#sorry anna mein liebling my brain is a strange place where logic and straightforwardness plays zero role

[abundanceofnots]

Ian knows the boxes in the attic won’t most likely have anything useful in them for their new apartment, but he figures this move is as good a time as any to throw away their contents since it’s mostly his old notebooks, school textbooks, and a couple of not-so-discreetly hidden gay porn mags stashed inside his Soldier Monthly that he won’t ever live down in Mickey’s eyes.

He leaves through the notebooks first, trying to find if there’s anything other than scribbles and his chemistry notes. There’s a loose paper in one of them, crumbled and crisscrossed, and Ian takes it out to give it a quick skim-read, letting out an almost disbelieving giggle as he does.

„Ha! Holy shit. I remember this,” he tells Mickey, who stands over a different box across from him. “What the hell. I can’t believe it’s still here.“

„What is?“

Ian shakes his head, smiling over the memory.

“We made these stupid lists with Mandy one night when we were stoned. We were fifteen, I think. Fuck. I can’t believe I kept it. It’s kinda embarrassing.“

That seems to be everything Mickey needed to hear. “Oh yeah? Show me.“

Biting his lip, Ian stalls for a second, reconsidering. Then, with nothing more than a little shrug, he hands the piece of paper over.

„Yeah. Good luck finding that guy,“ Mickey comments through a huff of laughter, reiterating Mandy’s written words.

Ian mimics his little chuckle, then cocks his head, grimacing as his eyes narrow.

„Mickey,” he says as if he’s talking to the slowest person on the planet because, come on, it’s obvious. “I already did.“

But Mickey only looks more confused.

„Look, we were both fucking high off our tits when we made these,” Ian explains, “and I didn’t want Mandy to figure it out, so I threw in some bullshit, but this is about you. Obviously.”

„How are any of these obvious? I’m not fucking… tall.“

„Yeah, you are. In your own way, anyway.“

Mickey blinks back at him, his face still a mask of total comical incomprehension.

„In what way?“

„I don’t know,” Ian huffs in frustration. “It’s a metaphor. It makes sense in my head.“

“Really fuckin’ hope it does,” Mickey grumbles before he takes another look at the paper, snorting. “This shit’s hilarious. You were so damn pathetic at fifteen, man.”

“Oh yeah? Like you at that age was so fucking suave.”

“Yeah, well, at least I wasn’t making lists about the guy of my dreams—or doodling Mr. Mickey Milkovich all over my notebooks.”

“Asshole. I definitely wasn’t doing one of those things.”

Ian stacks the books back inside the box, the question aching to be said out loud.

“But if you ever did,” he starts out slow, “what would, like, be on your ideal guy list?”

Mickey cackles. “Definitely not: must be some scrawny ginger kid with a massive crush on me.”

“Right.”

Deflating a little, Ian focuses back on the task. It takes another minute of complete silence between them before Mickey kicks his shoe.

Ian looks up just in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Probably things like: Annoys the shit out of me every fuckin’ day. Unbearable soft bitch with a crippling mental disorder and self-confidence issues. Daddy issues. Mommy issues. A family of weirdos as a package deal. Sings out of tune and on the most inappropriate occasions. Great in the sack. Must stand me at the altar at least once. Best fuckin’ friend I ever had.”

Ian stares, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Thanks.” He smiles at his husband, giving him a tentative hip-check. “I mean, that was deeply offensive, but also kinda sweet. So yeah, thanks.”

Mickey smiles back. “Anytime.”