ofmickcy-blog

[ofmickcy-blog]

if you could have any talent in the world, what would you choose?

“literally anything art related. my parents were both good at it. my ex boyfriend was amazing at it and probably has only gotten better. i can barely draw a stick figure -- and that’s with practice!” | @oflvcas

[ofmickcy-blog]

are you fond of your last ex?

"i mean, fond isn’t the first word i’d use but he’s alright. we’re alright.” | @oflvcas

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. svrvivcl‌ ;

eli hadn’t even realized mickey had fallen asleep until he’d been speaking to him for a couple minutes with no response. from the time mickey’d fallen asleep until recently, eli had tidied up the trailer, done some laundry for him and his siblings, and cleaned out the fridge of gus’s empty beer bottles. hearing some movement in the living room, eli walks back in, smiles down at the other male. “i figured you needed your sleep. it’s no big deal.” shrugging his shoulders, he plops back down on the couch with two bottles of beer. “well, you should expect more from me, then. i’m pretty good at tiring people out.” extending his arm, he offers the other a beer. “it’s pretty shit beer, but it’s always nice post-fuck.”

mickey can’t help a roll of his eyes but it’s delivered with a genuine smile and a sweet crook of his head. “you’re so right -- i’ll definitely have higher expectations for next time. you’d better not disappoint. i’d hate to be left unsatisfied.” he reaches out to accept the beer and slides a bit closer to eli, humming his appreciation. “the nap did feel good though; you’re right. the couch is actually pretty comfortable.” nimble fingers open his bottle and he takes a swig, though it’s accompanied by a dramatic crinkle of his nose. “pretty shit indeed.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. judgcd‌ ;

she nodded along. “wow that sounds… i mean it sounds interesting, and i meanwhile running errands you can observe what others do as well, no? i mean i’ve never really worked in any place like that” she told him with a small smile. “what do you like… want to become?” she wondered, not at home in that industry at all.

“it is what it is. not particularly fun or glamorous but it’s a job and i like the vibe of the company that makes sense.” he shrugs with a touch of shyness. talking about himself for a prolonged period of time isn’t something mickey does often. her question, therefore, catches him off-guard. “i... wow, loaded questions at the bar, i guess. i’m not really sure what i want to do long term. i think pr could be cool but then, i’ve also got a psych degree so i’d like to incorporate that somehow? i don’t know.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. oflvcas‌ ;

no, mickey doesn’t have to talk to him. there are no rules obligating him to a conversation, no etiquette or decorum either of them are meant to adhere to. but there’s also no precedent to dictate what they should be doing, and luke feels like he’s floundering. it’s both frustrating and disheartening to be met with such a flat and unyielding denial, yet he recognizes there isn’t much he can do about it if mickey is this determined to have nothing to do with him. behind him, the line he’s now lost his place in is moving forward, but luke isn’t thinking about coffee anymore. he’s not thinking about anything but his first boyfriend, and his first relationship at all that had lasted more than a few months. mickey, with his dark curls and bright eyes and his fingernails that were always painted; mickey who used to crawl onto luke’s lap at night when he was too tired to care about looking tough; mickey, who doesn’t have dark curls anymore, and whom lucas no longer knows anything about. that isn’t quite true, though, and he takes comfort in the fact that there are inevitably things about mickey that haven’t changed at all. things that, even if they never spoke again, luke would always know about him. “my piece?” he echoes when mickey finally turns to him, and he feels a little out of breath being surveyed by those familiar blue eyes for the first time in five years. “i don’t–mickey, look, i’m not gonna force you to talk to me, but i…” he shrugs in lieu of words–floundering, he thinks again. “jesus, i mean, you’re working? so, what, you live around here? this isn’t…this isn’t tripping you out a little bit too? i haven’t seen you since–” since you walked out on me, he doesn’t say. “it’s been a really long time, mick. a really long time.” his voice quiets, a subconscious reflection of his uncertainty about his next words: “you’ve never looked back and wanted to talk about it?”

