Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mickey stared at a certain item in a certain aisle in a certain store.

This was unlike him. To be unsure. He usually knew if he wanted to do something or if he didn’t. If something was right or wrong. It was never both.

But right now he was seriously ping-ponging between Yes and No.

Shifting from one foot to the other, cautiously looking around. For who? No one but it still felt like someone was watching him. Judging him.

Mickey always had a decision, and when he couldn’t decide, he’d usually go with whatever Ian’s proposition was.

But Ian wasn’t here.

Ian wasn’t here to reassure Mickey that his decision was okay.

How would Ian feel about this? He thought to himself.

He started feeling self-conscious, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since opening up to Ian all those years ago.

He rarely felt like this, and if he did, Ian would always be there to take Mickey out of his “ridiculously incorrect” mindset, and tell him to “stop thinking about himself so critically and instead do whatever the fuck it is that makes you happy”.

But this would be a game changer.

And he couldn’t ignore the thrill of potentially doing something that would have his fath-Terry, rolling in his grave.

And that made Mickey want to do it even more.

With a hint of a wicked grin slowly starting to form on his face and shaky hands, Mickey grabbed the certain item without a second thought.

“Fuck you, Terry”, he thought to himself, mentally spitting on the fucker’s grave.

As the cashier rang up the certain item, Mickey couldn’t stop the stupid grin forcing its way onto his face.

As he swiped his card, Mickey thought about how 10 years ago, he wouldn’t have gone down the certain aisle at all, let alone, paid for anything.

As the cashier handed him his receipt, he thought about how much he had changed for the better.

And as Mickey left the store with three things:

A new sense of determination.

Excitement.

And a certain item that would be yet, another installment to his newfound self-expression.

——————————

Chapter Text

“Honey, I’m home!” Ian said, shedding all of 50 layers of clothes from Chicago’s relentless weather.

“Fuck, why the fuck is it still cold, it’s April for God’s sake,” he mumbled under his breath while blowing hot air into his hands, trying to warm them up.

Ian had just finished a 36 hour shift and was tired beyond belief. All he wanted to do was come home, eat, cuddle with his husband on their new couch, and sleep.

Mickey had Friday’s off, so he’d been home all day cleaning and running a few errands. Or so he hopes.

Their security business had taken off extremely well, so a few months ago, they made the executive decision to expand and  hire a couple guys (Iggy, Collin, and Joey) to actually do the drop offs and deliveries, while Mickey stayed in the office (yes, they had an office now) and did more of the logistics side of things. Mickey encouraged Ian to reach back out to Rita to see if he could get his EMT job back, considering how much he missed helping people. After long discussions with his Rita, his therapist, and Rita and Mickey together, he was finally able to go back.

With Ian being an EMT again and their security business booming, they made really good money.

Like really good.

They both had their own cars (legally bought, fuck you very much), and were also currently house hunting for something a little bigger-surprisingly still on the Westside.

“Mickey? You home?” Ian called out again, frowning when he realizes that he doesn't smell any food. Their apartment was strangely quiet. Usually, Mickey was cooking dinner by now, getting back from the gym, or lounging around in the living room waiting for his other half to get home.

“Uh yeah, In the bathroom” Mickey finally replied.

Ian figured he was showering if he’d gone to the gym.

When Ian got to their room, he noticed that the water was off and door was slightly shut (this was odd since privacy literally wasn’t a thing ever for them).

Ian lightly knocked on the door, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,”

Ian entered their small bathroom that was big enough for the both of them, but small enough that if a third person was in there, it’d start feeling a little cramped.

Mickey quickly shut a drawer before turning towards Ian, not really making eye contact with the other man.

“You…okay?” Ian asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Uh yep, all good” He replied, looking at Ian, then at the floor, then at the half empty tube of toothpaste on the sink. He also has his hands behind his back.

Ian eyed him, as he scratched his right eye brow, his left hand remaining behind his back.

A nervous habit. Ian knew that Mickey usually did that, or thumbs his nose whenever he feels anxious, nervous, stressed out, or worried.

So it was definitely one of the four, which explains his weird, off, behavior.

