Chapter Text
Mickey's mood that morning after getting off the phone with Ian, was quite a bit better, despite his usual lack of sleep. They'd been lucky enough to catch each other on the train ride there, both kind of tired, but still friendly enough as they made quiet small talk in their seats on the L. The pair then took their sweet, slow time smoking a cigarette beside each other in the dark as they walked together from the platform, then up the street three more blocks to work. Despite how he'd initially awoken, the rest of the morning had begun quite flawlessly, albeit early, and for once Mickey felt a little optimistic that his choices were working out. Things for him might actually begin to be improving, and Mickey was quietly sort of glad for the change. So far, at least.
When the two men finally arrived at the diner, they entered through the back, startling Nino for just an instant. The older man's head snapped up from where he was just focused at a cutting board, prepping fresh veggies for morning omelets, gripping a long sharp knife tightly within his fist. Ian and Mickey paused their steps, freezing for just an instant as their gazes met with Nino's, and the older man's posture relaxed. Nino exhaled with relief, then pointed at them heatlessly with the tip of the blade.
"Don't fucking sneak up on me like that again," Nino warned, "You're lucky I didn't chuck this thing through one of your skulls," he said, then shook his head as he turned his face back down to the vegetables in front of him, "Pendejos," he grumbled.
"Good fuckin' morning to you too," Mickey replied just as heatlessly, "Since when are you so damn jumpy? Relax."
Ian and Mickey made their way easily over to the staff locker area to begin putting their things away. Both then began to apply their work attire even if they weren't immediately working yet, and moved to punch in on their time cards.
"Fuck off," Nino shrugged, "It's important to be aware of your surroundings," he said, then looked back over his shoulder at the pair of them at the card puncher, arching a curious eyebrow. "Why the hell you two here so early?" he wondered, "Neither one of you are scheduled for a couple more hours," Nino reminded, "You casing the joint or something?" the older man joked with a grin.
"Just got hungry," Mickey said, "You fired the stove back up yet?"
Nino scoffed, gesturing to pile of half cut vegetables still strewn across the cutting board in front of him.
"What the fuck does it look like?" Nino chuckled back, "Like I just said, you're here too fucking early," he said, "I'm still getting prep ready for the next shift."
"But we're hungry now," Mickey pressed again lightly.
"Does it look like I give a shit?" Nino all but spat back, scoffing at them once more, and continuing his prep work while refusing to acknowledge the younger man any more.
Ian sort of stood there awkwardly, glancing at Mickey beside him, perhaps wondering if this maybe hadn't been a good idea. But Mickey just shot him a small, reassuring glance, then turned his face back and smirked at the older man across the kitchen, taking a few steps closer, trying again.
"Come on, man," Mickey tried again, "Do me this little favor, and I'll put in a good word for you with Julia," he offered, causing Nino to stop his chopping and meet the other man's eyes, "I mean, I can't promise she'll go for it," he said, "But I'll do my best to send her your way."
At that, Nino split the smallest smirk, then arched his eyebrow skeptically.
"Don't play me about Jules, man," he warned, "I've been trying to work my way up that skirt for months already." Nino tipped his head back and let out an arrogant laugh. "That girl don't bend easy," he said. But Mickey just insisted.
"Give me a little time, and I'll sweeten her up for ya," Mickey said, "Trust me."
Ian raised his brow as he watched the other two men in their discussion, but remained silent, waiting to see how it would sort out. The older man seemed to consider Mickey's words, mulling it over briefly, then gave his chin a tip.
"Alright," Nino agreed, "But this is a one time thing," he reminded, "Otherwise, if you wanna eat, I better already be cooking. Or Mags better here," Nino said, "But, if you can get Julia to let me take her out, I'll whip you up a plate any time you want," he added with a grin. The dark haired man smirked at that as well, and gave a nod.
"I'll see what I can do," said Mickey.
Nino mirrored his nod, before suddenly looking past him and over at Ian, who still stood by quietly waiting. The older man flicked his brow in the redhead's direction, briefly pointing again with the knife in his hand.
"Carrot Top over there's gonna owe me a little favor too," Nino added suddenly, "I don't fucking know what yet. But I'll figure it out," he said.
Mickey turned his face to meet Ian's mildly unsure gaze, and offered the smallest nod of encouragement, raising his brow with expectancy and insistence. Mickey knew that Nino didn't mean any harm, and there was nothing to worry about. Even if Ian had only been around for a few months, Mickey had known that chef for a couple years now. Nino wasn't anything to be scared of, as long as you stayed on the man's good side. Ian then seemed to follow his lead, and offered Nino a nod of his own as well.
"Uh, sure," Ian replied, "Whatever you need."
"That's a good answer, Mijo," Nino grinned, "That's what I like to hear. I suppose we got a deal," he said, then gestured to the small portion of vegetables that were already chopped and ready, "You assholes are getting omelets though. Chef picks the dish. So you'll eat what you get."
The two younger men both nodded enthusiastically once more, grateful for the agreement.
"Coffee too?" Mickey wondered, to which Nino scoffed.
"Are your hands broken?" he quipped back lightly, "Don't fucking push it."
Mickey let out a small laugh, and shot Ian a glance, unable to stop himself from flashing the man just the smallest smile. He just couldn't help it. Mickey had been in a much better mood the instant he left home, just wanting to be up and away from there. But for no reason in particular it seemed to be turning out even better with company. He was unusually optimistic for today, and he just tried to enjoy it without feeling too exposed. He deserved a positive change, right?
Ian smiled right back at him, and Mickey's own expression nearly faltered upon the sight. The other man always just seemed to genuinely be happy to see when Mickey was happy too, to talk to and be around him. It made Mickey feel weird, but in the best way sometimes. He's never had anyone look at him like that before for any reason at all, and Mickey was still just trying to get used to it. He held his eye contact with Ian for as long as he could force himself to, only a few seconds or so, then looked away with the need to take a breath before he peered far too deeply into the other man's gaze. Mickey needed to slow his own brain down, before it got too far ahead from the rest of him.
Together, Mickey and Ian made their way over to the bar, with Ian sitting first while Mickey got a fresh pot of coffee brewing for them. Then when Mickey turned around, waiting for the pot to fill, Ian caught his gaze and curiously scrunched his brow.
"You really gonna try to hook Julia up with Nino?" Ian asked. Mickey shrugged.
