Mickey wouldn't admit it, but the first time he actually saw Ian again, he hid.

Thankfully he was on his own and was walking on his way to get beer when he saw that familiar redhead on the other side of the road. Mickey had ducked behind a truck so fast anyone would have thought he was a fucking ninja; and admittedly, a few people did look at him a little strangely. But Mickey didn't give a fuck.

Thankfully, he was on his own, so nobody who would actually comment was there to do so. And he didn't give a damn if people were thinking he was some loon, they would probably just assume he was on something. But he refused to just casually bump into Ian fucking Gallagher in the middle of the street. That was not happening. So Mickey pretended his feet were glued to the ground and watched through the truck's window as Gallagher wandered down the street.

Begrudgingly, Mickey had to admit he looked good. He'd bulked up and it seemed gotten even fucking taller, which Mickey thought was stupid. But then he could have just thought that because he hadn't grown an inch since he was seventeen and it was just fucking annoying. Yet another way he was unlucky in life.

Ian stopped and talked to someone, a wide smile on his face that for some reason Mickey didn't think was completely genuine. He couldn't explain it. He just didn't think it was. Then again, he didn't know Gallagher well enough anymore to be able to say. He hated that he'd ever known Ian that well. Hated that he'd ever known Ian at all, because it had caused nothing but problems.

For the both of them.

But Ian looked good, he didn't look like the past haunted him like a ghost every time he slept. Or like he was so full of regrets that he didn't know what it felt like not to have them. He didn't look like he hated himself, or that he thought maybe the world was out to get him because life was just that shit. He didn't look like Mickey did when he looked at himself in a mirror.

He didn't look like a fuck up, but then Gallagher never had done. He'd always been destined to get out, to live his amazing fucking life and be all great and shit. That wasn't Mickey. Never had been and never would be. And regrettably, Mickey was sort of pleased for him. Or at least he would have been if he'd let the thoughts in his head get that far.

Ian finished talking to the person, hugged them with a laugh and moved on and Mickey wanted to stop staring, to at least stop hiding, but he couldn't. He didn't even blink, not until Ian rounded the corner and moved out of sight. Only then did he straighten up and crack the bottom of his back by pushing his fists into the base of his spine and leaning back.

He thought for some stupid reason that maybe that would make him feel better. It hadn't done. Not at all. He put that down to the fact that he knew he was going to have to face Ian at some point and he didn't like the prospects in his head of how the hell that was going to go. Which was worrying. But then, Mickey had never been in control when it came to Firecrotch and lately, even more things about his life were becoming harder to control.

It was just under a month later when he actually ran into Ian and couldn't avoid it. Admittedly, he did consider just running away immediately – or at least walking very quickly – but he refused to let himself seem that weak. And there was the fact that it was too hot for him to wait outside and this had been where he'd said he'd meet Tegan.

When he walked into the Alibi Room, Ian was already sitting there on one of the stools, nursing a beer just like most of the overheating fucks in the room and idly chit-chatting to Kev. Mickey cursed under his breath when someone took one of the two free barstools and left the only free one next to Ian. But Mickey wasn't any sort of fucking coward, so he just gritted his teeth and walked over.

Kev nodded when he saw him, because annoyingly they'd actually developed a weird sort of companionship. It wasn't a friendship, but Mickey came in often enough to be considered a regular. He always came in between finishing breaking kneecaps and meeting up with Tegan. And every single time he went into the hospital to see Kara, he had to have a drink afterwards. Sometimes he was with his sister or Lip, but most of the time he was on his own.

Scratching his stomach, Mickey rapped his knuckles on the bar top by way of a greeting. "Where you just come from?" Kev asked him, obviously seeing something in Mickey's expression that said he looked stressed. That wasn't even the half of it.

Especially not now he knew Ian was looking at him, that the redhead had noticed he was there. He didn't say anything though and Mickey didn't look at him. He couldn't bring himself to, because he didn't know what that would give away.

"The hospital," Mickey said, which wasn't a lie. And it was part of the reason he was stressed out. Because that time he'd been having the burns on his legs checked up on and it had just been yet another reminder of what had happened. Mickey didn't like thinking about it. "I'll just have the usual anyways."

Kev nodded, because he knew about Kara by now, just like a lot of them did. They didn't know what had happened, they just knew that Tegan's mother was in a coma in the hospital. They knew better than to ask too many questions, because Mickey had punched the last person who had in the face. He slid him a pint and a shot of whisky, just like always and Mickey grunted out his thanks as he sat down.

He knocked the shot back with nothing more than the slightest grimace and then washed his mouth out with a gulp of beer. He hated the taste of whiskey like Kara did weed. He only drank it because it made him feel just as numb as several pints would do. Mickey could be weird with alcohol.

