After kissing for a while and getting reacquainted with each other's mouths, Mickey crawled out of bed, grabbed his pack of smokes, and resettled next to Ian. As they both relaxed on their backs, they stared up at the water-stained ceiling and passed a cigarette back and forth between them.

Mickey had a feeling that Ian wanted to take their make-out session further and, truth be told, so did he, but he'd meant it when he said he wanted to take shit slow. As much as he wanted to touch, explore, and experiment with Ian, everything was still so fucking new to him. He wanted to get used to the kissing first before dicks and assholes got involved. He wasn't ready to go that far yet (aside from that incredible fucking blowjob).

Ian turned his head and watched as Mickey dragged on his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing when he blew out a series of perfect smoke rings. He found the entire thing sexy and did all he could not jump him. He knew Mickey didn't want to label or rush into anything; he was fine with that. Kissing and giving Mickey the occasional blowjob would be enough. He'd take whatever Mickey would give him.

"So, what're we gonna do for the rest of the money?" Ian asked, deciding to keep the conversation casual.

Mickey took another drag before passing the cigarette to Ian. On his exhale, he said, "Fuck if I know, man. All I know is you're not puttin' yourself out there like that again. It's too fuckin' risky."

Ian smiled, liking how protective Mickey seemed to be over him. After giving the cigarette back to Mickey, he turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. He reached over towards the hand splayed across Mickey's stomach and laced his fingers through his. It was a brave move, and he half-expected Mickey to pull his hand away, but he didn't. "We still need two thousand dollars," he continued. "We have to think of something."

"No, I'll think of something," Mickey corrected, glancing at him sideways, looking at him as if he was a moron. "Let me worry about it."

"Right, I forgot. You're the guy with all the plans," Ian teased.

Mickey smirked at him as he took another hit of the cigarette. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"I know I am," Ian said. "I think you know it, too."

Mickey didn't refute it as he blew more rings towards the ceiling.

Ian continued to watch him, loving everything about Mickey Milkovich's face: every slope, line, curve, and flaw. He rubbed his thumb over the 'U' tattoo on the finger of the hand he was holding. "Do you ever feel like we've known each other our whole lives?"

Mickey looked at him fully. He wasn't used to having deep, meaningful conversations. He would rather scoop his eyeballs out with a fucking spoon than share his thoughts and feelings with people, but somehow, with Ian, he didn't mind so much.

Ian squeezed Mickey's hand before continuing, "I know we've only been in each other's lives for a little over a week, but it feels like I've known you forever. Ya know what I mean?"

"You gettin' fuckin' schmaltzy on me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, secretly admiring Ian's naivety. A part of him was envious, having never had the chance to have that kind of outlook on life growing up the way he did, with the father he had. He wondered if Ian would still feel that positive about life or love after the whole fucked-up situation with his dad was over. It made him sad to think Ian wouldn't. He squeezed Ian's hand back.

"Sorry," Ian said, dropping his head with a sigh. "I just feel this connection with you. It's weird. I can't explain it."

Mickey wanted to tell him that, yes -for some strange fucking reason he couldn't even begin to understand- he felt that connection too, but he didn't. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground as it was. He didn't want to give Ian any false hope about their fucked-up situation.

When Ian realized Mickey wouldn't add more to the conversation, he turned and relaxed on his back with a sigh, accepting the cigarette Mickey held out to him. He stared up at the ceiling and attempted his own half-assed smoke rings.

Against his better judgment, Mickey watched him fail miserably and burst into laughter. "You fuckin' suck."

Ian looked at him and grinned, the kind that stretched across his face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners; it was Mickey's favorite smile of his.

Not able to help it, Mickey propped up on his elbow and leaned down, pressing his lips against Ian's. No tongue, nothing sexual, only a soft sweet kiss that took even him by surprise. When he pulled back and saw the way Ian was looking up at him, his walls immediately went back up. He pulled away to sit up. "I'm fuckin' starving," he muttered, flinging the covers away from his body and getting out of bed.

"Me too," Ian said, drumming his fingers on his stomach where his shirt rode up, exposing skin that Mickey desperately tried not to look at.

Mickey picked up his phone and rubbed nervously at his mouth. "I'm gonna order a pizza. What d'you want on it?"

"Doesn't matter, I'm not picky," Ian said. "Just no fuckin' anchovies."

Mickey called and placed an order for a large pepperoni and mushroom pie before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ian maneuvered his way over and pressed a warm kiss between Mickey's shoulder blades. He then slowly kissed his way down Mickey's spine, bending down until he was close to the waistband of his sweats.

Mickey stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna go take a quick shower before pickin' up the pizza."

Ian stared at the closed door for a few beats before falling back against the mattress with a sigh. "Fuckin' tease!" A grin then bloomed on his face when he heard Mickey's muffled -you're a dick!- behind the door.

After being stuffed to capacity with the pizza, Mickey and Ian sat back against the headboard, a beer in each of their hands as they halfheartedly watched an old sitcom rerun.

"So, uh," Mickey began after a while. "I've been thinkin' of a way to come up with the last two grand."

Ian took a sip of his beer and glanced at Mickey with a quirked brow, unaware that he had been brainstorming, considering all Ian had been thinking about the entire day was fucking Mickey. "Yeah?"

Mickey mindlessly peeled at the label on his beer bottle. "I was thinkin' about maybe hittin' up a convenience store, gettin' it over and done in one fell swoop."

"What?" Ian asked dumbly, bringing the bottle slowly away from his mouth as he tried to wrap his head around what Mickey was saying.

Mickey shrugged as he took another swig. "Yeah, man, I can get a gun from somewhere for cheap. I'm sure I can find some asshole around here sellin' guns outta the back of their van. That won't be a problem."

Ian stared back at him, his heart thumping miserably in his chest. "Mickey, you can't."

Mickey continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I can go tomorrow, get the gun, then wait until late tomorrow night and hit up a store. I can prob'ly clear two thousand easily if I'm lucky."

"No, I… I don't want you to," Ian said, shaking his head and sitting up straight, setting his beer down on the bedside table behind him. "There's gotta be another way, a safer way. What if somethin' goes wrong, and you get caught?"

Mickey looked at him with furrowed brows as if he was a dumb kid. "You fuckin' kidding me right now? You're against breakin' the law now? You realize I've already committed kidnapping, grand theft auto, assault and battery, theft, and blackmail, right?"

"So, what? Why not throw armed robbery into the fuckin' mix?" Ian watched as Mickey placed his beer down hard, causing it to slosh, before getting out of bed. "It doesn't feel right, Mickey. I wouldn't feel right. I can't let you do it."

"The fuck do you mean let me?"

"I don't think—"

"Will you shut the fuck up already?" Mickey snapped, spinning to face him. "Enough with your little kid bullshit, Gallagher. Do you not understand the situation we're in? We need the money."

"Yeah, but we can figure out another way—"

"No fuckin' buts," Mickey interjected. "I'm doin' it. I'm gettin' us outta this mess. We've done enough fuckin' around. I'm done playin' house."

Ian stared back at him, emotionally exhausted from it all. He didn't know how much more of the emotional roller coaster he could take. One minute Mickey wanted him, the next he was yelling at him and treating him like a kid. After a few beats, he asked, "So, there's no changin' your mind about this?"

"I'm doin' it," Mickey said, crossing his arms over his chest. "End of fuckin' story."

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," Ian muttered, turning his eyes back to the TV.

"Now you're fuckin' gettin' it," Mickey spat before walking to the green chair and sitting down.

That time, Ian didn't argue with him about it.