First Day of My Life

Moo

"You sure you don't wanna wear with the red one?" Lip asked with a smirk, earning him an incredibly annoyed look from Ian. He was anxious as hell about his date and had tried on six different outfits before settling on a pale green collared shirt and dark jeans.

"Fuck off," He shot, before looking at his reflection in the mirror again and sighing, "Seriously; do you think the red one looked better?"

Lip laughed at his brother's nerves, "Calm down, man. It's Mickey," he reminded him, taking a drag of his joint.

"Yeah, it's Mickey, so it's a big fucking deal," He pulled on a grey blazer, "We've never been out on a date."

"Excuse me?" Lip asked incredulously sitting up on his bed, "You fucking with me?"

"Nope. Never," Ian confirmed, tying his shoes. He stood up, took a deep inhale, and held his hands out for Lip to give him his assessment, "So?"

"You look good," He said with a nod of approval, "You gonna be alright? You're pretty hyped up."

"I'm fine," Ian assured him, grabbing the joint from his fingers and taking a quick hit, "fine." He wasn't sure if he was, but he was going to try to be. He wanted everything to go well. The last several times they'd been around each other, things had seemed better, until they weren't. He didn't want to say or do the wrong thing. This was the first night of the rest of his life, the life he was supposed to be living, his life with Mickey, "Wish me luck."

Lip saluted him and watched as he left the room, hoping with every fiber of his being that it went well. He'd witnessed his brother suffer over the last year and as much as he didn't want to admit it, Mickey was the only man he'd ever been with that was consistent and selfless enough in his love for Ian to be a good long-term option. It wasn't lost on him that Ian would need some semblance of care in his future and it had to be from somebody strong enough to handle him. He needed someone who could recognize if he was swinging high or dropping low, someone to urge him to get his medication adjusted, that would listen when he got into obsessive rants, or hold him back the best they could from compulsive behaviors. He knew that Mickey had always tried to be that person for Ian, which was more than he could say for anyone else. The thought compelled him to jump of his bed and call down to his brother from the top of the stairs, "Really, Ian, I hope it goes well."

Ian, all wrapped up in his outerwear, ready to face the cold, gave him a half smile and a wave before exiting the house. Clouds cloaked the moon and stars, leaving flickering streetlamps in desperate need of repair, to shoddily light the block. He shoved his gloved hands deeper into his coat pocket and tucked his chin down into his scarf, as he picked up his pace. He knew he couldn't blame his brisk pace on the frigid air, he was used to that. He was practically running because he couldn't fucking wait to see the excitement in Mickey's eyes when he saw a huge, rare steak on his plate. He had fantasized about this night so many times over the years that it was hard to believe it was actually happening. The thick snowflakes falling wetly on his cheeks assured him that he was awake and though it felt like a dream, it wasn't.

As he approached the Milkovich house, he was surprised to find Mickey leaning against the front gate smoking a cigarette, "It's cold as balls. Why're you outside?"

Mickey held up the cigarette as an explanation, "Cold as balls is a stupid phrase," he stated, beginning to walk towards the El. Ian followed, keeping pace with him, "I mean, balls are warm, all tucked up in skin, fabric and shit."

"Mine are icy and blue," Ian informed him with a grin.

"Sounds like a personal problem, Gallagher," Mickey stated, raising an eyebrow and trying to hold back the smile that was threating to pull up his lips, "Nothing I'm worried about, that's for sure."