#mickey milkovich

[myhant]

I+M shotgunning

Inspired by Boy Best Friends by @whatthebodygraspsnot :-)

[milonata]

If Mickey is a manager and Ian is the new guy at workplace

[gallapiech]

BABY BABY BABY BABY EAAUUUGGHHHH!!!!

had to get these quick sketches out of my system lol

[deedala]

SHAMELESS CREATORS NETWORK DECEMBER THEME: HOLD

[ohkate]

Fuck, I missed you.

[deathclassic]

happy secret santa @konaiiro !!

i saw emt!ian and bartender!mickey and i was so inspired <3 <3 i hope you enjoy this little drawing

[badassfetish]

After one month learning illustration, here's my first (public) Gallavich art, as a gift to Comet @spacerockwriting for the Gallavich Secret Santa 2024. It's veeeeeeery NSFW so you've been warned. Click here to see it full & explicit on AO3. Merry Christmas Comet! Merry Christmas yall!

[jackdanielsandorangejuice]

you mean guest womb?

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Mickey and the Baby

Ian had a weird fascination with babies. Mickey didn’t see what was so great about them. All they did was eat, shit, sleep and cry all the damn time. 

Still, his husband adored them. He fuckin’ loved Lip’s kid, even though he was keeping everybody up, wailing in the middle of the night. 

Mickey didn’t often think about Freddie or whatever the fuck his name was. Their lives were mostly separate besides crossing paths here and there or if Ian was holding Freddie in his arms, cooing in that stupid ass high pitched voice he used with him or Franny. 

Until tonight, that is. 

The Gallagher kitchen was quiet, the light on but dim. Him and Ian just returned home from a long day of deliveries. Still dressed in their uniforms, nursing along some beers, they basked in the silence. 

“I’m fuckin’ beat,” Mickey took a swig. Both sitting at the table, Ian yawned, nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah. But we keep goin’ to the Northside clients, we’ll be out on our own soon.” 

“God, I hope so. I’m getting real tired of being interrupted by Gallaghers,” Mickey griped. 

“You don’t care if it’s Franny,” Ian slipped his hand through Mickey’s interlacing their fingers. 

“That’s cuz she’s ain’t fucking annoying,” Mickey said with a shrug. 

“Admit it, she’s your favorite,” Ian chuckled. 

“Well, it ain’t fuckin’ Lip,” Mickey said, his face contorted into mild disgust at the mere idea. 

“I hope fucking Lip isn’t a favorite of yours.”

“You’re a fucking dumbass, you know that?” Mickey was shaking his head, keeping his lips together so Ian didn’t see him suppressing a smile. 

Ian shrugged. “Speaking of Lip,” he said, “I hope he’s getting some sleep tonight. Freddie’s been keeping him and Tami up.” 

“What about us?” Mickey said, incredulous. “The little shit’s been keeping us up too.” 

“He’s a baby,” Ian said, scandalized that Mickey would say that about an infant. “He can’t help it.” 

“Still no excuse for being a little shit,” Mickey ignored his husband’s glare. 

“Mickey, he’s your nephew.” 

“And you’re my husband. Doesn’t mean you’re not fuckin’ annoying either.” 

Ian huffed. “What’s your point?” 

Taking a large drink of his beer, Mickey said, “I don’t get your fascination with babies, man. It’s fuckin’ weird.” 

“They’re cute, Mick,” Ian defended. “You don’t think they’re cute?” 

Mickey blinked, and said point blank, “No.” 

“Jesus,” Ian rolled his eyes, rising to his feet. “Throw away my beer for me? I’m going to piss.” 

“Whatever,” Mickey reached behind him to throw it away while his husband went to relieve himself. 

It was at that unlucky moment, just a couple of seconds of silence, that he was alerted to soft footsteps he recognized at once to be Lip’s. 

Goddamn it. 

His brother-in-law had Freddie in tow, gently bouncing him. It was the first time in a few days that Mickey really got a good look at Lip, and right away he saw the dark circles under his eyes that suggested he could’ve fallen asleep any minute now. 

“Hey,” Lip yawned. 

“Hey,” Mickey drank the rest of his beer, arm thrown over the back of his chair. “You look like shit, man.” 

“Feel like it too,” Lip said dryly. 

“Where’s your baby mama at?”

“Asleep,” Lip said. “I didn’t wanna wake her. What about Ian?”

Mickey wordlessly gestured towards the bathroom, causing Lip to look over. 

