Mickey celebrated his 21st birthday the same way everyone in his family did-by getting completely shit-faced with hard liquor and drugs.
His brother had even helped him out by getting him a few joints and a bottle of Jack.
There was a bottle of vodka already in the freezer that he had been saving for himself, and a six pack of beer. He didn't even go out. He just sat in his bedroom, getting wasted, by himself.
It was only 8 pm by the time Mickey was completely fucked up.
He then did what he always did when he was high enough to think about it. He went and reread the last text messages that Ian had sent to him.
Mickey was generally able to function. He was able to go to work, he was able to talk to Mandy, he was able to play videogames, and he was even able to look after his kid.
Though deep down inside, he always had that broken feeling.
He could never understand why he still thought about that one ginger kid he used to fuck every once in a while, but then it was like his subconscious would scold him. Ian was more than that. Maybe not so much in the beginning, but by the time he'd gone off to the army, Mickey knew he'd left some kind internal scar on him. Not to mention the crescent-shaped scar that was still on his inner thigh.
The last thing Ian had texted him was the morning before the robbery. It had just been about making sure his cousin could get the van, and to meet him under the El.
He remembered how Iggy had made Ian drive so he wouldn't have to, and Ian hadn't argued after Mickey gave him a look.
Though, he barely remembered anything from that day besides getting shot in the ass, and kissing Gallagher for the first time.
He even remembered his own stupid giggle once he got back into the house. He was still giddy up until he got shot, but was able to compose himself enough so his brother and cousin wouldn't notice.
There weren't many texts between that, and the time he got out of juvie.
He couldn't help but smile when he scrolled up and saw the only nude pic Gallagher had ever sent him.
Mickey had been bored and was wondering if Ian would do it, so he texted him.
Send me a dick pic.
Ian had replied with, what? ? ?
Mickey hadn't wanted to explain himself, so he said, just do it.
Why?
Why the fuck not?
…just my dick?
don't care, just make sure I can see ur dick.
…fine
About five minutes later Mickey received a pic of Ian lying on his bed, topless, with his throbbing erection sticking out of the waistband of his boxers. It was taken from a tilted upward angle, so Mickey got a good view of his mouth, chin, and chest.
After about ten minutes of using the picture to his advantage, Ian texted him again.
Well?
Well what? u want some fucking feedback?
It wouldn't hurt…
Do u need me to tell u what im doing with the pic?
or u could send a pic of what ur doing
Mickey laughed now, three years after this conversation. It was more of a bitter laugh. It was rare for him and Gallagher to get these little moments.
Moments where it was just the two of them, and he didn't worry about anyone else because they just weren't in on it. He didn't have to try and figure out the confusing feelings he had toward Gallagher, because all he needed to know was that he liked fucking him, and he liked having him around.
As he looked at the picture now, he got an overwhelming feeling of regret that he never quite appreciated Ian's face as much as he could have. If he was being honest with himself, Ian had the nicest face of anyone he knew.
There were several parts of Ian that Mickey never fully appreciated. He'd spent several nights just wondering if that could've made the difference. If that could've made him stay.
Suddenly there was an incoming call on his phone. It was a number he didn't recognize. He thought about ignoring it, but his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own as they answered it.
"Yeah?" he said shortly, annoyed with whoever interrupted his quiet moment of self-hatred and regret.
"Hey Mick. Surprised you still have the same number."
Mickey's voice caught in his throat for a moment before he was able to answer. "Gallagher?"
"Yeah…"
Mickey didn't say anything. He felt like he was talking to a ghost.
"Um, so I just called to wish you a happy twenty-first birthday," Ian continued, "I mean, I know it's been a while…"
Mickey snorted. That was an understatement.
"I miss you."
Ian said the last part so quietly, Mickey almost missed it.
He suddenly wanted to tell Gallagher to fuck off, tell him that he left, and that he had a lot of nerve calling him after three years. But then it hit him.
Gallagher had called him. He missed Mickey. Obviously he wanted more than just to wish Mickey a happy birthday, or else he wouldn't have put in the effort. He figured he shouldn't fuck it up again.
Mickey sighed into the phone. "Yeah."
It wasn't much but Gallagher would understand. I miss you too.
"How've you been?"
Mickey just grunted.
"We should get together sometime."
Mickey hesitated. Ian was expecting him to just meet up with him after three years of being completely ignored? Without so much as an apology?
"Ian-" He started.
"Look-just hear me out, okay?" Ian interrupted, "I know, Mick. It's been years, I mean, you probably haven't even thought about me for a while, but, fuck, Mickey I haven't stopped thinking about you. I've been… you know, meaning to call you, and I figured-since it's your birthday-I don't know…"
Mickey bit his lip, and realized tears had started forming in his eyes. Fuck.
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," Ian practically whispered.
Mickey cleared his throat.
"Yeah, we should meet up."