Ian walked closer to Mickey, which made Mickey take a step back.

Okay he wants space. But why?  Ian thought to himself.

Especially now, which was even more strange. Usually after working an extended shift like this, Mickey got really touchy feely and even kinda clingy (even though he'd deny it and make up excuses as to why he was so attached to Ian in the moment.)

"Well I missed my husband," Ian said wistfully, stepping forward in attempt to get closer to his lover. But it only earned him a noncommittal grunt from the smaller man who dodged his efforts by side stepping him into their bedroom.

“Mick, what’s going on?” Ian laughed nervously.

“Nothing, how was work?”

“No, babe tell me whats going on, ‘cause you’re being real fucking sketchy right now,” Ian said, knowing Mickey doesn’t like talking about his feelings, causing him to bottle whatever it is inside.

He was getting better at it though. Especially the talking part.

“Nothing man, it’s cool, let’s go cook some of your green health shit,” Mickey waved him off again, right hand only, the other hand still firmly behind his back.

“The fuck are you hiding behind your back?”

Mickeys face went completely red, his neck even becoming a bit splotchy. His breath hitched, and Ian swear he heard him mumble something along the lines of “nothing, it’s stupid”.

Ian watched him for a few seconds, as Mickey started picking at a loose thread on their comforter. 

Yeah something was most definitely up.

“Mick,”

“Ian it’s nothing, fuck off”

“Mickey.”

“Ia-Can you just drop it?”

“Mi-“

“Can you-just-," Mickey groaned and threw himself back on their king sized bed. "Why don't you go shower first and I'll start dinner?" He asked, hoping that Ian would lay off a bit.

God this is so fuckin' embarrassing, Mickey thought, wondering what the actual fuck happened to all the confidence in the store????

"I feel like you're avoiding me, did I do something wrong?" Ian asked, shifting so he faced directly in front of Mickey.

"No! Fuck no no no, not at all," he replied, almost instantly. "Its just- I don't wanna talk about it right now, Ian." Mickey said tiredly, averting his eyes once more.

Ian sighed, knowing that whatever it was, he'd eventually tell him. Just give it a few hours and whenever Mickey was ready, he'd explain.

"Okay Mick, well, I'm gonna go shower real quick, I love you," he said while walking over to kiss his husband's forehead.

"I'm sorry, love you too," Mickey said quietly, hating the way he made Ian worried.

Ian gave him a small smile before back in the bathroom to take his shower.

"Fuck," Mickey said outloud, and threw his arms over his face.

He's gotta tell Ian. Well...more like show him. 

Chapter Text

After Ian steps out the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and skips the whole “putting on clothes thing” (he could do it later) because right now, he wanted to know what was going on. 

He deliberately took rather extended shower, so that Mickey could have time to think and process since it seemed like he wanted space. And he could respect that. 

“Food smells good, whatcha makin’?” Ian says, approaching Mickey from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Mickey drops the spoon and twists around, “Nothin’ special, just uh…that Anti pesto-pasta or whatever the fuck salad thing we made last week,” he replies, not making eye contact with Ian, even though he was invading his space. 

Both of them were actually pretty good in the kitchen, but Ian thinks Mickey is way better. According to Ian, there’s just something about the way he seasons is seriously close to giving Gordon Ramsey a run for his money. Because of this, Mickey has sorta picked up cooking and trying new recipes as a hobby (although if you ask him, he’d claim he was “just bored and hungry, and had fuck all to do”). So now they try a new recipe for dinner once a week. A couple of dishes they made in the past actually turned out to be a regular dish weekly. 

In addition to trying out new recipes because they are married and can do that shit, they also decided to splurge on a Hello Fresh membership, and it may possibly have been Mickey’s original idea. 

“Ohhh so you do like it,” Ian says teasingly, and then gets close to Mickey’s ear. “Liar,” he whispers, making the shorter man scoff. 

“Fuck off,” he says with absolutely zero heat, “Liking what I like don’t-“

“Make me a bitch, yes I know” Ian finishes, rolling his eyes. “Babe you should seriously consider making shirts with that saying on there. Real moneymaker I bet,”. That earns him yet another eye roll, scoff, and a middle finger. Ultimate Mickey Milkovich-Gallagher combo.

