summary: mickey forgets about your plans one too many times.
word count: 938
warnings?:do not ask for a part 2. some things are sad and deserve to be sad; angsty as all hell; mickey is forgetful and the reader is heartbroken; there is no happy ending
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Mickey didn't mean to be as forgetful as he was. Really, truly, he didn't mean it. But sometimes he just gets so wrapped up in whatever he's working on that he loses track of time and, by the time he realizes that he had something planned, it was hours after the fact and there was no way for him to make up for what he'd missed. In spite of that, though, you still loved him. In the early days of your relationship, you'd once remarked that his habit was "kinda cute". Something about how it was sweet that he gets so invested in something that he loses all sense of reality. Passion in what you do is sexy, you'd said as you pulled his lips down to meet yours when he came knocking on your door after accidentally standing you up on your third date together, before quickly adding, Just don't make a habit of it, sugarplum.
And, really, he tried to kick the habit. You had to understand that he was doing his best to learn how to pull himself out of his head when he got invested in something. He didn't want to lose you for something so stupid, something that he could easily fix if he would just try a little harder. Yet, you never berated him for it. You never yelled, never raised your voice when he was late to a date or had entirely forgotten that you'd had plans. Not when he was supposed to come to a work party with you, forcing you endure hours of pretending to give a shit about what all the pompous assholes were saying. Not when he forgot that he was supposed to meet your friends, leading them to believe you'd made up your boyfriend. Not when he forgot you were moving in and left you to do all the work yourself. No, you only ever gave him sad eyes and a quiet voice as you tell him good night or good morning, depending on when he finally realized what he'd done wrong and would come running back to you.
But it wasn't until you finally said something that he realized that he might've been losing you.
You'd asked him to go out with you on a little tour of museums in Athens, something you'd been wanting to do ever since you came to the city. It was the first time in a long time you'd asked for him to do something. And, goddammit, he really wanted to be there for you. He swore up and down that he'd meet you at the museum as soon as he finished the jingle he was working on for a client. Even made a big show of setting a bunch of reminders and alarms in his phone so he'd have no excuse to being late.
Then the day came, and he did what he did best: forget.
He'd gotten so wrapped up in working on the jingle that he didn't even register the alarms in his phone going off until hours later. And by then, he couldn't even remember why he set them. So he just shut them off, set his phone to silent, and went back to work. He didn't even see the text messages you'd sent or the missed phone calls.
Not until he heard the door to the apartment and open and shut, and he looked up, realizing that the day had turned to night. And, as he heard your quiet sniffling as you kicked off your shoes, he realized what'd he'd done.
"Shit," he cursed, jumping up from his chair and chasing you down the hall. But you didn't turn around once, just going straight into the bathroom and stripping. You continued to not pay him any mind as you hopped into the shower, turning the water as hot it would go and blocking his entire presence from your mind. "I'm so sorry, honey bear. I lost track of time and—"
"You don't have to lie to me, Mick," you said.
He blinked, unsure of what to say. Then, he finally settled on, "I'm not lying! I can promise you that. I got—"
You shut the water off, reaching out to grab a towel and dry yourself off. You squeezed past Mickey, keeping the towel wrapped tightly around you as you walked into your shared bedroom. But, even though you tried to move quickly, it wasn't quick enough for him to miss the way your eyes were all red and puffy or the way your face looked more wet with tear tracks than being a result of your shower. He followed you down the hall, trying to figure what he should do to make this better. You dropped the towel in the hamper in the corner of the room before grabbing a nightshirt and underwear, slipping them on before crawling into bed.
"Honey bear, I really am sorry. You gotta believe me," Mickey said, kneeling beside your side of the bed and taking one of your hands in his. He brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. "Please, I can't live with myself if my favorite girl went to bed upset."
"Mick, please. I just wanna be alone."
"No, not when you're upset," he pressed.
"I'm not upset. Just tired."
He pressed another kiss to your hand. "I'll make this better. I promise."
Then he rose back to his feet, retreating to the living room so that he could hatch another plan to show you just how much he cares, barely missing your quiet mumble, "Yeah, that's what you always say."