"Had a fun day breaking bones?" Kev asked conversationally, oblivious to the tension that hung in between Ian and Mickey. Mickey made sure that even though he was sitting next to him, they weren't close enough to actually touch. He knew that even just a subtle touch would undo him. He fucking hated knowing that.

Mickey smirked because that was an expression he was comfortable with. "Less damage to be done in hot weather for some reason," Mickey said, rubbing his bottom lip with the hand damp and slightly cool from gripping his beer, "Not that it fucking bothers me, I still get paid." It just meant he got to doss around all day.

"Hear you took T with you the other day," Kev said, obviously not completely sure what he was supposed to make of that.

"Only on a house call," he replied, knowing the expression on his face let Kev know perfectly well how little Mickey appreciated his suspicions that he wasn't up to scratch looking after Tegan, "It's her form of entertainment and gets her away from the fucking sociopath."

He still hadn't quite made up his mind whether or not he approved of that, but he didn't really care or have the right to comment.

"Who Carl?" Kev asked, smirking at the description of the kid. Because even he had to admit it was accurate.

"Yeah."

When Kev got called away to serve some more people at the other end of the bar, it was far too easy for Mickey to feel the weight of the silence between him and Ian. If anybody looked, it would have just looked like two people casually, separately having a drink. Except there was nothing casual about it. Mickey was so high strung he felt like he was about to snap under the tension.

Occasionally he thought that Ian was about to say something, but he didn't look so he couldn't be sure. He didn't want to know either, because sitting like that it meant neither of them were cowards. Or at least they were equally cowardly, because neither of them were speaking.

Mickey was halfway through considering whether he wanted to shoot himself of Gallagher just to stop the awkwardness and begrudgingly he was leaning towards shooting himself because he was gay like that. And besides, Gallagher had enough opportunities to get shot. But then Tegan walked in dressed in flip-flops, shorts and one of Mickey's shirts that had 'If you can read this, get the fuck out of my space' written across the chest in small writing. Except that she'd tucked the bottom up into her bra so that there was far too much flesh showing.

It made him scowl for a new reason.

She grinned at Mickey and leant against the bar next to him. "I'll have a beer," she said by way of hello, leaning across and dipping her hand into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. She looked directly at Ian when she asked, "You got a light?"

Mickey snatched the smoke out of her fingers before Ian could reply. "You're not having a fucking beer," he said, turning to Kev as he lit up the cigarette himself with the battered lighter in his pocket, "She'll have a coke." He handed it her back and smirked at her scowl.

She said nothing, just blew smoke into his face.

Someone squeezed onto the barstool next to Mickey and he knew that without looking because Tegan pressed closer to him without even probably realising she did it. She didn't like people she didn't trust too close to her, kind of like Mickey actually. He stood up wordlessly and she slid into his vacated barstool with nothing more than a slight tilt of her head. Her fingers curled around his pint and she took a large mouthful before he prodded her hard in the ribs and she put it back down again.

He laughed at the foam on her top lip and she shoved at him. Which was when he realised he'd got off the barstool on the wrong fucking side. His back hit Gallagher's arm and he jerked away quickly like he was burnt. Maybe he was, because he'd always used to think that Gallagher's touch burned him, but burned underneath the skin where no one else could see it, but so that Mickey could definitely feel the marks there.

He thought it was fucking ironic he was burned visibly now too. Maybe it was karma or some shit.

Tegan reached around Mickey's back and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and paid Kev for her coke, putting it back on the counter afterwards because she obviously couldn't be bothered to replace it again. He did it himself. "Can you actually cook tonight?" Tegan asked eventually, breaking the silence in which Mickey was all too aware of Gallagher behind him, but he refused to turn around, "Because I'm kind of bored of fucking takeaway food."

It was true, they had sort of been living off of that and whatever Mandy cooked when they went around hers. Being domestic wasn't Mickey's strong point, that wasn't his fault.

"You're the woman, last time I checked you're supposed to do the cooking," he said, a smirk on his lips.

That earned him a pointy elbow in the ribs. "That's sexist you douche," she said, stating the obvious, "And you wouldn't eat anything I cooked anyway."

"True," he muttered. Tegan could shoot a target dead on with any gun handed to her and she oculd also throw a knife just as accurately, but she couldn't cook for shit.

They fell into that easy sort of silence after that that they often had, except there was still tension in Mickey's shoulders because of the person behind him that wouldn't normally have been there. He wondered if Tegan noticed. "By the way, I need some money for a field trip or something later this week," she said eventually, after she swirled coke around her mouth in that way she'd gotten off her mother.