“Ah.” Lip adjusted his hold onto Freddie, who was looking around with big, blue eyes. “Hey, hold him for a sec, will ya?” 

“What?” Mickey was frozen as the baby was suddenly in his arms. “Fuck no. Take it back.”

But Lip had already headed straight for the coffee maker. “I just need some coffee first.”

The little fucker smiled at Mickey. He felt a little weirded out. “What am I supposed to do with it?” 

“Him,” Lip said mildly as he fiddled around the kitchen. “Just bounce him, he likes that.” 

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered. He was growing more uncomfortable as the seconds passed. 

Ian came out, the toilet flushing behind him. His face lit up at the sight of Freddie. “Hi, Buddy!” He exclaimed. “Are you having fun with your Uncle Mickey?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey shot him a dirty look. “Your brother can’t take care of his own kid so he pawned him off on me.” 

Lip yawned, unoffended. “I need a few minutes to myself. I’m beat.” 

“You’re beat? What about us? We ain’t been getting any sleep either, Phillip. Shoulda thought about that before you started sticking your dick in Tami.”

Ignoring him, Lip said to Ian, I’m making coffee. You want any?” 

“Not really supposed to have any with my meds,” Ian responded. 

“Not supposed to have beer either,” Lip turned the machine on. Ian cooed at his nephew, taking his fuckin’ tiny hand into his freakishly large one. “Hey, think you can come outside with me for a sec? I’m pretty sure Frank has a key hidden around the yard.” 

“Is that how he’s been getting in?” Ian was in the midst of putting his jacket back on. “He ate all my fucking poptarts.” 

The two of them were on their way out when Mickey stopped them, keeping his voice down so he didn’t make the kid cry. 

“Ay, ay. The fuck are you doin’?” 

“We’ll be right back,” Ian assured him. 

“Yeah, and in the meantime, don’t hold him like that,” Lip said, referring to how Mickey had yet to hold him any closer than arm's length away. “You gotta support his head.” 

Was he seriously leaving Mickey with his fucking baby? 

His jaw clenched as the door shut. Fuck. Mickey readjusted the kid, cradling him like he’d seen Ian do before. Freddie was in an easy going mood right now, thank God. 

Didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed as fuck. 

“Ay, yo,” Mickey said to him firmly, “just cuz you got Ian fallin’ all over you doesn’t mean I will. Your baby shit doesn’t work on me, got it?”

Freddie babbled some nonsense. 

“Don’t know what’s so fuckin’ cute about you anyway,” Mickey grumbled. “You’re a little shithead keepin’ us up all the time.” 

At this, the kid broke out into a gummy smile. 

“At least you agree you’re a shithead,” Mickey smirked. “Your dad, though? He’s been one his whole life.” 

Freddie chuckled at this, as if he knew it was funny. Mickey didn’t even realize he’d started to grin a little out of amusement. 

“You think that’s funny? Just wait until you see how much of a fucking klutz your Uncle Ian can be.” 

It was surprisingly easy with this kid. Unlike most of the other times Mickey had seen him, Freddie wasn’t crying. He didn’t mind this at all. 

Course, he was still gonna give Lip shit for giving him his kid like that. 

“Your dad said you liked to be bounced, that true?” Mickey stood up, still holding onto him with one hand on his head, but gently bouncing like he’d just seen Lip doing. 

He made more noises, which Mickey took as approval. 

“Yeah? You like that? You wanna go again?”

He did it, taking a few steps around the kitchen. Couple of minutes went by, Freddie laid his head against Mickey’s shoulder. Kid must’ve been getting tired for once. 

Fuck, Mickey must be fucking soft if this was gonna make his heart flip flop around. He slowed down his bouncing, glancing down at the little guy. 

His lips were slightly parted, eyes closed, fuckin’ tiny ass hand gripping Mickey’s uniform. 

“Guess you ain’t so bad,” he decided nonchalantly, rubbing the boy’s back softly. “You’re alright.”

Shit, he did look kinda cute like this. Who fuckin’ knew Lip’s sperm wasn’t completely useless? 

[spacerockwriting]

For Keely

Happy Holidays from your secret santa!

@thepupperino

and a fic

Winter time was one of the worst times to be an EMT. Calls left and right from drunk patrons celebrating the holidays, kids falling on ice, and worst of all, DIY projects for the holidays. Not that Ian minded; he loved his job. He loved being able to make a difference in a way that helps the community. It gave him purpose, a reason to exist .

