#also i made a post about ian’s and fiona’s relationships a while ago that is kinda related to this

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

--

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

**

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

[coopergal24]

I’m sorry but people can claim to be “not against the LGBTQ+ community” and also be unaware of behavior/opinions that can be homophobic.

The way you disregard the writers’ intents for adding more queer characters to the cast by saying “i only see them as sisters/best friends” when it’s so common to erase and disregard the very few representation wlw/sapphics/lesbians get. In fact, The Owl House got that type of censorship in several countries by making Amity & Luz have a “sisterly” bond instead or how Sailor Neptune & Sailor Uranus were made “cousins” in the english dub of Sailor Moon despite canonically being in a relationship. These are only a few examples that come to mind.

Ian Flynn, Aleah Baker & Jennifer Hernandez have spoken out about how they were on board with Sallicole being a thing as well as confirming that Sally is bisexual. The Spark of Life arc was only the foundation of the more intimate relationship they’d eventually have, but unfortunately since the comics were cut short not long after, they couldn’t really go forward with more stories that explored their dynamic.

Sallicole isn’t like other ships like Fiona/Scourge or Mina Mongoose/Tails that came out of the blue just because, but I don’t see as much people complain about how they interacted like once before they ended up as a couple 🤷

The fact that you decide to purposely disregard the writer’s intent of Sally & Nicole’s interactions to be romantic and then say “no they’re not in love just because I don’t want them to” says more about you than anything

Wow, just wow…

You judge me as an instant “homophobe” is like judging a black person as a “criminal”.

You don’t even know me, and yet you only judged me based on my one post, which was more of a rant than anything.

Speaking of which, I’ve said before that I wasn’t homophobic in any way, shape or form, I was ranting about how people just mistook one Sonic story as an instant Sally/Nicole shipping when there’s not even proof of said shipping being canon in any way.

Even in the last few issues, there was no confirmation that Sally and Nicole were a “thing”, despite people seeing it and Ian just “making it a pairing because he hated shipping wars”.

If I did sound homophobic, I apologize, but I was in no way saying or doing anything against the LGBT community, I was ranting on here.

Also, I’d be more against the person that’s kicking up a huge stink loud about someone else and their opinions. Just respect the opinions of others.

I was just speaking from my own perspective, and made some minor good points. Again, I made no indications or said anything that was even remotely “homophobic”.

EDIT: And as for the LGBT+ in other shows; the scenes featuring Amity/Luz in Owl House are only censored in countries like Russia, for obvious reasons.

And Uranus and Neptune being dubbed as “cousins” only happened years ago in the original English dub, before ViZ studios did a new dub in the 90’s Sailor Moon anime, when they were made for the newer DVD sets.

And I know there’s animated series with the LGBT+ theme in it, mostly because of Steven Universe. And even though the Gem characters are genderless, they still had that LGBT+ theme in it, mostly Ruby and Sapphire’s relationship and wedding scene.

Hell, there was even a scene near the end of the live action Beauty and the Beast movie, where Le Fou danced with another man, but that only lasted for a second.

The reason why I said “I saw Sally and Nicole as best friends/sister figures” is because I’ve grown up watching the original SatAm series and read the original Sonic comics from Archie.

I don’t see that “Romantic bond” between the two, because Nicole’s an AI first off, she was already in a relationship with Shard in the later issues while Sally and Sonic’s relationship were still being slowly healing (And Sally was with Money Khan/Ken for a short time) secondly.

Third and most importantly of all, you talked about how two writers and a penciler talked about how it’s “confirmed” that the SalCole is canon in the comic universe, which is mostly a “They said, we said” thing.

Unless you had solid proof that this is all true, then it’s basically “Your word against theirs” kind of thing. Again, (as I’ve stated in the first reply to you) if you or anybody else like that pairing, then that’s completely alright and your choice.

Point is, we have different opinions on what we like or don’t like. I’ve spoken up about my opinions, but someone else didn’t respect that and instead of being civil about it, they pulled the “Homophobe Card” and labeled me as. Homophobe, despite not even knowing me to begin with.

If you don’t like my opinions on certain things, that’s all fine and dandy, but I only ask that you be respectful and civil to me and other fans/people.

There’s a golden rule that goes “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, and I think that also applies to others that makes opinions on certain subjects.

