Archive of Our Own

Tattoo

/taˈto͞o/ noun

is a form of body modification made by inserting ink, dyes, and/or pigments, either indelible or temporary, into the dermis layer of the skin to form a design

1.

Ian felt good. His skin was radiating on top of chattering bones. He was walking the streets of Chicago, feeling the wind brush across his flushed cheeks. Felt the music travel through a pair of headphones a client bought for him straight to his brain, rattling his teeth from the sheer power of the volume.

He felt his cheeks begin to grow sore. He hadn’t even realised he was smiling. He just felt good. 

He had gotten off of a shift from the club a few hours ago, went home with one of his more respectable clients. He spent a few hours there, got paid good money. Now he was on his way back to the Gallagher home to crash for a few hours before he headed back. Not that he felt tired, on the contrary, he just knew that if he didn’t get a few hours of sleep Fiona would bitch at him. Comment on the bags that started to consume his under eyes. 

He sucked in a chilly breath in. Felt his lungs expand with frost. It hurt a little when he let the breath out.

He turned the block, passing Kev and V’s place, the Gallagher home on the horizon. He spotted a crumpled figure sitting against the chainlink fence that stood guarding the home. The smoke from their cigarette billowing up into the evening air.

He squinted, neck peering out as he tried to get a better look at who it was. Definitely wasn’t Fiona, didn’t seem to be Debbie. His walking slowed a little. Took a second to dig through the pockets of his hoodie, trying to find anything he could use as a weapon. Just in case. It wasn’t unusual for strangers to camp outside the front steps of his home. Usually homeless or in the worst case, looking for Frank because he stiffed them. 

He was still a few yards away, still couldn't really make out the figure completely with blurred eyes. That was until the wind drew up again. A few leaves brushed past his feet, the force of the wind carried the familiar scent of a perfume he knew all too well. 

“Mandy?” He called out, his walking speeding up once more. 

He watched as the figure stood, grabbing the fence to get her footing. “Fucking hell, Ian?” Mandy’s voice was delightfully surprised. She tossed her mostly finished cigarette onto the ground, stomping out the flame before running towards Ian engulfing him in a hug.

He didn’t care to ask her what she was doing in front of his house in the first place. He suspected she was there for Lip. The last he heard Mandy had a boyfriend but that wasn’t his business to stick his nose in. Besides he didn’t care. He was just glad to see her. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed his best friend till he saw her makeup-caked face. 

He hugged her back just a little too tight, lifting her off the ground as they poured every bit of love and missing into that hug. He finally placed her back onto the solid ground before separating. She took a step back, hitting Ian directly in the chest as hard as she could.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Ian stuttered feeling the impact of the punch hit his lung. He caught his breath before staring down at the girl incredibly confused. 

“That’s what you get for not fucking keeping in contact with me” her brows grew closer together, her eyes squinting up in anger. “Though you died or some shit” she added a little more softly. 

The expression she wore, angry mixed with a little bit of guilt and sadness that would always linger just a little, reminded Ian so much of Mickey he had to shake his head to get the image of the boy out of his mind. 

“Well, I’m alive? Surprise?” He tried to joke. Mandy let a humourless laugh out into the air above her as she tilted her head back. She settled on still being a little angry at him, the only guy that she truly loved and cared about. She punched his arm again, this time a little softer before pulling him into a hug again. 

“You're the fucking worse you know?”

Ian gave her one last squeeze. “Yeah, I know” he tried his hand at another joke. She reciprocated a little bit better this time, a laugh chittering behind her teeth as if she was trying her hardest not to play into it but failed miserably. He couldn’t help but pull her into another hug.

This time she relinquished any lingering feelings of resentment, her body melting against his touch. “Fuck, I missed you” her voice was small. Creating some plausible deniability if he were to bring up her statement again past that moment.

“I know” His eyes were squeezed shut, taking in her perfume. He brushed the hair collected on her shoulders to fall against her back. He looked at her once more. “Missed you too”

She looked a little different than he remembered her. Thought that was fair. His mind was always running a little fuzzy those days. Memories were more of a far-removed story than situations he remembered being in. Even the freshest ones, him being in the army, hotwiring the helicopter felt like he was recalling the antidotes of a TV show he saw in passing. Not his life. Regardless, he couldn’t help himself but hold Mandy’s shoulders, putting them an arm's distance apart.

She looked up at him expectantly. He always felt that under her confident exterior she was always a little shy. He was a little sad to see how down she looked. Cheeks more hollow, eyes permanently glassy from the tears she refused to let fall down her cheeks. She looked like she had gotten into a fistfight. The layer of makeup she so carefully applied that morning was falling short of its own job. Ian shook his head. He didn’t want to wallow on that. So he didn’t. He forced a smile, rubbing up and down her arm.

“Wanna go inside?” his voice was louder than he meant it to be. He hadn’t realised the music was still pounding till the beat of the song he listened to dropped. He quickly peeled the headphones off him, shoving them into his pocket. 

“Fuck yeah” her gloss lips curled upwards, for the first time since he saw her she wore a genuine expression. “I bet you have a bunch of stories for me GI Joe”

Ian laughed at the remark, pushing her shoulder towards the front steps. 

They made it into the house, immediately shedding their outer layer of jackets at the front door, both kicking off their boots at the second door in the foyer that led into the front room. 

“Hey” Lip nodded casually from the couch, he shoved a loose cigarette from the coffee table to mark his place in his textbook. He tilted his head back to see Mandy and Ian trailing in from the front door. 

“You haven’t seen your missing brother in months and all you have to say is ‘hey’?” Mandy scoffed, pulling Ian in as he didn't seem to make it through the door fast enough for her liking.

Lip gave a little frown. “He’s been here for a few days now. I’m not that excited to see him every hour” he gave an extra shrug. 

Mandy however had a very different response to learning this news. Ian instantly winced knowing this wasn’t going to bode well for him. She let out a little scoff. 

“You asshole! You were in town and you didn’t tell me?” She punched him again, this time with more anger packed into her swinging hand. 

“Ow! Fuck! Stop hitting me” Ian put his hand out to stop another attack armed at his side again this time. They tussled for a second. Mandy’s hand tried to jab at any part of Ian they could while Ian pretty successfully kept her an arm's length away. “I figured Mickey would tell you,” he said bleakly. That seemed to get her to finally stop.

She took a second to catch her breath before spitting out. “Mick don’t tell me shit”

Ian’s hands resigned their stop pinning Mandy’s wrists together once he was sure she wasn’t going to hit him again. Lip, sensing the rising tension cleared his voice from the couch, getting both of their attention on him once more. 