The day was going slower than normal, which was a surprise for the holiday season. But it made sense, it was a little too early for the drunk carolers, as it was for the office parties. Sue was chatting about gifts for her relatives, as Ian just sipped on his thermos of Fiona’s cocoa, nodding his head along with her chatter

Some shifts just seemed to drag, and so far, this was one of them. 

A call came over the walkie talkie, Sue nodding in response. “Incident at the Old Ukrainian church on Michigan, Saint Andrew’s, I think. Let’s go, Gallagher.” Ian follows his work partner into the ambulance, as she chats about the holidays and the romantic things her spouse has planned–as well as the not so romantic. “Who knows,” Sue chuckles. “Maybe one day you'll finally find someone. Can’t be hung up over that douche bag forever.”

“I’m not looking to date anyone. Not right now, anyways.”

“Gallagher,” Sue says, shaking her head.

The Church they pull into is old, historic. There’s a large archway for the entry , with stone steps leading up to the door. Stepping inside, Ian can hear  two men arguing loudly . One has messy blond hair that needs a wash and a brush, and the other..

Ian stops. The man’s wearing an old flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, a t-shirt underneath the flannel with dark ripped jeans. His dark hair is off his face, and even though he’s in pain, he has the bluest eyes Ian has ever seen.

“Over here!” A woman with a clipboard calls out. She’s waving over to where the hurt boy is on the ground. “We’re over here!” She shouts, louder this time, waving Ian over. Grabbing his kit, he kneels down to check on the handsome man with the dark hair.

“Iggy, that’s my fuckin’ leg.”

“Shit,” Iggy apologizes. “Sorry Mick.”

“Fucker, that’s my leg,” Mickey repeats.

“Can you stand?” Iggy asks, and Mickey grimaces again. “Fucker, again, that’s my fucking leg,” he repeats.

“Hi, I’m Ian,”He introduces himself to the raven haired.. Gently tapping and examining the dark haired man’s leg., he nodded, carefully removing the shoe. “So, we’re going to get you to the hospital. Could I have your name please, Sir?”

“It’s Mikhailo,” the messy blond boy teases, smirking at the raven haired.

“Mickey,” Mickey says. “Don’t listen to that fucker.”

“Okay, Mickey,” Ian says calmly. “We’re going to put you in the ambulance. Just hold tight.”

“I’ll ride,” Iggy states, and Mickey scoffs, suddenly remembering how he arrived at this.

“You’re the one that did this Fuckface.”

Ian pauses. “If this is some sort of assault case we’re going to have to get the police involved.”

“Nah, not assault, just my idiot brother not knowin’ how to do shit.”

“Fuck you! The board just fell!”

“Cause you fuckin’ dropped it!” He hisses back. “Shit—“ he adds, aching as they placed him on the gurney. “Fuck.”

“Hold still,” Ian commands. “We’ll get you there in a minute. In the meantime, is there anyone we can call? A spouse or…?” Ian notices that there’s no ring on his finger.

“Nah. No spouse, no boyfriend,” Mickey says, swallowing nervously at the last words. He hasn’t been out for long, but this whole living your truth thing he was advised to do rings in his head. He was trying, especially since his father was locked up again.

“Uh, me too,” Ian adds awkwardly. “Boyfriend that is. So uh, what were you doin’ at the church?” He asks, genuinely curious. He wonders if the guy is religious. Not that he’d mind, it’d just be an adjustment. After all, every so often his own father, Frank, went through little religious bouts. Ian can recall many times he had to be dragged to mass because Frank just decided it was what they did now. Then weeks later he’d be back to how he normally is.

“What’s it look like? Was helping with the nativity,” he adds, grimacing at the pain.

As Ian unloads Mickey from the gurney and places him in his room he gives the other a weak smile before going back to work. His heart flutters when he gives another once over at the man. --

The Chicago winter was cold. All Ian wanted to do was be bundled up with his sister’s famous hot cocoa and a blanket, watching holiday movies on TV. But, leave it to his siblings to leave him to do the errands. But, neglecting the errands Ian finds himself wandering to the very same church from that call he was on just a few weeks before.

The doors are unlocked as Ian heads inside, taking a peek at the people congregating. Standing in the back quietly, he watches as the others rehearse, catching a glimpse of the man who now has his leg in a cast. He’s sitting on a pew, leg propped up as he bosses around the others. As soon as he takes notice of Ian, he grabs the crutches and wobbles his way to the back of the church.

“Yeah?” 

“I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by. Y’know, check to see how your leg is doing.”