Sure, there may be some opinions you won’t like, but that doesn’t entitle you to just instantly label someone else in a relationship rude manner, just because you don’t like their post or what they like/dislike.

[bcntnotbrokcn]

@mkvch

Ian couldn’t believe the day was finally here; so much planning had gone into it. Weeks, even. And the worst part of it, it all had to be kept a secret from Mickey. He couldn’t let his boyfriend know what was going on, or else it’d ruin the whole surprise. That was the difficult part, really; trying to get everything together without ending up ignoring Mickey, or making him think that something was going on. Ian had to juggle going places, talking to people, organizing things, and even paying some of them, all the while being a doting, attentive boyfriend. He somehow found the time during lunch breaks, before work, right after work, and when Mickey was busy. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but he did. And it was all going to pay off.

Well, hopefully.

Ian wasn’t sure how Mickey was going to react. Actually, no, he was pretty sure that Mickey was going to hate it. But just because he was going to hate doing it, and want to punch Ian for putting him throughout that day -- that didn’t mean Ian wouldn’t get the ending he wanted. Actually, he was pretty confident that he would. His and Mickey’s relationship was good. It had been two years since they had gotten back together, and honestly? Things were amazing. They were the best they had ever been. They were living together, being a stupid, domestic couple and Ian loved it. He loved Mickey. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

Ian had left early that morning, having told Mickey the night before that he had to cover a few hours of someone else’s shift. They had a doctor’s appointment and they couldn’t reschedule. It was a lie, sure. Ian wasn’t working. But it was a simple white lie, something just so his boyfriend wouldn’t get suspicious of what he was doing that day. In reality, Ian just wanted to get a head start on Mickey and make sure everything was going to run smoothly that day. He had even taken his uniform with him, but had left their car parked -- also telling Mickey the night before that Fiona wanted him to get her car checked out after his few hours at work, so he’d have hers. She even dropped it off the night before. That was, of course, just part of the plan -- she knew Ian was going to need it, and she was more than excited for the day planned.

Before Ian had left, however, he made sure to leave a post-it note on their bathroom mirror for his boyfriend. God, he really hoped Mickey didn’t punch him for what he was about to go through.

Hey, Mick! So I was thinking this morning -- and you know what came to mind? The first time we ever had sex. We were kids, but it was so much better than what I had with anyone else. Not that I had a whole bunch of people to compare it to, but you get the point. It was the start of something, you know? The start of us. Even if you wouldn’t let me kiss you afterwards. Glad I still have my tongue!

You remember where that happened? That room? That bed? -- Well, you should get ready. Showered, dressed, hair all did -- and put on some comfortable shoes. The car is gassed up. Eat something, it’s going to be a long day. And then once you’re ready -- go there. Where our first time was. Humor me, alright? -- I love you.

The Milkovich house. Thank god Terry was locked up, or Ian would have left that place off his list. Iggy was still there, though. That was who Ian had talked to. And in that room, on the window, was another post-in note.

Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? Everything that happened in this house. We had highs and lows. Extremes of both, even. It was crazy. But honestly -- I loved every moment of it. Because I was with you. You were everything to me for so much longer before we were together, Mick.

Speaking of the past, we used to work together, remember that? Fun times. Real fun breaks, too. I’m having a hard time remembering what place that was at. Maybe you should go there, take a look around, and remind me when you see me later. (Just don’t steal anything, okay?)

Kash N Grab. Ian had gotten Mickey a job there after juvie once. And while it maybe wasn’t the ideal situation, considering everything that had transpired there -- Ian had loved it. He loved spending time with Mickey. He loved their time together -- both in and out of the cooler. And on the door to that cooler, with the permission of one of the new owners, was another post-it note.

Oh yeah, now I remember the name. Kash N Grab. Kind of funny now that Kash is long gone, right? I remember this place well. Both fond and not-so-fond memories. Like when you were shot? I’m pretty sure a piece of me died that day. Don’t worry, though! You resurrected it a long time ago. Or maybe it was reincarnated as another piece of me, one completely devoted to you.

I may have just been a ‘warm mouth’ to you back then -- but you seem to really like my mouth these days. Hey, do you remember where our first kiss was? I do. Speaking of that -- you get shot a lot, you know that? Anyway -- you should go there, that place we first kissed. Well, when you first kissed me, actually. Don’t go to the actual place, though! I don’t need you shot again, or arrested. Both those things would totally ruin today. But the street sign that’s near that place? There might be something for you there. Who knows? You should check it out, just in case.

