Ian glanced down wearily at the GED form application. Cursing silently, he put pen to paper and began filling the tiny boxes out.
He felt Lip's breath on the back of his neck before his obnoxious voice. "GED, huh? What's the occasion?"
Ian glared at Lip as the older boy poured himself coffee. "I don't know, my future?"
"Really?" Lip hid his smirk behind his cup of coffee. "Sure Mickey had nothing to do with it?"
Ian rolled his eyes and went back to the form. "So what if he did?"
"No reason. Just seems nowadays he's making all the right decisions for you."
Ian pretended Lip's words meant nothing to him as his eyes flickered towards the floor. Lip left the kitchen with a small sigh, leaving Ian to wallow in his thoughts.
There was something about not being independent that made Ian's blood boil. Mickey didn't make decisions for him. Ian took this initiative. This is Ian's work and effort. Mickey just gave him some ideas.
Ian's hand clenched around the pen. Fuck Mickey.
Ian stood up, leaving the GED forms to themselves and walked straight outside for a breath of fresh air.
He contemplated going to the garage where Mickey was. After last night, with the whole bomb thing involving Emri, Mick and Carl, the four of them had a good laugh on the L back home. Once they reached home, everything seemed to get quieter as Carl and Emri realized they had both Ian and Mickey together for the first time after a long time in their presence. They resulted to whispering quietly on the half empty train, leaving Mickey and Ian to talk between one another.
"Can I ask you a question?" Ian had asked Mickey, both of them soaked wet and slumped in seats opposite from one another.
Mickey met Ian's eyes with a lazy grin, eyes hooded. "You just did-"
The kick to Mickey's leg cut the black haired boy off from his witty response. The two of them laughed quietly. Ian sighed happily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his face.
"Why did you uh," Ian cleared his throat. "Why did you stop drinking?"
Mickey's response to the question was not at all what Ian had expected. He expected a little pissy reaction from the older man, maybe even silence. Instead, he got a nervous Mickey right in front of him, twiddling the bottom his jacket in his hands. "Part of my probation deal."
"You're on probation?"
Mickey rolled his neck, not meeting Ian's eyes. "Not anymore. Had an outburst at the Alibi, had to give up drinking and go to fucking therapy to keep out of jail."
"Shit," Ian whispered. "You in therapy? I can't even imagine that."
"It was group therapy," Mickey mumbled. He met Ian's eyes tentatively. "Made it kinda easier."
"I know what you mean," Ian replied just as quietly.
Mickey shifted in his seat. "You ever been to group therapy?"
"Yeah, once or twice."
"Why?"
"Everybody's got problems, Mick."
"What was your problem?"
Ian narrowed his eyes at Mickey. Not threateningly, but instead interestedly. "My problem was that I bitched out on a guy who deserved a lot more."
Mickey ducked his head down, the angst starting to get at him again. "You ever remember leaving me a message? You called me, drunk."
Ian's eyes widened. "Vaguely."
Mickey nodded and sucked in his bottom lip. "You sounded pretty trashed. Anything other habits of yours I should know about?"
Ian furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"
Mickey's eyes hardened even as they filled with tears. "You wanna tell me why you attend fucking sex addict group sessions?"
Ian flinched as he remembered the tone of Mickey's voice while asking that question.
Disgusted. Betrayed. Hurt.
"Mick-"
The train jolted to a stop, which cut Ian off. Mickey still stared at Ian, even as Emri and Carl waited for them by the door. Ian swallowed heavily, not sure how to reply. His body trembled.
Mickey scoffed before standing up, giving Ian one last look of disgust before leaving. Ian sat in his seat, holding back a wave of tears that he didn't want Carl or Emri to see.
Ian wanted to explain everything to Mickey. The truth is what Mickey finally deserved. All this beating around the bush will end horribly for Ian.
The last time Ian came here, to the garage, the visit was definitely eventful. He cringed at the memory of Mickey's horrified face when he had seen Ian. Right now, as he stood a good couple of feet from the garage, he vowed to make this visit better than the last.
"Can I help you?" A man asked Ian as he approached the garage. Ian glanced at his name tag: James.
"Mickey around?" Ian questioned.
James wiped his grimy hands with a cloth, looking around. "You just missed him. He went out to grab a bite for lunch."
Ian nodded slowly, not sure if the breath he let out was of relief or regret. James watched him closely.
"Where you from, kid?"
Ian gave the other man a questioning look. "Here."
"You lookin' for a job or something?"
Ian shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. "Nah, I'm set. Kind of."
"Yeah?" James sounded amused. "Can I ask where?"
"Working to become a firefighter," Ian explained. "Just gotta get the GED shit out of my way first."
James let out a dramatic breath. "That's a lot of work, kid. You sure you're ready for that type of commitment?"
Ian shrugged. "Figured I might as well spend my life doing something."
"A kid like you could be making a lot more money a lot quicker."
Ian watched interestedly as James walked back to his workstation, leaning over the opened hood of the car. Ian followed him. "...you mean, working here?"
James snorted, looking up at Ian. "Fuck no, this is a slow past time for me. I'm talking bags, man. Runner."