“S’alright. Fucker’s annoying. You always check in like this to your patients?” Mickey teases.

“Just the ones I like. So, uh, you like this sort of thing? The church an’ stuff.”

“That a pickup line, Red?”

Ian smirks. “Maybe.”

“Mm, well, not really, then.” Mickey shoves his hands into his pocket, trying to not fall over. “Community service. It ain’t picking trash up off the streets.”

“Are you in it?”

“Nah, just building shit. Well, was, until that fucker broke my leg.” He points over at a boy with shaggy hair. “Now I’m just supervisin’.”

Ian chuckles. “In that case, do you uh, wanna maybe grab a bite or something?”

“Like a date?”

“Uh, yeah, if you—“Ian looks down at his phone and sighs. Of course his siblings would interrupt this moment. Mickey quirks a brow. “Sorry, my brothers pestering me. I gotta—Sorry—“ As Ian turns around to head out the door, he curses his siblings.

Mickey follows him out the door, carefully maneuvering his crutches around the ice on the sidewalk. “You just gonna ask then leave?”

Ian feels the buzz from his phone once more, and this time he picks it up angrily. “What? Yes, Carl, tell Debs I got the milk. Fuck!” Ian hangs the phone up annoyed. “Sorry, I really gotta go but uh, here—You gotta pen?”

Mickey grabs at a marker placed behind his ear. “Might be dried out but eh.” He shrugs.

Grabbing the marker, Ian scratches down his information on the thigh area of Mickey’s cast. Call me-Ian followed by a number. Bending back up to hand the marker back, Ian’s eyes flick up to see the snow starting to fall.

“I should probably go back in,” Mickey says, gesturing to the cast on his leg. The snow was starting to fall harder, and Mickey didn’t want fuck up chances and have his cast get wet. Last thing he needed was to have to spend more time in a cast.

“Let me help.” He grabs the inside of Mickey’s arm, helping him back to the inside of the church. There’s tons of mistletoe planted around the church awnings, and while it could be easy to ignore, Ian isn’t one to ignore the tradition. 

Pausing, Ian takes a moment to glance into some of the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. The boy’s cheeks are reddening, and Ian wonders if its blush or from the cold, considering the boy just has on a tattered old hoodie. Gently stroking his cheek and glancing into his eyes, Ian presses his lips to the raven haired boy, surprised as the boy kisses him back. And it’s there, in some old Ukrainian church with lightly falling snow that Ian kisses the boy he swears he’s going to marry one day.

[c-nord]

SHAMELESS | 4x07

You calling me gay?

[effyzz]

Heartstopper x Shameless

that one heartstopper scene

i still havent watched season 3...

[starry-nights-17]

Thanks to @flamingbluepanda for this weeks prompt "Shakespeare". Definitely got my brain going! ❤

@galladrabbles

----

Mickey hated these pompous parties but his father insisted they were good for business.

They were too loud, with too many people, mostly from the criminal underworld.

But appearance was everything and Terry Milkovich loved nothing more than demonstrating his power and wealth.

A flash of copper-red caught his eye. Then a flash of green.

He nudged his sister, as he quietly sipped a glass of expensive whiskey. "Who's that, never seem him before?"

"Who, the ginger...apparently he's a Gallagher, Clayton's kid...guess that means he's off limits".

Of all the fucking families. He couldn't.

"Hey, I'm Ian".

Fuck.

[ohkate]

The Beast

A literary reference for this week's @galladrabbles thanks to @flamingbluepanda for her prompt, Shakespeare. 'The beast with two backs' is from Othello. Word Count: 100

-----

Shakespeare called it the beasts with two backs, except...they were certainly no tragedy. These beasts gripped at each other, trying to get closer, even when there was no air between them already. "Jesus, Gallagher…" Ian growled into Mickey's neck. "Don't call me Gallagher in bed." "I'll say whatever I want, ugh…" Mickey said defiantly, feeling Ian thrust deep. "Say my name," he demanded, wrapping Mickey's legs around his waist like a belt. He leaned down to rest their foreheads together. And there it was again. The weight of them. "Say…my��name." Mickey exhaled, the fight giving way to something raw. "Ian."

[sickness-health-all-that-shit]

here's my secret santa gift fic for @mmmichyyy as part of the event organised by @gallavich-fic-club! <3 hope you like it Michelle, happy holidays 🥰✨

Crashing into you

Shit.