Ian had been in shock when Mickey had kissed him that day. He knew the reason -- he said that he liked Ned because Ned wasn’t afraid to kiss him. And the next thing he knew, they arrived at the house and Mickey was running back to lay one on him. His heart had jumped right out of his chest. It was the best thing in the world to him at the time. He felt like maybe something was finally happening for them. It was perfect. 

On the post of the street sign near that house was another post-it note. Ian could almost imagine Mickey’s annoyance at the situation in his mind’s eye.

I loved that day. I mean, not that you got shot, that wasn’t good. But you kissing me. It made me so hopeful for the future. Like we might have a shot at a relationship together. I didn’t say it out loud yet, because I knew what that would get me -- but I loved you back then, Mick. I’ve loved you for so long, it’s hard to remember a time when I haven’t.

Do you remember those anal beads you were into? The Ben Wa shit or whatever? Did you know the sex store down on Terrance streets sells them? Like, really scary similar to the kind that you had back then. You should go pick some up, we can play with them later. Oh -- but don’t forget to tell the clerk who you are first. They have some special ones set aside for you.

Ian didn’t want to think about anything right after that part of their relationship, but he had no problem throwing some fun things in the mix. He was sure Mickey wouldn’t mind that, either. And maybe the promise of some terrific sex later would make Mickey hate the day less. Besides, the anal beads that Ian had picked out also had a vibrating setting. And, on the back of the package, was another post-it.

They vibrate! I’m sure that’ll be even more fun. Don’t you think? Fuck, now I’m getting excited. But you can’t! Calm down your junk! We still have some more stops, Mick. And quit complaining, you know you fucking love this. Almost as much as you love me. Which is a lot, I know. I’m amazing.

I also give amazing lap dances. Hey, remember when I used to do that? Don’t worry, I’m not thinking about doing it again -- but it was sure interesting, right? I might have been manic already, but that’s besides the point. Do you remember that place? Something’s telling me that you should go there. It’s closed right now, but the manager’s there. Old friend, I guess you could say. Go talk to him. Might have something for you!

When Ian had told his old boss what he was planning, the man had been all for helping out. He thought it was romantic and sweet, and agreed to hand over the next note to Mickey. He also promised not to give Mickey and free alcohol, even though he wanted to -- Ian didn’t want Mickey drinking and driving. He was responsible!

I very vaguely remember zoning in and out of consciousness once after getting high. You carrying me home. Taking care of me. You were so good at that, you know? Caring for me, loving me. It was like -- as soon as I got back from the army, you were a new Mickey. And I loved the old Mickey, I did -- I loved everything about you. You were my rough around the edges hoodlum. But the new Mickey, the one who cared and watched out for me -- I loved him even more. Because he was still the same old Mickey, but I felt like I could actually become emotionally attached to him and not get hurt in the end. Like maybe there was a chance he could really, honestly, truly love me. And you do. And I’m so fucking blessed that I have you. There’s no one else I want. No one else I could dream of wanting.

You even came out for me. I mean, I kind of forced you into it -- well, not kind of. I did. And that wasn’t a highlight of mine, I’ll admit. But I think that day proved just how much you were willing to lose for me. How far you were willing to go. And even though I was a complete shit following that, it still stuck with me. I think you should revisit the place it happened. Where you came out. Where our relationship reached a whole new level. Our friend’s there now, but he’s also not allowed to give you any alcohol. Nice try. Tonight, I promise.

The Alibi. Where Ian had forced Mickey to come out, or he was going to leave him. And even though he knew his father would kill him for it -- Mickey did it. Because he didn’t want to lose Ian. And that had meant more to Ian than anything else. They had fought together that night, and after that -- Ian had felt they had a newfound freedom in their relationship. They were bloody and bruised -- but Ian hadn’t been more proud, or happier up to that point.

Kevin was already at the bar, opening it up for the day. He also had a note for Mickey.

He’s not allowed to tell you what’s going on, so don’t try asking. Please? Keep it a surprise. We both know you could easily trick him into telling you, he’s horrible at keeping secrets. Just don’t talk to him more than necessary. And tell him to wipe that stupid grin off his face, I know it’s there.

