Mickey wasn't expecting his relationship with you to last this long. You were just some guy he'd shared an English class with before dropping out of high school. Yeah you'd kissed under the bleachers once or twice, but that didn't mean anything.

And now here he was, sharing an apartment with you.

It wasn't anything fancy, just your typical Southside, one bedroom shithole. But you'd somehow made it look homey. It was yours to share and that's what mattered. Kevin had hired Mickey to be a bouncer for his bar, and you worked at the diner with Fiona Gallagher. For once in his miserable life Mickey felt normal.

Until he started noticing things about you. Things he saw in himself.

Some things he could dismiss. You got all cringey when he hugged you? Mayybe you didn't like hugs, Mickey didn't. You felt like you had to ask Mickey permission for the littlest things? Maybe you were just annoyingly considerate. Surely that was the end of things.

It all started with the pacing. Your mother had left a voicemail while you were getting groceries. Mickey sat on the couch, trying to focus on the game playing on TV. But it became increasingly difficult when all he noticed was you pacing in his peripheral vision. You were in the little kitchen with your phone discarded on the counter. You just kept wandering in circles, messing with your hair and tugging at your clothes.

"Would you stop fuckin' pacin'?" Mickey asked frustratedly, looking at you over the back of the couch. "Shit's drivin' me nuts."