck up. You’re gonna get us arrested.” Bobby gave Ian a daring side eye that tempted him to continue on with his announcements.

“Next rounds on me!” Ian announced, gaining him a round of cheers from the other bar patrons.

“I think you’re cut off, man.” Ian’s friend indicated, and Ian found himself ordering a double whiskey in spite of the man and downing it in one shot.

Confidence oozed off of him. He felt better than he had in a long time - the rush satisfying, an incredible turn on. If only he had someone to fuck in that moment, that would have been the perfect ending to his day.

Switching back to the cold, amber beverage from the bottle, he felt a presence close behind him.

“You’re Ian Gallagher, right?” The voice can be heard asking, and Ian didn’t even need to look over his shoulder. He wasn’t interested. 

“Who the fuck wants to know?”  Ever since Mickey had disappeared, Ian found himself unwilling to look at other men in the same way. Not that he wasn’t horny as fuck, but for the time being, until he had answers, he felt that handling his own desires was enough for right now. The pain was still too fresh.

“The guy you’re buying a drink for, that’s who.” The bleach blonde, taller than average man sat down beside him.

“So order your drink and move on.” Ian took another swig with his full chin this time, looking straight ahead at his reflection in the mirror behind the shelves of liquor bottles lining the wall.

“Well that’s not very nice. I was hoping we could have a conversation, see where things lead.”

“Not interested in a conversation. Got my buddy here to keep me company.” Ian tilted his head to the side to indicate Bobby, and the rotund man lifted his hand to wave his presence.

“Your buddy into sucking dick?” The stranger boldly stated.

Ian’s attention had been grabbed. He turned to look at the guy, “Get your drink and fuck off.”

“Your loss.” The man ordered some fruity drink, then added. “It’s no wonder that Milkovich guy left your sorry ass. Dick probably wasn’t worth it.”

“The fuck did you say?” Ian shoved the stool away with one foot and stood. The other man was slightly taller, but Ian had the size behind him to back him up.

“I said… your dick is probably so small, your ex is probably off filing a missing persons report for it.” 

PUNCH! 

Ian didn’t even think. The mention of Mickey out of someone else’s mouth caused him to react immediately and violently. The blonde, who the patrons now referred to as Max as he dropped to the floor, was gripping his throat and forcefully trying to gasp for air that was punched from his lungs. 

“Don’t fucking say his name.” Ian launched on top of Max, arms swinging, fists connected with the poor man’s face repeatedly with a force so brutal it took Bobby, the bartender and several other customers to haul Ian off of the guy. And when they did, Max was a mess. Eyes swollen, lips bloodied, and a nose that looked very much broken.

“You have no idea who you’re fucking with, you hear me?” Ian struggled to free himself, his feet trying to kick the unconscious man as he lay still, groaning in pain. “Lemme go, Bobby.”

“Ian, settle the fuck down.” Bobby held him by the arms, the bartender on his phone now. “The fuck! Did you call the cops, asshole?”

“He just beat the shit out of a guy, so yeah, I called the fucking cops.” The bartender with the name tag, Chad relayed. “Calm him down or I’ll have you both arrested.”

Ian spat on Chad, the thick secretion hitting the bartender square in the face, and Ian somehow managed to free himself, only for a moment to be hauled back in by the three large men.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Bobby asked, as he handed Chad a handkerchief from his overall pocket. “Calm your tits, or I’ll start throwing fists, you hear me? Ian?”

Ian blinked several times, bringing his vision back into focus. The fuck just happened? He took in the scene around him and remembered nothing but blackness enveloping him. His breathing was full on, he felt full of rage and hatred in that moment and then he remembered. 

The mention of Mickey had set him off. A comment about him leaving Ian. It had struck a nerve that he had been protecting for the better part of a year, and unfortunately he had felt the need to continue on protecting it, in the most violent of ways.

This was actually nothing new for Ian really. He had been getting into more and more fights as of late, mostly caused by intoxication and silly misunderstandings, but violent nonetheless. Thankfully none had ended in criminal charges, but he knew that this wasn’t his lucky day. That he had taken it too far, and would be joining the ranks of being an official Gallagher once those silver metal cuffs were slapped on his wrists.

The police arrived and took statements from everyone, Ian included and not surprisingly he was arrested for two counts of assault and battery.

The cops read him his rights, then had follow up questions for both him and Bobby.

“There was a robbery at the old Sheffield garage, you two wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” The first officer, Wilkins asks.

“Nah, been here all night.” Bobby lied for both of them.

“That so? ‘Cause the bartender over there said you two just came in before all this, and that one over there was pretty loud about some shit that went down tonight.” The second, much more muscular officer offered, his finger pointing directly at Ian.

“Fuck you, pig.” Ian retaliated.

“Put him in the car.” Wilkins instructs the other officer. “Gonna see what I can get from his buddy over here.”

Ian was removed from the Alibi, handcuffed, fists aching, bloodied and bruised. 

But still all he could think about was Mickey.

                                                                                                              ✱

Ian stares at Mickey and Mickey stares right back at him, neither saying anything. It’s so quiet that Ian swears he can hear fucking Enzo breathing through the vent, but upon listening closer, in reality it’s his and Mickey’s laboured breathing, nostrils flaring that he detects. 

The air is thick with tension.

Ian scans Mickey’s face. The other man seems unclear how to react, looking at him with a mix of surprise, like he doesn’t really believe the words that have been spoken.

“What?” Ian finally asks when he can’t take the tension any longer. 

“ What ?” Mickey mimics his words, raising one of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah.” Ian huffs, “You’re giving me that look.”

“What look?” 

“You know?” Ian gestures around, “ that look.” He slightly rolls his big green eyes.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t fuckin’ know what you’re talking about, Gallagher. How the hell am I looking at you, huh?” Mickey asks, full on annoyed at this point.

“Like you’re mocking me, like you don’t actually believe me.” Ian tries to explain.

“It’s just… Fuck! What the hell happened to you out there?” Mickey shakes his head in confusion, pacing back and forth from the heavy metal door and back to the bed again, finally taking up residence and leans against the door.

“Nothing, Mickey, just got tired of playing the nice guy all the time, tired of people shitting on me, taking advantage of my feelings.” The last statement is like a gut punch, Mickey knows Ian is referring to him.

“I can’t believe you got involved with the Brewsters, man. Shit, even Terry ain’t that stupid.”

“Fuck you, Mickey! That’s all you gotta say?” Ian’s voice is harsh and full of hurt.

“No, I asked what happened out there that you turned into someone I don’t recognize, and because you’re fuckin’ stubborn, you keep avoiding the question.” Mickey retaliates. 

“You happened, Mickey! You left me high and dry when we were supposed to be moving forward with our relationship! You just up and disappeared, and still you haven’t said anything, explained how you ended up here yourself. Why didn’t you call, Mickey? I had my whole family looking for you for weeks, putting up with my miserable ass crying… I fuckin’ cried over you, Mickey! Do you even care?” There’s a second show down and Ian is breathing terribly heavy, his lips wet from the spit that was emitted during his revelations.

“Do you really care why I am the way I am? It’s your goddamn fuckin’ fault. You made me think we were forever, and then POOF, just gone. Well, fuck you, Mickey. I couldn’t care less how you got in here.” 