"If it gets her off my back, why the fuck wouldn't I?" he replied, "Win-win."
Mickey knew it was probably still a long shot, but Julia's constant hovering over him and incessant flirting with him most every day was pretty damn annoying. If he could potentially point her in a different direction, Mickey was more than glad to try. It's not like he was interested in the woman at all anyway, for more reasons than he would even be willing to say out loud. He couldn't see a downside.
Ian laughed lightly at his response, his own mood seeming quite bright today. But then again, Ian almost always seemed to be in a bright mood, at least whenever Mickey saw him. He simply exuded positivity more often than not, and the other man couldn't help but envy that about Ian sometimes. His ability to simply be happy. To chose to see the bright side of things. Mickey wanted to learn how to be like that too, somehow.
The redhead then leaned forward a little more, speaking in a hushed voice across the counter as he flashed a small glance out toward the kitchen where Nino was busy at the stove preparing their food.
"He's not gonna like, ask me to move a body or some shit, right?" Ian wondered, his tone light, but serious. The other man chuckled as he gathered two mugs, eyeing the coffee pot as it nearly became filled, then gave his head a sure shake.
"Not fuckin' likely," Mickey replied, then titled his head in thought for a moment, and pushed out his lower lip, "Not unless he ever hooks back up with his old prison homies for some reason," he shrugged, "But as far as I know, Nino don't gang bang anymore. So, I think you're good."
Ian blinked a few times at that, clearly unsure of how to respond. But Mickey just mixed up two cups of coffee, sweet and strong just how he likes it, and offered one over to Ian to sip on instead.
After Nino cooked their breakfast, they sat together and ate. The entire time they each tried their best to make small talk, and stole small glances that they each hoped the other one didn't see. The diner was mostly empty right now, and quiet, almost peaceful, during these early morning hours. Both men were quietly glad to spend this little bit of time together, than home alone in the dark.
After their meal, the pair went out back into the alley for a cigarette before they actually began working. Sitting atop their usual produce crates as the sun began to rise, Nino soon clocked out, said goodbye, and Ms. Maggie arrived, along with Julia not long after. Both women were bright and early as always, quickly settling into their roles as the diner began to fill up to begin the breakfast rush. And yet, Ian and Mickey both took their time in smoking their cigarettes, neither in much of a rush for it to end just yet. The redhead sucked in a deep drag, then exhaled.
"Looks like it's gonna be another long day," Ian mentioned, "You still wanna go to the bar later tonight?" he queried, flicking a bit of ash off the tip of his cigarette and letting it flutter down onto the ground. The other man pulled in a puff of his own, then pushed out through his nose with a small nod.
"Yeah," Mickey replied, then tilted his head a bit, "So long as nothin' fucks my mood back up between then and now," he added. Ian crinkled his brow a bit.
"Are you anticipating something?" he asked. Mickey thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulder and shook his head.
"Not necessarily," Mickey said, "People can just be fuckin' morons sometimes," he explained, "I don't have the patience for that shit." The redhead gave a thoughtful nod of agreement, then flashed him a small smirk.
"At least you don't really have to interact with too many people," Ian offered, then let his smirk spread into a bit of a smile, with a subtle smugness pulling at his cheeks, "You don't seem to mind me as much anymore," he added lightly.
Mickey turned his gaze on him for just an instant, then looked away. He tried is best to ignore that little hint of a fizzling tickle that suddenly arose in his chest, urging himself to push it back down and extinguish it. Instead, Mickey frowned, and refused to let the other man think too much of himself. It was almost a defense mechanism as he hardened his face and narrowed his eyes.
"Who the fuck says I don't?" Mickey replied, kind of hoping it would shut Ian up before he became too uncomfortable with the conversation. But the redhead wasn't so easy to sway.
"I'm pretty sure I just did," Ian grinned easily, almost proudly, sucking in another drag from his cigarette and blowing it out again.
Then try as he might for Mickey not to let the other man's charm prod him into splitting just the smallest crack of a smirk, he couldn't stop himself. That little flutter came back, flushing his chest with a warm, sweet feeling that he couldn't so easily snuff out. Mickey fought down his smirk, frowning and looking away again to smoke his own cigarette, grumbling heatlessly as he exhaled.
"Just shut the fuck up."
Just like Ian had predicted, that work day was long, and it was busy. So they didn't really get another chance to talk very much. But it was still a pretty normal day at the diner.
Mickey's mood stayed fairly light as he went about his scrubbing and rinsing duties, letting himself get lost to the music in his ears like he always did. It was during the brief pause in between songs that his mind would try to distract him though, quietly floating back to a particular redheaded co-worker each and every time. Mickey would chance just the smallest glance out toward the dining room, his gaze searching for Ian for a quick moment, hoping for a glimpse. Then the next song would start, pulling his attention back down to the job in front of him, and began scrubbing again.
He tried to convince himself that is just what friendship must feel like, real friendship. Mickey's never really had actual real friends before, so he didn't really have anything to compare it to. Of course, there have been guys that he's hung out with in the past, mostly friends of his brothers and cousins. But they were never really friends with Mickey directly. They were all just part of the same group of stupid, vagrant delinquents he'd had the unfortunate luck of growing up around, who would drink, smoke, party, commit crimes together, and beat the shit out of each other because they had nothing better to do. All of the while just taking up the same space that one of them could suddenly disappear from and no one would notice. Just like Mickey had.
Maybe whatever was developing between he and Ian was different than that, somehow more meaningful, even if it's still in it's infancy. But Mickey didn't like thinking so deeply, and it always made his head hurt whenever he tried. He just wanted to write things off as what they were on the surface, the only part that really mattered to him. Mickey didn't really think he was capable of digging any further anyway. Some things should just stay buried.
They were just two co-workers getting to know each other. Two guys hanging out, having drinks, and that's all it needed to be. Mickey didn't feel the need to put any label on that. But the word friend was just something it seemed he'd have to get used to. Because as much as he would deny it out loud, Mickey knew that must be what it was. He and Ian were friends, and there was nothing wrong with that.
It was a strange feeling though, when Ian would stop by his station to deposit dirty dishes, and he would pause to smile at him every single time. Mickey didn't think he'd ever felt that from another person before, and he still couldn't explain it to himself, refusing to try. Instead he would just look away again, like he always did, back to washing pots and pans, and doing his best forget the redhead's existence for a while. It was easier that way.