“Yeah well, if it makes you feel better Mands he hasn’t really stayed here as much as he’s been here” he scratched the end of his eyebrow giving a little shrug to follow the comment.

“Yeah, whatever” Mandy seemed to understand. She let out another huff, letting her melted posture be a sign that she was done fighting him. “Still pissed at you for not even calling me”

Lip snorted at that. “Hey if it makes you feel better he didn’t call his family either”. Seeing the glare Ian aimed at him, Lip backed off a little. He fell deeper into the couch as if to say he was done getting involved. 

Mandy punched Ian’s arm once more. Seeming to get all vexation and resentment she felt for him leaving out finally. ‘Okay truce” She wiped her hands on her jeans as a sign she was truly stopping.

“Truce” Ian’s hands were above his head in mock surrender. The two stared down at one another before both breaking into smiles. 

“Fighting you has been the most combat I’ve been so” Ian gave a bitter snort. “If that makes you feel better about my safety while I was in the army” He gave a nervous shrug, the entire gesture stroked amusement with Mandy as her barely present smile deepened.

Lip was still on the couch, body twisted so he could watch the two interact. He seemed to realise he was zoned out, shaking his head to come to. His textbook on his lap was growing heavy unused. He leaned forward placing it on the edge of the coffee table before standing. Stretching his sore legs he remembered why he was downstairs in the first place.

He was supposed to be doing a few loads of laundry before Fiona got home so he could go back to the dorms for the night. He got distracted when he realised how uncharacteristically quiet it was he took the rare opportunity to study a little.

He cleared his throat. The meaningless conversation Ian and Mandy had found themselves immediately falling back into seized. They both mumbled off the tail-ends of their words, looking at Lip.

“I brought Mac and cheese from campus, hungry?” 

Ian and Mandy both gave a nod.

“Alright cool, it's on the counter. If Carl didn’t eat it all already” He eyed Ian once more.

He was so stuck in his own head that he hadn’t even realised what Ian was wearing. Thin mostly rubbed off streaks of black eyeliner hung from the outer corners of his tired eyes. He was still in his clothes from the club. A brown hoodie overtop his shirt that still peaked from the hem of the upper layer's fabric. The ridiculously tiny gold shorts were barely visible.

Lip leaned over the couch once more. There were two hampers pressed against the couch’s armrest threatening to spill over onto the floor beneath them at any slight movement. Lip’s hand blindly reached out. He grabbed one of the baskets, hoped it was the desired dirty pile, before extending the basket out to Ian. 

“Change out of that shit” Lip managed to stop Ian’s moment.  “I’m about to do laundry”. 

He handed the basket to Mandy who shuttered when the hamper was forced onto her stomach. Lip was bending over the couch once more. He shuffled through it a few times before grabbing a pair of his pants and shirt to give to Ian.

“Here,” he weakly offered, throwing the new clothes on the armrest closest to them.

Ian fished his phone, still wrapped around the headphones, out of his pocket. He tossed it onto the couch cushion with no caution before starting to peel off his hoodie.

He tossed it into the basket Mandy aimed towards him before beginning to do the same with his sequence top. 

The second the head hole went over his head the Lip and Mandy let out a gasp. Ian stopped, the fabric still stretched across his head. “What?” his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. 

Lip and Mandy ignored his plea for inclusion. They shared a wide-eyed, mouths hung open from the pure shock expression with one another before they both closed in on Ian.

Mandy dropped the hamper in her arms onto the floor trying to get a better look at Ian’s side. 

Still, in disbelief, she couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. “Ian!” She was full- laughing now.

“What?” He was much more annoyed. He did manage to peel the shirt off of him, tossing it in the vague direction of the tipped over basket. 

He reached forward to grab the clean shirt off of the couch. He was stopped by two sets of hands pushing him away, a few passionate no’s followed the movement. 

Then suddenly Ian got why he was being looked at like he was a zoo animal.  The tattoo that took over his entire side was proudly on display as he stood shirtless in the living room.

“No fucking way that’s real!” Lip’s eyes were comically wide, mouth twisting up in sheer amusement. Life had been pretty bleak recently. He was sure that the tattoo would also one day be looked at as a stupid decision like all of Ian’s decisions surrounding the army seemed to be. For the time being, however, Lip decided to take amusement in the ink.

Ian’s face blushed a bright red. He tried to cross his arms over his body to give him some shield from the formidable peeks but no matter how he tried to manoeuvre his body they could see the giant piece. 

Ian always wanted a tattoo as a kid. There was something cultivating about having etched skin on him. 

He remembered when lip got his triangle tattoo at the ripe age of fifteen. It was a small triangle on his chest nothing wild. Lip always said it was because he liked math -fucking nerd - but Ian knew the real reason. Back when they were little, really little before Debbie even came along. They were still naive enough in believing Monica coming back and believed in Frank enough to steal their toys, Fiona, Lip and Ian had this thing where they would draw triangles on their soft skin with sharpie. A point for each of them. Fiona at the top with her brothers supporting her up, the three of them against the world. Ian and Fiona always knew why Lip got his tattoo but it stayed between them, caught in soft smiles and knowing touches. 

Ian had decided to get the eagle tattoo on a whim. A bunch of the boys in his bunk were going out to get matching tattoos. They had known each other since boyhood, apparently. One of the guys that Ian became better friends with -they hooked up regularly behind the tents- invited Ian along. 

The rest of the boys got small things. Anchors, dog tags, their girlfriend's names or symbols meant to reflect their parents back home. Ian on the other hand wanted to go big. Show how committed he was to serving his country and making a difference. 

The tattoo artist had eyed him warily as Ian rambled half-baked over-enthusiastic about what he wanted. All the big ideas he had over what he could put down on his body and carry around with him forever. The artist eyed Ian over once more asking for his ID, a little suspicious of the kid. 

Ian provided a fake he had managed to get made under Lip’s name as well as a wad of cash he had stolen. That seemed to be enough to convince the artist. He agreed to whatever Ian wanted, showing him a design that he had worked up. Apparently a bunch of ‘army brats’ had frequented the shop as it was near the base. The artist sketched a few options in case they too were dedicated to the army like Ian was. 

Ian saw the biggest and arguably most ridiculous drawing out of the fifteen or so the man showed him and ran with it. 

A bald eagle riding an M14 rifle was just about as proud patriot as he could have gotten, Ian made sure of that.

He was brought back to reality as he heard Lip snort at something Mandy said. Then he felt the pad of a thumb hit his rib cage. 

