Ian didn't know what time it was, didn't really care. He was done caring about anything.
He was sitting on the cluttered Gallagher porch, slumped dejectedly against the railing, the metal digging harshly into his back, but he didn't really feel it.
He stared blankly into the night, not really seeing. His cheap-vodka buzz had finally began to wear off, his tears had long since subsided, though his eyes still felt wet and itchy and his face felt sticky.
After Lip's futile attempts to try to get him to come inside, his older brother had finally given up and the Gallagher house was now still, dark, and quiet. Much like his heart.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he slowly dragged his eyes up, not knowing how he felt about what he was seeing.
Mickey was walking towards him, still dressed in his tux. His bow tie had been discarded somewhere and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He looked so incredibly hot and the aching in Ian's heart only grew more intense.
He tore his eyes away and stiffened his jaw, not wanting Mickey to see just how dead he felt inside.
Mickey was standing outside of the fence now, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face shadowed by the street lights.
"I was hoping you'd be waiting for me back at the hall...ready for round two." There was a tint of humor in Mickey's voice, almost like he didn't give two shits that he had shattered someone's heart just hours ago.
Ian still refused to look at him. He refused to give into him. He wasn't doing it anymore. All it ever left him was hurt and empty and wanting more.
Silence ensued before Mickey sighed. "Look, Gallagher, like I said-just because I'm married now doesn't mean we can't fu-"
"I can't believe you really went through with it, Mickey," Ian finally said, his scratchy voice barely above a whisper. Against his better judgment, he lifted his wet eyes and met Mickey's dark ones. "I can't believe you married that whore."
Mickey stared back at him, his shoulders slumping. "Look, Ian-"
"Don't," Ian said, scrunching up his face and holding up a hand. "Just don't. I don't want to fucking hear it."
Mickey licked his lips and shuffled a bit before pulling open the gate and heading towards the distraught redhead.
"Fucking leave!" Ian yelled, causing Mickey to halt in his steps. "Why are you even here, Mick? You think you can marry that commie skank and then come fuck me like nothing' changed? Forget it. We're done. You made your choice."
Mickey just stared at him, his eyes showing emotion but, of course, he said nothing.
"Did I mean anything to you at all? Or was I just a fuck buddy?" Ian asked, his voice breaking. He wanted to hit the other man and kiss him in equal measure. It was always like that. His love for him was toxic and he was definitely fucking paying for it now.
"I never-I never fucking promised you anything, Gallagher."
Ian let out a soft sarcastic laugh and shook his head. "Right."
"I-"
"I guess I just made it all up in my head, huh? The looks you always gave me? The way you moaned my name when I fucked you? That night when we watched movies at your house. You were happy, Mickey...before all this shit with your dad, you were happy!"
"I told you, Gallagher, none of this is fucking easy for me. I didn't have a choice-"
"You had a choice!" Ian yelled, not caring if it was midnight or three in the fucking morning. "You had a choice, Mickey! You made it, so leave me the hell alone!" He was crying now, against his better judgment, and he wanted to hit Mickey more than ever. He hung his head as his shoulders shook. "Just leave me alone," he muttered.
"I-I don't know what you want me to fucking say here, Ian," Mickey finally said, looking defeated.
"What else is fucking new," Ian mumbled, angrily swiping at his cheek with the back of his hand. "Just go, Mickey," he whispered. "Go."
Mickey only walked closer and sat down next to him.
Ian closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Mickey reaching inside of his pocket and lighting a cigarette.
"In a different fucking world," Mickey finally spoke, his voice edged with emotion. "In a different world, I probably would have chosen differently."
Ian let out a watery sigh, Mickey's words not bringing him any solace.
"But we don't live in a perfect world, Gallagher. We live in this world, and, in this world, I can't-"
"Don't."
"I'm being fucking realistic here," Mickey exclaimed. "What, you thought I was going to choose you and everything would be fucking sunshine and roses? That we'd hold hands and skip down the fucking sidewalk?"
"Fuck you," Ian said, finally standing up on wobbly legs, intent on going inside and shutting the door, shutting Mickey Milkovich out forever, no matter how much it hurt. Before he could get his footing, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and he was stumbling back down.
Before he could fully grasp what was happening, Mickey's forehead was pressed against his, his tattooed hands engulfing his face, his lit cigarette now burning at their feet.
Mickey's breathing was rapid as they touched foreheads, their breath mingling between them. "We can't always get what we want, Gallagher," he finally said after a long pause. "That's not how life is. That's not how my life is. Nothing is ever easy and it's never going to be for me. I've accepted that fact a long time ago. I've learned not to want something, to not wish for something."
Ian let out an unsteady breath, pressing his forehead even closer, craving the other boy's contact no matter how mad he was at him.
"You need to learn how to do that too."
Ian pulled back and stared into Mickey's eyes. "Just tell me one thing, Mickey. Just one thing and I promise...I'll leave you alone. You won't ever have to see me again. You can go on and live your happy married life with your new wife and baby and I'll leave you the fuck alone...once and for all."
"Ian," Mickey sighed.
"Did you ever, even for a second, think that you could love me?"
Mickey stared back at him, his adam's apple bobbing. "I'm not answering that."
"Cut the shit, Mickey," Ian exclaimed. "If there was such a thing as a perfect world and you were able to love me, would you?"
Mickey stared back at Ian, his eyes slowly moving back and forth as the question hung between them. He didn't say anything, just leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Ian's.
Ian froze against the unexpected action before slowly melting into the kiss. He fisted the collar of Mickey's tux jacket, wanting to make the kiss last as long as he could.
Mickey kissed him back just as slowly, allowed Ian to slip his tongue in to glide against his own. He dug his hands into the denim of Ian's jacket, not wanting to let go just yet, but knowing he had to. He was the first to pull away.
Ian turned away and ran a hand over his head, avoiding Mickey's eyes at all cost. He knew that kiss was probably the only answer he was ever going to get.
"It's over, Mickey," Ian finally said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. "This can't happen anymore. You're married now and I-I have to move on. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep waiting for you to want to be with me because I know it's never going to fucking happen."
"Ian-"
"I won't be your mistress, Mickey," Ian stated firmly, still avoiding Mickey's eyes. "I would have been anything else for you, but I won't be that."
Mickey watched him a few heartbeats before slowly standing up.
"Go home to your wife," Ian whispered.
Mickey shoved his hands into his pockets and began his descent down the steps. He made it to the gate and then froze, his back to Ian. "This is exactly why I don't allow myself to hope and dream and wish for things," he said, his voice sounding unusually soft. "It always ends like this."
Ian watched as Mickey walked through the gate and down the sidewalk and finally out of view. He rested his head back and closed his eyes, allowing his tears to fall again just when he thought he was all out of them.
He knew staying away from Mickey was going to be hard and he knew he couldn't do that here. He had to figure something out, he had to get away. If he didn't, he only knew he'd end up right back where he had started with Mickey Milkovich...and he had a feeling that would always be nowhere.
Mickey rounded the corner and slumped back against a brick wall, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He sucked in a sharp breath and wiped at his eye, trying to collect himself before going home to the fake new life he was building for himself. The life he never wanted but the only life he could have.