It took Ian a minute to register what James was talking about. His eyebrows raised on their own. "You think I could handle drugs?"
"You look like the type who could pass a cop with a pound of coke under his jacket and not get spotted," James pointed out, rubbing his cloth over the engine. "Nobody suspects a queer red head."
Ian gave James an unimpressed look which had the other man laughing. Ian contemplated for a minute as James continued working on the car. "What exactly are we talking here?"
James stood up straight and went serious. "You talking money or drug wise?"
Ian shrugged, looking around cautiously. "Both."
James moved towards Ian and spoke in a low voice. "You'll start of slow, small packs. Farthest you'll go won't be outside of Illinois. Every run, price ranges depending how much you run and who you're running to.
"I can tell you this much though, you'll be making more than a firefighter," James smirked as he returned to the car. "That's a fact."
Ian watched as James's eyes flicked behind Ian, before fully turning back to the car. Ian turned around to see Mickey approaching them. James closed the hood of the car. "Think about it. Let me know by tomorrow."
Ian only nodded and slowly took the card James handed to him which contained a single number scratched over it. Ian slipped the card into his jeans pocket, before turning to face Mickey.
Mickey was just handing a sandwich to James, giving Ian a concerned look. Ian only smiled half heartedly, mind half-focused on James's offer. This definitely wasn't the first time Ian had been offered to do drug runs, he's done them for a quick hundred in the past, but James's offer sounded serious. Sophisticated.
And wealthy.
"You hungry?" Mickey asked, snapping Ian out of his thoughts. "I got a whole #5 from some shawarma place nearby, ain't no way I'm finishing it by myself."
Ian and Mickey both soon found themselves sharing a Styrofoam order of shawarma. Mickey worked on a car as he ate, ordering Ian to keep close just in case he needs another bite. Ian held the plate, watching Mickey move around the broken vehicle interestedly.
"This bitch is more than broken," Mickey sighed, taking a spoonful of rice and chicken. He spoke while chewing. "Gonna take me years to fix."
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ian mumbled, curiously eying the engine. He heard Mickey scoff next to him.
"Yes sir."
Ian smirked as Mickey went back to the car. They still haven't spoke about the train events last night, and Ian wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to kill the mood with that right now. They would have to talk about it someday, and the way Ian sees it, the sooner the better.
"I wasn't a sex addict," Ian basically announced, not able to hold it in any longer. Mickey raised his eyebrows and moved away from the hood of car.
"What?"
"I went to sessions because... at camp, I was uh- harassed, you could say. Almost the second day I got there it happened to me. I told the lieutenant about it after weeks of holding it in, and he told me to attend 'assault victim' sessions. I wasn't about to do that, so I just forgot about it. When I came back, I was desperate to talk about my feelings with somebody, anybody. So I went to the first sesh that was out there, which was a Sex Addicts therapy group. It turned out uneventful so I stopped going.
"But Mickey, I swear to you, the sesh just happened to be for Sex Addicts. I never have and never will be a sex addict."
Mickey stayed silent for a minute, before smiling cheekily. "Unless it's with me."
Ian blinked. "What?"
"You'll never be a sex addict unless you're with me."
Ian rolled his eyes, putting the plate of food down on his lap. "Shut the fuck up, Mick."
Mickey laughed, approaching Ian to take a bite of the food. After swallowing, he put a hand on Ian's bent knee and looked into the red head's eyes. "You wanna talk about it? The... camp?"
"I really don't," Ian responded in a whisper. "Maybe another time, but not right now."
Mickey nodded, understanding. "Whatever you want man."
The two of them stayed silent for a few minutes, Ian watching as Mickey worked on the car. He admired Mickey's tanned arms, no doubt from being outdoors all day, and the sweat that was dripping from his neck and forehead. The jumpsuit that the older boy wore was unzipped down to the waist, revealing Mickey's strong chest covered with a thin white tank top. Ian's head tilted to the side as he found himself staring at Mickey's mesmerizing body.
"The fuck are you lookin' at?" Mickey teased the red head, finishing the rest of the shawarma.
"You," Ian marveled breathlessly.
Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the carton in the trash, looking at Ian with a type of adoration in his eyes that Ian will never be able to put in words. He ran a quick hand through Ian's hair, tightening his grip on the strands before smiling loosely. He lightly grazed his hand over Ian's shoulder before walking away, presumably to wash up.
Ian closed his eyes, basking in the cool breeze against his face. He hopped off the table and picked up Mickey's case of cigarettes, lighting one up for himself. He caught site of James through his peripheral vision and squinted, his mind trailing back to the offer.
Deep down in his head, Ian knew he could never sustain a real job.
He almost laughed at himself for even thinking an idiot like him could save lives. All he's ever done is ruin lives.
James looked up at Ian questionably from a distance, a cigarette also hanging from his lips. Ian gave him a small nod. James nodded back and looked around cautiously before walking into the office.
"You ready to get out of here, Gallagher?"
Ian turned his head, smiling softly at the sight of Mickey back in jeans and a shirt. "Let's ride."