Mandy ran her hand over the tattoo, Ian flinched a little from the touch. Something about her soft fingers' rough pressured touch brought him back to the club. Reminded him of the callous hands of the older men trying to touch any part of Ian they could while he danced. Another shiver. 

She seemed to notice the abrupt change in Ian’s face, hands curling back to her side. “It's not terrible” she very poorly lied. 

“At least it's professionally done?” She tried to offer, lips strained into an unsure smile. 

Lip did have to nod in agreement. As bad as it was, Lip figured it could be worse. He also figured the same could be said about their lives. 

2.

Mickey wasn’t entirely sure of many things in his life. Pretty much nothing actually. The only thing he was really sure of was that he hated blueberries and that he loved Ian Gallagher. 

The prison sentencing happened quick. One second he was being chased by Sami and her terrible shots, then the cops, the next second he was being slammed against the bummer of a car, and the next he was being driven to a station. 

His trial seemed to have been hastened just because the judge recognised the name of Milkovich.

In all honesty, he resented the charge made against him. So he roofied Sami, it wasn't like that alone could have killed her. It wasn’t his fault the dumb bitch reacted poorly. Not like he knew that was gonna happen. Besides, she was the one that chased after him with the intent to kill. Not him. 

He didn’t see how it was fair that they got the same amount of time put on to their sentence when she very clearly deserved it more than he did. 

He guessed that was the curse of the Milkovich. 

Prison wasn’t horrible. His countless time in juvie had prepared him for what he knew was an inevitable incarceration. He had some sanctuary because everyone in the joint knew his family. Feared them. 

He was even able to strike up a deal with some people Svetlana knew. In exchange for her hits on some of the inmates and making some cash, Mickey had her drag Ian along to visit him. So at least she wasn’t completely useless. 

He saw Ian twice since his incarceration. They didn’t talk about the breakup, pretended it never happened. Ian seemed withdrawn. Mickey couldn’t tell if it was because of the meds or because he didn’t want to be there. He chose to believe it was the former. 

He refused to believe that Ian didn’t love him anymore like he tried to hint at in their initial breakup. All the shit they had gone through, all the hardships and complete bullshit. Mickey didn’t come out for Ian just to push him away. 

He loved the ginger freak and he would be damned if Ian didn’t love him back. Maybe they just needed a break to get their shit together. Regroup and recollect in their time away from each other so they could get back together as better people.

There wasn’t much to do in prison but to think so he did. A lot. About Ian mostly. He thought so much about him that he had an epiphany one night laid awake in his bunk. He would get a tattoo of Ian’s name. Show him his commitment to him.

Was it a dumb plan in theory? Maybe. But Mickey was far past the point of reason. He just wanted his boyfriend back.

He made a deal with his bunkmate's fuck-buddy. Five packs of cigarettes for his discarded heroin needles. He collected some pens from the GED classroom. He had to attend a bunch of the classes and pretend to be interested in learning shit just to get enough pens to collect the ink. 

It hurt like a bitch doing it himself. He waited till night to do it. When all the other inmates were asleep and the guards weren’t watching. He squinted in the moonlight, trying his hardest to see his reflection in the shitty fake mirror right above the toilet. 

He sat there almost the whole night, squinting down at his naked chest as he wrote ‘Ian Galager’. Hyping himself up through the pain as he reminded himself that Ian was coming to visit him again in a few days' time.

Ian better have liked this gesture because Mickey was pretty sure that the needle was still dirty and he was most definitely going to get an infection from this. He didn’t care any, he was going to win Ian back no matter what it took.

3.

When the Gallaghers all went their separate ways, they all thought it would be an opportunity to grow. Learn new skills, find themselves as people, find inner peace, whatever. They all kinda did for what that was worth. Ian learned how to garden, Lip was flipping houses, Carl was doing whatever random thing he could to occupy his mind. Debbie on the other hand honed down on any skills she curated.

She ran an Etsy shop where she would sell hand-crocheted vagina pillows. Fine-tuned her cooking skills and went roller skating with Sandy almost every Thursday night - Sandy's picked up skill happened to be skating-. But most of all Debbie found her favourite way to spend her time not busy with her kid or working or making sure that Carl wasn’t burning down the house making hot pockets- was online shopping.

More accurately, online window shopping. She browsed down websites for hours looking at all the products and then another few hours trying to find coupon codes or leaked gift card numbers online.  

She didn’t end up buying any real brand quality things ever because there was no money to do so. That was until one day when she was fixing the pipes of some eldery lady that she got suggested to go on Facebook to shop. Suddenly Debbie felt as if she had a third eye open and she could shop as much as she wanted because all the things on that website were cheap to free.

Debbie’s recent take up with online marketplace was definitely one of the more out there than the other hobbies she had taken up. Carl and Liam who had to live with the force silently prayed that one day she would be over it. That seemed unlikely in their inevitable future. Bargaining and heckling middle-aged men on Facebook was an adrenaline rush every time for the young mom. Regardless of how strange Debbie’s newfound obsession was maybe a little helpful.

She managed to sell some of the unused furniture that stayed in the house. The old green couch that came before their current green couch. The bunk bed frame in the old boy's room. Knickknacks here and there. Whatever she could.

Nobody knew how she managed to do it. All of the old furniture would better serve as firewood than anything else. Stained, scratched and always had a sticky glaze no matter how well it was wiped down. Regardless of the disgusting state of the furniture, Debbie managed to convince people to buy it. Granted they didn’t exactly sell for much. Just groceries for a week or enough to buy a new shirt but still, money was money and Debbie took it as a challenge to try and sell every last useless thing in the house. She would have tested her luck with Carl if he didn't pitch in with picking up her kid every once and a while.

Maybe her heckling skills were being refined more than her shopaholic tendencies. Either way, she also managed to score an almost-mint quality couch from the Facebook marketplace. Or at least that's what the ad said.

The new-ish green couch she had bought not too long ago had seen better days. Since Frank’s last overdose attempt on it, the smell of their late father always lingered no matter how many times they brought it out to the back deck and hosed it down. Carl’s girlfriend also took up dog walking as a hobby and for pocket money. Instead of actually walking the dogs like her services were supposed to provide, she took them into the Gallagher home so she could help Carl study for his classes. The dog prints and slobber marks would never let their couch be the same.

So one day when Debbie saw a brand new couch only miles away from her she jumped at the opportunity. When the person who sold it to Debbie loaded it off of their truck and onto the Gallagher's front yard all four people there eyed it questionably. It looked a brownish-green when it was supposed to be grey.

Debbie shrugged away any scepticism saying she got it for 50 dollars. She didn’t care how well she needed to clean it, it was a steal no matter how hard she had to work to make it look better. 