It wasn't until about 9:30 that night when things at Mag's finally started to slow down, much to the staff's relief. When Ian and Mickey each sat down at the dining counter after changing out of their work clothes to request their dinner, Nino was impressed with the pair of them to see them both still there as he clocked back in for another night. Mickey sat first, and when Ian appeared and saw him there, he offered a tip of his chin in greeting as he sat on the stool beside him. The other man returned it, but then kept his face ahead, still trying to mentally prepare himself for the rest of the night.
Nino served them both Salisbury steaks with scalloped potatoes and string beans, because that was the freshest meal out of everything already hot and ready to eat. They ate together in silence for a few minutes, both men simply hungry and eager to fill their stomachs after a long day. Until about halfway through, when Ian reached to take a drink from his glass of iced tea, that he finally decided to speak.
"So, doesn't look like anyone fucked your mood up today," Ian observed, "Our plans still on then?"
Mickey smeared a bit of his steak through a puddle of ketchup on his plate, then popped in his mouth to chew with a shrug on his shoulder.
"Yeah, I guess so," Mickey replied, "Beer sounds good," he said. The other man grinned excitedly at his response.
"Alright, cool," Ian said, "I already texted my brother earlier to make sure he was still going to be home tonight," he informed, "He said that he would be. So that's all covered." The other man nodded in acknowledgement as he skewered a few green beans with his fork and ate them.
"I think there's a hockey game or something on too. So that'll be cool," Mickey added.
"You like hockey, huh?" Ian asked. The other man took a bite of potatoes and chewed again.
"You fuckin' kidding me?" Mickey smirked, then swallowed, "It's one of the few sports where the players get to beat the shit outta each other," he chuckled, "It's pretty entertaining. Don't exactly follow it or nothin' though."
The redhead laughed at that, and gave a nod.
"That's kinda how I feel about football sometimes," Ian said, "There's something so satisfying about a really hard tackle that fucks somebody up," he grinned, then took a bit from his plate. Mickey chuckled a bit at that, and gave an approving nod.
"Definitely satisfying when someone gets fucked up," Mickey agreed, then took another bite from his own plate as well.
Just at that moment Julia suddenly appeared from the other end of the counter, holding a hot, fresh pot of coffee, and a glossy, red-lipped smile on her face. The waitress reached over to refresh Mickey's ever present mug, then slid the little sugar and cream dish closer to begin mixing it up for him.
"Who's getting fucked up?" Julia wondered as she emptied two small, plastic cups of creamer, and four packets of sugar into Mickey's coffee, "Sounds like a good time," she said, her eyes almost glittery with intrigue as she looked between the two men, "Am I invited?" she smiled.
"Different kinda fucked up," Ian replied, "Not the fun kind."
"Just depends on your idea of fun," Julia flirted, then peered over at Mickey as she picked up a spoon, beginning to stir his cup, then shot him a wink, "Does that mean I can come?" she asked.
The redhead's gaze moved from Julia, over to the man beside him, chewing another mouthful of food and arching a knowing eyebrow. Mickey repressed a frown as he took his cup from her and tried a small sip, finding it weaker than he liked. He shook his head.
"I dunno what the fuck you're talking about," Mickey said, "I don't ever have shit going on. Everybody here knows that," he continued easily, preferring it that way anyway most of the time. He then flashed Ian a small knowing glance of his own before looking back up at Julia, "I hear Nino's looking for some company though," Mickey mentioned, "And he's always got good weed," he added, trying to sweeten the deal a bit.
But Julia just scrunched her nose at the offer, then let out a dry laugh.
"Did Nino tell you to say that?" Julia accused, then let out a scoff, "Sounds like something he'd say."
The redhead beside Mickey grinned a bit at that, but tried his best to hide it.
"Nah," said Mickey, "Just telling you what I heard."
Julia pushed a small huff through her nose, and pressed her lips together as she gave her head a shake.
"He's not exactly my type," said Julia, "Little old for my taste," she admitted sourly.
"Some things can be better with age though," Ian chimed in, drawing Mickey's gaze over and earning him the smallest smirk, "Maturity is a good thing, right?"
"Maybe for cheese and booze," Julia laughed, "I wouldn't necessarily say the same about men though."
"Maybe you're just dating the wrong men," Ian retorted, "Expand your horizons," he said.
As Mickey listened to Ian banter with Julia, he had to fight down his smirk again. The way he quickly and easily just went along with Mickey, quietly working with him to try and make good on his return favor to Nino. He didn't have to do that, but just seemed to want to, perhaps already knowing that early morning breakfast from the diner's chef may end up coming in handy again in the future. It made the little flutter inside Mickey's chest dance around a bit, and he couldn't explain why. He liked Ian, and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore it.
Mickey quickly looked away, before he could be caught gazing a little too long, and took another bite from his plate instead. Julia remained stubborn though, this clearly not being the first time Nino has invited her out, and shook her head again.
"No thanks," Julia replied, then fluttered her lashes flirtatiously at Mickey, "I already have my sights set elsewhere," she said, rubbing the lipstick around between her lips, then smacking them with a pop as she blew the dark haired man a little kiss, "And the view is pretty damn nice."
Mickey frowned uncomfortably, refusing to meet the woman's gaze as he chewed up his mouthful and scooped in another.
"Sounds like you need your fuckin' eyes checked, Jules," Mickey quipped back, then took another gulp from his coffee, "Might wander into traffic if you're not careful."
Ian muffled a small laugh behind a bite of green beans, chewing with amusement as he looked between the two of them. Mickey glanced over at him, seeing him to suddenly appear in an even brighter mood than before. He met Mickey's eyes for just an instant, grinning as he swallowed, then looked back up at Julia.
"Try not to take it personally," Ian suggested, "He doesn't like me either," he smirked lightly.
The dark haired man kept his gaze on his plate at that comment, quickly stuffing another large bite of Salisbury steak into his mouth, and refused to look back up at either one of them. Julia smiled as well, not seeming fazed the slightest bit.
"Yeah, that's Mickey," she sighed sweetly, "The sweet ones are always hard and rough on the outside," she said.
Mickey rolled his eyes, then let out a rather hefty belch, just before he reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth off. This conversation was making him more than uncomfortable, and he was ready for it to be over.
