Ian should hate Mickey. He shouldn't even be able to fuckin' stand him. He was always so dirty, rude, and violent. Mickey hated everything. There was no reason for Ian to even associate with Mickey. They were polar opposites almost. He shouldn't have to take the bullshit Mickey throws at him. He shouldn't have to deal with him locking himself in the closet so far that he couldn't even admit it to himself. He shouldn't have to deal with getting a tooth kicked out of his fucking gums.
He knew he would though. He knows that he'll love him regardless and he knows that whether or not Mickey would admit it to Ian that he felt the same way.
He knew that no matter what they did to each other - because Ian was in the wrong too and he knew it - they would end up crawling back to each other with an unspoken, but mutually understood, apology. He knew it wasn't healthy. But Ian knew that he was the only thing even semi-close to healthy about Mickey's life and considering their circumstances that was sad as shit.
He couldn't remember the last time he had fuckin' cried so hard. Teared up a little, yeah, but actual tears busting out of his face? No recollection. He hated that he was going to remember this for a very very long time. He hated that he would remember that Mickey God Damn Milkovich was the one to cause the first time he cried in years.
He knew it wasn't his story to tell, but he wanted to stand on his roof and yell about everything wrong about Mickey. He wanted to shout his dirty little habits and how much of a needy little thing he was. He wanted everyone to know that Mickey was his, and his alone. Because Ian was just as needy as Mickey. Easily.
He knew that nobody gave a shit that he wasn't at dinner today. He could hear them laughing down stairs. He could hear Fiona ask about Jimmy. He didn't hear one word about himself just as he expected. Hours had passed and nobody looked or even asked about him. He knew he wouldn't tell anybody what was wrong, but it would have been nice for someone to be concerned about him.
Nobody would really give a shit until he was in the army with the highest risk of being shot in the face or being blown up by a roadside bomb. But until then, really, who the fuck even was he? Just some ratty little kid from the South side of Chicago who nobody gave not one single shit about.
He rubbed his face and immediately regretted it and glanced over at the clock. 11:11 pm. He laughed at the thought he just had. It was childish and completely stupid.
But fuck it. By the time the minute had passed he had wished for a few things. He deserved the false hope at the very least.
He wished that it wasn't so hard to be his self where he was. He wished he didn't have to pretend everyday. He wished that Mickey wouldn't get fucking married. He wished that Mickey and he could be able to admit that, as gay as it sounded, that they were meant for each other. He wished that his life was normal and happy.
But he knew none of those could come true and fuck if he was going to dwell on it. He threw himself on his stomach, his face still on the bag of peas and tried to go to sleep.
Mickey went home feeling like shit. He hated everything about his life. He hated his father. He hated his brothers. He hated the fact that Mandy just ran some bitch over for something that was probably trivial. He hated that his Gallagher knew everything about Mickey without them even much having to speak. He hated that Ian kept touching him when he couldn't handle touch right now. He hated how his Gallagher had looked so stupidly broken. He hated that he was gay and loved Ian Gallagher. He hated that he didn't feel any better.
Mickey hated that he walked away with no bruises of his own. Gallagher could fight. Hell, he was just as much as a scrapper as Mickey was, but he didn't even try to land a hit. He could take Mickey down in a heart beat, but he didn't. That just pissed Mickey off. It made his skin itch.
Mickey even hated being in his own room at the moment. There was nothing there for him. He didn't give a fuck about anything in there. Not his drawings, not his posters, not the stash he hid behind his dresser, not the box under his bed that held everything he had of his mother. What had she ever done for him anyways? He couldn't even remember anything about her besides the fact that she was blonde.
He just keeps on thinking that maybe he should follow in his moms footsteps though. She had set a gold standard to her youngest son. Kill yourself before the shit gets too tough. It seemed smart to Mickey. The only reason he hadn't done it before was because he felt like he was the sole man in Mandy's life that could protect her, but who the fuck was he kidding? She could obviously take care of herself.
The reason lately though was because for once he was genuinely happy for once in the shit hole. His Gallagher knew how to make him happy. Mickey didn't want to admit it to him though. It seemed too weird. Gallagher could probably already tell though.
But now that Mickey had busted his face up he was sure Ian would hate him. He wouldn't want to be around Mickey. So, really what does he even have in this shitty shitty life?
He didn't want a to come home from work to a beautiful girl and kids that looked like him that got excited when they saw their daddy. He knew he should though. Because that was what was accepted. He didn't want a reminder that he had fucked up for the rest of his life.
Hell, was it too much to ask to just drink himself to death without him actually getting his hands dirty? He didn't want to be bloody if he died. That was the only thing he wanted. To not be bloody.
He also knew though that he was too much of a pussy to kill himself. The thought terrified him.
He didn't want to sit through his own little introspection just to tell himself that he was more fucked up than what he had thought before. He was tired of being a fuck up in general.
He wanted to be gone. He didn't understand why that was so hard. He'd been putting himself in dangerous situations since he was seven for a reason. He didn't understand why he had lived ten extra years because it wasn't his intention.
He wanted to lay down next to Ian. Not by himself. He wanted his ginger Gallagher. That wasn't an especially difficult request of life either, but he wasn't going to get it. Because he had fucked up exponentially.
He glanced at the clock beside him and scowled at the thought in his stupid little mind. Fuckin'11:11 pm. It was stupid and he couldn't believe his own childishness.
But fuck it. By the time the minute had passed he had wished for a few things. He deserved the false hope at the very least.
He wished that life was a little easier. He wished that the stupid bitch had a miscarriage. He wished he hadn't fucked him and Gallagher's relationship up irrepairably. He wished that he could solve all of Mandy's fuckin' problems. He wished he and Gallagher could run away and never look the fuck back.
He kept on scowling, but he was tired of dealing with himself for tonight. He drank half a bottle of some off brand NyQuil and drifted off to sleep.