That particular day she had the deprived couch brought over to them was also the day she got most of the old furniture to get picked up. It was like a bait and switch of the Gallagher home as all the old things went away in lieu of slightly less old stuff that Debbie bought. 

She knew it was going to be a busy day. She implored all of her brothers to come to help her move everything out and into the house. 

Carl was busy working - he made sure to pick up a shift the second Debbie mentioned needing a few hours of time to lug around heavy furniture-. Liam was busy studying for final exams. She somehow got Ian to come and help because he was usually the most willing. Ian volunteered to help which by proxy meant that Mickey was too volunteered - just against his own will.

Sometimes Mickey grew jealous of Lip, more accurately Tami, for the sheer fact that they were in another state and didn’t have to deal with all Gallagher bullshit anymore. 

They spent hours taking furniture in and out of the Gallagher’s home’s front door. 

Sandy was also there. She argued that watching them was much more exhausting than the boy's job. 

She refused to help lift anything. She had torn her ACL skating a few weeks ago and was still milking her now completely healed injury as an excuse not to do things around the house. Instead, she leaned against the fish tank’s table, barking instructions and critiques at the boys. “You gotta lift from your legs” or “I could do better” at one point when Ian started to visibly sweat through his tank top she threw dollar bills at him. 

Ian and Mickey had decided to take a well-deserved break, practically throwing their bodies against the green couch. Their chests rose up and down as they tried to refill their lungs with the air that felt like it was in such short demand. They were mostly done for the day. Debbie said they needed to take the new - still old- couch out back so that she could strip it down. There were also some end tables they needed to retrieve from the attic to sell but they had a few hours before the people needed to come to pick them up. So they took as much time as they could resting against the couch.

Mickey leaned his head back, eyes squeezed shut. One of his hands swiped across his brow bone to try and rid his skin of some of the sweat. 

Ian seemed to catch his breath a little sooner, even managing to sit up and look down at his phone.

“This is gonna be a beaut” Debbie tapped against the old fabric of the new - old - couch. A layer of dust was left on her finger as she pulled it away. There was a slight grimace as she wiped the residue against her overalls. “Thanks for helping!” She smiled.

“I’m never fucking doing this again”, Mickey’s eyes suddenly peered open, staring daggers at Debbie who still was evaluating the couch a few feet to the left of them.

“Uh-huh,” she playfully teased. “I’ll make steak. You’re favourite” she tried to boone.

Mickey grumbled something else unintelligible before also slowly manoeuvring himself to sit up.

Franny's excited footsteps harshly pounded against the creaky stairs as she waved her hellos to everyone. She stopped right in front of the couch peering down at it in curiosity before adjusting herself to sit on it.

Mickey swooped in before she could complete that goal.

“Aye, Fran don’t sit on that” Mickey;’s noise wrinkled out of disgust. Every mildew filled breath he took harboured more and more resentment towards Debbie. 

“Okie, Uncle Mickey” her voice was small, she strolled over between the two men sitting on the couch, plopping right in between them. Mickey and Ian both shifted against the armrest to adjust to the new body joining them.

Ian didn’t let the newfound limited space distract him from his goal of intently staring own at his screen

Franny immediately peered over to Ian’s phone. Her curiosity was getting the best of her those days. She was full of dire questions about everything that needed to be answered as soon as they were posed. She was in some ‘scientist observing the natural world’ phase being driven by Uncle Liam’s influence. 

“Whatcha lookin at Uncle Ian?” Her little voice rang. She pushed the heel of her hand into the couch, body extending over Ian’s to try and steal a glance at his screen. 

“Uh, Uncle Mickey and I are looking at tattoos to get”

“Why?”

Ian took a second to answer, still scrolling through tattoo ideas on this app called Pinterest. Debbie had shown it to him earlier that year - one of her past hobby ventures-. He liked it because it gave him good gardening tips and now because there were seemingly millions of tattoo ideas on the website.

“We’re getting matching tattoos for our second year anniversary” Ian tilled the screen towards Franny. She nodded at it, mouth falling into a little ‘o’ as she looked through all the pretty designs at his disposal. 

“Oh really?” Debbie's voice was suddenly in Mickey’s ear as she was right behind him, peering over the couch to join the growing party of watching Ian’s phone.

Mickey jumped a little from her sudden intrusion in his ear. Then looked up at her with an annoyed shrug at her question.

She ignored him, leaning over the edge a little more. Her hands landed securely on Franny’s shoulders so she could have better access to the screen. She commented on a few of the designs before her head snapped up. “Sandy isn’t this cute?”

She snatched the phone from Ian’s grip getting a ‘Debs, what the fuck’ which she promptly ignored, the phone still aimed at her girlfriend. 

The brunette looked up from picking her cuticles at the mention of her name. She took a second to act like she was trying to process what was being said to her as if she wasn’t listening to their conversation that entire time. 

“Uh-huh,” she weakly offered, squinting to see the screen that was halfway across the room. 

“We should get matching tattoos!” Debbie’s voice was confident and excited as if the idea had come to her all by herself in a stroke of genius and not just by overhearing her older brother. 

“Aw yeah, we should!” Sandy mocked her enthusiasm, eyes even drawing wide. “We could get like scissors or something”

A snort from every adult in the room left Franny confused. “Why would you get scissors?” Her head immediately cocked to the side. She looked up at Mickey who was the closest to her. 

Mickey’s hands were held up. “That’s a question for your mama” He turned his attention towards Debbie. He took the phone from her grasp, lazily tossing it towards Ian who luckily caught it. Franny’s body flipped around, she bounced on her knees, peering over the side of the couch to pose the question once again. 

Debbie laughed as she caressed Franny’s red hair. “It's an inside joke between Sandy and I, sweetie. I’ll tell you when you're older, kay?” She convincingly lied. Hiding any tells behind an over-exaggerated smile. She peppered a few kisses on her child’s hairline. 

“Anyway, what are you guys getting?” She swiftly changed the topic back over to Ian and Mickey.

The screen was being shared between them this time as they continued to scroll. “Dunno” they both grumbled indifferently.

Debbie gave a little eye roll at their synchronicity before patting Franny’s head once more. She reappeared in their line of vision now standing in front of them. “Shouldn’t it be something that means a lot to you guys as a couple? A metaphor of your beautiful relationship” her tone became more teasing at the tail-end of her sentence. 

