First Day of My Life

Weeping Willow

-Hunger hurts & I want him so bad, it kills cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up-

Ian threw his phone down. It had been almost a week since they kissed and Mickey hadn't replied to any of his messages. He tried being funny, sexy, sweet, and nothing would garner a reply. He knew he should just stop, lay off of him, but he couldn't. He didn't want one day to pass with Mickey thinking that he wasn't on his mind. He wanted him to know that he consumed his thoughts, had consumed them for years. He was willing to swallow his pride if it meant making sure that he gave some back to Mickey. He'd done enough fucking with his head over the last several years that he figured finally being consistent would a positive thing. Maybe it would prove to Mickey that he could be an enduring boyfriend; that he could be constant, reliable and the man that Mickey deserved. He wanted to be that guy, but he feared that Mickey would never be able to see him that way, that the damage he'd caused to their relationship was irreparable.

He felt like he was 15 years old again, chasing after a boy who showed little to no interest in him and only opened himself up during moments of weakness. Back then the smallest glances from Mickey would give him butterflies. Even all those years ago he knew there was something there, something indisputably special between them. What they had, you couldn't fake; it was raw, magnetic, exceptional. He'd been with guys before Mickey, after Mickey and nobody ever came close to comparing. He was the man that he was supposed to be with, meant to love in the most wild and messy way every single day of their lives.

He always knew Mickey was the one, but things got complicated and he got scared; scared to become a burden on him with his swings, scared to face the realization that Mickey was behind bars and there wasn't anything he could do about it, scared to be alone, and then scared to start his life over in Mexico. He had been relentlessly, debilitatingly afraid. He'd never considered himself a coward. Growing up a Gallagher, he knew how to scrap. He had taken those survival skills and channeled them into ROTC where he'd gained skills and confidence. He was always strong, solid, and dependable... until he wasn't.

Order and structure gave way to chaos and release. Though he'd felt free, he was held tight in the talons of a beast that took over his body and beat him into submission. When he was low, the beast would convince him that he didn't need anyone and nothing was worth it. The world wasn't bigger than his bed, where he'd lay numb and heavy with mood. He'd be too far gone to will himself to take any corrective action, to feel something other than empty. As if tethering him to the bed wasn't enough torture, the beast would wrestle him out and flood his veins with boundless energy, while feeding him lies about the world of possibilities outside his bedroom. He'd be lead to believe he was invincible and that erratic decisions held no consequence. Just when he thought he knew the direction he was heading in, the beast would make him swerve and turn, powerless, possessed. That's when the fear began to build and find its place, when he realized he'd lacked control of his body and mind. The medication helped, but he'd lost trust in himself and it seemed almost impossible to build back. So Ian the fearless became Ian the fearful, indecisive, and weak. The beast was at bay but that didn't stop it from pervading him with self-doubt. He had spent the last few years doing what he was supposed to, becoming a cog in the machine because he no longer trusted himself to be free, to really feel. He didn't want to be scared anymore. He wanted to be brave. In earning back Mickey's trust, maybe he'd begin to trust himself again.

He sighed and pulled himself out of bed. All he did was ruminate about Mickey, knocking around the same thoughts in his head ad-nauseam. He dreamed of him, then woke up in the morning with him still on his mind. He was tortured by thoughts of him. Mickey was the lyrics to every love song, the kisses in every movie, he was everything and it was exhausting.

He peeked out the window and was glad to see that it wasn't snowing. He needed to get out and run, chase the endorphins that may make him feel better. He put on his gear and headed down to the kitchen to grab some breakfast, surprised to see Fiona and a guy cooking pancakes together.