A quick look over his shoulder and yeah—cops are still fucking chasing him. Mickey needs to lose them, fast. He doesn't know how long he still has it in him to run and they're bound to call for back-up soon. They'll probably send someone to cut him off and then he'll be surrounded and then he'll be fucked.

continue after the cut or Read on ao3

He is not getting arrested. He's over 18 now, so it'd be big-boy prison for him this time.

Not a fucking chance.

Mickey turns onto a different street, feet pounding the pavement in quick succession like his life depends on it. Because it kind of does.

He turns back to check if the pigs have gained on him. And with his head still turned, bam—he suddenly runs into a wall. Well, that's what it feels like, anyway.

—

Ian smiles down at his phone. His maybe-boyfriend has just sent him two more song recommendations that he should absolutely, immediately listen to, so he pops in his earbuds and presses play.

The music starts, and it's fine. Ian has never been that much into club music—especially listening to it at home instead of, you know, in a club. But it's pretty cool stuff. He bobs his head to the rhythm as he walks, his steps syncing to the beat.

He likes that Trevor is so passionate about the things he loves and wants Ian to love them too. He does. It's just that sometimes Ian can't help but wish Trevor would ask him about what he likes for a change. Ian's all for having his horizons broadened and learning about new things, but it all feels like too much of a one-way street. Trevor teaches and Ian learns. Never the other way around.

Ah, whatever. Ian's perfectly happy to play the student here. Trevor knows a lot of stuff. Ian was always too busy surviving day-to-day and helping his siblings put out fires—real and metaphorical—set by his parents to be able to focus on music and all the other shit kids are usually into. So it's fine.

He shakes his head at himself as he shoots off a quick text to tell Trevor how much he's enjoying the music. He gets as far as Hey Trevor, music kicks a— when bam, something like a freight train runs into him. Or at least that's what it feels like.

—

Mickey's grateful he manages to keep his balance and not land on his ass. He's also grateful the cops haven't followed him down this street yet, which gives him a chance to right himself and get his bearings.

Whipping his head around, he discovers the 'wall' he ran into is actually a person. A man. A tall, Adonis-shaped, red-headed man. He gulps. His instinct to absolutely tear this fucker a new one for not watching where he was going falters slightly. But he's still Mickey Milkovich, and he's still very much running from the police so he's not gonna take kindly to people being in his way.

"Watch where you're fuckin' goin', asswipe!" He shoves him for good measure, his hands lingering on the guy's chest a little longer than necessary.

Ian tries to regain his footing as he takes out his earbuds, leveling the small 'freight train' who ran into him with a glare. "You clearly weren't watching where you were going either, asshole!" He tries to maintain eye contact and hold on to his anger, but the guy's pretty lips and blue eyes are making it kind of hard.

Mickey eyes him up and down, taking in the short-sleeved button-up, skinny jeans, and obnoxiously red sneakers. "Yeah well, not all of us are lucky enough to be just strollin' down the street without a fuckin' care in the world. Speakin' of which—"

And with that he launches himself down a nearby alley, leaving Ian gobsmacked until he registers shouting voices and heavy footsteps approaching. A few seconds later a couple of police officers appear from a side street, running in Ian's direction.

They stop for breath right in front of him. "Have you seen—" one of them tries. "Have you seen a dark-haired man, about 5'8'', running this way?"

"Uh, yeah, he practically ran into me and kept going down the street," Ian answers pointing a thumb behind himself.

"Thank you, sir!" the other policeman shouts after they resume sprinting in the direction Ian indicated.

"Hope you catch him, officers!" Ian shouts back, cupping his hands in front of his face.

He keeps watching them for a few more seconds until they disappear from sight. Then he turns his head back, surprised to see the wanted man himself tentatively emerging from the alley.

"They gone?" he asks Ian.

Ian nods. "Thought you'd be long gone."

"Nah. I hid behind that dumpster," he says, gesturing behind him.

"Risky," Ian says. "If I told them you went that way they coulda spotted you easily."

Mickey hums, then raises an eyebrow. "Why didn't you? We were cursin' at each other not five minutes ago."

Ian shrugs. "I'm Southside. We don't snitch. It's ingrained in me, I guess. Lie to the cops, ask questions later kind of thing."

"Southside?" Mickey blinks. "Your Northside-lookin' ass?" He gestures towards Ian's clothes.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Ian says, smirking. "Born and raised. You too, I'm guessing?"

Mickey nods, taking a moment to survey the street to see if those cops have circled back. But the coast seems clear.

"I'm Ian, by the way."

