▸ i loved you first.

i. screw you, gallagher.

"Milkovich! Get your ass up, you're free to go."

Not much had changed in half a years time. The sleazy south-side trash was still... well... just that. The only noticeable change was the shaky misspelled name of his first genuine lover tattooed in his handwriting across his chest, really. That could be seen through the thin white tank top he wore that was littered in dirt, which matched the orange pants of the jumpsuit he was also given upon arrival. Actual prison was only a little different than juvenile prison, so he was fine for the most part. With an annoyed grunt, the half-asleep male turned around in the comfort of his top bunk bed to face the prison guard, who was standing in the doorway with an impatient look on his face, gun in hand as a precaution.

"Come on, move it." the gruff voice prodded again, causing Mickey to just huff and jump down from the small height, "Alright, Jesus!" he shook his head, rubbing at his tired blue eyes. After all, having a loud snorer sleep beneath you was annoying as fuck and was definitely sleep depriving. He missed the quiet nights when he could just sleep in Ian's arms and enjoy the peace for once.

Those thoughts never left his mind since he was admitted. God, being in love was bullshit.

With a light glare of annoyance towards the guard, Mickey stepped out of the cell, having to wait until it was locked behind him before they continued down the hallway of matching iron doors and whiny prisoners. It was once they stepped through the two gates beside a guarded checkpoint that he finally eased up a little, giving in to his suspicions, "I thought my sentence was eight years tops," he started, his words holding a questioning feel to them, which is what caused the guard to just sigh deeply and walk on, Mickey being coaxed on in front of him, "It was. Now it's not. That's what a bail does."

Blue eyes widened just slightly at those words. Svetlana couldn't pay for jack shit, his brothers are too pussy to even go near the cops, and his sorry excuse for a father was also in jail. Ian..?

"The fuck bailed me out?"

"Not my business."

"You better make it your goddamn business!"

"Just shut up and keep walking before I change my mind, Milkovich!"

The two bantered for a little while longer before they arrived at the front office, where a tall man with dark skin was waiting at the desk, signing a few more release papers. "He's all yours." The guard said to the stranger, who just nodded with a grateful smile before focusing back on the papers. That wasn't the soft red hair he remembered running his fingers through. That wasn't the pale skin, dusted with freckles that he loved to kiss. That wasn't the lanky asshole he had grown to love. That wasn't Ian.

"Uh," the dark-haired man started, brows furrowed in pure confusion and clear disappointment as he stepped towards the stranger, eyes flicking from the reception lady to the taller man once more, "Thanks for the bail or whatever, but i'm pretty sure I have no idea who the fuck you are."

Those words only caused a gentle chuckle to sound in the strangers throat as he slid the paperwork back over to the lady, who just smiled and voiced a quick 'thank you', which was enough to let the two know that Mickey was free to go.

"I guess Ian's description of you was pretty accurate," he began, causing the shorter male to raise one of his eyebrows in confusion and slight annoyance. Who was this guy and how did he know Ian? It stirred up a sense of jealousy in his chest, and with good reason too.

"Gallagher? You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him. Pretty well actually."

Pretty well? 'Pretty well' was too damn well for Mickey's taste. Then again he had to remember that Ian was the one who split, not him. He had no right to be jealous, yet he was. Why? Because that redhead was his, and he wasn't going to lose him just like that without a fight.