You And Me (Gallavich)

Domestic Violence

"Fuck you been?"

Ian jumped up as he stared at Mickey who was hunched over the coffee table, scribbling something on paper. Ian sighed and shut the door behind him, kicked off his shoes and threw the key he stole from Mickey onto the coffee table. This time it was Mickey who jumped at the shrieking clatter of the key.

"Shit," Mickey croaked, looking up at Ian tiredly. Ian felt a little bad for some reason, feeling as if he had disrupted the older man.

"Sorry, Mick," Ian slumped down on the couch and pulled his phone out. "You been busy today?"

Mickey gave Ian a concerned look. He didn't answer for a minute, just stared at Ian's face. The redhead was too busy swiping across his phone, not even bothering to spare a glance at the blue eyed boy. Mickey repeated his earlier question, "Where you been?"

Ian shrugged, closing his phone and stretching his legs out. "Just took a walk to clear my head."

"Be careful," Mickey said seriously. He cleared his throat and turned his body fully towards Ian. "Ian, the cops are on your ass for murdering Kash. You're a suspect."

Ian's throat closed up. He tried to sit up, pay proper attention, but he couldn't seem to move. It made sense, what with him just meeting Larkin and the whole thing going suspiciously-

"Ian," Mickey raised his voice, starting to get angry. "You hearin' me? The cops are onto you. You talked with any recently? Anything suspicious?"

"Nah," Ian coughed, slowly sitting up. He put his head in his hands. "Nothing like that. Fuck, Mick, what do they know?"

"They know Kash and I had beef, they know you and I were fuckin' around before you disappeared and they also know Kash was killed in the time you were gone." Mickey sighed loudly and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know how the hell they haven't already arrested your ass."

Ian's heart began to pound in his chest, harder than before. "Mick- Mickey, what do we do?"

"I don't know, man. You chose the perfect fucking time to get convicted though, huh?"

Ian nodded dryly. The two men sat in silence for a while, time ticking away slowly. Ian felt his chest start to sink, his stomach curling in. The stress on Mickey, the look on his pale face, it was all enough to make Ian feel like shit. "Everything is so fucked up."

Mickey stood up and walked over to the kitchen. "So fucked up."

"You know what you should've tattooed on your knuckles?" Ian commented as Mickey returned with a can of coke. "Fucked up. Eight letters right?"

Mickey snorted as he cracked open the can and sunk back down on the couch, this time closer to Ian. "That would just look weird."

"If you could pull off blonde hair then I think you could pull off weird knuckle tattoos."

Mickey shrugged with a sideways smile and brought the drink to his lips. "They're stupid fucking tattoos, man."

Ian stretched out his legs onto Mickey's lap and put his head back on the armrest of the couch. He closed his eyes. "They're not stupid, Mickey, they're scary. They're you."