"Well, I'm fuckin' full," Mickey announced suddenly, then began to stand from his stool, "Cigarette?" he offered with a glance toward Ian. The redhead quickly agreed, nodding as he quickly wiped his own face with a napkin, then began to stand as well.
"Yeah," Ian replied, "Smoke sounds good."
Mickey grasped his coffee mug to take one long, final chug, then set it back down. Ian did the same with his iced tea, and Julia just sighed again as she began gathering their dishes to clear away from the counter.
"What's a girl gotta do?" she asked almost rhetorically, her gaze still longingly following Mickey as he moved, "I'll wear you down one of these days," Julia smirked, "Just you wait."
As much as Mickey really tried not to be overly rude in general, he honestly didn't give the slightest shit about Julia's feelings to care. He was trying to nudge her in Nino's direction as best he could, and if being an asshole may potentially help that along, Mickey was glad to oblige. It wasn't far out of his usual realm of demeanor anyway. He didn't meet her eyes for even a single second as he began to step away from the counter to finally leave for the night.
"Don't hold your breath," said Mickey.
Julia looked disappointed, but not crushed. She was stubborn, with a tough skin. But Mickey refused to ever let her get a single inch on him no matter how hard or long she tried. It was never going to happen. The redheaded man shot the smallest departing nod toward Julia before turning to follow Mickey toward the locker area to gather their things. Just as they both went to punch out on their timecards, Ian met his eyes again.
"I don't think Julia's gonna be so easy to convince," Ian said with a light, humorous smirk, "Might have bit off more than you can chew making that deal with Nino," he said. But Mickey just waved him off, pressing his lips together and scoffing through his nose.
"Don't underestimate me," Mickey retorted, "I know how to work a long-con," he said, "Just takes some time."
Ian chuckled as they finished clocking out and pushed open the alley door to leave. The instant the pair stepped foot outside, each man lit a cigarette, quickly sucking in a few deep drags, and savoring the welcomed rush of nicotine after such a long shift.
It held the silence between them for a few moments as they walked, sparing Mickey a bit of time to contemplate what to say, and how the rest of the night was going to play out. He hoped it would be just like the last couple times they'd gone to the bar, and it would just be another easy night. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that mysterious little flutter still floating around inside his chest made Mickey nervous, anxious, and he just didn't know what to do about it. He just wanted it to go away.
At least the walk to Rock Bottom was short, and he could just pretend to focus on his cigarette, trying his best not to chance too many glances at the redhead following quietly beside him. Mickey just needed to relax and stop overthinking all of this shit. He rubbed his brow roughly for a second as he pushed two blue plumes of smoke through his nose, then sucked down one last puff before flicking the spent filter out into the street.
When they entered the establishment, it was dim and smoky as usual, with a hockey game already blaring from the television, and a sizable group of half drunken patrons tuned in to it. The pair shared a friendly glance, then quickly made their way to stools along the bar to sit, placed their backpacks on the back of their stools, and ordered beers.
When the mugs arrived Ian lifted his and took a modest sip of foam, while Mickey gulped down nearly have his glass in just two large swigs. Mickey exhaled with a wide, satisfied grin on his face as he set it back down, and let his shoulders begin to relax a little bit. He turned his face, catching Ian's gaze, and saw the man grin back at him just the same. It made him catch himself a bit, straightening out his face, then looked away and gestured to the cold, frothy mug in front of him instead.
"Hits the fuckin' spot," said Mickey. The other man offered a nod and a chuckle.
"That it does," Ian agreed, then took another almost dainty sip from his own beer.
Mickey pushed a small, amused scoff through his nose, then gave Ian's drink a point.
"You can order something else if you want," Mickey offered, "If it fucks with your medication or whatever," he shrugged.
Ian's expression turned a bit softer and more thoughtful for just an instant, until Mickey looked away again, drowning out the flutter with another swift swallow of booze. Gathering up more courage to look at him again.
"I can usually have one, sometimes two, and be okay," Ian replied, "I gotta nurse it like a fucking geriatric patient," he added with a chuckle that Mickey fought not to mirror, "But that's alright. Just means I'm a really cheap date," he joked lightly.
Mickey's face involuntarily twitched in a peculiar way at Ian's words, and his eyes quickly dropped back down to the drink in his hands as he began gnawing on the inside of his cheek with discomfort. He didn't know how to respond to that, and it almost made his skin prickle and crawl weirdly along the back of his neck. Mickey then forced a scoff through his nose, trying to appear humored by the remark, keeping himself distracted as he raised his mug back up.
"Lucky you, I guess," Mickey replied, then swallowed down another generous swig nearly emptying the glass, and belched. "I can usually get down five or six before I even start to slur," he added, then tapped his knuckles atop the bar to signal for another. "I mean, if I get 'em down quick enough," he smirked.
"Shit, Mickey," said Ian, "We just sat down."
The bartender paused in front of them, replacing Mickey's spent beer with another fresh one. Ian then watched him with the slightest lacing of concern in his gaze as Mickey grasped the new mug and slid it closer to him.
"And?" Mickey challenged with a sharp raise of an eyebrow, "What the fuck are you worried about?"
Mickey's attitude and even his posture had seemed to change after Ian's awkward comment. He was secretly very defensive about it, almost offended, trying not to over think it entirely. The vague insinuation made him unreasonably uncomfortable, no matter how innocently it was intended to be taken. But Mickey wasn't sure enough to call Ian out on it either. So he kind of just tried to swallow it, tried to ignore it, and forget about it entirely..
Ian looked at him rather thoughtfully for a moment, seemingly careful in picking his words, then smoothed his face back out into the same friendly expression.
"Just don't want you to end up shitfaced, so I'm stuck carrying your ass back up to the L later," Ian grinned lightly, "Not that I couldn't," he added, "I just don't want to."
Mickey cracked a smirk at that, but relaxing only a little, then tipped his chin at him.
"Tell ya what, gramps," Mickey said smugly, "I'll slow down, if you pick up the fuckin' pace a little bit," he offered with a gesture to Ian's barely touched beverage, "No one likes to get drunk alone."
The redhead mirrored his smirk ever so slightly, his expression thoughtful again. He then offered a nod as he raised his own glass in agreement.
"I can do that," Ian replied, before taking a much more reasonable drink from his beer. The other man grinned.
