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“I’m back,” Ian calls out, the strong aroma of rich tomato sauce and garlic mixed in with light wafts of lemon welcoming him home. He kicks off his shoes, hangs his jacket up on the hook by the front door and eases his backpack off his shoulders, shrugging off the exhaustion from his ten-hour shift.
Mickey’s voice travels from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in a bit, go change first.”
Ian immediately gravitates towards his husband, who has his back turned while stirring a pot of delicious-smelling red sauce, the pasta draining on the side. Ian instinctively wraps his arms around Mickey’s hips, setting his chin on top of Mickey’s shoulders. Ian closes his eyes as he takes in the scent that is distinctively Mickey – hints of cigarette smoke, woodsy aftershave, peppermint gum, and just a tiny trace of… citrus?
Ian feels Mickey’s breathy laugh against his chest as Mickey reaches one hand back, cupping his face. “Hey you.”
“Hey,” Ian murmurs, arms gripping even tighter, feeling himself melt against the warmth radiating from Mickey’s body.
“What’s with you?” Mickey says, amused. “You’re more clingy than usual.”
“Just missed you, that’s all.”
Mickey laughs as he lowers the heat on the stove, turning around to face Ian, eyes flickering up and down Ian’s form. His fingers toy gently at the collar of Ian’s EMT uniform, thumb gently caressing the slight stubble on Ian’s face.
“I just saw you a couple hours ago, or did you forget who was sleeping next to you this morning? Or how I woke you up in the shower…”
Ian closes the distance between him and Mickey, lowering down slightly to press their foreheads together, breathing in each other’s air as both of their arms entangle around the other.
“Still missed you,” Ian says lightly, before nudging their noses together obnoxiously, pressing their lips together without warning. He tastes Mickey’s surprise and feels him ease into their embrace, Mickey’s lips upturned into a smile against his.
“Hey,” Mickey breathes out.
“Hi,” Ian grins, gently brushing back Mickey’s hair from his face. “You smell good. Wait, did you use the lemon cleaning spray today?”
Mickey slaps his palm lightly against Ian’s cheek. “Yeah, I used it to wipe up a spill,” he replies casually. “C’mon, go shower. Food’ll be ready when you’re out.”
“Maybe you should join me.” Ian wags his eyebrows suggestively, fingers tugging at the hem of Mickey’s shirt.
“I showered earlier already, but maybe we can do something later that requires another one,” Mickey replies, eyes raised, reciprocating Ian’s heated suggestion.
“Okay, fine,” Ian resigns, stepping back and loosening the buttons to his uniform, ready to wash away the day’s grime and slip into something more comfortable. “Thanks for making dinner by the way.”
Mickey hums, returning to the stove and stirring the pot. “Found a recipe for homemade pasta sauce that seemed easy enough. Had to use up all your damn tomatoes somehow.”
“My personal chef,” Ian teases, unable to contain the fondness from his voice.
“Yeah yeah, go on before I spray you with a hose.” Mickey rolls his eyes. “You stink.”
“You love it,” Ian calls out behind him, remembering all the times Mickey had jumped him after his morning runs or tending to his plants in the garden, sweat clinging to his skin. Mickey didn’t seem to mind what he smelled like then.
Ian sheds his clothes in their room, grateful to have an afternoon shift tomorrow so he has extra time to wash and press his uniform. To his surprise, the hamper is empty, meaning Mickey must’ve done a couple loads of laundry today, which was something Ian had promised to do on the weekend. He doesn’t think too much of it – Mickey probably wanted to wash their bedding so they had clean sheets for the night. Despite having multiple sets, they seem to run out of fresh ones all the time.
Ian jumps in the shower for a quick rinse, getting his hair wet and scrubbing away the heaviness of his job. He started taking on some overnight shifts due to a staff shortage, with the promise of getting a week off at the end of the month to make up for the overtime hours. Plus, he felt like he couldn't say no since his old boss allowed him to have his job back – despite having a criminal record – and he wanted to show how much he appreciates getting a second chance.
He’s aware his sleep schedule recently has been out of whack and not in tune with Mickey’s regular nine to five pick-up schedule for the weed security business, but he still managed to keep up with his meds and take time to check in with his moods. Not overly energetic, not feeling especially low. Just coping, managing, coasting by. Slightly stressed and always tired, but the thought of having a week off with his husband, who also managed to clear his work schedule for that week, is what keeps Ian going during the long shifts.
After he changes into a loose shirt and sweatpants, Ian strolls out of their room, water droplets dripping onto the hardwood floor as he pushes his hair away from his face. Before he follows the aroma of Mickey’s cooking to the kitchen, he looks around and notices the state of their apartment for the first time since he got home.
