[ audio ] cw: a bit gore, a bit sexual vulgarity

[gentrify]

[ It's only a voice that erupts over the network - clearly male, and deeply accented in what most could probably tell is Chicagoan, and if not, at least Northern and urban. That, and not terribly impressed with the state of things. ]

Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to use your limited amount of magic teleporting knick-knacks to link up to three bumfuck goddamn nowhere towns in Shitsville, Fuckyou Falls, and De Bullshit, USA? [ He only remembered the 'Falls' and the 'De' part, okay, he's improvising. You know what he means. ] I never even heard of these backwater trash dumps. They're probably run by hillbilly cannibals, and you know anything that ends is 'Falls' is gonna be a place where you lure dipshit teenagers to get the fuck murdered outta them, then probably stitched into a nasty skin sweater for ol' Billy Bob Psycho to wear to the family reunion, like that's gotta be horror movie law by now, anyone feel me on that?

[ Like 'Silent Hill', anything that sounds like it would make a nice landscape portrait is probably, most definitely, trying to kill you. That's what pop culture has taught Mickey, and he's sticking to his ghetto, thank you very much. At least no one there is a cannibal. Well, outwardly. ]

No one thought of, I dunno, New York? LA? Chicago? [ emphasis there, because that's the one he's really missing. ] Any of those places people actually give at least two almost-flaming fucks about? I dunno, maybe four, maybe some of you assholes have an excess of fucks to spread around, good for you, 'cause I'm all outta them at this point.

[ You can hear a snort, and it's easy to imagine Mickey shaking his head on the other end of the line. A brief pause, a reprieve from Mickey's stream of profane consciousness, and the last bit comes more sobered, almost bored. ]

That said, who do you gotta blow around here to get a lift to Chicago? I know a hot, ginger twink lookin' to arrange some travel plans.

Also got like a suitcase full'a knives up for trade. Hit me up.

Comments

[gentrify]

[ mickey's all grins and silly joy, pleased to an insane amount to be living like that, for once (in his timeline). free, and in love, and reveling in it. not just sneaking around his house, around his wife and his dad and his sister and brothers. totally free, and just happy.

but then, there's this. he knows, immediately, what ian means. there was an obvious difference between what they knew when they'd met (ian had said across the border, and while he hates future-him for doing whatever he did to end up separated, he has the idea that must be what it was. or close.

hell, he's grateful ian's breaking it to him softly, but he had to know this was coming. even before getting the hints from the future - he'd either end up shot, or in prison, or ian would just realize he could do so much better. okay, here we go. ]

The future, right? [ mickey sighs, looking down at his hand on ian's collar for a quiet few seconds, picking at the fabric, before he sums up the guts to say what he wants to say, voice sobered, quiet. ] Look, I get we're probably not together forever and ever, happily ever after and all that Disney shit. It's okay, you don't gotta explain anything to me.

Whatever you wanna do now, we can do that.

[wetblankets]

[Ian nods. He's suddenly tense - uncomfortable and incredibly unhappy. They didn't do this back home, not much and not nearly as often as they should have. Opening up and talking and getting down to the heart of the issue wasn't Ian's strong suit. He could yell as good as any Gallagher but listening, thinking it over, and then responding calmly.. not so much. But he owed it to Mickey.]

It was my fault. I won't tell you everything, not unless you ask, but we weren't together because of me. [He exhales slowly.] The first time, it was cause I couldn't handle the way you looked at me. I didn't wanna take my meds and you wanted me to. I thought we couldn't be together if you always wanted to fix me. I didn't get it back then, why you wanted me to take them. I do now.

[Ian licks his lips, pressing his hand to his stomach.] Some shit went down and eventually, you came back for me. I chose the life I'd worked so hard to give myself over running off with you. Mickey, I..

I don't get to choose if we're together here. You do.

[gentrify]

[ this is all a whole lot of confusing, and mickey's sure ian's probably not as guilty in this as he thinks he is. mickey's done more than enough in terms of fucking them up this far - the keeping them hidden thing, the shit with getting married, his dad, all of his insecurity. but through all of that, there's one part mickey's mind latches onto and will not let go of - "take my meds". ]

Take your meds? [ mickey, who's from an whole day before the entire idea of bipolar disorder and ian's likeliness of having it comes up, is deeply concerned over the prospect of ian having an illness that would cause serious detriment to his life and relationships. ] Are you sick?

[ his mind goes to the worst places. cancer, tumors, fucking young person Alzheimers, the cold fear that something might be killing this boy he's only just been brave enough to take hold of. his hand comes up, cupping the side of ian's head and easing him to look at him, brows knit. ] Ian, nothing like that's gonna make me not wanna be with you, and I'm sure as hell not running off just 'cause you're sick, even more if you're trying to go all holistic fucking hippy on a disease.

[ he'd rather be right there to take care of him himself, look out for him. whatever needed to be done. a beat, mickey licking his lips, emotion welling in him in a way that still feels extremely uncomfortable, still feels like something he should be choking out, or funneling into hitting something. instead, his voice gets quiet, thumb stroking over the arch of his brow bone. ]

You're family, man. Thought I made that pretty clear throwing down with my psycho dad over you.

[wetblankets]

[That's right, Mickey wouldn't know any of that yet. Ian's grasp on the exact timetables and lineup of events in his past isn't as sharp as it probably needs to be for this.]

I'm bipolar, Mick. Highs and lows. Do stuff I shouldn't and don't realize until after I've done it. [Kidnapping his son, who Ian would never purposefully hurt, and starring in unsafe pornos to name a few.] It got a lot worse before it got better. You did a lot for me. I had trouble appreciating it.

[Because letting Mickey care for him meant accepting that he was sick. That wasn't something he'd wanted to do. Ian tips his head, lips pressed together so that they don't tremble, trying to suppress how all this makes him feel.]

