As Ian and Mickey reached the top of their abandoned building, and sat down on the floor, Ian pulled out a glass pipe, and a baggy of weed.

Mickey glanced at him, but didn't say anything.

"Lip got me some sour diesel," Ian said with a grin, as he packed a bowl, "I realized we never smoked together."

"Like it's a big fucking deal," Mickey muttered, rolling his eyes.

Ian ignored him and took his hit, before passing the pipe and lighter to Mickey.

When they finished the bowl, Ian packed another, took another hit, and handed it to Mickey, with a grin, saying, "Think you can handle another bowl?"

"You kidding?" Mickey took another hit, despite the fact that he could feel himself getting giggly. This was why he never smoked around other people.

By the time the second bowl was finished, they were both done, and Mickey couldn't stop grinning.

Ian laughed at him, "What are you smiling at?"

"I'm not," Mickey laughed.

"Yeah, look at your face."

"How am I supposed to look at my face?" He said with the biggest grin, "My eyes are on my face."

"Mickey just shut up."

"What happened to your freckles?" Mickey reached forward and pushed on Ian's cheek.

"I don't know, Mick," Ian moved his hand away from his face, but Mickey just reached for the top of Ian's head and started rubbing it.

"Mickey, what are you…?" Ian trailed off, laughing, as Mickey put his other hand over his mouth.

"Sshh," He said, before sliding his hands down to Ian's chest. He began rubbing his hands all over Ian's abs through his shirt.

"You're being so weird," Ian giggled.

"What's on your shirt?" Mickey started picking at a piece of lint, giggling and grinning.

"You are really high, right now," He grabbed Mickey's hands and moved them away from his shirt, "How are you higher than I am right now?"

"I'm not that high," Mickey then cupped Ian's face with his hands, "But if I let go of your face I might fall of the building. Its moving way too fast."

Ian moved Mickey's hands again, laughing, "You're fine. The building's not moving, Jesus Christ."

"My name's not Jesus," Mickey said, resting his head on Ian's shoulder. He closed his eyes, reached down, and held onto Ian's thigh.

After a minute, Ian had an idea. He wondered if Mickey was at that point where he wouldn't mind sharing anything, and decided to test it. "Hey, Mickey?"

He hummed in response.

"What do you think of me?"

Mickey giggled, "I think that your name is Firecrotch, and I think that that… is your name."

"Do you know my real name?"

"Gallagher…"

Ian rolled his eyes. "My first name, Mickey. How come you never call me by my first name?"

"I don't know…" Mickey grumbled, before sliding his head down to Ian's stomach and closing his eyes. He grabbed Ian's arm and pulled it over him, "How come you never call me 'Milkovich?'"

"I like Mickey," Ian said.

"Well I like Gallagher."

"So… do you like me?" Ian asked, looking down at Mickey.

He started giggling again and opened his eyes. He looked up at Ian and said, "You're trying to trick me."

"What?" Ian laughed, "How am I trying to trick you?"

"You just are," Mickey closed his eyes again, still grinning, "And you should stop… stop trying to make me so gay."

"You're the one laying on my stomach and petting me…"

"No I'm not," Mickey answered, continuing to stroke Ian's arm.

Ian rolled his eyes, and leaned back on the wall.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, until Mickey looked back up at Ian and said, "Let's get some food."

"Yeah, okay."

They both got up and made their way to the nearest McDonald's.