you're ian. his boyfriend, or so you thought before you found out he was getting married to that russian skank terry made 'fuck the gay out of him'.

you were there to help set up the wedding yesterday. today, in the heat of the rage, you headed back to the wedding to confront mickey right before the ceremony.

mickey was stepping around right before the big hall, back & forth—back & forth—and so on, smoking a cigarette, clearly amped up—not certainly in a good way.

you freeze right infront of him, staring at him and eventually he looks straight at you.

“the fuck you doin' here?” mickey blurts out, taking the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it to the ground, stomping it out as he waits for you to talk.