Mickey snorted. “What’s fucking symbolic of Ian and me, huh? Prison jumpsuits? A fucking joint maybe. Bet our customers would like that one”

“Well, where did you two first meet?” Sandy finally decided to join in on the conversation. She kicked her heel off of the wall using the momentum of the move to land beside Debbie. “Was it in prison?” She knew that wasn’t the case but she liked the little rise it got out of both of them in the form of an annoyed huff.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives” Ian shrugged Sandy’s comment off. 

“Okay yeah, but when did you start dating? There's gotta be something there?”

Ian thought it over. Our dating history is kinda... complicated” Ian was at a loss of words for how to phrase that even if it was an understatement. “We were dating not really dating for a while. Took Mickey like three years to kiss me”

Mickey immediately shoved his palm into the flesh of Ian’s arm at that comment. “Oh fuck off. Got fucking shot in the ass that day too ya know”

“Because you kissed him or… unrelated?” Sandy cocked an eyebrow.

“Unrelated” their synchronicity was back, brushing Sandy’s stray comments off once more. Ian stayed in his own head though, eventually hitting Mickey’s arm like he had done to him not that many minutes earlier. 

“Ya know, our relationship did kinda start when I went to go get Kash’s gun back” Ian raised an eyebrow, Mickey’s full attention on him. He gave a shrug meaning ‘ok ?”

“I don't know, maybe there's something there?” Ian innocently offered.  The subject was quickly changed by Franny who bounced between the husbands one more time off the couch so that she could ask her mom to make something for lunch.

The idea didn’t leave Mickey’s mind though. The idea of a younger Ian and Mickey plagued his mind as he rewinded their first time together over and over again in his head, quiet through dinner as he thought about it. 

On the car ride home, he brought it up again. Took the time to tease Ian for his fifteen-year-old self’s decision to try and get a gun back with just a tire iron. They laughed about the situation a whole odd twelve years later. 

They ended up both agreeing that their first real interaction with one another- even if it was loveless fucking back then- was kinda an important milestone for the people they became together. Ian got a gun tattooed on his upper thigh, Mickey a tire iron. 

4.

Mickey didn’t know much about kids, especially not before he had his own. He knew they were sticky and whiny and sometimes cool but what he severely underestimated was the number of questions they could ask. Ruby had gotten into that habit. Trying to understand the world around her. Mickey tried to aid her in that journey but in all honestly most of the time the question she asked he didn’t have a single clue about either. 

“How many grapes are there in the world?” “why can’t kitties talk?” “why can’t I wear shoes in the bath?” “Why I no have grammy or gampa?” “what’s dadda’s favwite colour?” Wait, Mickey did know that one, it was green. 

Mickey made peace with the fact that he didn’t know what was happening with their very curious toddler, but he got good at swerving random or invasive questions. That was until she looked up at him one morning when he was giving her cheerios. 

He was about to walk away when he heard whining. “What?” He instantly returned back in front of her highchair. 

She gave him those same sleepy eyes she always had at breakfast, her hand extended forward latching onto him. “Tutu?” Her head tilted to the side.

“No tutu right now. Eat ya cheerios” he pulled his hand away from her grasp, fluffing the soft hair atop her head. Ruby didn’t relent any, her fists hit the tray underneath her, sending a few loose cheerios flying. 

“TUTU!” the two-year-old was fully shrieking at that point. 

‘Fine I’ll put you in your tutu, fuckin Christ” he muttered the last part under his breath, taking a moment to look over their house. He couldn’t remember where the tool skirt even was.

“Not what she’s tryin’ to tell ya” Ian made his way down the small hallway that led them from the bedrooms and to the living room. He pulled a green shirt over his head, pulling at the hem so it fully covered his still wet belly. Mickey could tell he was just showered, leaving a small trail of water droplets as he made his way to the fridge, that was something to be annoyed about later.

“She’s trying to say tattoo,” Ian said casually, opening the fridge and observing everything in there. He finally settled for grabbing the OJ, drinking straight from the gallon. Mickey gave him an incredulous look, hands flying up in confusion, needing some elaboration.  

Ian wiped the corners of his mouth with the heel of his hand, placing the container back in the fridge. “We were watching Law and Order last night because someone didn’t want to fall asleep. One of the unsubs had a bunch of tattoos. Think it caught her attention, kept asking about it” Ian gave a little shrug reaching back into the fridge to grab a carton of eggs.

Mickey would have said something about the SVU watching. Not because he cared that the kid was getting exposed to the cases, he was living the real thing at her age but more because he didn’t want her to develop the same obsession her father had.

“Tutu!” Ruby once again repeated, getting Mickey’s attention. Not knowing what else to do he stuck his hand out in front of her nose, letting her take in his hands. 

He had really never been the biggest fan of the knuckle tats. Back when he was a boy and he thought his reputation was everything he got them to prove that he was no pussy. Unafraid. Fuck u-up was a testament to the only thing Mickey for sure knew he was good at. But as he got older he started to resent the words. They served him a purpose once, letting punks on the Southside know not to mess with him. Telling even blogger punks in prison that he meant business. 

But now they served him no purpose. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was. Would never be again but he did find himself sometimes putting his hands in his pocket when it came to talking to new high profile clients or especially annoying moms when he had to at the park. The tattoo was now much more faded, he had no intent in ever reinking them.

But that morning he offered those tats for his daughter to see he felt a sense of pride in himself, in her infatuation. “ Woowwww ” Ruby’s high pitched voice rang. She couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop touching. Her fingers petted the flesh of Mickey’s knuckles. She seemed to be entranced by the inked skin of her father she never really noticed before. 

It was some kinda full circle, appreciation moment but it was soon over as Ruby tried to shove his hand in her mouth. “Aye! Don’t be trying to eat me, sweetcheeks” he shook his hand from her mouth, gently raising it to caress her cheek.

“What’s say?” Ruby’s hazel eyes went cross-eyed for a moment, still trying to fixate on his letters unlike ever before. Her hand reached up again to grab his hand in her own again.

“Uh bad words” he tried. She didn’t relent any, her tiny hand still wrapped around his ‘K’ finger. 

“What?” 

Mickey sighed, they didn’t hide shit from their kid. “Don’t repeat, don’t want your dad’s panties in a twist”

“Heard that!” Ian yelled from behind the pair.

“Meant you to!” Mickey yelled back, attention once again back on Ruby. “Says fuck u-up” He pointed to each letter. He braced himself, expecting her to continue pressing, asking what that meant. 

Instead, she gave him a toothy grin. “Okay,” she accepted easily. “I like em daddy look good” Mickey smiled at that, bunching at her hair again.

