Chapter Text
Ian Gallagher loves Mickey Milkovich’s annoying face…
There’s always so much going on there, despite how emotionally guarded Mickey claims to be (a fact Ian’s known to be mostly a lie from almost the get-go of their relationship). Most people would think Mickey expresses his emotions through his eyebrows. They’re certainly the most animate part of his face, jumping around indignantly like they’re performing gymnastics for a crowd.
But Ian’s had the unique luxury of studying Mickey’s face up close and personal. He’s had the rare opportunity of seeing it in its most relaxed un-performative state, when they’re lying quietly in bed just staring at each other. Or in the quiet moments in the mornings when Ian’s getting up for work, and Mickey snores on, buried in Ian’s pillow.
With all that avid studying under his belt, Ian knows for sure there are so many more tells to Mickey Milkovich than anyone could ever guess. But his greatest betrayer of emotions? His mouth.
Ian finds himself watching his husband’s mouth a lot. Maybe it has a lot to do with the fact that Ian’s a little bit obsessed with his lips, the though of kissing him a constant presence in his mind ever since the first time they hooked up. But he’s gradually come to rely on them to understand what Mickey’s saying.
He always purses them upwards when he’s lying. It’s usually innocent, like when he’s trying to convince Ian he didn’t drink all of the orange juice straight from the carton, or that he absolutely did all of his chores himself and didn’t bribe the younger Gallaghers with beers into helping him out (Carl’s drunken saunter gave him away with that one too).
But one huge phrase that Mickey manages to convey in his subtle way is Im nervous but I’m hiding it, and it usually looks something like a little rabbit snuffle of the lips followed by a rough swipe to the mouth.
And Mickey’s been doing it all night. Shooting glances at Ian from the bar, wiggling those damn lips and then swiping away the physical evidence of his thoughts, before going back to nursing his beer and making stilted conversation with Kev and Tommy.
It’s driving Ian a little crazy.
Was it something he’d done? Couldn’t be, they’d been fine this morning before they’d both left for work, kissing each other softly and lingeringly. Mickey’s lips had been relaxed and upturned, when not attached to his own.
He finds himself worrying his own lip, distracted from the one sided conversation he’s having with his older brother whose hands are moving animatedly in his peripherals. He realises he’s been somewhat glaring at Mickey when the object of his troubles catches his eye and raises his eyebrows in question, lips quirking up teasingly. Those damn fucking lips. Always a cause of strife in Ian’s life, in one way or another.
Mickey grabs two fresh beers that Kev sends his way and heads back towards Ian, eyebrows still high on his forehead.
“Stare a little harder and your head might explode Raggedy Ann” he greets, sitting the beers down on the table infant of Ian and sliding onto the bench beside him.
“You still talkin’ on about fuckin’ bicycles or whatever?” Mickey snarks at Lip, who rolls his eyes in good natured frustration.
“Motor-bikes, yes. A Kawasaki Z400 that we just got in, I’m repairing the-“
“Aight calm it with the fuckin’ nerd talk Jesus,” Mickey snipes, taking a large gulp of his beer.
Lip looks slightly miffed for a second, but before he can rebut Tami plops herself down next to him and Sandy and Debbie are squeezing hazardously onto the edges of their benches creating an uncomfortably squashed environment token to the Gallagher siblings, effectively distracting Lip into their conversation about whatever Frank had done that morning.
Ian doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, he can’t for the life of him pay proper attention to them. Not when he can see Mickey occasionally rubbing at his mouth nervously from the corner of his eye.
He must be visibly tense, because suddenly Mickey is leaning over in front of him, somewhat shielding him from the others and watching him carefully.
Ian doesn’t say anything to the unspoken question, instead trying to read Mickey’s mind somehow.
Mickey raises his eyebrows, “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” he replies quickly, scanning Mickey’s face, “you good?”
“Yep.” Mickey responds quickly, but they remain in their little stare-off— neither quite having believed the other.
The moment is cut-off by Ve arriving with the next round and their table’s responding cheers.
Ian sits back and tries to re-immerse himself in the night out with his family, but he is keenly aware that Mickey is now worrying at his lip with an increased vengeance.
***
He manages to somewhat enjoy the night, despite his persistent worrying, and by the time they’re all stumbling back to the Gallagher house he’s pleasantly buzzed from the two beers he’d allowed himself, and from the boisterous yelling of the people around him as they stumbled through the streets.
At one point Mickey shoves at Lip from the side, who sidesteps him and causes Mickey to stumble and grab onto Ian’s arm to stay upright. When he grins up at Ian in thanks, his heart freezes for a second and he feels ten times warmer, managing a soft smile back at his excited husband.
They’re only a few houses away from home when Mickey squeezes at Ian’s bicep and tugs him away from the group.
“Hey, follow me, gotta talk to you ‘bout something.”
And Ian’s heart freezes again, because Mickey’s biting his lip and he’s rubbing at his mouth and oh god something must be wrong.