“Ian…” Mickey starts but stops as Ian storms from the cell, just as yard time is announced for the afternoon, and Mickey is left alone, the speech Ian just gave on a loop inside his head. The guilt eats at him and the impact of his disappearance hits hard - not that it didn’t before but hearing all of it out of Ian’s mouth is different and hurts even more.

Mickey waits for Ian to return for dinner, foregoing the fresh air as the two men needed some time apart. But upon arrival, Ian jumps into his top bunk and feigns sleep, much to Mickey’s annoyance. Mickey reads the room, apparently a few more hours are needed so he departs the small cell, allowing Ian to eat his dinner in peace.

When he returns a few hours later, it’s almost time for lights out, passing the time playing card games in the common room with the other inmates, but his mind constantly returns to Ian and his criminal hijinks. 

Has Ian done all of that because of him? Has his disappearance turned Ian into the thug he was trying to save him from being in the first place? 

As Mickey crawls into bed, loud voices fill the background while his cell feels cold and lonely. 

Tomorrow he has to come clean. He has to explain to Ian why he is there, how he has been protecting Ian and his family this whole time.

Chapter 4: Four

Summary:

It's time. Mickey finally confesses, comes clean as to why he's there with Ian, why he's avoided him for so long and left him wondering what he could have possibly done wrong to deserve being left behind.

When Ian is woken up the next morning by the blaring alarm with his throbbing cock pressing painfully against his boxers, he knows exactly who is responsible for the latter. He groans and turns to his side so that he is now facing the cell door. He dares to take a quick look over the edge of the bed to the lower bunk. Mickey still seems to be sleeping peacefully, just like Ian knows him to do. Only Mickey could sleep in a noisy, cold prison with the most uncomfortable mattresses and the most annoying morning alarm.

He lets his head fall back onto the pillow with another groan, remembering his emotional outburst from the day before. He knew he had to get that off his chest - he had to tell Mickey. But that doesn't change the fact that he now feels like he's under pressure. He has to lay his cards on the table and finally be clear about what exactly he expects from his now cellmate and former boyfriend. 

Ian can still feel the anger simmering inside him. 

How could Mickey have let him down so easily all those months ago?  

That is still the million dollar question that has caused him countless sleepless nights. He rubs his face with both hands, over and over, pushing the frustration growing within him. He had answered Mickey, explained why he was here, but the brunet was still gatekeeping his story, not giving Ian even a clue as to why he’s here.

The voices grow louder outside, he hears the footsteps of the guards and other inmates as they rush out of the cells to go to the bathroom or to breakfast. 

At that moment, their cell door opens with a loud beeping sound, followed by a metal clang that finally wakes up Mickey. 

Ian can make out a few curses from the bunk below. 

“What the fuck?” Mickey emits a groan that is nearly inaudible, his thin, cheap blanket scrunches and crinkles with the movement, Ian recognizing the same sounds from his own bedding.

He holds his breath, daring not to make a sound - unsure if he should say something to let Mickey know he's already awake. His heart is beating hard and dull against his chest - how the hell did he get into this situation?  

How could the only man who ever really meant something to him feel like such a stranger?

Ian can still feel anger and hurt fighting inside of him - anger inevitably getting the upper hand. He is pissed as hell. And he needs to find some kind of release. And not just for his anger - his cock is still letting him know how much he wants Mickey, how much the other man is driving him crazy. Even after he's ripped his heart out and stomped on it.

“Fuckin’ assholes blaring this fuckin’ alarm every goddamn morning as if this shithole was on fuckin’ fire.” Mickey rants. “Giving me a fuckin’ headache before the sun’s up, fuck you very much.” He concludes his swear tirade as he swings both legs off the side of his lower bunk with another groan.

Ian knows Mickey only swears that much when he's really upset. In this case, he is fine with it, causing him to smirk for the first time since he’s been in this god forsaken place. He's not sure why Mickey is so upset, he was the one holding out, he was the one being evasive and not forthcoming at all. 

Had Mickey always been this way? Had love really blinded him that much? Causing him to think… had he missed the signs that the man would ultimately leave him high and dry without so much as a goodbye?

And admittedly this pisses Ian off even more. An anger at himself that he immediately deflects onto his grumpy cellmate.

“Thought you’d be used to it by now, seeing as how you’re so good at ignoring things.” Ian hops from the bed, jumpsuit in hand, clad only in the nearly see-through boxers that were gifted to him upon entry to this nightmare hotel.

“Fuck you too.” There’s a scowl on Mickey’s face, bags under his eyes and - had he been crying? 

Ian would have asked, but he notices how Mickey is drinking him in through his squinty morning gaze, and quickly turns to hide the return of his erection. Slipping into his uniform, he manages to think repulsive thoughts of naked women to hurry the process of his dick returning to a soft state. 

At the same time, Mickey must have dressed as well and Ian watches him coast through the open door with his toiletry bag in hand. 

Ian can’t help his childish self and flips Mickey off once his back is turned.

But without missing a beat or turning around, Mickey returns the salutation, hitting Ian like a tonne of bricks, and he unexpectedly finds himself with a smile on his face once again. 

✱

Mickey slaps his food tray down onto the table with a bang that causes Enzo and the other table inhabitants to jump and curse at his outburst of emotions.

“You look like shit, boss.” Enzo is first to point out the obvious, not frightened by Mickey’s bark or bite.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know, asshole.” Mickey doesn’t hold his bark back either. “Got a shithead roommate that keeps droning on and on about the past, won’t let shit go.” 

He pours his container of milk into his Cheerios and begins to slurp away, shoving the spoonfuls angrily into his mouth. 

Truth is he isn’t angry at Ian. He’s angry at himself for not keeping in touch, for not letting Ian in, for lying to the only man he ever truly loved and felt loved by. And fuck him for looking so perfect this morning, standing there with his thick thighs on display, his chest heaving with bitterness and anger, or at least that’s what he assumes was wrong.

“You two still arguing? Thought it was over with the way it’s been so quiet.” Enzo offers his fruit to Mickey, a habit they formed as friends. Mickey stabs at the grapes and berries, leaving the weird tasting honeydew melon behind like always. “You tell him why you’re here yet?”

Mickey ignores the question and shoves a strawberry into his mouth this time, chewing ferociously.

“Mickey, that seems a bit unfair.” Enzo cocks his head.

“The fuck you know about fair, huh?” A tiny piece of berry lands on the table as he answers with a full mouth.

“I know that Ian told you why he was here…”

“Stop eavesdropping through the fuckin’ vent, it’s creepy as fuck.” Another berry, a grape and spoonful of cereal all get crammed into his mouth this time, hoping he won’t have to continue this conversation if it’s otherwise preoccupied.

“Just tell him, I bet he won’t even be angry.” Enzo offers casually, and Mickey watches as his friend returns to his own meal.

“You don’t know this guy, hell… I don’t know him.”

“I think I know him well enough.” Enzo points at the nearly broken nose on his bruised face. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually. Besides, if he leaves here before you, and I have to listen to another story about that monster ginger dick, I’m gonna put myself in the infirmary. Just fuckin’ tell him.”

“And what if he hates me?” With a loud clunk, Mickey drops his spoon into the metal bowl in front of him.

“I think he pretty much does already.” Enzo answers him bluntly as he too shoves Cheerios into his gaping mouth hole. “Don’t think it can get much worse to be honest.”

Mickey picks up a grape, rolling it between his fingers as he thinks.The fruit in his hands this time is tossed at his breakfast companion and Enzo dodges out of the way of the attack.