Mickey's gaze settles back on Ian. "Mickey." He studies him for a moment. "So, got any questions to ask me?"

"Huh?" Ian tilts his head to the side.

"You said you lie to the cops and ask questions later. I'm guessin' you wanna know why they were chasin' me and shit."

Ian makes a show of thinking it over. "Hm, not really. I'm good."

Mickey chuckles. "Oh, you're good, huh? Come on, man. I could be a murderer or something."

"And you'd just tell me that? Also I'm not sure I'd wanna know, if you were."

"So you're really not gonna ask?"

"Nope. None of my business. If you wanna tell me, be my guest. But I'm not gonna pry. I've done my share of shady shit, and I sure wouldn't have appreciated questions about it. We all have our reasons."

Mickey clicks his tongue. "You're on the straight and narrow now though, right?" He points at Ian's clothes again, glad for another opportunity to look his body up and down.

"Yes," Ian snickers. "I've got a steady paycheck I can actually spend on myself for the first time ever, now that all my siblings are doing well for themselves and we don't need to bend over backwards just to put food on the table. I guess I'm trying to find my look? I've always worn hand-me-downs so I don't really know what I like now I can actually choose clothes to buy. It's weird," he concludes with an embarrassed laugh, realizing he hasn't talked about this latest change in his life with anyone in a long time.

"I get it man. I mean, not the steady paycheck thing, but I got into some money…in a way that cops would fuckin' object to—and it just feels weird to have enough for other things once I pay the bills and shit."

"Yeah…" Ian shouldn't be so shocked to be having a conversation where not only his feelings are validated but the other person actually gets it and feels the same way. It shouldn't be a novel experience and yet it is. Especially since he hasn't been back home in a while and hasn't had a chance to catch up with his siblings.

"Hey, man, you got a smoke?" Mickey interrupts his train of thought. Ian is just grateful to be pulled out of the spiral he was about to go down.

"Uh, yeah, hold on." He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a cigarette and lighter, handing them to Mickey.

"Thanks." Mickey lights the smoke and takes a few puffs, noticing the way Ian's gaze fixes on his mouth for a few moments. "So yeah, I get what you were sayin', y'know…about not really knowin' what to do with all this freedom now. Like, my evil prick of a dad kicked the bucket recently, and he was the one stoppin' me from doin' a lot of things that would…I don't know—maybe make me happy and shit."

"But it still feels wrong to do those things 'cause you're not used to this new freedom. Plus change can be scary as fuck," Ian says, almost to himself.

"Exactly!" Mickey says exhaling smoke and passing the cigarette to Ian. "And that's what pisses me off so much, 'cause it's like I'm still lettin' the fucker win. Makes me feel fuckin' stupid."

"You aren't, though," Ian says after taking a drag and giving the cigarette back to Mickey. Their hands briefly touch and the contact sends sparks down Mickey's spine. "You're just human. It takes time to get over that shit and be able to live your life and function semi-normally. You'll get there."

Ian smiles at him—a beautiful, genuine smile that steals Mickey's breath for a few moments. And fills him with something like hope.

"I should probably bounce soon. Here," he says, handing Ian what's left of the cigarette and pointing to the phone peeking out of his front jean pocket. "Gimme your phone."

"Why?" Ian asks, already moving to do it anyway.

"I'm givin' you my number. Can hook you up with weed—"

Ian chuckles. "I already got a guy for that."

"—half-price baseball tickets… Whatever you need, I can probably get my hands on." He turns on Ian's screen. "Who's Trevor?"

Fuck. Ian had completely forgotten his abandoned text conversation with Trevor when Mickey first bumped into him.

"Shit!" he says, fumbling to exit the screen while the phone's still in Mickey's hand. "No one. I mean, a friend."

"Uh-huh." Mickey looks down towards the phone and types his number. "There. Use it, don't use it. Choice is yours," he says, starting to walk backwards after handing the phone back to Ian.

"I will use it. Just try to stay out of prison until then, alright?"

That gets a laugh and a raised middle finger from Mickey. "Can't promise anything, man, but I'll try. See ya!"

"See ya!" Ian shouts back just as Mickey turns to continue up the street.

Ian knows he's got a great big, goofy grin on his face right now, but he wouldn't care even if there was anyone around to see it.

He keeps looking down at his phone—Mickey's number displayed on the screen, a promise of what's to come. A chance to build on the connection they both felt today.

It's been a long time since Ian's been this excited about something. About someone.

He's gonna hold on to this feeling and count the days until he'll see Mickey again.