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Mickey didn’t expect all the lights to be off when he walked into the apartment.
He had left not even an hour ago to aid his brother-in-law. Liam had desperately pleaded to the Gallagher family group chat for someone to pick him up from the library. It was way too cold for him to walk the several blocks home without catching a case of hypothermia. His attempt was fruitless, just to get every variation of ‘can’t’ from his siblings. Mickey rolled his eyes, texting him a quick ‘send me the address I’m coming’ before shuffling from his seat and into a coat.
Ian thought the gesture was sweet, Mickey just shrugged it off. “I don’t want your kid brother dying ‘cuz your siblings are a bunch of assholes”.
Despite the brush-off, Ian promised Mickey dinner when he returned. Along with something ‘special ’ for his efforts. After watching Liam drudge into the Gallagher home, lugging the backpack weighing almost as much as he did, Mickey sped home.
As Mickey pushed open the door he expected to see his husband waiting for him with a smile and a plate -probably pasta as that seemed to be the only thing they knew how to cook those days-, some dumbass d-list action movie playing in the background but there was nothing. He looked around for any sign of life, coming up empty.
It wasn’t like Ian to just get up and leave. They always wrote notes for one another if they were going out. A text, bare minimum. Their communication might not have been the greatest but it was enough to at least not have the other worrying.
All the lights were off. Mickey’s vision was limited to the sunset peering in from the balcony's sheer curtains. He didn’t hear the stupid jazz music Ian insisted on playing anytime he cooked. His lungs weren’t filled with the aroma of garlic and butter as expected. In fact, he didn’t smell a thing. Nothing at all.
Mickey turned back to look at the shoe rack by the front door, not a single pair missing besides the ones he sported.
He kicked off his shoes, not caring enough to put them back in their proper place. Ian was definitely still in the apartment. Sleeping maybe?
Mickey couldn’t help but harp on how weird this all felt. Maybe that was a sign of some growing marital concern, his growing anxiousness. He took a deep breath, hands planted against the shitty dining room still kicked a few inches away from the table when he left. He let out a sigh, pushing it back in, reminding himself that Ian was safe. Home .
It wasn’t normal for Ian to drop everything, especially when he and Mickey had plans. But at least he was there. Neither of them were strangers to erratic behaviour but that was usually paired with a warning sign, no matter how small.
It was easy to overlook things when they were both still in denial but he had always cared about his partner.
Mickey shook his head, trying his hardest not to spiral down what could very easily become a rabbit hole. He realised he was still gripping the chair. When he relinquished the grip tight enough to dent the shitty fake leather he noticed Ian’s chair was also slightly astray. He hated being a detective looking into every little misplaced item as if they were a clue.
Mickey inched his way down the hall cursing to himself for missing any of the signs that could have led to this, except there weren’t any. He genuinely didn’t see this coming. Ian hadn’t been acting off in any way lately. No loss of appetite, no disruption in sleep schedule or change in pace. Ian had happily been joking not even a half-hour previous. Even gave him a gratuitous kiss on Mickey’s way out. If this was what Mickey thought it was, this episode was coming out of left field completely.
Mickey paused when he reached their bedroom door, it wasn’t completely closed, a sliver his only he thought he could see the soft flicker of their bedside lamp. The cheap thing always pissed him off, the way it constantly flickered no matter how many times he had to replace the stupid fucking bulb but he was grateful for it at that moment. Ian definitely wasn’t asleep - a dumb hunch he thought in retrospect, so what the hell was he doing?
He heard the slight shift of the bedsheets, Ian could probably tell he was on the other side of the doors, Mickey wasn’t exactly the most stealthy in his steps. His hand reached out to the nob. “Ian?” His voice was small. Gentle . Not sure what he was about to walk into.
It took several seconds before a response came. “Yeah? Yeah, in uh, here”. Ian’s voice sounded strained, a sniffle followed.
Mickey pushed the door open, not straying from the doorframe as he tried to make some sense of what he was seeing.
Ian sat in the middle of the bed, legs drawn up to his chest, arms holding them securely place. His head was firmly pressed against his knees as if he was trying to hide. Ian drew his head up just enough so that his eyes tracked Mickey’s movements, unsure of what to do, caught in the act.
Mickey felt his heart drop when he noticed his partner’s bleary eyes. Dropped even harder, somewhere past his ass, when he saw the frightened way he was looking at him like a little kid scared they were going to get reprimanded even harder for shedding a tear, unsure of their fate, knowing it wasn’t going to end well.
Mickey had held that look too many times in his life not immediately to recognise it.
Ian didn’t really cry. Neither of them did. Not really. Even in Ian’s lowest of lows, he tended to internalise his emotions, going numb before being expressive. Mickey wasn’t much different, he could recall on one hand the times he full-on cried in the last decade.
Ian didn’t bother to move any, clearing the lump in his throat as he asked, “how’s Liam?”
“He’s, uh, good… made it home” Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed, words tracking off as he made his way deeper into the room. He flinched when he saw Ian move to hide his face once more. “So uh, why’ya crying?” Mickey made it to the edge of the bed, timidly moving to sit.
He didn’t know what he was doing, he was never much of a comforter. He was a little terrified if he was being truly honest with himself, which he wasn’t usually. His hand reached outward to caress Ian’s ankle and grimaced a little as he did. The gesture was meant to be loving, but that didn’t exactly translate well as Mickey just death gripped the man instead of soothing touch. He was at least trying, he figured that had to count for something.
Ian didn’t seem to take note of it as he just sniffled again. “I’m not” His voice drew weak and unconvincing.