Finally, she seemed to fall out of her trance. She dropped his hand and went back to picking at her cheerios. Her own fist was now covered in her saliva instead of Mickey’s, thankfully. He shrugged, that was what it was like with a toddler. One moment her attention was all consumed the next sparse as her mind drifted somewhere else. 

“Daddy, can I get tutu?” her voice called the second he decided he wanted to give his attention to the breakfast Ian was making.

Mickey blew raspberries. “When you learn how to read first. Then we can have this talk again, sweet cheeks” 

Ruby didn’t seem to like that one bit, she bit her bottom lip, tears welting in her eyes. “Daddy, tutu! Now!” a big dramatic inhale as her hands hit the plastic tray beneath her. “Please, now?” her voice broke through the crocodile tears. 

It took half of Mickey’s nerve not to laugh but he held it in. He didn’t want to deal with an unnecessary toddler tantrum so he raised his hands up in mock defence. 

“Fine! Fine, Christ kid” he muttered, trying to come up with a quick solution. “Gimme a second” he looked her dead in the eyes. Just like that, all the tears were gone as she let out a radiant toothy smile. 

Mickey wandered back into the kitchen, sidestepping Ian who was of course in his way. 

“Um” Mickey gestured towards the side of the fridge, Ian caught onto his plan pretty quickly. 

Ian turned the heat down on the stove so as to not burn the eggs he was in the process of making. He reached his long gangly limb to reach the side of the fridge to grab what he needed. Ian’s fingers brushed Mickey’s as he handed him a dry erase marker from their whiteboard that was used for very important messages -getting lube and poorly drawn dicks that had been unwiped for years. 

Mickey made his way back to Ruby, biting the cap off the marker with his teeth before spitting it somewhere off in their living room. He leaned down, grabbing onto the plastic high chairs tray for balance. 

“Gimme your hand” He instructed gently. Ruby obeyed, entranced with every small move he made.

“Aye, stop wigglin” Mickey grabbed her pudgy little hand once more. She giggled but didn’t pull away that time. 

“S’cold!”

“Yeah, well. Almost done” Mickey stuck his bottom tongue out in concentration, gliding the felt tip against her smooth baby skin. 

“There,” He smiled to himself, he pulled her hand away. Ruby looked down at her hand with pure unadulterated excitement. She squealed and smiled up at him. 

“What’s say?!” Another baby squeal that Mickey felt go straight to his heart. He fucking loved that kid so much. 

“Ruby” he pointed to each of the letters. She looked back up at him, her mouth in an unclosing ‘o’ shape. “Oh, me!”

“Yeah, you” Mickey agreed with her. His smile only grew as she continued to give excited chirps, her eyes not leaving her new ‘tattoo’ for a second. 

“Danku daddy” she smiled up at him, grateful. 

“Your welcome, brat” He leaned down to give her one final kiss on the forehead. 

As he pulled away her grin didn’t dim any. “Other!” her brows fused together, her teeth biting her lip. Mickey realised Ian had been staring at them the whole time, their plated breakfast off to the side of him. Mickey gave Ian a shrug followed by a concerned look, unsure what else to write.

“Gimme” Ian took the marker from his husband’s grasp, returning the felt tip to his daughter’s knuckle. She let out an excited squeak as the familiar process happened again. 

Ian finished writing. Both parents stepped back, admiring the work they had done. 

“You’re such a fuckin sap” Mickey snorted, watching as Ruby’s mouth drew into an ‘o’, excitedly looking at the new ‘ink on her’. Her knuckles read R U B Y   B A B Y.

Ruby sported her ‘tattoo’ for the rest of the night. She even showed it off to strangers at the grocery store. When bath time came and her tattoo disappeared she cried. Throwing a tantrum like the two-year-old she was. 

She did forget about her desire for her tattoos first thing in the morning. She jumped up and down in her crib demanding for her ink to be ‘etched’ into her skin again. Only to have that request voided the second the cold tip touched the top of her skin. She was done with the tattoos. That didn’t stop her from admiring Mickey’s any. 

She laid on his chest while they watched TV. she didn’t pay attention to the screen at all, instead, she just held Mickey’s hand up to her face watching his tattoos instead. 

5.

It was early in the morning. The sun was barely beginning to rise, being filtered in softly through their thin curtains. 

Mickey’s eyes peeled open, slowly. Eyelids fighting against all odds to be torn apart. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the newfound light overtaking his senses. 

He yawned, shifted from his back onto his side. He figured that it was going to take him a little while to fall asleep, taking the effort to avert his resting from being directly in the sun. So he took a second to stretch out his back. His sitting up was instantly met with what seemed to be his entire spine cracking. 

He groaned a little from the pressure being released off of him. He raised his arms above his head leaning into the stretch, another unconscious noise drawn from his lips. He yawned again, looking down at Ian. 

He was a little jealous at how completely undisturbed he seemed to be. The gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, unbothered. Mickey peered around to see his husband’s face as his back was facing him. His eyelids were fluttering a little despite the fact that he was sleeping. Mickey figured he was probably dreaming something. His suspicions were confirmed not even a second later when the faintest smile overtook his slightly parted lips. Then a hearty exhale from his nose.

The tranquillity that overtook Ian’s senses made Mickey smile to himself. He extended a hand forward. His ‘Southside forever’ tattoo seemed to glisten in the sunlight as his hand reached Ian’s head. 

Mickey pushed a few loose hairs from Ian’s forehead, eliminating any threat of them rubbing against Ian’s face and waking him. He had mastered a gentle enough touch over the years to not let Ian stir.  

He watched over Ian’s face for another second before sliding down into laying down again. The sheets slid up from his hips all the way up to cover his bare chest. 

They were still naked from the previous night's multiple round activities. Usually, they would get dressed right away those days, curious kids were always around the corner. But it was early and their door was locked so they both took the time to embrace the nakedness. 

Mickey found it funny that even with how many years they had been sleeping together, he found Ian as attractive as the day he met him. His body was definitely not what it was as a scrawny fifteen-year-old. That was a given, he was now in his thirties. His once lanky ‘twink’ body was much bulkier. More muscular. He had gained more weight than he had ever previous in his life. Mickey didn’t mind at all, in fact, he took pride in it. They were eating well, constant home-cooked meals. A dream so far removed from once in his life it was laughable. Now every time he looked in the mirror or at his husband’s body he was reminded that it was their reality. 

Mickey smiled once more to himself, his mouth went dry as he stared down at Ian’s form. He was taking his opportunity of just laying there to admire Ian’s form. Reflect on how much he loved that man. Reflected on how hot Ian was. How lucky he was.

