Set a Match to it (gallavich)

6

Mickey looked down at Ian, asleep in his sheets and snoring lightly. When he was sleeping, Ian looked young again. The training base, working as a stripper, the disease, and whatever else seemed to age Ian in such a way, Mickey missed his freckles and lopsided grin. Now he was relaxed, looking as if this was the first time he really rested in years. 

Noticing how Ian's hair darkened a little since he last seen him, Mickey lifted his hand without out a thought, ready to run his fingers through his hair. None but three inches away, Mickey's hand stopped in mid air. Touching Ian like this, even after what they've just finished, felt wrong. Touching Ian like this was a bit too intimate. Mickey had tried his hardest to forget this guy, putting as many walls as he could to prevent himself walking around like a beat up little kid. 

No matter what he told himself, Mickey was still whipped. He cared for this kid much more than he cared to admit. Mickey got up from bed, pulling up his boxers. He picked his phone up from his dresser, he never checked the thing. He only used it to keep track of Mandy on her nights out in case. Of course the useless thing had died, he hadn't charged it on over a few days and it was old as fuck. 

After taking five minutes to light up, Mickey fumbled with the dumb thing. Taking it longer than it should of to check his notifications. He had one text from Mandy.

Hey, stying out tonight to give you some space. Text me if you need me.

Mickey let out a big sigh, and typed back a simple, K. He was glad Mandy decided to stay out, he didn't know how to deal with Ian now and he really didn't really want an audience too. Mickey noticed he received a couple of hundred calls that night, too. Seeing what name they were under, everything clicked into place. No wonder Ian came over like some kind of Sherlock. He grabbed a beer and a smoke, making his way back to his room.

"You look good." Ian said, now awake, his voice thick with sleep. Mickey pulled on a shirt over his head to distract from the fact he wanted to blush like some kind of fairy.

"Ya, whatever. Nothing to do but work out, plus I lost a lot of weight when I was living down south."

Ian immediately dropped his eyes and began to pick at his nails, obviously uncomfortable at the mention of Mexico. 

Now partially dressed, Mickey felt comfortable sitting next to Ian on the bed. "I'm not gonna lie Gallagher, you look like shit." Mickey wanted to ask questions,  but he didn't want to seem desperate.

"Don't worry. I'm on my meds." Ian said with a slight chuckle, as Mickey raised a cigarette to his lips.

"Holy shit, Mick. What the fuck did you do?" Ian gasped, reaching for Mickeys hands and turning them knuckles up. 

Mickey shifted uncomfortably as Ian ran his fingers over Mickey's still sensitive scars. He yanked them away to light the cigarette in his mouth, he took a drag before answering, "Had to make sure, ya know?"

"So you burned your tattoo of? Fuck, that oughta hurt." 

"Eh, we both know I've been through a lot of shit." Mickey noticed Ian look down again, something playing on his conscious. Mickey racked his brain for something to fill the silence with. "Hey, check this out," He flipped his hands up, showing off his mutilated finger tips. "This stung a bit, but do you think I can pull of a burn victim? Had to get rid the tats, considering they were kinda my trademark or some shit.  For sure had to get rid of these bad boys, though," He said, rubbing his fingers tips together as if he had money between them. 

"How is this whole thing working?" Ian sat up and swung his legs over the bed, and went to get his clothes that somehow ended up across the room.

"Uh, well," began Mickey, catching himself staring, "I got a call from Iggy saying my brother, Joe, died."

"Ah, I remember him! He moved when we were real young, huh?"

"Yeah, well, somehow Joey never managed to get in trouble growing up, he did a lot of shady shit but never got caught. He has no records to his name. Not a paper against his name. He's got a birth certificate that we were able to dig up, and a few other papers but he was never a real official man. So, still gotta stay real low and all just like Joe did, so I..."

"You snagged it, huh? You took his name, like you mentioned earlier." Ian said matter of factly, sitting back on the bed

"You can't go snitching man, I know you got an official job and everything."

"I'm an EMT, Mick. And I'm a Gallagher," Ian reminded him, "But, no, that's smart man, but.." He hesitated a bit, not wanting to finish.

"But what, mumbles, spit it out." Mickey snapped.

"Why'd you come back?" Silence responded at first, a heavy blanket of awkward-as-fuck settled on the two men.

"If I'm being honest, I came back with you in my mind. I wanted to go back, but, fuck man, I kept on hearing that line you pulled." Ian nodded, knowing which line he was referring too. "And soon, I decided against it. I wasn't apart of your life anymore, you wanted me out. So I wasn't about to come crawling back just to get squished like a bug again."

A heavier silence filled the room this time, interrupted by a notification from Ian's phone and he scrambled to answer it, "Fuck!" 

"Everything alright?" Mickey asked, scratching his stubble. 

"Yeah I just promised Svet I would babysit today," Ian responded absentmindedly.

"Yevgeny?" Mickey asked, tears threatening again.

"Uh, yeah. He's great man, he looks just like you, only blonde. I mean, yeah, just like you," Ian said, laughing slightly. Mickey smiled too.

"Can I come back?" Ian asked quietly.

Mickey just shrugged, and Ian took that as a yes. Both of them knew it was.