Ian follows Mickey resolutely around the back of a house into an empty lot, fidgeting nervously with the zipper of his coat with one hand, the other being pulled on by Mickey, who drops it as he moves to lean against a wire fence.
He sighs contentedly, blowing steamy breaths into the air as he gazes upwards for a moment, before reaching into his coat and pulling out a cigarette, struggling to light it for a minute. When the flame finally bursts to light, he holds it up to the stick in his mouth, breathing in deeply and exhaling before he finally lifts his eyes to meet Ian’s, whose been staring at him, standing awkwardly with his hands twisting together.
Mickey takes another drag before he holds it out for Ian, raising an eyebrow in offering. Despite the mild nausea in his stomach Ian grabs the cigarette, taking a long pull as he manoeuvres to lean against the fence beside Mickey and look upwards at the cloudy night sky.
A hand reaches over and grabs at the cigarette in his mouth, and Ian laughs a little and dodges before removing it himself and handing it over.
They stand like that for a while, just passing it between them, necks craning slightly upwards.
Eventually, Mickey hesitantly clears his throat, “been thinking, man.” He croaks, cutting himself off by taking another drag.
Ian’s head snaps down towards him, suddenly nervous again, but something about how they are right now, relaxed and enjoying each others company, has him less worried about bad news and just wishing Mickey would tell him what was up already.
“Thinking about what?”
Mickey sighs and drops the remnants of their dying cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot.
“Was up in Bridgeport the other day, saw a bunch of apartments with for rent signs.”
Ian raises an eyebrow, unsure what he’s getting at exactly.
Mickey inhales and continues on, “and like yesterday, you know I was late to work because Debbie was hogging the upstairs bathroom and Carl was in the downstairs one and even the fucking kitchen sink was being used by Liam.”
He glances at Ian, seeming to be expecting him to catch on, but Ian’s never been known to catch onto hints all that easily and furrows his eyebrows in confusion.
“Yeah I remember. And…”
“And like three weeks ago Lip walked in on us mid fuck and you couldn’t look him is the eyes all day? And a week later Debbie gave us a goddamn noise curfew? And Liam kept lookin’ at us funny and we realised we left the handcuffs in the living room?”
Mickey makes a gesture at Ian with his hands, indicating that he should be getting the fucking point by now.
“What the hell are you talking about Mick?”
“I want to move out!” Mickey bursts out, hands exploding outwards and lips forming into a thin line, eyebrows held high.
Ian furrows his eyebrows at the explosion, “oh,” is all he can think of to say.
Mickeys hands drop down a little exasperatedly, and there go the lips, and he’s wiping roughly at his mouth again.
“Fuck- I think. I want us to move out. Get a place. Together. “
“Get a place together.” Ian repeats.
“Yeah, y’know like fuckin’ married couples do.” Mickey mutters, rummaging in his coat again to grab another cigarette, obviously frustrated by Ians lack of response.
And Ian thinks Mickey’s expecting a little too much of him to be able to respond right now, because all night he’s seemingly been building up to some huge nervous secret, and here he is telling Ian he wants to get a place with him.
“So everything’s fine?” Ian asks a little bewilderedly.
“Fine? The fuck would anything be wrong for?” Mickeys mouth is a little agape, and Ian thinks he might need some revision on the language of Mickey Milkovich’s lips, because this was the absolute last thing he was expecting to hear right now.
And with the sudden relief and happiness, because Mickey wants to move out together, he bursts into laughter, doubling over slightly at the force of it.
“Jesus Christ,” he hears Mickey mutter, the flicking of a cigarette lighter and a deep, exasperated inhale.
“Oh my god Mickey, I was expecting the end of the world here, but you just want to move out!” He exclaims, managing to stand up and face Mickey again. Seeing the bewildered and slightly put-upon look on his face though, Ian feels his own wild grin soften.
“You want to move out?”
Mickey looks down, shrugs.
“Yeah, ’s why I asked, asshole.”
“Why the fuck did you look so doom and gloom over it then?” Ian has to know, because lately Mickey has no qualms in bringing up what he wants in their relationship.
Mickey shrugs again and sighs,
“I don’t know man, I guess it’s kind of a big deal. For us. For you. I mean, I know how much you want to be with your family and after that whole Lip and Tami moving out fiasco… I dunno. Guess I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to leave them.”
The obvious nervousness in Mickey's voice makes Ian reach out and pull him towards him, snug against his chest. He feels Mickey wrap his arms around his torso, and they stand like that for a minute, swaying together.
“I don’t think I’d miss ‘em too bad in Bridgeport, don’t think we’d be able to keep them out living that close actually. Thinkin' on it, we'd probably need somewhere way further away.”
Mickey pulls away slightly to look up at Ian, lips twisting upwards.
“So does that mean…”
“Yeah Mick,” Ian laughs. “Yes I’d like to move out with you.”
Mickey grins and moves forward to plant his lips on Ians, pulling them even closer together. It feels like coming home after all the tumultuous emotions of the night.
Yeah, he’ll always be obsessed with these lips, but who could blame him?