His current view was Ian’s back. Muscular with prominent shoulder blades that were flexed as Ian held a pillow close to his chest. 

Mickey’s eyes scanned Ian’s backside once more. He pulled the sheets off of himself and Ian slightly. Just enough so that he could see his lower half. He made sure to pay extra special time to worship Ian’s ass. He remained fixated on it and the strong legs underneath it. His attention was still mainly on admiring Ian’s asset- He hated himself for even thinking of the joke- but eyes flicked down to his upturned hip. 

There was the gun tattoo they had gotten on their second anniversary. Mickey’s hand wandered south. He lightly stroked his own matching tattoo, staring at Ian’s.  They had recently celebrated their eleventh year of marriage together. Felt good to remember they had stuck it out and stayed in love for that long.

Mickey could see the goosebumps starting to form along Ian’s skin so he quickly draped the comforter over his body again. Scared that his viewing time would be cut short by Ian stirring. 

He held his breath for a second, waiting to see how Ian would react. He let the breath go when he realised Ian was still dead to the world. A little smile as his eyes wandered up a little. 

Ian’s stupid fucking tit tattoo was staring angrily at him, despite it barely peeking out from being punished against the mattress. Mickey hated that even with his committed marriage to a man he had to wake up to a pair of tits every morning. 

Ian didn’t want to get it covered up or removed. Confided in Mickey saying that it was still meant for his mom even if it was a mistake. She would have thought it was hilarious if she would have gotten to see it so he kept it for her. Mickey respected that even if he had to suffer a little for it. 

Mickey let out a little yawn, his time admiring his husband was betrayed by his own body telling him to go back to sleep. He decided to give in knowing that he didn’t have much time to sleep in as it was. 

Mickey snaked his leg over Ian’s pulling them close. Thought about his own ink vetted skin. How on a drunken night in their twenties Mickey somehow ended up with ‘ eat me’ written out right above his left ass cheek. Even dead sober, Ian always chuckled whenever he say that tattoo, and took it as a challenge. 

Mickey nuzzled his head deeper into the pillow, trying to get comfortable again. With the new closer proximity to Ian’s body he was met with the eagle tattoo he had accidentally skipped over earlier. 

Eddie as the kids called him. 

Autumn seemed to be offended when random one day she asked “Dadda does the eagle have a name?” Was met with Ian having no idea what she was talking about. 

She went on, a little annoyed, saying “your eagle tattoo does it have a name?”

Ian laughed at the innocence of her question. She was in the phase of her adolescence where anything even slightly resembling a living thing would need to have a proper name. 

He gave a little laugh, lifting up the side of his shirt. “No it doesn’t, whatcha wanna name it”

She stared at it for a second before pursing her lips conclusively deciding on “Eddie. He looks like an Eddie”.

That just kinda stuck as an inside joke between the family as ridiculous as it was. 

He looked over the faded ink. Granted that wasn’t exactly a fair assessment. His ‘southside forever’ tattoo was becoming more faded by what seemed to be the hour. Neither of them really minded, if they were going to take the time to sit in the chair, they were getting new ink, not freshening up the old. 

The more he stared, the more he felt some compelling force overtake him, telling him to run his fingers across the ink. Mickey couldn’t help it.

His fingers ghosted a trail against Ian’s entire side. As a result of the feather-like touch, Ian shuttered, jerking awake. 

Mickey cursed under his breath. He briefly considered rolling over and pretending to be asleep. If Ian questioned why he was stroked- and not the fun way- awake Mickey would shrug it off with a seriously inconspicuous “do you believe in ghosts?”

He didn’t have time to put a plan into action as Ian let out a yawn, arms pulling the bedsheets up with his stretch. 

“Are you trying to tickle me?” Ian's sleep riddled voice soon called out, delirium and tiredness rang evident in his tone. His head crooned backwards trying to look at Mickey through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“No” Mickey immediately bit back, eyes shifty. Ian slowly blinked, the haziness of sleep didn’t make him believe Mickey anymore. 

Mickey huffed, knowing he wasn’t helping his case any. He decided to try and prove his innocence was going to dig him into a deeper hole. So instead, his hand reached out, palm landing on Ian’s cheek. He leaned forward, smiling into the light kiss he gave Ian. His smile only grew as he saw Ian’s expression as he pulled away. 

Ian’s smile consumed his entire expression before his brain even had the chance to register what was happening. He flipped around, sheets twisting around his middle, riding up enough to partially cover the eagle tattoo Mickey had not so ceremoniously caressed earlier.

Their faces were centimetres apart, tips of noses touching, warm morning breath being shared. Ian’s smile deepened as he let out a little laugh. “So why're you tickling me again?” He teased.

Mickey rolled his eyes at the accusation, palm pushing against the ink marked skin of Ian’s own tattoo. 

“Wasn’t,” He pushed his palm up to Ian’s mouth once his husband sarcastically hummed back. “Was just lookin’ at your tattoo” 

“Mmm yeah, Eddie” Ian’s voice was once again teasing. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Givin' him a good pet?”

“Shut up” Mickey couldn’t hide the smile evident in his voice. 

Ian leaned forward letting their lips touch. “We should probably get up” He grumbled squeezing his eyes one last time before his greens were visible, illuminated by the sun flowing in. 

“Nah, man. Still got at least a half-hour ‘fore the spawns try breaking in here” he booned, his arm reaching out wrapping against Ian’s back. His palm was firmly pressing against his sore muscles. Ian melted into the touch, yawning out a ‘fine’.

Mickey smiled at the small victory, watching as Ian nuzzled back into the pillow, closing his eyes, ready to fall under the influence of sleep once more before they actually had to be productive and face the day.

He didn’t follow. He watched for Ian’s breath to level out a little before eyes once again wandered down Ian’s figure.  

This time he was met with the tattoo proudly displayed on Ian’s chest.

At one point pretty early on in their marriage, Ian was adamant about getting a Mickey Milkovich tattoo on his chest to match his husband’s in a declaration of love and commitment like Mickey had made to him as a boy. Mickey was pretty against it saying that he was dumb and heartbroken when he got his tattoo, Ian wasn’t and didn’t need to reciprocate the poor taste gesture he had made.

Ian finally agreed he wouldn’t get his name but insisted that he did want to get something to symbolise Mickey in some way. Mickey wasn’t serious in any of his suggestions at first. Out came ideas like Ian could get his rap sheet tattooed from his chest down to his ankle. Or the entire country of Mexico. Maybe a cigarette or another pair of tits on his other shoulder to commemorate Mickey’s short-lived statehood as a pimp.