"That's more like it," Mickey said, then gave his head a flick, "Now let's drink, and watch this fuckin' game."
Mickey tried his very best to do just that, as he did genuinely enjoy hockey. He also had every intention on building up a good enough buzz to help him both relax more now and sleep better later. So, that's exactly what he planned to do. However, much like every other time he's hung out with Ian, Mickey just found himself distracted and unable to focus on the television.
He'd obviously never been much of a conversationalist, or even much of a small talker. But as the night went on, and the alcohol continued to loosen his nerves, Mickey was beginning to enjoy talking to the redhead much more than anything on the screen beside them. He answered a bit more easily without over thinking his response so much before he said it. It strangely began to feel sort of normal, like this is what other people did with their friends. That this must be what Mickey had been missing out on for so long. He was actually having fun, enjoying himself, and it was pretty nice.
Looking Ian in the face was also becoming easier, actually peering into his eyes when he spoke, and really letting himself just see the other man without the lingering sense of shame in the back of his mind. Mickey still had to avert his gaze occasionally though, when the close eye contact become too overwhelming, when that fluttery little tickle would reappear inside his chest. But Ian never seemed to mind or even notice much, appearing to enjoy himself just the same. The pair were happily buzzed from their booze as they chatted, paying less and less attention to the hockey game on the television, or anyone else in the bar. They were sort of still just getting to know each other more, since there still seemed to be so much left to learn.
Mickey was nearly done with his fourth beer, while Ian was just about halfway through his second, the both of them delightfully tipsy atop their bar stools and turned more inward between them as they spoke. They each puffed on a cigarette and shared an ashtray, as they exchanged friendly grins and smirks throughout their conversation. Ian seemed to grin especially warm and bright each time Mickey happened to smile at something he said, and Mickey just tried not to let his gaze linger too long on the other man's face whenever it happened. Mickey sucked in a thick drag of smoke, hoping to fumigate the flutter, then drowned the rest out with another gulp of beer.
"I dont know how the fuck you do that," Mickey said suddenly. The redhead crinkled his brow with perplexity.
"Do what?" Ian queried through an exhale of smoke.
"Walk around with that goofy fuckin' look on your face all the time," Mickey replied, "Why do you do that?"
Ian laughed at that, then considered Mickey's question for a second, and shrugged.
"I guess, I'm just happy," Ian said, "I mean, the meds help a lot with that too," he added jokingly, earning him a chuckle from Mickey. "But, I don't know. Things are a lot better for me now than they were before," Ian explained, then shrugged again, "And I'm just glad for it."
"Before what?" Mickey wondered, "The diner?"
"Well, yeah," Ian nodded, "But also before moving back home, and getting medicated," he said, "I didn't have any support or stability before, and that kind of thing fucks with your head after a while. Especially when you factor in a pre-existing condition like bipolar disorder," Ian smirked, then sipped his beer, "But I'll spare you the sob story."
"I'm sure it ain't some shit I've never heard before," Mickey replied, "That's your business though. I get it, man."
Ian studied Mickey's expression for a second, briefly gauging the tone in his words, and seeming to wonder if there was something underlying it. But Mickey just offered a content, relaxed blink when their eyes met, and Ian just lightly shrugged another shoulder as he sucked in a drag of smoke and blew it back out.
"I just don't wanna bring the mood down and ruin the night," he explained, "More of a conversation for another day," said Ian. Mickey just sort of pressed his lips together as he puffed his cigarette and waved him off rather easily.
"Whatever, man. I really don't give a shit," Mickey said, "Everybody's got shit they'd rather keep to themselves. I sure as fuck know I do." Ian chuckled.
"Yeah, you don't really seem like the sharing type," Ian replied.
"I'm not," Mickey stated firmly, "Because it's nobody's fuckin' business."
Ian chuckled again at that, with a wide, comfortable grin still resting on his face, then nodded.
"Privacy is important," Ian agreed with amusement, "It is to me too. Not enough people respect it anymore," he added much more seriously, "So, I'm glad that you do."
Ian was gazing at Mickey warmly again, causing the dark haired man to swallow nervously, then suck another drag of smoke off his cigarette in the hopes of distracting himself from it. He appreciated what Ian said, considering Mickey was an extremely private person for reason he'd rather never say. He was glad that he may not have to worry about the other man asking him too many invasive questions about his life, and it put Mickey's mind more at ease pretty quickly. He could tell that Ian was still curious though, just like Mickey was about him, and their eyes met again for just a second. Ian flicked a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray between them, then raised a curious eyebrow.
"How long have you been working at Mag's anyway?" Ian wondered, "I don't think I've ever actually asked."
"What's it matter?" Mickey shrugged.
"Just curious," said Ian.
"Few years," Mickey replied finally, "Honestly, it's the only legit job I've ever had," he said, "I like it enough though."
"Same here," Ian nodded, then paused and tilted his head, "Well, not the first legit job on paper." he clarified, "But it's the first one without any strings attached."
Mickey's brow crinkled curiously at that, wondering what exactly Ian meant by that. But he wasn't going to pry, especially after they both agreed they were private people and preferred to keep things that way. Instead he took a drink from his beer and offered a nod.
"Yeah. Mag's doesn't ask for too much, aside from just showing the fuck up and working," Mickey said, "She doesn't even really mind if you have a record, as long as you don't bring that bullshit around the diner, or try to swipe any cash from the register," he chuckled. The redhead mirrored his amusement as he raised his own beer to sip.
"Thank fuck for that," Ian grinned with a swallow, causing Mickey's brow to crease once again.
Ian had a record? Mickey didn't know if he found that more surprising, concerning, or impressive, not at all taking the redhead for the type to have one at all. It was something else that Mickey really began to wonder about, wanted to ask about, but wasn't sure if it would be too forward to do so. Mickey didn't usually care one way or another if he offended someone with a question or remark. But for some reason, right now with Ian, it was different. He didn't want to overstep and potentially spoil things, or kill the mood. Mickey wanted to tread carefully on this new ground between them, and was grateful when Ian spoke again instead.
"Mandy told me it was a really great place to work," said Ian, "I can't thank her enough."
"It's just waiting tables," Mickey laughed, "Didn't you say you've done that shit before? In a club or somethin'?" he asked, remembering the first conversation the two of them had ever had.