tripping him out? yes, it’s tripping him out to be around lucas again. he feels like a gangly freshman whose attention can’t help but be drawn across the cafeteria to the magnetic aura of the tall, handsome senior boy; he feels the same fluttering in his stomach that had crept up his throat the first time they kissed. he’s reliving a thousand memories all at once while trying to retain his outward cool -- of course it’s tripping him out. but it’s not like he can tell luke any of that. the only showing that his ex’s words were having any impact on him that slips out is the hitch of his breath at the dropped sentence. mickey knows what luke had been about to say or, at least, he has an idea. that’s one particular memory he’d quite like to forget. “you don’t have to tell me how long it’s been,” mickey sighs, unable to keep holding luke’s gaze so brazenly. there’s a shyer, softer side of mickey that luke’s always been able to bring out of him and he’s not lost his touch ( not that mick needs to be thinking about any touch of luke’s ). “i know exactly how long i’ve been alone, thanks. and to answer your question. yes, i wanted to talk about it the very next day when i was waking up in my bed at my mom’s instead if in ours. i wanted to talk about it later that week, later that month, every day for the rest of that godawful year. you made it very clear you didn’t want to talk to me. you told me to leave so i left.” mickey shrugs best he can with his hands still burdened with coffee carriers and the much-too-expensive drinks within them. “anything i wanted to say i don’t need to say now. i’m doing well; i’m over it. that chapter of my life is well and truly closed.” he knows that’s a lie and he wonders if that shows on his face. luke had a way of reading him. “don’t you feel the same way?”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. @svrvivcl / closed ;

he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. in fact, to say he slept on eli’s couch post-hookup may be pretty generous -- it was more of a prolonged blink, in mickey’s opinion! eli’s let him rest, though, which means he must not have much else planned for his saturday evening. he takes that as a sign that his company is more than invited. a still bleary glance at his surroundings eventually turns up an oversized hoodie that he gratefully tosses onto his mostly unclothed frame, using the sleeves to rub sleep out of his eyes. it’s about as decent as he can make his appearance with his current means and so, with a crane of his neck, his gaze eventually lands on the man of the hour. “you should’ve woken me up,” mickey shoots over at eli with a smile and an apologetic tint to his voice. “sorry for crashing so quickly. i think you tired me out more than i was expecting.”  

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. judgcd‌ ;

she couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that and tilted her head. “what do you do?” she wondered, curious as to which job had the younger man so exhausted. she thought it was probably something more exciting than she was doing, being the handywoman around a hotel wasn’t the best job, though she did sometimes happen upon people in compromising positions or found a stray sex toy. now that was the fun part of the job.

his hyperbolic remarks aren’t just for his own enjoyment so he’s glad that his present company laughs. it’s hardly going to jumpstart a career in comedy but mickey likes to be pleasantly entertaining where he can. “i work at a social media marketing company -- brand managing, sponsorships and influencers and all that jazz. though my position is more of an errand boy than anything actually influential at all. i swear, i’ve run around this whole town twice in a single day. obviously, it’s very glamorous an rewarding work.” 

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. oflvcas‌ ;

of every response luke might have expected from his ex, flat denial wasn’t on the list. he’s completely thrown by it, in fact, and for a few seconds can’t even think of anything to say, watching mickey–he knows it’s mickey–with a slight frown. even now, lucas can recall with perfect clarity the last time he’d seen him storming out of their rhode island apartment with wet cheeks and puffy eyes and dark brown hair still damp from a shower. he can even remember what mickey had been wearing, perhaps because he’d replayed it in his mind times without number. he knows mickey’s lying; the question, then, is why. it had been lucas to make the first move when they’d broken up, but he hadn’t been the one to leave. in his guiltiest moments, he clings to that: he hadn’t left. mickey had. “really, mick?” it feels strange to say the name, even stranger to be using it to address mickey himself, standing right there. the blond makes him ethereal and lucas wonders suddenly how long he’s had it that way. “it’s been, what, four years–” he knows for a fact it’s been a little more than five, “–and you’re still not gonna talk to me? even when we run into each other in the middle of fucking nowhere? come on.” with what would have been excellent comedic timing had the situation been anything close to comical, mickey’s name is called and lucas glances over to see eight cups fit into two holders. he’s morbidly curious, but doesn’t ask. “can you just look at me at least, please? can we talk for one goddamn second?”

the way luke’s not taking the hint makes the whole scene feel like something out of a bad romance movie. now’s the part where they talk out five (not four) years of sadness and grudges until they’re teary-eyed and embracing to the unknowing support of the coffee shop patrons. mickey will shamefully admit to swearing off relationships after lucas and with a sad little smile, luke will confess to the same. they’d go on about ruining the concept of love for each other; having something so good that nothing else could possible compare. only mickey’s life isn’t a movie and he had meant his rejection. no, he didn’t want to talk. not now, not a few days from now when he’d no doubt be reliving this moment and wondering what he could’ve done differently. “i don’t have to talk to you,” mickey reminds them both with a sniff, turning up his nose with an almost pretentious air about the gesture, “and even if i did, i have nothing to say.” he shuffles to the counter, eyeing the cardboard coffee carriers with a disproportionate level of attentiveness. they weren’t that interesting but they kept blue eyes from wandering to where they wanted to fixate so desperately on luke’s tall, lean form looming so, so close. “i’m working,” mickey provides, dainty fingers on each hand curling around the handle of his charges. “i’m not about to be paid for talking to my ex.” still, when he turns, it’s naturally in luke’s direction and try as he might, he can’t keep his gaze from flickering upwards. “say your piece so i can go, then.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. justfricnds‌ ;