Ian grew more annoyed with every lacklustre mocking suggestion and swore that he was just going to get a tomato on his chest if Mickey didn’t give him any serious ideas. Because at least the tomatoes he was growing would hash out dumb thoughts. Mickey finally calmed down and gave a more serious suggestion. Out of all of them, they eventually landed on the idea of their wedding anniversary. They both cracked a joke that at least they would never forget their anniversary.

The tattoo was incredibly simple. Just three numbers separated by dots above his left peck. For what it was worth Ian would always say that the date was his favourite tattoo on him. 

Both of Ian’s past tattoo’s had been more or less massive mistakes, he was glad that the first one that wasn’t was attributed to Mickey. 

Mickey was far too deep into his appreciation of his husband’s body to hear Ian snickering from beside him. “I can feel your eyes on me”. Mickey blinked again feeling like a deer in headlights for the second time that morning, 

He was glad that Ian chose not to open his eyes but knew he would probably feel the burning of his cheeks.

“Go to sleep” Ian waited for the defiantly protested huff he would get before he peeled his own eyes open. He had been married to Mickey for far too many years to not know the intent of every little action he took. 

Ian decided that it was his turn to admire his partner once he knew Mickey was settling to fall back asleep, too embarrassed to try and face Ian. Mickey shifted a little, leg still hooked over Ian’s, his foot in between his husband’s. 

Ian readjusted the blankets to cover them better. He rubbed his leg against Mickey’s grimacing a little as he felt the plastic wrap covering Mickey’s most recent tattoo brush against his leg hair. He smiled a little thinking about the newest addition to his husband’s body. It was a skull, growing out of the eye sockets were a pair of stargazer lilies. He liked the idea since Mickey proposed it to him a few months back. Thought it suited him well.

His eyes glanced up to the Ian Galagher tattoo pressed into the bed. Selfishly, that tattoo would always be his favourite. His eyes then shifted over to Mickey’s other peck. 

He and Ian actually shared that one. It was a heart made out of both of the girl’s fingerprints. Mickey was quick to make a jock that it was good they got the kid's fingerprints prematurely. They were being raised by two ex-cons after all. 

Maybe the tattoo was a little cheesy but fuck it. Mickey figured he would never be embarrassed to carry around the love he had for his family. And maybe there was a metaphor somewhere, that Mickey had all his loved ones proudly presented on his chest. 

Ian definitely didn’t waste the opportunity to make a pun out of it. His same fingerprint heart was on his wrist. He had a heart on his sleeve. That was met by immediate booing when he told Mickey that. Then again when he showed the Gallagher’s over dinner. In his defence, his tattoo was for his daughters, he was allowed to make a dad joke about it. 

Mickey then opened his eyes. They met one another’s gaze. Shared slightly embarrassed glances before bursting out into a peal of idiotic laughter at their shared looks of love.  

Between the two of them, they definitely had their fair share of dumb mistakes that would litter their body, but they also had a lot of meaningful ones.  

+6

“I don’t understand why I’m being dragged along to do this” Mickey grumbled for what had to be just one short of the millionth time. 

Ian rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drag you along. You volunteered yourself” he reminded Mickey. He slowly pulled the car into an open parking space near the front of the garage. 

“Oh Ian, you’re getting Carl, maybe I should come with ya know for company” His voice rang mockingly before he burst into a little laugh proud of his Mickey impression.

“Shut the fuck up” Mickey weakly sneered, hand slapping Ian’s as he pulled the gear into park. “Ya said you might be going to dinner and I’m hungry, fucking sue me I guess”

“Mhm,” Ian didn’t relent any on the teasing as they got out of the car and made their way into the airport. 

Carl and Bryn had left for Cancún on their honeymoon a few weeks ago. They refused to pay for airport parking and instead employed Ian to come and pick them up. 

To be fair he did use that leeway as saying it was half of Carl’s wedding present since, in all honesty, Ian didn’t know what to get his brother. Mickey bought him a snow cone maker from the two of them. For the record that was Carl’s favourite gift, he had received.

Ian and Mickey were camped out in the baggage carousel waiting for the newlywed couple to appear. Their time waiting was mostly spent with Mickey complaining and them jumping up a little any time they saw anyone vaguely resembling the pair. 

They were so focused on trying to make Carl out of the large crowd swarming towards them that they almost missed when he and Brynn appeared right next to them.

“Aye!” Mickey noticed the two first. They both looked way tanner, extremely tired. Most of Carl’s face was covered by an oversized hat. He had the same pink cat neck rest that he stole from Mickey -who stole it from Debbie-. The couple wore matching oversized ‘Cancún’ branded hoodies. Bryn also had a pink lei around her neck which Mickey thought was weird considering they had gone to Mexico, not Hawaii. 

 “How was Mexico? Get involved with any cartels'' Mickey immediately joked.

The joke seemed to go over Bryn’s head completely as it appeared she struggled to keep her eyes open. She waved a very tired hello to her brothers-in-law before spotting the cart resting under Mickey’s arm.

“She’s uh a little hungover” Carl watched her barrel into the cart that was meant to carry their luggage. All three men were vaguely impressed she managed to curl herself in the small space to fit.

Ian let out a snort watching her continue to rearrange herself, stopping when she got comfortable enough. 

“Hey man,” Ian pulled his little brother into a hug. He watched as Carl flinched the second his hand patted his back. “Sunburnt?” Ian grimaced, pulling away. 

Carl grew red instantly. He chewed his cheek, clearly embarrassed. “Um I got a tattoo” his eyes refused to meet his older brothers.

“No shit?” 

“I don't wanna talk about it” came a grumbled, defeated response. 

Ian’s eyes widened, hands immediately reaching out to lift Carl’s shirt. They tussled for a second as Carl tried to swat him away. He ultimately failed against Ian who was much larger than him, the odds were stacked against Carl’s success in the first place. 

Ian lifted the shirt off of Carl’s back. He and Mickey shared a gasp as they saw the ink hiding behind the safety of a hoodie. 

The tattoo took up most of Carl’s upper back, splayed right between his shoulder blades. A Maltese wearing a sombrero was placed in the middle of a gold frame. Rainbow watercolours littered the edge of the entire piece. 

“I was drunk when I got it” Carl offered as if that was an excuse. He was completely mortified as he once again fought Ian over control of his shirt. This time Ian let him win, the complete shock muting his senses. 

Mickey looked over the tattoo with an amused huff. His attention then went back to his husband. He gave Ian’s arm a hearty pat, eyes not leaving Carl’s hideous new addition. “Aye, Carl if it makes ya feel any better, it's still better than Ian’s pair of tits”.