(sorry for the english mistakes you can still find) hope you enjoy it anyway :)
Mickey wasn't answering his phone and Ian was feeling miserable. He wanted to hear Mickey's voice, to see his face and to be able to touch him, to tell him the diagnosis was bullshit and that he shouldn't believe any of it. But he didn't wait long enough to leave a voicemail. He didn't want to hear a recording, he wanted Mickey, the real thing standing in front of him, hanging out with him like they used to. But he was alone, curled up in his bed, looking anxiously at his phone, waiting for the name "Mick" to appear on the screen.
Until a few days ago, he also had a goofy selfie of Mickey to go along with the name, but he had removed it during his road trip with Yevgeny because the picture was making him feel guilty for no reason. He wanted to see Mickey, to see his smile, his real one. Not the forced one he had been given at the psych ward. He knew what Mickey's real smile was like, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Suddenly, he stood up straight as he thought he had heard a noise in the room. He took a look around, no one was there, not even Carl, not even Liam, when all he needed was to hug and be hugged back. It took him a few minutes to be assured that there really was no one else but him in the bedroom. You're not crazy, he thought.
He looked at his phone, still no reply from Mickey. He had hesitated to call Svetlana to check if she was still at the Milkoviches', but also to know if Yevgeny was all right. (He was missing the baby just as much as the father of said baby) But he was pretty sure all she would reply to him would either be silence or a bunch of Russian insults.
There was still that sort of red bubble right next to the phone icon on his screen; it was saying '60'. The 60 calls he had ignored during his road trip. He hadn't checked them before, mostly because he wasn't unsure as to how it would make him feel. But at the moment, he had nothing better to do, so he just pressed his finger, getting ready after taking a long breath.
He took a look at the calls. Half were coming from his siblings, all of them, the other half was just Mickey. Mickey who was just calling, leaving no voicemails whatsoever, being probably to pissed at Ian to even consider speaking to him. But no, Ian was wrong. In the list of voicemails, between Lip's and Fiona's, there was one coming from Mick. Just one. But it was the only message he wanted to listen to. So he pressed play.
"Alright shithead" – even though Mickey sounded worried as fuck, Ian couldn't help but smile just a little at the sound of his voice.
"It's like the 200th time I'm calling you and you're not picking up I'm starting to get fucking homicidal. Call me the fuck back Ian." – Now I'm calling you and you're the one who's not picking up …
"I'm worried about you. I love you." – If there was one thing Ian wasn't expecting to hear from Mickey, ever, that was it. Mickey wasn't good with words, or expressing his feelings and emotions. Ian knew it, and throughout the years of their chaotic relationship, he had accepted it. Besides, he was fully aware of the fact that Mickey loved him. He had seen his in his eyes, felt it in the softness of his hands on his skin … But to hear it, was a complete different thing.
As his heart had obviously forgotten how to normally beat, he suddenly felt the need to rush to the Milkoviches house and hold Mickey tight, and tell him that he was here, that he was never going anywhere without him ever again, that he loved him too, so fucking much.
But before jumping out of his bed, he took a look around. Mickey wasn't there. If you love me, why would you leave me? He wondered, putting his phone on his nightstand and burying his face in his pillow.