‘‘one recognizes a banger song when they hear one,’‘ he commented with a small grin. he couldn’t figure out if the other male was serious, or mocking him. he loved to think the blonde wouldn’t mock him without a really good reason to do so… ‘‘– big fan of country music? billy ray doesn’t look like he’d be your favorite cyrus,’’ whatever that meant.

either his joke was taken in stride or it didn’t register as a joke. mickey isn’t sure which it is but he’s going to take it as a win regardless since he’s not being told off for his ridiculous response. “i simply can’t resist a good twang,” he giggles but follows it up with a quick shake of his head. “country isn’t really my taste -- i just appreciate a good viral meme. to actually answer your question, i don’t know that i have a favorite love song. i’m kinda tired of them; does that make me a cynic?”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. justfricnds‌ ;

‘‘we both have terrible taste in men, i don’t know if we should laugh about it or cry.’‘ he wasn’t going to cry about it, especially not with a cheeky smile plastered to his face the way it was. crimson was a hundred percent comfortable with the idea of sabotaging his own love life by always being attracted to the wrong people. ‘‘jafar was the OG… what is if your up to from these days? I ain’t trying to find out if he’s like to go out next thursday, nah,’‘ he winked playfully at his friend. he was obviously kidding. crimson lifted his leg up when mickey hit his feet, only to rest his legs on his friend’s lap a few seconds after. ‘‘glad i don’t have to work while i’m doing this internship – one of us has to look good, otherwise it would be bad rep for 1D.’‘

“am i hearing you right or are you trying to get with my ex?” he lets out a dramatized exhale -- as though the weight of crimson’s long legs was enough to crush him.  mickey doesn’t move, however. some part of him will never say no to absent, affectionate contact. he folds his hand atop crimson’s ankles, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “sure, you can take 'jafar’ out next thursday. i’d give you his number if he wasn’t triply blocked on every possible platform of communication.” mickey snuggles down more into the couch, pouting. “heyyyyy, be nice! you may be pretty but i’m still doing my part for the ‘rep of 1D’, trust me. no one’s been disappointed yet.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. justfricnds‌ ;

‘‘can i bother you for a bit? i feel like i might regret that question; but what is your favorite love song of all time? don’t try to play it cool and go for a classic one, unless it’s your ultimate favorite… I want to know the real answer, as cheesy at it may be…’‘ river was trying to rub the ink off the palm of his hand as he questioned the person who walked past him. he was sitting on the stairs in front of the apartment building where he was living, a small note pad on his lap and a pen who spilled more ink and actual words on paper. 

don’t say something sarcastic, mickey’s mind tells him, urging him to listen. don’t make it a joke. the other’s question seems genuine enough and he’s probably asking for some sweet reason. he has a pen and paper, for god’s sake! take him seriously. “old town road,” he deadpans, clearly disregarding any ‘serious’ answers that may have sprung to mind. “got the horses in the back and all that really tugs at my heartstrings.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. thebenevolents‌ ; 

“SO   what,   because   it   wasn’t   explicitly   vulgar   I   should   just   batt   my   lashes   and   feign   some   sort   of   mock   flattery?   Fuck   that.   I   hate   it   ANYTIME   guys   are   fucking   entitled   pieces   of   shits.   Literally…can   I   go   just   one   day   where   I’m   not   hit   on   or   whistled   at?   Or   inappropriately   groped?   Just   one   day.”   Sophie   huffed   as   she   collapsed   onto   the   barstool,   “Sorry,   I’m   having   a   day.   Obviously.   Want   a   drink?”

“oh, uh, i don’t remember saying any of that or even implying anything that gross,” mickey shakes his head awkwardly, immediately put off the conversation. “i’m only saying there are worse things than dibs. it’s all very childish -- men are childish.” he waves a flippant hand dismissing the topic entirely at her apology. “i’ve got one -- but if you’re buying the next round, i wouldn’t say no. what’s your poison of choice?”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. justfricnds· ;

‘‘kovu is simba’ son, right? he was a hot lion,’‘ he nodded, almost to himself. ‘‘i always been into bad guys – and i feel like a cliché for admitting it, but scar was my guy. what’s not to love about a traitor for asshole tendencies? makes me think about my ex,’‘ he gently mocked, chuckling almost instantly. ‘‘aladdin though… he was something else. I just saw the actor who’s going to play him and I’m not disappointed. you look terrible, by the way,’’ welcome home, mickey. ‘’been ran over by a truck on your way home?’’