“Fuck, I hate you’re right.” Mickey growls as Enzo chuckles at him. 

“Always am, bossman.” 

✱

Ian watches Mickey talk to the guy whose nose he may or may not have been crushed during a yard call a few days ago. His face contorts into a grim expression. He just doesn't like the guy. For Ian's taste, he's always far too close to Mickey - too close. Way too close.

Enzo and Mickey seem to be engrossed in a conversation, because Mickey hasn’t even looked up once during breakfast or acknowledged Ian's presence. When Mickey rolls a grape between his fingers and eventually throws it at Enzo who starts to laugh playfully, Ian nearly loses it.

Fuck this! Why was it so easy for Mickey to talk to someone Ian considers to be a stranger and yet the man struggles to get out anything but curse words for him?

He tightly grips the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. He wants to punch Enzo again and at the same time he wants to go over there and kiss the hell out of Mickey, punishing the other man with his lips, claiming him for everyone to see.

Ian hates this mixture of emotions fighting inside of him. Even though he's really pissed at Mickey, he just can't hide all of his resurfacing feelings. In his mind, Mickey still belongs with him - no, fuck that, Mickey belongs to him. And everyone in this goddamn shithole should know that - especially Enzo. 

Ian feels a tingling sensation in his legs, a nervous twitch that slowly fills his whole body. He simply can't sit still and watch them eat and talk and laugh any longer. He closes his eyes for a moment and runs his hands through his slicked back hair, taking a few loose strands with him.

“Gallagher!” He jumps at the loud voice that calls him out suddenly. “Eat your food, you only have five minutes left.” Palkowitsch stops in front of Ian's table and taps the table twice with his metal baton to get Ian's attention. 

Ian looks up and sighs. He hasn't even touched his cereal. Because it tastes like shit , he thinks to himself. But even if it didn't, Ian couldn't get anything down seeing the man who broke him being carefree and playful with another man. 

Even if it is in fucking prison and all the rules are changed in a place like this, it makes Ian sick to his stomach. 

He still loves Mickey and he needs to talk to him.

“Not hungry,” Ian utters under his breath, pushes the tray of food away and gets up. 

“There’s no special treatment, Gallagher. Don’t come complaining to me later when you’re hungry.” Palkowitsch states with a shrug and strides off.

Ian cracks his knuckles and loosens his shoulders, swinging his arms back and forth and to his sides as if preparing for a boxing match. And maybe he is. He's not sure if he's going to hit Enzo again. All he knows is that he has to talk to Mickey and finally find out what the hell happened to them.

It’s time that Mickey finally talks. Explains himself. 

As he walks over to the table in the opposite corner of the mess hall, his stomach rudely growls, more from sheer nervousness perhaps, more than the fact that he really indeed is hungry, that’s for sure. But not knowing how Mickey will react is messing with him big time. 

He stands in front of Mickey's table after what seems like an eternity, but in reality only a few seconds.  He feels the blood rush to his head that in turn becomes as red as a tomato as he continues to wait impatiently. 

As if his sheer size isn't enough to draw attention to himself, Ian clears his throat and nervously rubs the insides of his hands against his overalls.

Before he can get a single word out, Enzo finally turns his attention to Ian. “You here to break another bone?”

Ian has to swallow a snarky comeback. He’s not here to stir up shit with Enzo, he realizes as he looks down to Mickey. 

“Uhm, no. Actually, I came here to-”

“What, Gallagher? What do you want?” This time, it’s Mickey who speaks.

“Was wondering if we could talk in private.” Ian’s tone is calm, but his gaze is fixed on Enzo who continues to slurp and munch on his cereal like they’re at home in their kitchen casually talking.

“You got anything to say, you can say it here in front of my friends.” Mickey doesn’t relent at eating his breakfast either, but Ian can tell that it’s all for show, the way Mickey pushes his soggy leftover cereal around the bowl as he speaks.

“Kinda hoping that you would do the talking.” Ian attempts to sit down but Mickey slides over into the available seat, not giving him a chance. 

“Okay,” Ian mutters under his breath, dragging out the word while rolling his eyes at Mickey’s behaviour. “Mickey,” he sighs, and tries again, “we really need to talk. So, we can either do it here, in front of all your ‘friends’,” He air quotes, giving Enzo another look. “Or we can go back to the cell. Your choice.” He nods back to the direction of their cell block.

Mickey stays silent with Ian’s proposal but the redhead does notice Enzo’s gaze boring into Mickey as if to urge the other man to go with Ian. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Ian asks, feeling himself getting annoyed with Mickey’s attitude.

“No offense, but can you two fuck off already, let me eat in silence.” Enzo is the one to finally speak up, and Mickey feels a strong kick under the table connecting with his bony shin.

“Oww, the fuck?” He yelps, dropping his spoon into his bowl. “Fine, gonna be a short conversation, Gallagher.” Mickey pushes up from the table, grabbing his tray to drop off before he leaves the hall, and doesn’t wait for Ian to join him as he ascends the main set of stairs to the room.

Ian turns to leave, adding a quick ‘thank you’. Maybe he had Enzo pegged all wrong?

“Don’t thank me. Just don’t hurt the guy, or I’ll have to fuck you up myself.” Okay, maybe not too wrong.  

When Ian finally enters the cell a few minutes later, Mickey is leaning his head against the top bed, facing away from him. Ian fiddles with the strings of his jumpsuit, unsure how to start the conversation he wanted to have for months, now that they are alone. 

“Thanks for agreeing to talk.” He says, trying to buy himself some time to figure out what to say next.

“Like I had a fuckin’ choice, Gallagher.” Mickey spins on his heels to look at his roommate.

“I just want to talk, Mickey.” Ian holds up his hands defensively. “I just wanna know what -” He stops, trying to calm the fluttery nervous feeling in his chest. He takes a step towards Mickey, who is now facing him, but is still not really looking at him. 

“I just wanna know what happened, you know?” He finally says, attempting to catch Mickey’s gaze. “To us, I mean.” He adds quietly when Mickey still doesn’t look up from fidgeting with his hands. 

“And I don’t want to fight, I’m too tired. I just want to know .” He emphasizes again, watching the other man biting at his lips, nostrils flaring. A clear sign that Mickey is on the verge of saying something.

Ian waits a few moments but when the silence gets too deafening he swallows and takes another step closer towards his ex-lover.

“You know that I’m still in that apartment? Mentally?” He reveals, his voice almost inaudible with all the noise from outside of their cell. But he knows he has Mickey’s attention with the way his eyes fall on him. In that moment, Ian wishes, as he so often has in the past couple of days, that he could simply close the damn cell door and drown out everything. 

“I’m still in that damn apartment with you , Mickey.” Ian repeats with emphasis, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. “And all I do is think about what the hell I did wrong to make you leave me like that. You know that I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what happened.” Ian rubs at his eyes, fearing tears will fall down his cheeks and not wanting them to. He doesn’t want to cry. Not right now. Not in front of Mickey. He has done enough of that in the last couple of months. 

“I know that you weren’t ready to move in together, and I also think I understand why but -” Ian takes yet another step towards Mickey so that there’s now only a few feet between them. He can smell the other man and it’s tearing him up. 

“I just need to know what I did wrong, Mick.” Ian repeats, realizing that for the first time since they saw each other again, he is calling the other man ‘Mick’.

