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Mickey tells Ian that he loves him, and says it like it’s a fact. It shouldn’t surprise Ian as much as it does. Because after going through hell and back together you can’t deal with so much shit and chaos and happiness without having the other person to hold on to – without loving each other with all your heart. You just can’t.
For a long time, Ian had accepted that he loves Mickey. When he’d realised that Mickey loved him too, he decided that he didn’t need any grand announcements. The quiet gazes, the softly-held smiles or the way Mickey gets so damn gentle when he knows Ian’s hurting, when he’s taking care of him. All those things had told Ian enough.
Mickey loves him. That might as well have been fact.
Except Tuesday morning, Mickey says it and it all becomes more real than ever.
They’re arguing and it’s nothing serious. Something about who has to get up first and make the pot of coffee. Ian says that he had to do it last time but Mickey’s saying he worked longer than usual last night so he needs the extra five minutes of sleep.
And when Ian starts using his extra-pouty puppy dog face, Mickey rolls his eyes and gets up grumbling.
“If I didn’t fuckin’ love you so much this wouldn’t be happening,” he says and reaches for the cigarettes. He leaves Ian kind of stunned, kind of half-asleep wondering if he’d heard it right.
Later, Ian goes to the kitchen and his coffee tastes much sweeter than usual. He watches as Mickey stands in the kitchen wearing his boxers and Ian’s favourite grey t-shirt. He’s rummaging through the cupboards apparently looking for something, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth like it usually is. Ian smiles and walks over so he’s standing behind him.
“I love you too, Mick.”
“Huh?” Mickey says, still distracted in his mission to find whatever it is.
“I said that I love you. Always have.”
Mickey turns around at that, looking stunned and a little caught off-guard.
“What – I mean,” he stops and stares at Ian for a while. “Where’d that even come from?”
Ian doesn’t reply and shrugs, smiling because Mickey obviously didn’t realise what he’d said earlier.
“Shit, I guess I love you too, man. I mean,” he pauses and frowns. “The fuck is love, anyway?”
Ian shrugs again, except this time he steps closer and holds the back of Mickey’s neck gently. “Who fucking knows?”
He takes the cigarette away from Mickey’s mouth and puts his own lips there instead. He kisses Mickey soft and firm, rough and sticky-sweet.
Ian pulls away first and watches as Mickey opens his eyes and how he breaks into that grin of his.
“Seems like you know what it is.”
Ian grins back. “Seems like you do too.”