He didn't think about everything he failed to accomplish in life, but he more pitied himself for getting nowhere. He had thought of so many magnificent and amazingly bone-chilling ways to die, but instead he ended up with a knife in his gut bleeding out in an alleyway. But what made him hurt the most, as he felt his fingers coat themselves in his own blood, was a certain red-head that held a weird friendship with him.
Ian fucking Gallagher.
Mickey knew at that exact moment while his vision blurred and started to fade, that Gallagher was more than a friend. He felt himself smile lopsidedly. Of course. Gallagher. It was him all along. He likes the kid, a lot. Of-fucking-course.