“Fuck, Ian.” Mickey huffs at hearing the shortened version of his name, and hating that Ian has reverted back to call him that. “You wanna know the reason I’m in here, the real reason I haven’t called you?” Mickey falls to the bed, conceding that he can no longer hold out on the man who meant the world to him at one point.

“When I left the apartment that afternoon, I was scared, probably more pissed at you than I should have been, but it’s not that I wasn’t ready to move in with you.” Mickey confesses, unable to look at his audience still standing a few feet in front of him, but he can feel Ian’s eyes on him.

“I went to Boys Town. Thought drinking my anger away was a good idea. And at first, it was.” His thumb finds the bridge of his nose and rubs at it like he always does when feeling on edge and put on the spot. “But as I kept drinking, I kept hearing your stupid voice, making sense and the more that happened, the more I drank.”

He moves over and Ian accepts the invitation to sit beside him, a peace offering on his part.

“At some point, I remember the bartender cutting me off. Think I called him a cocktail cunt or some shit.” The two men laugh for the first time in unison, both knowing the mouth that came along with a drunk Milkovich. “Anyway, when I left, fuckin’ cops rolled up on me, asking stupid ass questions, threatening to arrest me for disorderly behaviour. Guess I got mouthy, and fuckheads threw me in the back of the car.”

“You’re telling me, you’ve been in here for six months for a drunk and disorderly charge?” Ian seems confused, but Mickey is quick to continue.

“Not exactly.” He pushes his back to the cold cement and stretches his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Turns out the cops were looking for a robbery suspect from a few months back, and asked me if I knew anything about the motorcycles being stolen from MotoBikes downtown. ‘Cause those shitheads always assume it was a Milkovich behind everything that goes missing in this city.” He rolls his eyes for added dramatic effect, but he’s still able to see the colour drain from Ian’s face and that tells him the redhead already knows where this story is headed.

“Shit, Mickey.” Ian swallows hard, feeling a cold shiver running down his back. “Are you telling me you got arrested because of the bikes I stole with Bobby Brewster?” He can feel his throat tightening. 

He knows exactly where this is going . 

He heard on the streets that the cops arrested someone for the robbery he committed but he never followed up, being relieved that he wasn’t the one being put behind bars because of some stupid shit.

“I knew from the way they were talking, the shit stolen… it sounded exactly the same as the story you told me.” 

“Fuck, Mick.” Ian turns to the other man, desperately wanting to touch him, to comfort him, but also knowing he can’t. Not yet anyway. “What the hell did you do?” He asks, his voice shaky and full of concern about what Mickey is going to reveal next.

“I did what anyone would do, I saved your ass. Or I thought I was until I heard you were coming in here a few days ago.”

Ian lets out a sound he hasn't heard from himself before. It's a mixture of despair at what Mickey has done to protect him and at the same time anger that Mickey has kept this from him for so long. 

“So what? Y-you just took the fall for shit I did?” He stammers, feeling like this is an episode of a TV show where Ashton Kutcher is about to jump into the cell yelling the famous words “you’ve just been punk'd!”.

“Like I said, Gallagher. Just did what needed to be done to save your sorry ass from getting thrown in the joint. You were headed for trouble.” Mickey thumbs his nose again, not looking at Ian.

"But why? Why did you hide this from me? Why didn't you just tell me? Why didn’t you just call me at least, Mick?" Ian feels his voice breaking more and more with each question. “I could have helped, turned myself in, told them they had the wrong guy.”

His whole body is on fire. All his emotions rearing their ugly heads inside him, trying to find their way out before he explodes. Not being able to sit still any longer, he shoots up from the bunk, pacing the small room like a feral animal trapped on the inside. 

“Fuck, Mickey!” He curses, running his hands through his hair, desperately trying to make sense of it all.

He curses Mickey when he really wants to curse himself for being so stupid. For waiting around, for thinking that Mickey just left him for no reason, for crying in vain when all Mickey did was take the blame for a crime he himself committed.

Why hadn’t he checked the jails, gone to the police?  

Suddenly, Ian feels nauseous. All these months, he hated Mickey for leaving him without an explanation, only to find out now that Mickey didn't leave him after all. 

Before throwing up all over their cell, Ian kneels down in front of the metal toilet, hugging the bowl for support and begins to heave and vomit violently. 

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher.” Mickey stares at Ian, shocked by the redhead’s physical reaction to his revelation. He slides from the bed and stands behind his former lover in case he needs him. That feeling has never gone away. 

“You good?” Mickey asks once the puking subsides for the most part with Ian spitting the remaining contents from his mouth and flushing the toilet.

“Yeah, sorry.” Ian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before washing them and gargling with mouthwash. 

“Don’t have to apologize. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“For what?”

“For disappearing, for thinking I was doing the right thing.” Mickey glances down, eyes firmly affixed on his prison-borrowed shoes. “For leaving you and not kissing you one last time.”

The last statement causes Ian’s stomach to react again, but this time it’s a familiar feeling, one that he only felt in his early days with Mickey. A flutter of sorts, a wave of happiness that causes his skin to cool and return to its normal state.

“I don’t understand, Mick.”

“You were headed down a pretty dark and dangerous road, Gallagher.” Again Mickey sits in the only available spot seeing that Ian is okay at this point. “I didn’t want you to end up like your dad, or worse… mine.”

“So you took it on yourself and put yourself in a shitty place that you definitely don’t deserve?”

“We both know I would have ended up here one way or another.”

“Do we? Guess now we’ll never know.” Ian also claims his spot on Mickey’s bunk, but when he sits, he faces his old love, and sees a softness about his face that he missed. “So how long did you get?”

“Five years with the option of parole after two.”

“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian’s heart aches with the information. “I’m gonna tell the Warden, get you out of here.”

“No fuckin’ way, Ian.” Mickey objects immediately. “It’s too fuckin’ late for that. Besides with your charge of aggravated assault, they’re gonna keep you in here for longer, and I don’t wanna think of what that will do to you. This way I can keep a fuckin’ eye on you.”

“And what? Keep on saving me, Mick? You can’t keep doing that.” Ian replies.

“Why the fuck not? It worked the first time.” 

Ian shakes his head as he drops it to hang between his shoulders. “You’re still an asshole for not even calling me once.” He huffs. “You could’ve just told me, Mick.” He looks up, pain still gleaming in his eyes. “Or was that too much to ask?” 

Mickey can’t look at Ian, the crack in his voice tells him that the redhead is close to crying and that is a scene Mickey is afraid he can’t handle in that moment.

“Was too fuckin’ hard.” He scrapes under his thumbnail to distract himself from tearing up as well. “The thought of hearing your voice, not being able to see you… to touch you.”

“So, you decided it would be better to let me suffer? Let me think you didn’t give two shits about me?” Ian wipes the corner of his eye, not wanting a tear to spill out. “That’s kinda fucked up, Mickey.” He gets up from the bunk and starts pacing. Again. Feeling anger rising inside of him. Again.

“I’m trying here, Gallagher. The fuck do you want me to say, huh? That I should have given you up to the cops, I should have let them lock you up?” Mickey watches the emotions change in the man he thought he knew in the blink of an eye.

“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian balls his hands into fists, trying to control his breathing. He wants to punch Mickey for being so heroic, for taking the blame, for leaving him without an explanation. But as he listens to Mickey’s words and lets them sink in, he also gets where the other man is coming from. Had he been in Mickey’s position, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing to save him.