Ian's brow raise with a bit of surprise that Mickey had remembered such a seemingly minute detail, splitting a small smirk as well. But then just as quickly, he gave his head a smooth, easy shake.
"This is different," Ian insisted, "And if she never put in a word for me, I don't know if I ever would have gotten the job just based on my experience," he said, "Not that I could really put any of my last couple jobs as a reference anyway."
Mickey's curiosity was burning up and bubbling behind the backs of his eyes, forcing him to gnaw on the inside of his lip to refrain from asking too many questions. Instead he smoked his cigarette, sucking in a long, deep drag, then crushed the spent filter into the ashtray.
"Yeah, I feel that," Mickey agreed vaguely, "Mandy was working there way before I was, and Mags always really liked her," he said.
"So, she helped you get a job there too?" Ian asked, to which Mickey scoffed thickly.
"The fuck she did," Mickey retorted, "I got myself that job there," he corrected, even if he really didn't know for sure, "I've been there longer now than she ever was anyway."
"My mistake," chuckled Ian.
Ian sucked in one final drag from his cigarette, then exhaled as he snuffed it out inside the ashtray beside Mickey's. Then there was that look again, that one that Mickey keeps trying to ignore, and the one that Ian seems to flash much more freely with a beer and a half in his system. It was warm, almost soft, and oddly friendlier than usual. Mickey didn't really know what that look was exactly, or what the other man was thinking behind it. But it made the funny, fluttery, tickling feeling reappear inside his guts, and float up through his chest only to get stuck inside his throat. Then Mickey swallowed again, willing away his nerves, and brought his mug of beer back up to his lips. Before suddenly his neck and shoulders involuntarily tensed when Ian asked something else that caught him much more off guard.
"So, you really don't have like a girlfriend or something?"
Mickey dreaded this question, no matter who it came from, because he never quite knew how to answer it. If he was honest and said no, the usual follow up question was why? That was even more difficult to respond to, and Mickey really just didn't feel like having that conversation right now at all. Instead Mickey instinctually became a little defensive once again by default, like he always did whenever he didn't know how to respond to something, and merely creased his brow.
"What makes you think that I don't?" Mickey bluffed back.
As Mickey raised his beer to take another gulp, he met Ian's eyes, seeing the man's gaze flicker ever so slightly at his words. It confused Mickey to see, though Ian covered it quickly and well, almost as if the sudden tiny change in his expression was never there at all. Instead Ian smirked a bit, tilting his head with a slow, tipsy blink.
"Mandy might have mentioned something about it," Ian admitted, to which the other man scoffed.
"Well, Mandy needs to learn how to mind her own fuckin' business," Mickey grumbled, then paused, and raised a curious eyebrow, "Why the fuck was she talkin' about me anyway?" he asked.
Ian looked a little caught off guard at the question, which perplexed Mickey even more, wondering if the other man was hiding something. It made him kind of suspicious, and a little uncomfortable again. But Ian didn't linger on it, sipping his beer and shrugging a shoulder.
"She wasn't," Ian corrected, "I don't even really remember how it came up," he added quickly, as if trying not to fumble over his words, "It was kinda just like a passing comment, or whatever."
Mickey eyed him curiously for a moment, watching as the redhead now looked a little uncomfortable, and he was just wondering why. His fingers figeted over the handle of his beer mug, and he wasn't looking Mickey for a second. Then Ian seemed to try to save face, meeting his gaze again, and offering another friendly smirk.
"I don't have a girlfriend either," he said.
That surprised Mickey, even though he'd never really thought about it before. Ian was tall, funny, seemed smart, and even if Mickey would never voice it, he didn't exactly think Ian was ugly either. So, he just really didn't understand. But he also supposed that maybe like himself, Ian just didn't feel like he had the room for a relationship in his life, that he just didn't really want or need one. That was as good a reason as any. Mickey was still curious though, and the buzz from his beer motivated him to ask a question of his own that he normally wouldn't, almost unable to stop himself.
"Why not?" Mickey queried.
Ian became silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful again as he peered over at Mickey, idly tapping his fingertips against his beer mug. Mickey met his eyes, trying his best to maintain the contact for a moment as he waited for an answer. He watched as Ian pushed out his lower lip, upturned a palm, and shrugged one of his shoulders.
"Well, I mean, life's just busy, I guess," Ian replied finally, "There's my little sister, and her whole situation," he explained, "And right now, I'm just trying to straighten my life out. You know, get my shit together," Ian added awkwardly, like there was something more that he wasn't saying out loud.
Then Ian paused again, almost hesitating, like there were more words right on the tip of his tongue that were struggling to slip out, yet refusing to do so. Mickey almost had to look away, because the flutter inside his chest was suddenly beginning to distract him again, always seeming to appear at some of the worst times. The redhead leaned forward just the slightest bit, speaking more lowly yet directly to the man beside him.
"I just haven't found the right person yet," Ian summed up, "And I don't trust people very easily either," he said.
Mickey could relate to that, could understand, especially not being able to trust others easily. He'd never been able to do that either. And as far as finding the right person, Mickey didn't even try. He didn't want to subject another person to his own mental and emotional bullshit. Not to mention the thought of physical intimacy of any kind was simply gut churning, no matter who it happened to be with. That just didn't sound like something that Mickey might ever be interested in, having already had that extension of himself soiled and tainted so very long ago, before he'd ever even matured enough for a chance to explore it. Mickey wasn't sure if he'd ever be capable of having a relationship with anyone. It just didn't feel possible.
"I get that," Mickey replied, "Most people ain't worth shit."
Ian grinned, then began to nod as he took another sip from his beer.
"That's the fucking truth," he agreed.
Mickey stayed silent and contemplative for a moment, willing the tense, defensive ache inside his muscles to loosen and relax. He wanted to be as honest as his mind would allow his voice to be, letting the alcohol do its work in helping him speak without thinking too much. Mickey took a drink from his beer, then peered back at Ian who still had the same warm, handsome grin stuck into his face. He chewed his lip and swallowed.
"The answer's no," Mickey told him finally, "I don't have a fuckin' girlfriend," he said, "And I really don't want one either."
The redhead nodded understandingly, without any judgment, then gave his head a sure shake.
"Honestly, neither do I," said Ian with a chuckle.