“son in law. simba had a daughter and she, too, was into the bad boys. not sure what it says about your ex that an animated lion makes you think of him but i’m in no position to judge,” he scrunches his nose in distaste. “i think my ex would make a pretty kickass jafar. tall, thin and evil. ” and mickey’s being dramatic but it’s his right, okay? “the only thing i know about the live action one is that will smith is blue; you’re going to have to educate me.” he pulls a face at crimson’s bluntness, eyes narrowing playfully. “unless you’re going to be mean. then i’m going to hide away in my room and cry.” he elbows the other’s feet sharply. “and it was two trucks, thanks.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. justfricnds‌ ;

@ofmickcy

‘‘i can’t believe disney are going to do us this good–’‘ crimson grinned to himself as he finished watching the newest trailer from Aladdin. he was comfortably lying on the couch, an arm crossed behind his head as he heard his roommate enter the apartment. ‘‘yo, mick, are you more of a Simba or Aladdin kind of guy?’‘ he tried to look over his shoulder, to catch a glimpse of his roommate, but the sound of his feet against the wooden floor was the only indicator that he wasn’t the only one in the apartment. 

he’s tousling through white blond locks tiredly, just about two steps away from collapse after a grueling day at work. thankfully, he’d struck up an easy kind of companionship with his roommate so that the apartment could be a place where he’s comfortable enough to relax and let go. that’s exactly what he does, crossing through the entry and flopping down at the end of the couch somewhere by crimson’s feet. he gives his sprawled companion a lazy smile, head lolling back on the pillow. “ guess it depends on the context -- my answer’s probably aladdin but if kovu had been in the competition, i can promise you, the lion would win.”

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. oflvcas‌ ;

lucas’s hour-long lunches aren’t exactly rigid–the only case where he’d need to be back on time would have been an appointment, but he doesn’t have one for another few hours. so it isn’t as though he’s in any particular hurry to get back, but when the barista starts in on a fourth cup for the blond guy in front of him, lucas lets out an audible groan of frustration. “christ, dude,” he starts, stepping up toward the counter and looking sideways with his eyebrow raised, “how many of those do you n–” but he stops short, so suddenly someone might have slapped a hand over his mouth. he’s never seen the hair before, but he knows the face–even if he hadn’t seen it for another twenty years, lucas would have known that face. his stomach drops and for a moment, all he does is stare, half convinced it’s a stranger who looks like mickey but certainly isn’t mickey. it is, though; he knows by the look on the blond’s face, by the fullness of his lower lip, the bright blue of his eyes. it’s like seeing a ghost. a flurry of emotion tries to swell up inside him and lucas forces it back down, but a small, weak smile still makes its way onto his face. “hi, mouse,” he says softly, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “i gotta tell you, out of all the people i thought i might run into here today, you weren’t one of ‘em.”

mickey was half prepared for someone to have an issue with his massive order. it’s practically a daily occurrence and he doesn’t blame them, necessarily. it really isn’t mick’s fault he has to order for an entire floor of office workers as their resident intern-slash-coffee-gofer. however, there’s absolutely nothing that could have prepared him for the voice that does the complaining. mechanically, he turns towards it, knowing very well who he was going to see. lucas. he isn’t supposed to be here. he isn’t supposed to be within 100 miles of here. the selfish thoughts spring forward with abandon and his face falls into a glower. this is mickey’s space now and it’s absolutely and completely unfair for his singular ex boyfriend to be here. “no,” he quips in a curt voice, whipping back around to face the coffee counter. lucas hasn’t asked a yes or no question nor is mickey’s monosyllabic utterance in direct response to anything the other has said. he’s shutting down this conversation before it can even start, the hairs on the back of hi neck bristling like it’s a horror movie. there’s no way he’s quipped for this conversation; even if he downed every one of the eight coffees being concocted on his tab, he just wouldn’t have the energy. “i don’t know you -- you must have me mistaken for someone else. have a nice day.” it’s all hummed out in a breezy voice of practiced indifference. mickey doesn’t hope luke’s day is nice at all.

[ofmickcy-blog]

&. @oflvcas // closed ;

despite the regularity of his coffee trips, it never fails to startle ( and disgust ) mickey how pricey eight fancy lattes could be. it really puts his sad little paycheck into perspective when he’s handing over the company card to cover a nearly fifty dollar order twice a day -- morning and noon. leaning on half tiptoe to see over the glass barrier, mickey clears his throat a little to grab the cute barista girl’s attention. “extra foam on that one,” he chirps in once she looks, hoping he comes across as helpful and not annoying. he doesn’t particularly care if the drinks are done to perfection but he knows his higher ups will throw a fit and send him back otherwise. sadly, the drink he’s watching being prepared is only the second out of eight. mickey’s going to be here a while and he huffs out a breath that displaces a few rogue white curls.