When they moved into their Westside apartment, they agreed to keep their place simple – basic furniture, a modest flat-screen TV, some knick-knacks, family photos above the fireplace. The only pieces they splurged on was the couch and their bed. Their bodies aren’t the same as when they were teenagers, and their backs and joints simply cannot handle the way they fuck on a worn-out couch or a mattress without proper support. After multiple trial and errors, they finally picked ones that checked all their boxes, much to the furniture store employees’ disdain.
After growing up and being forced to share everything with their families, it feels nice to have a place to call their own – just the two of them, no one crowding in their space.
They have jobs and steady incomes now. They go grocery shopping together and cook at home for most meals, occasionally going to their favourite twenty-four hour diner for pancakes and a local dive bar that serves cheap beer. Ian tends to his plants in the communal garden and Mickey draws in his sketchbook during his spare time. They live a simple life and they’re fine with it, though they do get called out every month by everyone at the Gallagher family dinner as being a boring old married couple, but they’re happy and alive. That’s all they care about.
A new beginning. A clean slate.
Usually, Ian is the one who takes initiative and keeps their apartment tidy. He vacuums regularly and picks up their dirty clothes off the floor, knowing better than to start an argument with Mickey over randomly strewn socks. The dishes usually don’t go unwashed for more than a day or two and their counter spaces are usually free of clutter. Ian doesn’t mind doing the cleaning at all – he likes the routine and the satisfaction of having an organized space.
Not that Mickey is a slob or anything – after growing up under less than ideal conditions in the Milkovich house, some old habits are bound to be difficult to shake off. But Ian can tell Mickey is trying in his own way, like stubbing out cigarettes in an ashtray instead of throwing it off the balcony, or learning how to do laundry properly while fighting the urge to steal their neighbours’ clothes. It’s the little things that count and Ian appreciates the effort.
Before Ian rushed out the door this morning, he promised Mickey he would do a deep clean of the apartment when he got back. Their place isn’t dirty by any means, but Ian had been slacking on his weekly cleaning routine lately due to his irregular work schedule and he wanted to do some spring cleaning before summer rolled around.
New season, fresh start.
However, as Ian looks around the apartment now, he notices the floor has been vacuumed and freshly mopped, surfaces and countertops dusted and wiped clean, mirrors and windows clear of stains, blankets folded and cushions fluffed, garbage and recycling cleared out.
Ian’s eyes widen. Did Mickey do all this?
“Dinner’s ready, get your ass out here,” Mickey calls out, breaking Ian out of his spell. He shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, unsure of what to make of everything.
Mickey pushes a plate of pasta towards Ian on the kitchen table and cracks open a can of beer for himself and a Coke for Ian.
“Smells so good, Mick.” Ian stuffs a forkful of pasta in his mouth. “Tastes damn good too.”
Mickey waves him off, looking slightly abashed from the compliment. “It’s nothing. Any dumbass can follow a recipe.”
“Well, this is the best pasta I’ve ever had in my life.” Ian grins, lightly kicking Mickey’s leg underneath the table. “I’m serious, Mick.”
“Yeah, okay.” Mickey rolls his eyes, his mouth clearly biting back a smile. “You better lick the plate clean then.”
“Mmm, maybe there’s something else I wanna…”
“Don’t even finish that sentence, you sap.”
“Okay, okay.”
They fall into a comfortable lull. Ian spoons another serving of pasta onto his plate and Mickey looks on fondly in the corner of his eye, clearly glad that he cooked something worth a second, third helping.
“Thanks for cleaning by the way,” Ian says casually, trying to gauge Mickey’s reaction. “You could’ve waited for me to help you.”
Mickey shrugs. “Had lots of free time today when you were off saving lives and shit. Not a big deal.”
“You’ve been busy too, with training the new drivers and balancing the books. You deserve a break.” Ian places his hand over Mickey’s and rolls his husband’s wedding ring with his thumb. “Let me do the cleaning next time.”
Mickey furrows his brows and frowns, eyes scanning the apartment. “Why, what’s wrong with the way I clean?”
“Nothing, you did a great job Mick,” Ian replies quickly. “I appreciate everything you do, but you’ve had a stressful week too and I want you to enjoy your off days. I don’t mind cleaning, I promise.”
Mickey slips his hand from Ian’s grasp and takes a swig from his beer, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Wanted to do something for you since you’ve been doing so many overnights,” he says defensively. “Besides, Jill actually helped me out, that nosy-ass bitch.”
“What? Jill was here?” Ian says, slightly taken aback at Mickey letting their neighbour into the apartment, since Mickey is very vocal about how he finds everyone in their complex extremely annoying, especially Jill and Alan.