Mickey managed a smirk at that, then looked away to discreetly exhale with relief, quickly taking another swallow from his own beer as well. He was now nearing the end of another glass and feeling a pretty damn good buzz. The hockey game on the television had now ended at some point, though neither man had cared to notice when. Mickey for one didn't care at the moment anyway, much more focused on his time with Ian. He was still enjoying himself for the most part, even if he still had his brief moments of nerves and discomfort. It was going to be a long process for Mickey to feel normal about this, but he thought it was still going well. So far at least.
He couldn't help but second guess himself though, just a little bit. Especially when Ian gave him that look, that gaze that he couldn't quite identify, but just tried to explain away as a mild inebriation. It made the flutter flare, and almost burn, simmering inside his guts in a way that he just wasn't used to. Mickey didn't think anyone had ever looked at him in quite that way before, and he really wasn't sure yet whether he liked the feeling or not. Maybe something wasn't quite as it seems here, and he just couldn't put his finger on it yet. Somehow though, Mickey was sure that whatever it was, wasn't a bad thing. He just had to be patient and wait it out.
Then Ian looked away, to lift his glass up near his face, closely eyeing the last quarter of a mug, and blinked almost lazily. Mickey could tell that the other man was definitely starting to feel the effects of his booze, and smirked just a bit as he watched Ian grin, then swallow down his last few gulps of beer. He matched Ian's expression, then finished off his own. Each man let out a deep, loud belch, then laughed when they heard each other do it. When settled, their gazes lingered for a few long seconds before it broke, and Ian let out a sigh.
"So uh, I hate to be a buzz kill. But I should probably get heading home here soon," Ian said regretfully, "Even though my brother's there, I'll still have to hear bullshit from him about it if I'm out too late," he explained with an eye roll, "Asshole's a fucking hypocrite," Ian grumbled.
"You make it sound like you got a fuckin' curfew or somethin'," Mickey laughed lightly, "How old are you again?" he teased.
Ian scoffed thickly through his nose, then gave Mickey a heatless middle finger.
"Fuck off," Ian chuckled, "Just trying to keep the peace at home, you know?"
"Yeah, I'm just givin' you shit," Mickey smirked, "It's not a big deal. We can go."
Both men began to reach for their wallets, but then Ian raised a palm to stop Mickey from doing do. The dark haired man paused his hands and raised a confused eyebrow at him. Ian grinned at him hazily, then waved an index finger as he shook his head.
"No, no, not this time," Ian said, "Technically, I asked you to come out tonight. So I got this one," he smiled.
Mickey almost resisted and refused at first, especially since he'd drank twice the amount that the other man had. But then he remembered that he'd paid for Ian's drinks that last few times they've gone to the bar, even if it wasn't much. He figured Ian was just a little drunk and being friendly. So, Mickey wasn't going to argue with him about it this time. He was going to let it slide. Instead, he flashed the redhead a small smirk, then tipped his chin with thanks as he tucked his wallet back inside his pocket.
"Fine," Mickey accepted, watching as Ian placed a few bills atop the bar to pay, "Thanks."
"Never a problem," replied Ian, "This is always fun."
Mickey felt his smirk turn back into a smile at Ian's words, though he refused to meet his gaze to let him see it. There was a warm, bashful feeling mingling with the flutter inside his chest, and it felt good, really good. But Mickey wasn't ever going to let it show, simply refusing to be so openly vulnerable, especially in public. He fought down his smile, then turned on his stool, scooting forward to place his feet on the floor. When Mickey's feet met the ground, he swayed in his stance ever so slightly, causing Ian to laugh, then reach out to grasp a shoulder to help steady him. The other man scoffed and swatted his hand away.
"Fuck you," Mickey snapped heatlessly, "I'm fine," he said, then laughed as well when Ian moved to rise and wobbled a bit as well, "You're one to talk," he observed.
"Shut up," grinned Ian, "It's just been a little while since I've been drunk," he chuckled.
"And from only two beers," Mickey sighed, then let the booze talk for him without much care to his words, "You really are a cheap date," he laughed.
Ian met his eyes, then laughed right along with him, and Mickey was relieved for it. Then the pair of them shrugged on their backpacks, and slowly made their way out of the bar, mildly swaying, stumbling, and laughing as they went. They headed toward the L to wait for the next train, smoking yet another cigarette on the way.
Mickey couldn't remember the last time his mood had felt so light and easy, inebriated or not. He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually had fun, until he started spending more time with Ian. The whole day had been better than usual, and he knew it probably wasn't a coincidence. Mickey was actually happy, at least in this moment, and he wasn't sure if anything could spoil it right now. He wanted to keep this up and do it again. Having a friend was turning out to be pretty nice so far, and Mickey was secretly pretty proud of himself for giving it a chance.
As they walked onto the platform in wait of the train, they stayed close beside each other, even with it being nearly empty. There were just a few straggling club goers headed home, a couple hookers looking for johns, and the one lone graveyard shift worker sitting on a bench taking their lunch break. It was quiet as they finished their smokes and began to wait. Then Ian gazed over at Mickey again, hands tucked inside his pockets, and offered another smile.
"This really has been fun," Ian told him, "We definitely have to keep this a regular thing," he said.
Mickey let himself smile back at the offer, which only seemed to brighten Ian's expression even more, and he nodded.
"Yeah, man. We should," he agreed, "That'd be cool."
"Cool," Ian mirrored gladly.
The redhead looked pleased with that response to say the least, almost proud and accomplished to hear it. Mickey was also far too tipsy to dissect the other man's reaction either, still simply floating on his own good mood, and looking forward to hopefully getting a well needed night's sleep when he got home. Their gazes stayed connected for a short moment just as the L finally approached the platform, the screech of the track filling the quiet and whooshing the air around them. They finally looked away from each other as the train slowed into place and stopped, thick plumes of steam from the engines wafting up from the track. Then the door slid open, and both men waited for a few people inside to exit before they stepped onboard.
But then just as Mickey thought they were ready to go inside, there was a man that he'd never seen before stepping off the train, who made eye contact with Ian and stopped. The man was a little older than both of them were with blonde hair and a slim build. He looked surprised, yet happy to see Ian. Yet when Mickey glanced beside him to gauge Ian's expression, he saw the redhead suddenly tense up a bit and become uncomfortable at the sight of him. He glanced back at Mickey as well, meeting his eyes nervously for just an instant, then peered back over at this new stranger.
