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It’s not the hottest day of the year, but it comes close. The seemingly never-ending hum of three different fans whirling at their highest speeds and the constant clammy feel of sweat prickling the back of Mickey’s neck can hold testament to the fact. Sitting at the breakfast table, he takes a huge gulp of the almost-expired-but-not-fucking-yet orange juice and finally turns to Ian, who’s been staring laser-point at the side of Mickey’s face for what feels like hours now. It’s not like him to take forever to say whatever he wants to say, and Mickey decides he’s practiced enough patience for now.
“Alright, what’s on your mind dumbass?”
Ian doesn’t hesitate and goes straight to the point, much to Mickey’s relief. “Wanna go to the beach today?” he says, and does that half-smile, half-smirk of his like Mickey would be stupid to say no.
“The beach?” Mickey’s eyebrows come together in a frown. “Geez, Ian I thought you were pondering over your life’s decisions or some shit. Anyways, I got work to do, remember.” He looks pointedly down at the pile of money and other shit he has to sort out.
Ian laughs at that and waves the same hand he’s holding a spoon with. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. It’s hot enough today, and we need a day out. Don’t you think?”
Then he turns to Svetlana who’s been sitting in living room with half her tits out, feeding the kid and hogging up all the space in front of fan number 2 – apparently listening in to their conversation. “Has Yevgeny ever been to the beach?” Ian asks her, through a mouthful of cereal.
Svetlana raises her eyebrows. “What do you think?”
Ian apparently takes that for a no, and smiles some more. “Ok, perfect! It’ll be Yev‘s first big day out…plus most people would be working this time of day, so it won’t be full of bratty kids and stepford parents.”
Mickey shakes his head and smiles, because Ian’s trying a little too hard convincing him, especially when Mickey’s actually already on-board with the idea. But he hasn’t agreed out loud yet because Ian putting on his age-old puppy eyes is probably gonna be the cutest shit he’ll see all week.
“C’mon, Mick. I’ll call Mandy and see if she can make it. And maybe even Debbie and Carl can come too,” He pauses and leans in a little and his knees lightly brush against Mickey’s under the table. “We’ll make it a family a thing.”
All of Mickey’s thoughts come to a halt at that word. The slow grin that’d been forming on his face freezes. That word is so…it’s so fucking perfect, Ian’s smile and the feel of his knees, even the fans buzzing in background to Svetlana’s cooing in Russian. He suddenly gets this urge to fucking snapshot the entire moment, the entire word family and just that feeling and fucking do something with it. Like, keep it forever, or if it were possible, push back to that time in his life when everything went to shit and just show himself – prove to himself that this is how good it can get.
“…Mickey?” Ian’s voice is quiet and unobtrusive. It draws Mickey out of his thoughts like he’d been underwater without knowing it, and Ian had gently pressed him out onto the surface.
The world unpauses and Mickey turns to Ian, finally and grins.
“Alright, alright. Let’s head out before we realise what a shit idea this is.”
*
Ian was right. The beach isn’t crowded, but it’s not deserted either. Mandy, who’d help Ian pack whatever the hell is needed for a day out on the beach, starts rolling out towels and a fucking beach umbrella, setting up the place like they’re in a catalogue.
“Where’d you guys get this shit?” Mickey asks her, following Ian onto their designated towel.
Mandy pulls out a huge sunhat from her bag and shrugs, “The Millers forgot to lock their RV.”
They all start piling onto the beach, and Debbie helps quiet down the kid while at the same time talking non-stop to the Svetlana about the benefits of babies learning to swim early in life.
Ian nudges Mickey to get his attention, and proceeds to pull out a bottle of SPF30+. “C’mon, put this on my back or I’m gonna end up fucking fried.”
Mickey snorts, but doesn’t disagree. Their little group is seriously the palest people on the beach and that’s not even stretching it. He takes the bottle of sunscreen and applies a liberal dollop on his hand before rubbing it into Ian’s back.
“Mmmmhm, that feels good,” Ian says, closing his eyes. “I’ll do you next.”
Mickey grins and starts massaging with more effort. “Oh, you’ll do me, huh?”
“That too.” Ian says, eyes still closed. Mickey can practically hear the smirk.
A while later, after they’d both been in the water and Ian had tackled Mickey and dunked him into ocean not once, but fucking three times, Mickey lies down besides Ian under the shade of the umbrella and with the distinct feeling of sand between his toes. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the lull of people laughing and splashing becomes background noise as he closes his eyes. The heat’s making him tired, and Ian drawing lazy, soothing circles on his back isn’t helping.
“Ay, Ian.”
“Mmm?”
But Mickey’s already forgotten what he was about to say.
“Ian,” he tries again, this time to keep himself awake.
Ian doesn’t reply. Mickey decides he’s probably already asleep.