Thankfully, Tegan didn't spit it out; the kid actually liked the taste of weed.

"You actually want to go on one of those shitty things?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

He could tell from the way Tegan shrugged that yes, she definitely did. She wouldn't admit to it though.

"Remind me to give you money closer to the time," he said and the smile she gave him was almost worth the way that he felt Gallagher tense up behind him because of the softer tone of Mickey's voice, "But I want my shirt back." He pointed to what she was wearing.

Tegan laughed, her head tipped back in a way that was so carefree that nobody would have had a clue that their life was a pile of shit. Nobody would have guessed that she had her abusive Dad desperate to find her and the same guy even more desperate to kill her mother. Or that said mother was in a medically induced coma right that very second.

"But I look so much better in it," she said, "You just look creepily pale when you wear black." She smirked at him because she was a cocky bitch and he had to admit, she did pull the expression off well. Not that he'd tell her that, ever.

"Bitch, I am not getting fashion advice from you," he said, "Talk to me when you put some more fucking clothes on."

Of all responses she could have had, Tegan pouted, "Why? I thought I looked good." She smoothed her hands across her thighs and stubbed out her second cigarette on the bar top. He couldn't actually remember when she'd finished the first.

"You'd look just as good with more clothes on," he muttered, trying to keep the words under his breath, because of who was behind him. But he knew Ian heard anyway.

"Well Carl likes the way I dress," she said, batting her eyelashes at him in the way she knew pissed him off for no reason whatsoever, "He always says the shorter the better."

Mickey pulled a face because as much as he pretended he didn't give a fuck, he hated the thoughts in his head. "It's like you want me to gut him," he muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists down by his sides.

Tegan chuckled under her breath and fidgeted on the stool, which let him know what she was about to ask even before she asked it. "How was the hospital?" she asked, twisting to face him and her fingers twitching like she thought maybe she should reach out and offer him some sort of comfort. But that wasn't how they worked, so after a second her fingers lay still flat against the bar top.

"Shit," Mickey replied, pulling a face that she laughed at because she looked like if she didn't she was going to cry. Mickey knew how that felt, but he was more pleased than he could ever say that she didn't cry. It would have just freaked him out.

"You drop by to see mum?" she asked quickly afterwards, obviously not wanting to linger on the matter of Mickey's burns because she knew better than anyone how much they bothered him. She'd given up trying to persuade him that he should be proud of them, because he'd saved her mother's life. To him, they were still fucking ugly, so that bit didn't matter.

Well, it mattered, but it wasn't the first thing that he thought of when he saw the burns. And he felt like a dick for that, he honestly did.

"Yeah, she's the same as always," he replied, handing her the last of his beer because it was like fucking instinct now or something.

"At least the same isn't worse."

Which was true. But the same still wasn't awake, unfortunately.

Tegan knocked back the last of his beer and scrubbed a hand through her hair. "I'm going t' piss," she informed him, oh-so-classily, flashing him a grin that was all teeth before sliding off of the barstool.

Mickey had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from punching at least one of the many guys who leered after her. He sat back down in her vacated seat, pleased for the little extra space between him and Ian. Not that it made much difference because he could still feel that one accidental touch on his back, making his skin feel even more hot and sticky than it was. He was actually pretty sure he looked gross.

The only good thing he could find about Ian being there was that from the way he kept tensing up, Gallagher definitely hadn't completely forgotten about Mickey. That didn't mean he cared, but it meant he hadn't forgotten and Mickey hated that his brain instantly started trying to make something out of that. He shouldn't give a shit. He didn't give a shit. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Someone knocked into him and because Mickey was already so on edge, he didn't hesitate to whip around to glare at the person. They flinched under the weight of his scowl, but carried on walking. The only problem was, Mickey was now forced to actually look at Gallagher, or at least let his eyes pass over him. Once he looked though, he couldn't quite remember how to look away.

It did make it a little better that Ian stared at him right back, both of them just seeming to be frozen, but Ian's face was as blank as Mickey prayed his was and he didn't know how the hell to read the situation. Except, actually, he did know how to control it.

"Didn't get your fucking ass shot off then," he said gruffly, slapping some money down on the bar top for Kev and standing. He didn't look away from Ian until Tegan was standing beside him. And then he just did what he did best, he turned around and got the fuck out of there. Except this time he wasn't the coward. He'd said something, he'd been the one to do it, to break the silence.

That was point one to Mickey.

He still felt like his heart was having an epileptic fit inside of his chest, but he tried not to focus on that. He just walked out into the fucking uncomfortable heat and wondered when the hell he'd started racking up points between him and Gallagher.