"Ian?" the man said, "Wow. Hi," he greeted, "It's been a while."
Ian looked as if he sobered up almost immediately, his posture becoming more straightened out and reserved, and his feet shifted around awkwardly where he stood for second.
"Oh, hey Chris," Ian replied, "Yeah, it has been a long time."
"At least a year," Chris said excitedly, "How have you been?" he asked, then moved in to hug Ian without any warning.
Ian stiffened, and flashed Mickey another small, awkward glance as he accepted the hug, and gave the man's back a pat with his palm. Mickey's smile had long faded now, and he took a step back from the pair in front of him.
"Uh, good," Ian said, "I've been good."
"You still working down at the Fairy Tail?" Chris wondered with a curious grin, "I haven't gone anywhere near it since they fired me," the man laughed.
Ian's face turned pale at the question, and he blinked a few times as he tried to find his words. Mickey's brow creased deeply, trying to figure out what the fuck kind of club would have a name like that. He wasn't understanding the conversation much at all and was starting to wonder why the hell Ian now looked so uncomfortable around this person. The redhead shook his head in reply.
"No," Ian said, "Not in a long time now."
"Somewhere else in Boys Town?" Chris pressed further.
That's when it all started to click. Mickey may not have ever heard of the Fairy Tail, but he did know where Boys Town was. He'd been there before several years ago as a teenager, when his father would gather up Mickey and his brothers to go fag bashing in the middle of the night. He'd always hated those excursions, and remembered the feeling of terror and guilt from having to partake in such a hateful act of violence against people who didn't deserve it.
Mickey would often wonder back then, if his father ever found out what Peter had been doing to him, would Terry have simply done the same thing to him? Would he not deserve that either? How would Terry have treated him if he'd known the full extent of it, like how many others were involved, or the fact that Mickey had once even sought out another man all on his own simply because he wanted to? Mickey was quickly becoming overwhelmed with these very same thoughts all over again, and he suddenly felt like he had a sour, heavy pit forming inside his stomach.
Then he realized that if Ian had been working there, that could likely mean only one thing. Ian was gay, and Mickey had no idea. This whole time, Mickey thought he was making a friend. But perhaps Ian had ulterior motives this entire time, and Mickey had just been naive. He wasn't sure how to process this information, and for some reason, for a moment Mickey felt like he'd been lied to.
There was almost immediately a wave of anxiety and fear that Mickey couldn't control, and he almost had the urge to turn around and run away. His eyes fell to the ground, and he felt his hands curl into fists as his breath sped up in an extremely uncomfortable way, no longer hearing much of the conversation in front of him. The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and he instantly began to sweat. Mickey needed to get the fuck out of here.
"Uh, sorry Chris," Ian said in a rushed tone, "It's nice to see you, but we really can't miss this train," he explained with a point to the open door.
"Oh, of course," Chris accepted easily, then winked at the two men and offered them a small wave, "You and your boyfriend have a good night!" he smiled, then turned to walk away down the platform.
Ian cursed under his breath, rubbed his brow, and avoided Mickey's eyes for a second.
"Sorry about that," Ian said, "He's um, he's just an old co-worker," he explained vaguely, "He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about," he assured quickly, then moved to step onto the train while the doors were still open.
But Mickey didn't move, even more frozen in shock from the other man's departing words and couldn't bring himself to follow Ian onto the L right now. His heart was beating hard, pounding, almost rapid like he was in danger, and being trapped in a small space like a train car was only going to make it worse.
Ian creased his brow with confusion when he realized that Mickey wasn't following, and turned around to finally look at him. His expression instantly grew concerned when he looked at him, seeing how stiff and clammy he'd suddenly become. But Mickey just kept his gaze turned down, unable to look at the other man right now.
"Mickey?" Ian asked, "Are you okay?"
Mickey's eyes darted around on the pavement, and he took a step back as he nodded.
"Yeah," he lied, "I think I just need to walk," Mickey said, then nodded again more surely to himself, "Yeah, I'm gonna fuckin' walk," he repeated with a point of his thumb, "I'll see you at work."
"What're you talking about?" Ian blurted, "You're just a little drunk," he insisted, as the other man stepped back again, "Mickey, wait a sec-," he began, but was suddenly cut off as the train doors closed right in his face.
Mickey heard a few of Ian's muffled protests just before the L began to pull away from the platform, but he simply turned around to begin walking at a quick, intentional pace back toward his own neighborhood. He needed to be anywhere but here, even if that meant his own shitty little apartment. But he wouldn't have been able to stand another second next to Ian right now either, so instead he was walking. Mickey needed to clear his head, and calm the fuck back down. He just needed to settle himself and be alone.
How could Mickey not have realized that Ian was a faggot? That guy Chris thought they were a couple. Does that mean Mickey looks like a faggot too? He was almost instantly hyperaware of every movement his body made as he walked down the street, and wondered if that's what people thought when they looked at him. Mickey felt vulnerable and exposed in a way that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He almost thought he might be sick. Not that Ian disgusted him, but Mickey didn't quite know what it was. He just felt dirty and wrong now, and he didn't know why. Mickey just wanted to go home. The night had been ruined.
He wasn't sure how he'd be able to face Ian at work again, or if they'd even be able to be friends anymore without everything feeling strange and out-of-place now. Did other people know this about Ian? Did Mandy know? Why the fuck wouldn't she tell Mickey if she knew that, as if it wasn't important? It seemed like something worth mentioning at least. Something about Ian being gay made him nervous, almost anxious. He just couldn't put words to it, and didn't think he was capable of doing that right now anyway in the state he was in. Mickey just needed to sleep on it, if he could still manage to sleep now at all.
He really hoped that he hadn't given Ian the wrong idea. Mickey didn't want to be gay. He wasn't gay, and he refused to ever let anyone believe otherwise. Mickey also knew his own head was too messed up to sort it out one way or another anyway. So this was just easier. It made more sense to Mickey just to keep all that other shit to himself inside, and no one else ever had to know about it. It was safer this way, and Mickey didn't think he would ever change his mind about that. It's just the way it had to be. Ian could be as gay as he wanted, and Mickey probably wouldn't hate him for it . But he himself had far too much internalized homophobia to even consider the possibility.
Mickey just wasn't a faggot, and if that disappointed Ian, then so be it.