“The way I look at it, I did you a favour, and if you can’t accept that then I don’t know what to say.” 

“Doesn’t fucking mean it didn’t hurt.” Ian stops pacing and looks at Mickey. “You leaving like that fucking broke me. And it would’ve helped to know why you did what you did.” He explains with a sigh, feeling exhausted by all the resurfaced emotions.

“Sorry, man. I don’t know what else to say. I tried to save you, keep you from this life.” Mickey drags his hand down his face, feeling as if he is getting nowhere, but the thought of giving up, losing Ian again now that he could safely watch over him once again is not an option.

“I just don’t know where to go from here, Mickey. As fucked up as it is, I can understand why you wanted to take the fall for me, even though I still think it’s stupid.” 

“Stupid, thanks.” Mickey says, feeling the knife in his back.

“You know what I mean.” Ian has no idea how to put into words what he’s feeling right now. It’s a strange mix of anger, frustration, hurt but also gratitude. 

He takes a deep breath and relaxes his fists before he continues to speak. 

“You did what you did because you wanted to save me from this place, right?” Ian can’t help but let out a sour chuckle, “And yet, I still ended up here anyway. How fucked up is that? Looks like it was all for nothing.” 

He knows he sounds bitter but it’s all just so infuriating. If Mickey had really done that to save him, to keep him from getting thrown in prison and he ended up being locked up anyway, then all the pain, all the suffering and lonely nights he went through were for nothing.

“At least my ass is in here with you, can keep you from doing anything else, what was it you called it…. Oh yeah stupid. ” Mickey can feel the years of resentment steep off of Ian, and pour onto himself. “Maybe I should just let you find out what it’s exactly like in here, get a real taste of this place. See the consequences of your actions.”

Ian can feel the change of emotions in the other man’s words. Mickey is hurt. And Ian can’t help but soften his voice as a reaction. 

“You have every right to be mad at me, Ian. Should I have called? Probably. But we’re here now and there’s fuck all I can do about it. And you being a shithead about things, isn’t helping.”

“Look, Mickey. I don’t wanna be an asshole about it, but I’m just so fucking mad.” Mostly at myself , he wants to add but the words won’t come out. 

Mickey balks, “The fuck do you want me to say?”

“I don’t fucking know, Mick.” Ian shrugs frustrated, his eyes meeting Mickey’s, the blue blown out from his pupils. Knowing full well they hit a dead end in this conversation, he runs a hand over his mouth then up through his hair, trying to figure out what to say to Mickey. 

“Maybe we should take a breather.” Mickey suggests, feeling Ian’s uncertainty and unsure as well how to continue the conversation. 

When Ian doesn’t say anything, Mickey replies, “I should probably take a shower.” He wrinkles his nose for emphasis, still smelling the vile smell that Ian contaminated the cell with earlier, but he keeps his comments to himself as to not add insult to injury.

Ian watches as Mickey gathers his clean clothes, his toiletry bag and wants to stop the man before he walks through the door. Make him stay so they can work things out, come to some kind of agreement, some sort of understanding. He wanted nothing more for them to be on the same page, to be back where they once were, daydreaming as they stared into each other’s eyes, planning days that would be all theirs, but alas, Mickey leaves. Again. 

“Fuck this.” Ian thrusts himself from the spot where he stands, and energy surges through him as he hears the stomp of Mickey’s footsteps down the interior hall. He chases Mickey down into the showering area, where thankfully the man with the plump ass he so missed and thought of on all those nights is already naked and wet.

Walking into the common area, he surveys the space, noting only one other person showering, an older elderly gentleman that looked as though he wouldn’t hurt a flea.

“OUT. NOW.” Ian’s voice is boisterous, and echoes within the confines of the tiled room as he makes eye contact with the stranger, who takes the command seriously, grabs his things and rushes out of the room.

“The fuck you doing, Ian?” Mickey is shocked to see the angry looking man standing before him, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. He tries not to react, but his cock has other ideas when he hears the growl of Ian’s voice.

“You don’t get to walk out on me again, Mickey.” Ian’s voice is loud enough for his cellmate to hear, but not the guards. “So I’m doing what I should have done months ago. Making sure you’re not going anywhere.”

With that, Ian enters the shower stall completely dressed, the hot water soaking through his white tank first, exposing pert nipples and a thick smattering of chest hair. 

They stare intently at one another, not sure who will make the first move, both of them knowing that it’s been a long time coming. 

In the end it’s Ian who breaks, his lips finally encompassing Mickey’s and the moan from his belly reaches Mickey’s mouth causing the raven haired beauty to lean in and open up. 

In a frantic, desperate kiss, tongues trace patterns, recalling memories of the past, and as the water continues to soak both men, it washes away the anger between them, the lost time, and they are able to find each other once again.

Chapter 5: Five

Summary:

Mickey and Ian are finally reuniting and know one thing for sure: they're going to face the future together.

Notes:

This is it: the last chapter of this story! Hope you'll enjoy - we certainly did while writing it :) Thank you for reading!

“Wasn’t sure you still had it in you, Gallagher.” Mickey breathes, as he pulls out of the kiss, breathless and harder than he has been in months.

“I wasn’t sure either.” Ian chuckles softly, his face still only inches away from Mickey’s. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” Mickey tilts his head back and knows Ian understands the assignment when he feels teeth scrape and nibble at his neck. 

“You did, huh?” Ian reaches down to grab Mickey’s cock and gives it a few strokes, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s. “Wouldn’t have noticed.” He teases and Mickey lets out a desperate groan.

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“I missed you, too.” Ian growls and keeps stroking as he claims Mickey’s half parted, wet lips in yet another passionate kiss, the other man’s taste immediately flooding his senses. Ian breaks the kiss by pushing Mickey backwards until the dark-haired man’s back hits the cold tiles. “Turn around and face the wall.” Ian commands, lips against his ear, his pent-up need for Mickey burning deep inside of him. 

It’s at that moment Grayson, the newest guard to join the morons that work there, enters the showering area, clearly shocked, eyes wide, mouth gaping open, Mickey chuckling at the expression on his face when Ian doesn’t relent his actions.

“What’s the problem, shit for brains? Never seen two guys fuck before?” Mickey shouts, knowing fully well that he has more pull at the prison than any guard. “Get the fuck out!”

The thin and pasty Grayson spins stedfastly on his heels and follows orders.

“The fuck, Mickey?” Ian can’t help but chuckle. “I’m sure he’s gonna tell Simmons or worse, Anderson.” He looks around somewhat uncertain, but no one else seems to dare to enter the shower area.

“Who gives a shit, this isn’t OnlyFans. Bitch thinks he can watch for free.” Mickey smirks, bouncing his eyebrows as if considering the idea.

Ian rolls his eyes and gets back to the task at hand. Mickey’s plump posterior. 

“That’s right. No one but me gets to see that ass.” Ian gives Mickey’s perky butt a hard smack and then spins the other man around so that he faces the wall like Ian had instructed him to before. “Where were we?” Ian grinds against Mickey from behind, holding the other man in place with his much larger body, his teeth relocating his ear and tugging on his fleshy lobe.

“ Mmmm … Think you were about to give me that cock.” Mickey murmurs, water dripping into his eyes and from his lips as he tries to brace himself against the slippery wall. “Better hurry before everyone else starts to show up, Gallagher.”