I think how I acted the night you came out proves that things haven’t always been good between us. We’ve had our ups and we’ve had our downs. Don’t worry, I won’t make you go to most of the places where we’ve had downs -- the clinic, the institution, police stations out of town, military prison. I was such a mess for so long. But you stuck by me, loving me each and every day. Even though it was really hard on you. Even though I was a shit. And I can’t take back what I did or how I acted back then -- I can’t change the past. All I can do is promise you that I’m going to love you with all my heart in the future. With every ounce of my being, every beat of my heart, every inch of my soul -- I love you.

I love you so much that even when we hadn’t talked in years, when I was at my absolute lowest -- you were who I needed. You were the only one who could talk me down. Who I felt safe with, cared for with. And you could have blown me off. You could have said ‘fuck this guy, he broke my heart and he wants me to run to his aide? Fuck no.’ But you didn’t. You came. And I don’t think there are words to describe how much that meant to me -- how much I loved you even more because of that.

I know it’s not a good memory, Mickey. It’s not for me, either. But life and love aren’t perfect, you know? They’re rough. They’re hard. There’s obstacles to overcome. But no matter what, if two people really love each other, they’ll get over that and they’ll be stronger coming out of it. And we’ve dealt with some shit, Mick. You know? So much shit. But look at us now. Just think about where were at now. I love you more and more every day; I didn’t even know that was possible! Our lives are domestic and mundane -- but I wouldn’t give any part of it up for anything.

You save me every single day. You are the reason for my entire being, you know that? I think it’s only fitting that the second to last place you go is the place where you literally saved my life. Where I was hurting and you came to me. Even though I was a shit and we hadn’t talked in forever. You came.

Under the L, near the Gallagher home. Ian attempted the worst thing possible -- and Mickey had been there to save him, to take the threatening object from him and take him back home. And that’s when Ian knew -- there was still hope for them. On a support beam, the very same one Ian had been near -- there was another note. The last note.

You may have noticed that there’s one place that I keep forgetting to mention -- it’s been on purpose, I swear. The very same ones that saw so much happen for us. All the reunions. You telling me that you missed me when you got out of juvie. The place where I actually felt something for the first time since being on medication. Our spot, Mick. Always our spot. Go there. It’s the last place, I promise. Just don’t punch me, okay? I love you. I love you so much.

The bleachers. The sports fields. The place that saw the two grow together, grow to love one another. They were just kids not too long ago, it felt like -- but it had been years. Every day with Mickey just wasn’t long enough for Ian -- he wanted to spend an eternity with him.

Ian took a deep breath as he stood in the middle of one of the fields, his nerves on overdrive. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, threatening to jump out of his chest. Butterflies were fluttering away in his stomach, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He was so nervous. What if this didn’t end the way he wanted it to? What if Mickey said no?

Shaking his limbs and jumping up and down a little, Ian closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. It was fine. Everything was fine. “Ian!” came a yell from up in the bleachers where all his siblings -- and Mickey’s -- were. Mandy. She was nodding her head towards the parking lot; Mickey had pulled up. Gotten out of the car. Ian held the bouquet of blue roses in his hand tightly, knuckles turning white from anxiety. He watched as Mickey walked closer, and looked up at the bleachers, nodding his head.

Suddenly, coming through a boombox (which wasn’t nearly loud enough, but Ian was sure it got the point across), came a song. Hey Mickey by Toni Basil. Sure, maybe it was kind of lame -- but Ian couldn’t help the small confidence boost it gave him because of the ridiculousness of it. A grin came to his lips as those in the bleachers started singing along to it -- save for Colin, but Ian could have sworn he saw Iggy singing along. Probably would never admit it, though.

Ian, himself, didn’t have a care in the world as he sang along. “Oh Mickey, what a pity you don't understand. You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand. Oh Mickey, you're so pretty, can't you understand. It's guys like you Mickey -- oh, what you do Mickey, do Mickey -- Don't break my heart, Mickey.” Ian handed the flowers to his boyfriend, and got down on one knee, pulling out a ring box from his back pocket, opening it up to show a white gold band, diamonds sparkling in the sunlight. “I know people usually write a long speech when they propose -- but I think I’ve already done that.” He grinned, though his eyes showed how nervous he was. “Will you marry me, Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?”