It was like a flashback, Mickey standing in front of Ian, in wifebeater and sweats, rubbing his eyes sleepily as if he'd just been disturbed.

"Gallagher?"

The familiarity of the scene threw Ian for a loop. He gaped.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?" Mickey pressed.

Ian's whole mouth felt dry, and his tongue shot out to moisten his lips. He noticed Mickey's eyes flicker towards the movement, and this made him suddenly, not wholly irrationally angry. He finally found his voice.

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here'? What the fuck are you doing here? In my brother's house?" He leaned forward and started to push the door open, looking past Mickey into the house.

"Your brother's not here," Mickey said, not sure whether to move out of the way or stop Ian from forcing his way inside.

Ian glared around the room he could see, "Well where is he? What the fuck is going on, Mickey?"

The sound of Mickey's name on Ian's lips seemed to stop them both short. Ian hadn't spoken it aloud in a long time and as he did so, his voice faltered ever so slightly. And at the same time, Mickey dropped his hold on the door, letting it fall open. Ian caught himself on the frame so as not to trip over the threshold.

"I guess you'd better come in." Mickey almost sighed, stepping away from the doorway and rubbing the corner of his mouth with his thumb - a gesture so familiar that it made Ian's head hurt. Some things really didn't change.

Ian stepped past Mickey into what appeared to be Lip's living room. It was pretty and neat - must be a woman's touch, Ian thought to himself, although there were beer cans sitting around and the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

"You want a beer?" Mickey asked.

Ian couldn't even look up. The last thoughts he'd had about Mickey were about them fucking, and the last real time they'd seen each other was too painful to even think about. To say he was confused was a bit of an understatement. He shook his head. "Could use a cigarette though."

Mickey pointed, "There's some on the table."

Ian took one from the packet and lit it, taking deep, slow drags. After a few moments, he lifted his head slightly, still not looking at Mickey's face, but instead focussing on the tattooed knuckles that were gripping a can at his eye level.

"U-UP"

He remembered seeing those letters in many places - roaming over his body, wrapped around his cock, and once, backwards, almost lovingly caressing his head as he licked and sucked Mickey's dick. Ian had been peering at their reflection in the shelves in the stockroom out of the corner of his eye. Mickey hadn't noticed. Mickey's eyes were shut, his head thrown back and...

Okay now was not the time for the trip down memory lane.

Closing his eyes, he asked, "So what's going on? Why are you here?"

Mickey cleared his throat. "Guess you heard about the store?"

Ian nodded and Mickey continued, "Linda was letting me live there. My dad kicked me out a while ago and I was staying in the flat upstairs. When he torched it, I didn't have any place to go, so Lip said I could stay here until I was sorted."

The silence that followed was palpable. Ian's mind was racing, wanting to know why Terry had kicked Mickey out in the first place, why he had torched the store, when Lip had become such good friends with Mickey that he would let a Milkovich stay at his house? And why, why was he suddenly dreaming about Mickey again?

His thoughts were interrupted when Mickey murmured, "You look... good."

Mickey had spoken pretty quietly, but Ian had heard it. His head snapped up then, his eyes meeting Mickey's. They held each other's gaze for what felt like forever. Ian couldn't think of a single word to say. The last words he remembered Mickey Milkovich ever saying to him all that time ago were "you're nothing but a warm mouth to me" and they had felt like a knife to the gut. Now he felt sick.

He stood up suddenly, his hangover beating him over the head, making him feel dizzy. "I... I've gotta go. Tell Lip I stopped by." And he pushed past Mickey and out of the door. He got to his car and drove, only stopping when he got around the corner because tears were actually stinging his eyes and he couldn't see where he was going.

He pulled over, put his head on the steering wheel and choked out a sob. He knew he looked pathetic, but damn it, it felt good to get it out. Then he let out a loud "Fuck!" in the empty car, banging the dashboard with his fist. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and set off back to South Side.

Mickey POV

Mickey stared at the open door that Ian had bolted through minutes before. He knew he should close it, but somehow he couldn't make his feet move, he was still in a state of shock, seeing his ex… what? Lover? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? His ex-Gallagher standing in front of him after all this time.

Lip hadn't said anything about his brother being in town or else Mickey would have made himself scarce or, shit, at least he would have known not to answer the fuckin' door. Talk about a slap in the face. For both of them.

Rubbing both his hands over his face, Mickey shook himself out of his daze. It was just shock, he thought to himself as he kicked the door shut. He hadn't seen Gallagher for a long time, true - apart from that photo of him and Lip laughing that was up on the wall outside the bathroom which made something hurt in his chest every time he saw it, so he tried not to look at at any more - but obviously that went both ways. Ian looked just as stunned to see him too and clearly hadn't known anything about these living arrangements.

Mickey certainly hadn't wanted the first time they saw each other in nine years to have gone down that way. Still, what the hell was he expecting? It had been nine years. Mickey had broken them apart, run away to juvie and they'd never seen each other again. And the next thing he'd heard, Ian was marrying some woman - a woman? What the fuck? - while Mickey was still stuck in the same rut as always. Same job, same house, same asshole father. Same old, same old. Just no Ian.

Sure he had been getting laid pretty regular, but not by anyone who mattered. Never by anyone that cared. And he couldn't pretend that he wasn't imagining it was Gallagher behind him every time - one of the advantages of being a bottom. But nine years - yeah. A long fuckin' time to dwell on the past, especially when you didn't think you'd ever see it again. At least not suddenly in front of you with no warning.

While Lip and Reese were out, Mickey decided now would be a good time to raid Lip's private stash of weed. Lip had already pre-rolled some blunts, thank fuck, so Mickey took two, sat on the couch where Ian had been sitting, lit one and inhaled long and deep. He tried not to think about how angry Ian had looked to see him, or his face just before he left, or the fact that Mickey could still smell his cologne.

Yes, he would get high. And then maybe it wouldn't worry him so much that he was not only confused, but fuckin' happy that Ian Gallagher had suddenly come back into his life.