Mickey sat on his bed, smoking a cigarette for what seemed like hours. He didn't move from the bed when Mandy came back in, clearly high from the nitrous. He had held his breath, wondering if Ian was with her, but realized he wasn't when she stumbled into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. He didn't move when Svetlana came in, stripping off her clothes, unfazed at the nudity. He didn't move when the sun set and the only light in his room came from the hallway.
He sat there, smoking an entire carton of cigarettes, letting himself think of the one person who clouded his thoughts. Every now and then his eyes would fall onto the cheap gold band Terry bought for the wedding and his mind would flashback to the disappointment in Ian's eyes right after the ceremony ended. He had to resist the bile that threatened to come up at the memory.
He knew what Ian wanted from him. It would be quite easy, really, to just say the words and then things would go back to normal. He wasn't sure why he couldn't do it, why every time he opened his mouth to say, "yes, I fucking care," his voice would stop working. Mickey hated him. He hated the way Ian clouded his judgment, he hated the way Ian would caress his back as he fucked him, the way Ian would push his forehead into Mickey's back, groaning loudly as he came. He hated the way Ian's hand felt on his cock, the way he would bit into Mickey's shoulder whenever there was a need to be quiet. Most of all, he hated the way Ian made him feel. It was never supposed to be more than a quick bang, just a way to get off. But somewhere along the way, that persistent little fuck wormed his way into the depths of his heart. Some how, some way, Ian loved him and wanted to be with him. And god damn it, Mickey wanted that too.
But what did it matter? Ian left. He left to a place where there were opportunities for him to be the god damn hero Mickey knew he could be. Ian was clearly moving on and giving him the space to do the same. He should be grateful, really. He wouldn't have to see his smug face every day. He wouldn't have to worry about his father catching them together again. He would finally, once and for all, be rid of the Gallaghers. He was quite happy at that last thought.
He stood up then, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head (that suspiciously sounded like Ian) that was yelling at him, telling him Ian was still here, that he wouldn't be gone until the morning. That there was still an opportunity to tell Ian everything he deserved to hear, to stop him from making the biggest fucking mistake of his life. But Ian walked away from him, and there was no way in hell Mickey was going to go chase after him, no matter how badly he might want it.
He walked into the hallway, stretching out his back, stiff from the hours sitting on the bed. There would be no more thoughts of Ian, he told himself. This is how things are supposed to be. There's no point dwelling on it. He's married now, and like it or not, he's going to try and make it work.
Feeling rejuvenated, he grabbed a beer out of the kitchen, drinking until Ian was no longer in his mind.