You've gotta promise not to let me stop. I don't like the way I feel when I take them, but I don't like what I do when I don't.

[He shifts on the couch, fumbling to roll over so they're facing each other and he can press his forehead to Mickey's.]

I fucking love you, Mickey Milkovich.

[gentrify]

[ they don't say it out loud often, or ever. The last time Ian asserted it to him - you love me, and you're gay - it'd ended in blood. Not a moment mickey's proud of. He's far from that now, accepted it, but voicing it is still hard. Swallowing, mickey leans in, kisses him sweet and soft, and mutters it against his lips. ]

I fucking love you, too, Ian Gallagher.

[ and he isn't going anywhere. Not for cancer or tumors or whatever the fuck bipolar is. Mickey's not well versed in the realm of psychology and mental health, terry was never accepting of it and mickey didn't spend much time in school to learn. ]

Bipolar, though, what is that? Like mood swings? [ highs and lows, does stuff he doesn't mean to, doesn't get it until later. Just bad mood swings, right? So they might have some heated fights, he might get really down, they can deal with that. Mickey'll just learn how to manage it and when to hide the knives. ]

Mandy gets like that when she's on the rag, just starts popping Midol like candy. [ a joke, meant to be, at least, as his fingertips push through ian's hair. ]

We can handle that.

[wetblankets]

[Ian's lashes flutter, eyes falling shut at the soft kiss. Another time, he might've deepened it - caught Mickey's bottom lip between his own, pushed his tongue into his mouth and kissed him with everything he had. Not this time. Not when they're more candid than they've ever been.]

Monica had it. [He couldn't say the disease was the only reason she was the way she was, but it was a major part of it.] Mood swings is right.

[Opening his eyes, his mouth curves into a lazy grin.]

Thanks, Mick. You might've just insulted us both, somehow.

[The joke helps, honestly, it does. Ian relaxes again, the tension bleeding out of him.]

Keep doin' that and I'm gonna pass out.

[There's a weight that's gone, now. Telling Mickey so he could choose for himself, it'd taken a lot, but Ian couldn't start this up again without him knowing. Mickey still wants him, after everything.]

[gentrify]

[ from the stories he'd heard about ian's mom, even before the two knew each other, just living in the same neighborhood, monica is not a thing you want to be. least of all when you're one of the children she put through hell. mickey's own dad was definitely an asshole, but he'd at least been there most of the time. and his crazy shit was relatively predictable. a frown pulls at his lips, mickey feeling at once immensely protective of this boy he knows can more than protect himself. ]

You're nothing like Monica.

[ mickey says it quietly, tugging ian's head against his shoulder, another kiss to his forehead. he's still baffled on what this is and what it means, how much of what made monica monica is now in ian, and how he'll help ian handle that. at least they can still joke about it, things always easier with them when they can be careless fucks. ]

Yeah, where's the fuckin' lie, though? [ mickey chuckles against his hair. ] I'll stock up the Midol next time I'm by CVS.

[ which is a joke, he doesn't think it'll do anything for ian's particular issue. hell, he's not sure what would. which is maybe part of why he doesn't stop carding fingers through his hair, now tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to drape over his boyfriend. let ian pass out a while so mickey can do some research. ] Been a long day. No one's gonna bust your balls for a nap.

cw; suicide

[wetblankets]

[Ian shifts, resting his head against Mickey's shoulder, sliding down on the couch so he has the room to splay out over him and then tuck his arms over Mickey's sides. His lip trembles, but he doesn't let Mickey see it. Ian can think back to all the things Monica's done and compare them to his own. He remembers the way it'd felt when Monica had gotten low, slit her wrists at Thanksgiving. How much it had hurt that she'd rather be dead than stay with them, but she'd always picked other things over her kids. Didn't make it any easier to swallow. She'd hurt people, like he had, and he'd never had the chance to ask her if she realized she was doing it or not. He never knew until it was over.

He breathes in, exhales slowly. He'd thought she'd be the only one who could understand him because she'd gone through it but he knows now that isn't true. Ian didn't want to be like Monica. Or Frank.]

Something something, a joke about you and my balls.

[He says it tiredly, mumbles against Mickey's throat. Mickey's touch is hypnotic, eyes drifting closed as he's covered over, warm and allowing himself to be vulnerable.]

[gentrify]

[ debbie will tell mickey, about nine or so months from now, that he's acting like frank when ian starts losing it. trying to drink him away. he still doesn't understand enough about what this is that ian inherited from monica, or how much of a problem it will be to help him through it, but if faced with the option of treat ian like frank has treated his kids all their lives, or do literally anything else, no matter how painful, he'd be on board with whatever was needed.

will be, too. when that day comes, and he's standing in his room, bare assed and drunk, while ian's kid sister tells him 'you can't drink him away'. right now, he doesn't have the value of that experience to tell him anything, but what he knows is that this boy curled up against his chest, gradually drifting off, lips brushing against his neck, is everything he wants out of life. ]

Something something, laughing and probably punching you.

[ mickey murmurs, arms wrapping him up a little closer, wiggling just enough to make everything comfortable and settled in, hopefully in a manner than none of his limbs will fall asleep under ian. his phone is in the back pocket he can still get to if he reaches, so he'll wait until ian's snoring to go digging for it, and start trying to google this shit. for now, he's just enjoying the warmth of him. ]

I'll be here when you wake up, if you figure that joke out in your dreams.

[wetblankets]

[He wouldn't. The joke would be forgotten and anything remotely funny he wouldn't even think of until days from now, that's how it always went with those things.]

Wake me up if you need to.

[Ian could sleep like the dead, if given half the chance, and they were crammed together on a couch.]