Ian hurriedly strips from his wet uniform, tossing the sloppy and wet clothes to the floor, a problem for later on how he’ll get back to his cell.

“Gonna fuck you so goddamn hard, Milkovich, you’ll be feeling the stretch of my cock until you’re paroled from this shit hole.” Ian informs him. He’s not sure if it’s the tepid water or the way Ian grumbles against his neck, but Mickey shivers and shakes, goosebumps litter his pale, alabaster skin.

“Stop making promises and put your money where your mouth is.” Mickey’s inner brat challenges him, missing their foreplay, the way they teased one another back in the day. Happy to have it resurface and feel Ian’s warm embrace once again.

“Shut up before I make you put your mouth where my cock is.” Ian barks back, and is met with silence. A true testament that the man underneath him wants to be fucked six ways from Sunday like Ian plans, therefore the cocksucking is pushed aside for a later date. 

Disappointed at not being swallowed by those puffy pink lips, Ian refocuses and turns his attention to the ass that has been the cause of his wet dreams for months now. He licks two of his fingers, making sure to coat them liberally with spit, the water also aiding with the lubrication as he applies them to the tight rim, teasing, toying, tempting the man to take what he is given and to enjoy the ride. 

Thankfully Mickey spreads his legs apart, thrusts his ass out as he arches his back and aids in helping Ian breach his asshole faster, with an ease that feels recognizable, that comforts him in a way where the tension fades and is replaced with passion.

Well prepped and stretched, Ian returns to Mickey’s cock, stroking him to the point of nearly coming and then removing his hand, leaving him desperate, leaking and on edge several times. But Ian knows his time is limited so he lines his cock up at the entrance and prepares to fuck Mickey like he has planned to since the day he left him begins. 

Just as Mickey is about to assault Ian with a smart-ass remark, he feels a large hand slap over his mouth, stopping him before is able to utter a word.

“Don’t even think of it, Mickey. Don’t wanna hear your wise guy comments anymore.” Ian takes control. He let Mickey play his games, avoiding talking about them for so long, but no more. He’s about to show Mickey the man he created by leaving him behind. 

“Just wanna hear you moan my name when I fuck that pretty little ass of yours. Got it?”

Silence and a vigorous nod of Mickey’s head is all the confirmation Ian needs as he shoves his cock deep within Mickey, a force so strong, it audibly knocks the breath from the shorter man’s lungs.  Ian takes pride in restricting the escaping air, feeling the warmth on the palm of his hand.

“Bet you missed this more than anything, didn’t you?” Ian withdraws his cock with the question, but is swift to ram it back in, deeper this time by the way Mickey moans. “Bet you missed the way my cock makes you feel, the way it fills your insides up.” Another withdrawal, another moan. 

His thrusts speed up, unable to keep himself under control any longer. “Bet you have no idea how much your ditching me really fucked me up.” 

His thrusts get even harder, more aggressive than before and his hands revert to holding Mickey’s ass in place like a vice, leaving red marks on the other man’s body. Ian doesn't care. All he needs right now is to make Mickey his again, to claim him and make sure that Mickey knows exactly who he belongs to.

He’s been holding back his lust for the man for so long, it’s now time to let go.

He spread Mickey’s ass wider, giving his big cock full entry to the tiny hole. “Fuck, Mick! This is for all the nights I cried myself to sleep, wanting nothing more than to hear your voice.” His long, hard thrusts punish Mickey’s ass, his voice thick with emotion as he pants hard against Mickey’s ears. 

He can’t help but notice the way Mickey’s fingers claw at the tiles, trying to steady himself. 

“This is for every damn day I sat outside my house waiting for you.” Another punishing thrust. His grip on Mickey’s hip tightening, Ian uses his whole body to emphasize the words he has kept to himself for too long. 

There is no more running, no more denying it. 

Ian always belonged to Mickey. Heart, body and soul. 

And Mickey has always belonged to him. And he’s making damn sure Mickey knows it, too.

“This… this is for all the times I thought the worst, Mickey. Thought someone had hurt you, or your dad…” Ian trails off as he power plunges his dick into Mickey’s asshole and the man wails with passion, the sound of his voice reverberating off the walls.

“Holy fuck, Ian.” Mickey breathes with the tip of Ian’s cock hitting his sweet spot, making him want to paint the wall in front of him, but he knows Ian. He knows that’s not his agenda, not with the way he was pistoning his hips with a stamina so strong, Mickey knew he’d be sore in the morning.

Without notice, Mickey is flipped around, Ian’s lips pressing firmly against his as the water cascades over them. Ian abruptly picks one of Mickey’s legs up and gives himself enough room to start fucking him once again.

Ian knows that the past can no longer be a factor if they are ever to make a fresh start. Eventually, their time in prison will be served and their new lives can begin. But for that to happen, he has to forgive Mickey. And the only way he can see to do that is to physically possess the other man, to make Mickey his again. Like he is, right now, in that very moment. 

The only problem with that is Ian isn’t sure he can take much more himself afraid he might explode before his partner does. Mickey feels just too tight, too familiar. Too good.  

He pulls his cock from Mickey’s pulsating hole, pushing it back in, slower this time - calculated. He doesn’t want to come yet but also knows it’s only gonna be minutes until one of the guards or other inmates will interrupt them.

“God dammit, you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that.” Ian growls as he continues to pump leisurely into Mickey. “You're tighter than I remember, but fuck you feel just as good. If not better.” 

“There’s been no one unghhhhh… since you.” Mickey informs him, as his arms anchor around Ian’s neck for support as slippery as it might be at this point.

That bit of news spurs Ian to fuck the other man harder than he can recall ever doing before. Knowing that they both haven’t been with other men, tips him over the edge.

“Fuck! I need to come.” He moans, “Come with me.” 

As if on command he feels Mickey tighten his ass around his cock, choking the last bit of control and sanity out of him.

It’s in that moment, Mickey finds himself coming hands free, Ian joining him as he shoots his load deep into the depths of his ass. The redhead places his large freckled hand on the wall to brace both of them as they grip each other tighter. Moan louder. Kiss longer.

Ian pulls away from the thick wet lips and drops his head to Mickey’s shoulder in order to try and catch his breath.

“Goddamn, Gallagher. Gotta piss you off more often.” Mickey is breathless as he speaks, his words come out spaced apart, but coherent for the most part. Ian drops his leg to the ground and kisses him once more.

“You know we gotta talk about what you did, right?” Ian enlightens him, breath ragged, but slowing.

“Ya, I know.” Mickey’s answer is that of a child knowing they have to do the right thing after being reprimanded. “But, we got company, so probably gonna have to do that later.”

“Milkovich. Gallagher. The fuck is going on?” Simmons hollers at the two naked men, appearing unashamed and satiated.

“Just saving water, Boss.”

“What?” Simmons replies, the confusion in his voice is laughable.

“You know, global warming, save the fish or whatever bullshit…”

“Milkovich, shut your goddamn mouth.” Simmons waves his baton at Mickey, apparently not impressed with the smart-ass reply. “Gallagher, get back to your cell before I have someone come in here and perform a cavity search on the both of you.”

“Probably not the best time…”

“I said shut the fuck up, Milkovich.” Simmons barks gruffly this time

Laughing, Ian reaches for the towel that Mickey hands him and wraps it snuggly around his taut waist. As he goes to leave, he returns to Mickey and kisses him deeply, holding his face tightly in his hands just in case they are punished and it’s the last time they see each other.