Mickey scoffs. “She heard me yelling at the vacuum for not turning on and she poked her head in. I swear, her hobby is wandering the halls and getting into everyone’s business. Next thing I know, she starts babbling on and on about how to organize efficiently and going all Martha Stewart on me.” He rolls his eyes. “Also, since when do we have like twenty bottles of cleaners? That’s too much, man. ”
“They’re all for different purposes,” Ian replies, amused. “There’s one for glass, surfaces, bathroom tiles…”
“Whatever. I don’t see you switching it up when it comes to lube, you always buy the same strawberry shit all the time.”
“I’ll buy a pineapple flavoured one next time. Maybe a peach one too?”
“Yeah, you do that.”
“Okay.” Ian pecks a quick kiss on Mickey’s cheek. “Whatever my husband wants.”
Mickey’s face flushes pink and chews his bottom lip. “Look, it’s really not a big deal. I know sometimes your moods get out of balance when the seasons change. I just wanted to offload some of your stress since your sleeping schedule has been all over the place and I don’t want that to… trigger anything, y’know?”
Ian’s shoulders tense. “I’m fine, Mick,” he says reflexively, instantly regretting the edge in his voice.
“I know,” Mickey says softly. “I just don’t want you to also feel like you need to do all the work around the apartment. I want to start helping out too. Plus, the last time you did a deep clean of the place, you were kind of… not your usual self.”
Ian’s stomach lurches. “You mean… the last time I was hypomanic?”
Mickey nods. “Maybe if I caught it sooner, your crash wouldn’t have been that bad.”
Ian closes his eyes, flashes running through his mind of him scrubbing every square inch of every room until three in the morning, determined to remove every single stain and morsel of accumulated dust in the apartment until his hands ached. Baking pans after pans of brownies for Franny’s bake sale until he ran out of chocolate powder, then repeating his vigorous cleaning regime to make sure the kitchen remained immaculately spotless.
But no matter how much he tried, nothing felt clean enough for him.
It took Ian four sleepless nights and feeling like his heart was racing out of his chest before he admitted to Mickey he felt off. Ian would never forget the look of guilt on Mickey’s face at the time, knowing his husband internally blamed himself for not catching on sooner. Mickey had been more stressed than usual that week, having to deal with unruly clients and firing one of the drivers who was skimming cash from under his nose.
Once Ian got his pills adjusted at the clinic and talked to his therapist, he took a couple days off work to rest in bed, feeling absolutely useless and unworthy until the meds evened out his drowning thoughts. Mickey was there the whole time, a quiet yet calming presence by Ian’s side.
They eventually returned to their usual routine. Ian gathered enough energy to go back to work, Mickey settled most of the issues at the security business, and both of them found moments in between to spend time together, though they haven’t talked about what happened since then.
"I guess I didn't realize how much it scared me when I didn't notice you were having symptoms. With your work schedule throwing off your usual routine the past few weeks, I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay.” Mickey stares down at his hands as he fidgets with his wedding ring. “It’s my job to take care of you and I should’ve caught on sooner last time and…”
“You can’t blame yourself, Mick,” Ian cuts in, wrapping both of his hands around Mickey’s, squeezing tight. “Sometimes we catch it in time, sometimes we don’t. Most of the time…” Ian sighs. “I don’t even want to admit to myself I’m feeling manic until I’m in the thick of it. But no matter how many times I’ve pushed you away or fought back, you always made sure to get me the help I need. You always take care of me in your own way. I know I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate you so much.”
“Of course,” Mickey murmurs. “We’re married. We take care of each other, right?”
Ian leans in and connects their lips together in agreement, still holding onto Mickey’s hands.
“Yeah Mick,” Ian agrees breathily, as he pulls away from the kiss. “You’re my husband. We take care of each other, no matter what.”
Even though they’ve been together for over ten years and married for almost two, Mickey’s cheeks never fail to flush when he hears Ian call him his husband and all Ian wants to do now is make out with Mickey until they’re both out of breath, but first –
“Let’s promise each other to be more open with what’s on our minds, okay? I don’t want us to keep anything from each other.”
Mickey nods. “Yeah. Might be hard, but… I’d like that.”
“Does this mean you’re going to clean all the time then?” Ian teases, lightening the mood.
“Hell no,” Mickey groans. “I’m fucking exhausted, took me hours to clean everything and our apartment isn’t even that big.”
“How about we take turns and make a game out of it?” Ian suggests playfully. “One person cooks while the other person cleans up, and the rest we’ll split evenly together.”
Mickey smiles. “I’m fine with that. How is it a game though?”
“Well, instead of crowning a winner, we’ll both win by getting each other off afterwards.”
“You’re a dork.”
“But you love dorks though.”
“Yeah,” Mickey looks at Ian fondly, with nothing but love in his eyes, “I guess I do.”