But as quickly as he raised the finger, he quickly put it down after realizing what Ian may or may not have seen. 

“Actually yeah, probably should focus on one gig at a ti-Oh my god Mick, is that-“ Ian started to say, and reached out for Mickey’s hand to get a closer look.

Welp. He most definitely saw it. Fuck. 

Mickey didn’t feel ready to show Ian what he’d been so closed off about it. Midway through applying it, he realized that he’s not left handed so its gonna be incredibly messy. And it was. Which is what Mickey was doing before Ian came home, searching for the nail polish remover (they didn’t own anymore), but it had been too late.

“Gallagher, I don’t wanna hear it, I know it looks shitty. It was a mistake-“

“No! I fucking love it! And honestly it’s about goddamn time you painted them, I’ve seen you eyeing the nail polish section at Walgreens when we go pick up my meds,” Ian says while grabbing Mickey’s “FUCK” hand to inspect them. 

“Fuck you is what you saw,” the smaller man grumbled, snatching his hand away yet again. 

“Yeah I’ve seen that too, but babe I love the color, it suits you”. 

Mickey had decided to go with black, nothing too loud like red or blue. Plus, he figured black goes with everything. 

“Yeah well there’s was no fuckin’ way I’m rocking that glitter shit that Franny forces Liam to wear,” Ian chuckles lightly at that. 

After a few seconds, Ian grabs both of his husbands hands, and kisses each finger. “I’m glad you get to finally be yourself and do shit like this now,” 

Mickey hums in agreement and gets closer to Ian, resting his head on his chest.

They both were thinking about his childhood and how Terry probably would’ve snapped his neck if he ever took a risk and painted his nails. 

After a few moments of silence, Mickey finally speaks up, “Jus’ wanted to look like a badass,”

Ian grins that stupid special smirking grin, and in a move that he knows gets Mickey weak to his knees and all hot and bothered, Ian gets close to Mickey’s ear, “Yeah well, they look hot-you look fuckin’ hot, Mick”

Mickey manages to choke out a chuckle, but his voice comes out rather hoarse, “Mmm, you do?”

“Mhm,” Ian lowers his arms so that they’re now sitting comfortably on his husbands hips. 

“Well what are you gonna do about it?” He challenges, walking Ian backwards, subtly towards the table because now that he finally got the whole ordeal off his chest, that dumb nervous/queasy stomach ache (that lasted practically all day) was gone and he was starved.

“I’ll show you what I’m gonna do about it,” Ian replies, leaning in for a kiss, which Mickey gladly returned. 

Ian tried to make it more heated by sneaking a hand under Mickey’s (well really Ian’s) grey henley, but in a swift move, Mickey removed his hand and used that one to guide Ian to the table.

“After dinner, lover. As much as I’d like to see what you’re gonna do about it, I’m fuckin’ hungry and I know you are, too,” Mickey said, patting Ian’s cheek compassionately.

Ian let out a playful groan as he slid into his chair, but also didn’t protest since he did just get back from an extended shift where all he ate was a Turkey Basil Tomato panini (which they refer to as “the TBT”), and that was 24 hours into the 36. Plus, the food was smelling kinda delicious.

“Alright, fine,” Ian relents, taking a second to admire his husbands ass-

“Aye, stop googling my ass you horny fuck!” Mickey exclaims as he walks over to the table, carrying the bowl of salad, he’d prepared.

That lines makes Ian laugh, “Hey, I’m allowed to check out my husband-spousal privilege!”

“Ian, that’s not how spous- whatever, eat up bitch, ‘m tryna see what you got planned,” Mickey said, settling in his own chair. 

Ian hooks a foot around the other man’s foot affectionately, “Okay then,” and says with a smile, “I love you so fuckin' much Mickey, and I’m proud of you babe,” he says, the pet name causing Mickey’s neck and ear tips to flush and turn a bright red.

“Fuck Terry?”

“Fuck Terry.”