It’s a kiss that makes up for everything. The sex has let him forgive Mickey, but this last kiss… it solidified their commitment to one another, he’s sure of it. 

It had taken months, but finally he has Mickey where he wants him, and now they just have to figure out what their future holds.

Together.

                                                                                            ✱

On the way back to his cell, Ian floats down the hallway walking on air. He knows that not everything is forgotten, but he has forgiven Mickey. He realises this with every step he takes towards their shared cell. He no longer wants to hold on to the bad things that happened, he no longer wants to hold a grudge. He loves Mickey, and that makes his body and soul look forward to their future together with renewed vigour. 

With Mickey still in the shower area, probably taking a verbal lashing from Simmons, Ian needs to talk to someone, so he decides to call his brother.

He sheds the towel and throws on the extra boxers and yellow jumpsuit that reside at the end of his bed in a neat pile. Unlike Mickey’s whose uniform was thrown on the floor, waiting to be sniffed and reapplied. Ian shakes his head, but he can’t not love the way Mickey was just so… Mickey.

Grabbing his phone card from under his pillow, he then makes his way down towards the payphones and into the belly of the general population.

He tries Lip’s cell first. No answer, he curses and finally resorts to calling the chaotic Gallagher house and risks talking to whoever picks up the phone first. 

“Hello.” It’s Carl.

“You’re receiving a call from an inmate at Metropolitan Correctional Center. Do you accept?” The automatic recording finishes and waits for a reply.

“Hell yeah.” Carl can be heard exclaiming as they are connected. “Ian, that you?”

“You know anyone else in prison?” Ian asks sarcastically. 

“Good point. Miss ya, bro.” Carl continues on as if Ian is limited in his time.

“Can you get Lip on the phone please? I couldn’t reach him on his cell.” Ian asks Carl who chews loudly into the phone. “And hurry up, I only have like five minutes left on my card.” Ian watches as his credit is running out with each passing second.

“How’s the joint treating you? How’s your bunkie? Did you already make someone your bitch?” Ignoring Ian's request, Carl asks question after question. 

In the background, Ian hears the normal chaos of the Gallagher household, loud voices, clattering dishes and a few familiar curse words. He can't help but smile into the receiver. As much as his siblings get on his nerves, he misses them too - even though it’s only been a few days.

“Hey, that Ian?” Ian hears Lip’s muffled voice and then he hears a small struggle for the receiver before his big brother's voice asks: “Ian, how are you?” And then, a little mumbled and softer but clearly annoyed, “Carl, I'm not going to ask him if he's made a shiv yet. Everybody shut up, it's Ian on the phone!”

Ian smiles again. He can picture them in the kitchen, sitting around the worn table, talking through each other instead of to each other, no one understanding what they are saying. Two big pizza boxes on the table in front of them and loud music playing in the background. Maybe Kev and V have come over and are telling crazy stories from back in the day when they still had the Alibi.

The timer on the dirty little screen in front of him shows just under four minutes to go and Ian pulls himself together and snaps back to the here and now. “Hey, Lip. I’m good. But I don't have much credit left for this call, but I wanted to talk to you. Can you go upstairs, maybe?”

“Yeah, sure. Glad you’re calling. Sorry, my cell’s fucked. Gotta get a new one.” 

Ian hears Lip’s footsteps on the creaking steps leading to the second floor. 

“Mickey is here!” Ian blurts out, not able to hold the information back any longer.

“What do you mean, Mickey is here ? In there? In prison? With you?” Lip sounds as surprised as Ian knew he would.

“He’s my cellmate actually.”

“What the fuck, Ian? Are you serious?”

“As a fucking heart attack, Lip.”

“Fuck, man.” Lip huffs, “What’s he doing in there? Not that I’m surprised, he’s a Milkovich after all.”

Ian rolls his eyes at the remark but chooses to ignore it due to the lack of time. “Yeah, it’s crazy.” And then he summarizes as best he can what has happened in the past few days and what Mickey did to protect him.

“Those fuckin bikes were stolen, Ian?”

“You can yell at me later, for now can you just fuckin’ focus? I got like two minutes left.” Ian implores, knowing that his brother was way too intelligent to let that tidbit of information slip past him.

“Fine. For the record you’re an asshole.”

“Noted.” Ian accepts and moves on, catching Lip on their reunion in the shower.  Leaving out the dirtier details, but giving enough that the older man knows that things have changed between the couple.

Lip stays silent for a beat before he clears his throat and says, “I’m happy for you, man.” Which is not at all the reaction Ian has anticipated.

“I thought you’d say to stay the fuck away from him.” 

“Nah, I saw how miserable you were without him.” Lip’s voice is soft yet serious. “I never wanna see you like that ever again.” 

Ian smiles into the phone. He knows when it really counts, his big brother is always there for him, making him feel right at home even though he’s miles away in a cold, dirty prison, a nasty, sticky receiver in his hand. 

A minute and thirty seconds left.

“Thanks, Lip. I just don’t know where to go from here. What happens next, you know?”

“You’re a Gallagher.” Lip chuckles, “You’ll figure shit out eventually. The most important thing is that you’re ok. And happy with whatever the fuck it is you two got going on.”

“I think we have a bit more to work out, but for the most part, I’m done fuckin’ talking. I just wanna get back to normal, you know.”

Lip can be heard breathing, but the clock is ticking. “Just promise me you’ll take it slow.”

“I will.”

“I’ll send more to the commissary so you can load your card back up, keep me posted, okay?” Lip’s fatherly type kicks in and Ian is grateful to have a brother like him in his life; thankful his siblings have someone to watch over them.

The phone dies as the card expires on time. Ian hangs up the dirty receiver, wiping his hand on his overalls before making his way back up to his cell. His reclaimed partner.

His Mickey.

                                                                                                   ✱

“Hey, you seen Ian?” Mickey pops his head into Enzo’s cell, taking note that the bruises are starting to heal on his friend’s face.

“He walked by a minute ago, heard him tell Grayson he wanted  to make a call.”

“Shit. Okay, thanks.” Mickey wraps the metal door frame twice as usual before pushing off of it.

Enzo stops him, “Mickey, you okay? Lookin’ a little weird? Is that a smile on your face?”

Mickey’s tongue toys with the inside of his cheek, debating if he should confide in his neighbour.

Fuck it.

“Hooked up with Ian.” Mickey’s eyes fall to the ground and he can feel the smile spread across his face, cheeks plump red apples. A reminder from being passionately throttled just moments ago.

“Shut the fuck up!” Enzo gasps, hopping to the floor. “Who instigated what?”

“He did. Was fuckin’ fantastic, man.”

“You guys talk? Did you tell him everything?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“So this mean you’re back together?”

“I don’t know. All I know is I have him here and I ain’t letting go so easily this time.” Mickey stops as he sees Ian climb the stairs, and he can’t help taking in the wonderful view for the first time since he’s been in this shithole. 

                                                                                               ✱

“Hey.” Ian leans on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, smiling.

“Hey.” Mickey responds, smiling equally as big. “You talk to Lip?”

“How’d you know?”

“Was always what you did at home. If you had news, you had to tell your brother right away.” Mickey places his toiletry bag on the floor before he slides onto his bunk, feet hanging over the edge. Barely.

Ian climbs into the bunk on his hands and knees, crawling closer to Mickey. “You always did have a good memory.” He kisses Mickey’s lips, swiftly before sitting next to him. “Simmons chew your ass out?”

