Every day for the next month, everyone took turns with the unconscious Ian. No one spoke of any other decision than waiting for Ian to wake up. Fiona, who'd normally stress over the increasing cost, didn't think twice about it. They all knew that everyone would haul in every dime to see when Ian would open his eyes to the world again.

Mickey refused to leave his side except when the oldest Gallagher and Mandy would force him to go home for a shower. On several occasions, Lip and Mandy would drag the ex-con out of the hospital.

Mickey would spend his time in that same chair, eyes never leaving Gallagher's face. A cigarette would always be lit in his hand, his bottom lip beginning to become sensitive from how much the ex-con rubbed it.

While the others were there, Mickey remained silent, trying to make the red head somehow hear his voiceless pleas. Fiona always brought him food, then had Debbie make sure he'd actually eat it. Carl would slip him beer and talk about how Mickey would be proud at how badly he beat up some kid who'd tried to steal his lunch money.

All the ex-con could do was nod or chew the burgers down.

The TV was always on; Liam would flip through the channels when they were there.

But when they would all go home at the end of the day, leaving Mickey and Ian alone, the ex-con would finally spring to life.

He'd put the TV onto some action channel that played Segal, Van Daam, and Schwartzeneggar movies. Mickey would sit there leaning closer to Ian and talk. He had no fucking idea what he was saying, but shit always found its way out.

At this point, it wasn't like it mattered. Mickey just needed to get it out.

Anything, everything out.

He needed Firecrotch to know every detail of the last year and a half, needed to tell him about what Mickey'd been feeling every day.

Mickey needed to tell him over and over what it felt like to be afraid for his life and afraid for Ian's and Mandy's and even the other Gallagher's now. More and more spewed from him, like how red had always been his favorite color so maybe that was why he wanted Ian in the first place. Or how he loved Jell-O so much because when his mom was alive she'd always buy it when they couldn't afford much else.

The ex-con also told the red head how there were so many lies he wanted to take back, so many mistakes that part of him wished could be undone.

"You did realize I never fucking meant what I said about you being a warm mouth right?" He asked quietly one night. Mickey had smoked through the last of his carton, so now he just memorized the new scars engrained into the ginger's face.

Mickey always woke up to find Gallagher holding his hand, but he refused to let it happen at any point before he was asleep.

The ex-con rubbed his lip, hiding a wince at how it felt recently.

"I was fuckin scared, all right? I told you what would happen if my dad found out. I didn't want to risk it back then. I didn't want to feel like a bitch who listened to its master. I mean, Firecrotch, you know—"Mickey took a deep breath. "You know I'd fuckin do anything for you. I broke into that old guy's place and got shot in the fuckin ass for you. I let that perv touch my ass to get the bullets out!"

He knew there wouldn't be a response, like usual. But it never stopped Mickey from talking this whole time. He was tired of keeping it pent up. He was tired and exhausted and just flat out done with holding back right now. Not while all he could think about is Gallagher never waking up.

"If you'd ever just wake the fuck up, we could leave. Get the fuck out of South Side, out of this fucking city and state. We could go anywhere you wanted. Just not another country, though. I doubt I could get a fuckin passport unless I hired that old fuck from down the block to make a fake one."

Mickey stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

"I mean, road trip sounds fun and all, but I ain't leavin the country. Mandy needs to be able to make a forced drive out to our place. And Fiona needs to be able to bring Debs and Carl and Liam over. Speakin of which, Carl is fucking psychotic. I don't mind or nothin, but still. Sometimes it's fuckin scary."

Sighing, Mickey laid his head down against the bed like he'd routinely done. Closing his eyes, Mickey was about to drift when a sound made them immediately snap wide open.

"Van Day-um…" Ian whispered.

Mickey sat upright, staring at Ian. The red head's eyes slowly fluttered open, and a weak version of his grin spread.

"Shit, Gallagher. It's about time you opened your damn eyes." Mickey was sure the relief was all over his face. He didn't give a shit at the moment, though. Not when he got what he'd been wanting for months.

Ian made an attempt to sit up, but Mickey gently made him stay lying down.

"Well you wouldn't shut up, so I figured it was time to pay attention." He muttered with a small chuckle.

Mickey couldn't help himself but to grin and leap out of the seat, grabbing Ian's face and bringing their lips together. The kiss was soft and gentle, entirely unlike any normal Mickey Milkovich kiss. But this, Ian knew what this one was for. It was like saying "Thank you, I love you, I missed you" all in one go. Ian was obliged to kiss back.

"Don't you fucking leave me again, you hear?" Mickey growled.

"Now why would I want to do that?" Ian nipped the ex-con's lower lip, bringing out a small groan.

"To do a fucking stupid ass idea."

Ian held Mickey's face weakly, temporarily having a loss of strength from being unconscious for a while.

"It'd have to depend."

"On what?"

"On if you actually love me like you said."

Mickey pulled back and stared at the red head. "How many times to do I have to tell you not to say something so fuckin stupid?"

The ex-con gave Ian another kiss before whispering. "I fuckin love you. Happy Firecrotch?"

"Very." Ian replied, that shit eating grin appearing on his face.