“Got a mouth full of jizz if he did.” Mickey jokes and sees that Ian is not laughing. “Nah man. He’s cool. Probably just jealous once he caught sight of what you were packin’.”

Ian rolls his eyes, as he braces his back against the cool cement, stretches his own legs out, which is considerably farther than Mickey’s and pulls the man beside him with the raven hair to lay upon his lap. 

Mickey complies willingly, resting his head on thick thighs that smell of sex since Ian was not allowed to properly clean after.

Ian begins to play with Mickey’s hair like old times, smoothing it down and back. It calms him and Ian knows as chill and relaxed as the older man appears, he is shaking on the inside.

They continue to talk through the night, agreeing on certain points, disagreeing on others, but ultimately always coming back to a point where they meet in the middle. They fuck in between, exploring one another’s body as if for the first time. It’s passionate for the most part, Ian slowing down having rid himself of the anger behind his tirade earlier. 

Instead Ian allows Mickey to come at his leisure, when his body has had enough, it naturally surrenders to the redhead’s rhythmical touch, cum flowing freely from his cock several times over the course of the night. 

Luckily they are not interrupted, not even when the guards pop their head in for cell checks. Mickey had hung a sheet for their privacy, and it was respected, just a show of hands was warranted, to which both men complied.

When morning peaks its weary head through the tiny window in the cell, Ian is the first to wake. He fears his eyes are lying to him with Mickey’s sweet face beside his, but still asleep. He’s angelic, softer appearing than he was when Ian first arrived. 

Ian keeps still for fear of waking his sleeping beauty, relishing at the thoughts of last night. The way they communicated with their words and their body gave Ian the hope that he had been searching for, the answers he had been probing for ever since discovering Mickey’s presence behind these bars with him.

He brushes the stray hair from Mickey’s forehead with a delicate touch. He knows his lover won’t wake, he was always dead to the world after Ian laid it to him as well as he did the night before. 

Their talks were good, productive and Ian was at the peak of optimism when they had finally succumbed to slumber and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

                                                                                                ✱

The days slip into weeks, but the newly reunited couple could not tell you what day of the week it was on any given day, even if they wanted to. The men had fallen back into the ease of loving one another as if tragedy hadn’t laid at their feet mere days ago.

In that time, Mickey had also taken the time to properly introduce Ian to Enzo, who promptly apologized for his irrational reaction to being friends with Mickey. It was still too early to laugh about the incident, but Enzo reassured the redhead there was no love lost between them.

Domesticity was the next to settle in, the men greeting each other before and after their shifts in different departments. Mickey maintains his reign as the laundry king and Ian is lucky enough to be asked to work in the infirmary, giving him a sense of direction that he found may be helpful once on the outside again.

In the evening, after their shifts finish, and they would be too tired to otherwise care, they manage to meet up for dinner in the common area, pretending they are at a different restaurant each night, depending on the slop provided. It becomes an escape, a way to normalize their relationship in a not so normal environment. 

After dinner and their bedtime routine, they spend their nights discussing the apartment they will share, what kind of furniture they will get and what kind of jobs they want to pursue once free. Those conversations are always followed by love making that has blossomed since that mind-blowing night in the shower. 

They never fall asleep without saying I love you and kissing one another as if it will be the last time. Whether that be intentional or not, it was part of their ritual now and neither of them would change a single thing about it.

And even though things have been tough the past few months with Ian hating being locked up more than Mickey did, they found ways to make life better for themselves in the time they have left until their release. 

It isn’t until six months into his sentence, a year for Mickey, Simmons arrives at their cell with mail in hand for both he and Mickey. Nothing abnormal about that until Ian opens the envelope and begins to read.

Ian holds the letter with shaky hands. “What the fuck?” 

“I was about to say the same thing.” Mickey also appears to be holding a similar piece of paper, the creases in his forehead displaying apparent disbelief.

They exchange papers and both read expeditiously.

To their surprise, they are both being paroled at the same time, days in between, but still, despite their vastly different sentences, it is a decision that defies logic. A stroke of unexpected mercy, or perhaps a clerical error. But neither Ian nor Mickey care to question it as they hold the other’s parole letters. 

Freedom is within their grasp, and they will seize it with both hands.

                                                                                                         ✱

Ian steps out of the prison gates a few months later on a hot day in July, the sun casting long shadows behind him. He pauses for a moment, taking in the world beyond the walls that have confined him for so long. Breathing in the air that somehow smells different on this side of the gate.

“Someone call a taxi?” The brunet standing in the shadows asks, raising his sunglasses off his eyes.

Ian turns to see Mickey, a smile playing at the corners of his lips and drops the plastic bag that holds his personal belongings, scooping Mickey up and off of his feet. Their lips colliding, parting instantly, needing to be as close as possible at that moment.

“Hi.” Ian puts Mickey back to the ground, their lips barely parting.

“Hi. Miss me?” Mickey asks, squinting as he looks up at him.

“You have no idea.” One more quick peck, before rushing back to get his bag. “Enzo says hey by the way.”

“Enzo, poor fucker. Hopefully he gets out soon too.” 

"This is it," Ian says, his voice soft yet filled with a sense of wonder once they embrace each other again. "Damn, Mick. We're finally out.”

Mickey nods, his usually guarded expression softened by the weight of the moment. "Fuck, Gallagher, no more looking over our shoulders,” he sighs loudly, “no more fuckin’ cages. Just you and me."

“You and me.” Ian repeats with another soft smile as they separate and head towards the car, each step feeling lighter than the last. He reaches out, his fingers intertwining with Mickey's. And he can’t help but think that it feels natural, like coming home.

"What now?" Ian asks, glancing sideways at Mickey with a smirk.

Mickey chuckles, the sound rich and genuine. "Whatever you wanna do, I’m down. Maybe get out of the city, go somewhere quiet. Maybe open up a little bar or like a fuckin’ diner like we talked about. Something we can call our own. Just us."

Ian's eyes light up. "A bar sounds perfect. A place where we can just be ourselves, no pretense, no bullshit. I can see it —'Mickey’s' right?"

Mickey squeezes Ian's hand, his heart swelling with the possibilities that lie before them. "Yeah, whatever you wanna call it, Gallagher. And maybe we can have a small apartment above it, just us and maybe a dog."

"A dog?" Ian laughs. “Really? Mickey Milkovich wants to become a fur parent?”

"Yeah, but not like a tiny one, I want a big ass fuckin’ dog, like a German Shepherd or some shit."

“I could picture you with a small dog, too.” Ian chuckles, his voice clearly teasing. “Like a teeny tiny chihuahua or a dachshund or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, Gallagher.” Mickey huffs, side-eyeing his lover, his smile giving away his true feelings.

As they walk, the prison fades into the distance, becoming just another chapter in their story. A chapter they can close now. Ahead of them lies a future they are ready to embrace, hand in hand. Together.

"To our new beginning," Ian says, lifting Mickey's hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his tattooed knuckles.

"To our new beginning," Mickey echoes, his voice filled with conviction as he smiles at Ian.

Together, they step into the light, leaving the shadows of their past behind. The world is theirs, Ian’s thinks, and they are ready to claim it. Together.

Even though they were met with the most unfortunate circumstances, they will still get their happily ever after. Ian is sure of it. And as he looks at Mickey’s lit up face, he knows the other man is, too.