“C’mon man, you’re the one always saying we can’t be lying to each other” He kneaded the flesh under his thumb. That was met with more silence. Mickey wasn’t sure what else to do so he just continued to sit there, eyes not daring to move from red hair as if taking his eyes off Ian would mean he would disappear again. His mouth was slightly open, trying to formulate something to say, luckily Ian spoke up again.
“How’d you know I was crying?” Ian’s head didn’t budge to look up at his husband. Instead, his forehead stayed resting against his kneecap.
Some part of Mickey wanted to laugh. As if Ian’s red bleary eyes and wet cheeks weren’t enough of a tell. Mickey might not have been the most emotionally-intelligent person ever but he wasn’t stupid.
He realised he must have been thinking for too long as Ian just barely looked up again. “‘Cus I know my husband,” Mickey said simply, he couldn’t help the slight smirk that followed the remark. He did know his husband well. Knew his likes, dislikes, what his favourite guilty pleasure show was, his least favourite song. Knew just a little too much about his siblings to look at them in the eyes for too long. Knew what clothes Ian liked him to wear, what small gestures meant a lot to him. Above all, he knew that was the right thing to say as Ian’s eyes peeked up just a little more. “Plus subtly has never been your thing”.
Mickey leaned forward, hand stretching out just a little too much for comfort as he reached the tip of Ian’s nose before squeezing behind Ian’s knee down towards his neck. He pulled the redhead’s chin up slightly so the two were looking at one another.
Mickey almost grimaced when Ian finally met his eyes. His nose looked chapped, no doubt from continuous rubbing, his face red and hot, eyes bloodshot, a few unshed tears still welting in his eyes. His hand stayed against Ian’s chin as if he was scared that if he moved it Ian would revert back into a ball. “What’s wrong?”
No answer just a pair of glossy eyes just staring up at him. Then the dreaded, “Do we need to go to the clinic?”
“It's not that” the answer came just as fast as it was proposed. Mickey tried to show no visible reaction but Ian could see the relief.
“Okay,” he blew raspberries sucking a deep breath in before proceeding with caution. “What is it then?”
Ian mulled the question over just staring into Mickey’s eyes before tipping his head back to touch the wall behind him. Mickey was a little glad that he looked away as much as he hated thinking about it. That was the type of look that made him want to run for cover. So vulnerable, so raw.
With a deep breath, Ian slowly stated “I miss my mom” he held it together, for what felt like a split second. As if he was even a little shocked by the declaration. Then as fast as the words came, so did the tears.
Mickey felt his shoulders tense up. Some part of him wanted to pull Ian closer, let him cry into his shoulder but he fell completely frozen, couldn’t move a single muscle as much as his mind was screaming to let him. He had never been in this situation. The entire mention of Monica made his stomach churn.
The last time Ian had mentioned her was at Frank’s funeral. Some quip about how they were together in hell now. Mickey didn’t think much of the comment at the time. Ian didn’t seem hung up on giving his father any grief for his passing, he assumed that Monica’s death was already well done with.
To be fair as Mickey thought back on it that was the last time he had to try and comfort Ian. Throwing an arm around him as they looked down at Frank’s grave, right next to Monica’s. Gave Ian’s shoulder a tight squeeze as he watched his eyes flicker between the two headstones. The gesture didn’t last long as Liam beckoned them to move so he could place the flowers he had picked from someone's lawn before the service down on the freshly placed dirt.
They were supposed to be sad at a funeral. No matter how shitty their parents were, they knew that was to be the expectation. That felt much different than them sitting there in the bleakly lit room alone, months after the dirt had set.
So there Mickey was, feeling like an asshole as he sat straight as a board trying not to pay attention to the trembling figure right next to him. His eyes scanned over a few boxes they still hadn’t found the time to unpack stacked wildly in the corner of the room. As he stared at them he realised that they really needed to move the stack, it was right in front of their closet meaning they had to strategically step around them to get their clothes, which always lead to the boxes being tossed over.
He flicked his own thigh, why the fuck was he thinking about boxes when his husband was still crying?
“Hey man, it’s okay” his voice came out weak, unassured. He flinched again as Ian didn’t even acknowledge his sad attempt. Ian’s head tipped forward once more, retreating back within himself.
Mickey gave a sigh once again, unsure what to do next he just sat. Hated that unsure apathy was the running theme of the night. He contemplated calling Lip thinking maybe that could help things. Fuck, he even thought of texting Fiona. He reached for the phone in his pocket stifling again. Thought for another second about how he was Ian’s husband , the one that was supposed to make things right now. He stomached the uncomfortableness of it all, stroking the skin right where the hem of Ian’s sweatpants ended. “What made you think of her?” He tried again, voice a little louder, not any more sure.
That seemed to get Ian’s attention. “I started to make dinner,” he said slowly, unsteady, words a little muttered.
Ian went quiet again, Mickey mentally cursed himself for leading them down another dead end. He shifted, ready to get up, let Ian process what he needed to and come back later when Ian’s voice softly, almost idealistically drew once more. “I went to get those bread rolls you like from the freezer but when I was digging in there I found these cookies in the back and I just couldn’t help but think of my mom. She made 200 cookies once ya know? Had me and Lip help her pass them out to the kids in the neighbourhood” His head drew up again, he made no attempt to wipe the tears dribbling down his chin.
“I just” he snorted, correcting himself, “ I guess I was thinking about how great she could be. Which I know is fucked up of me but fuck ” He breathed in the word ‘fuck’, exhaling with a heavy chest, his eyes were rapid focusing on everything but Mickey’s furrowed brow.
“Then there was this one time-” He swallowed hard once more, eyes a little more stable as he dug for the memory. “Mom- Monica and I baked these acorn cookies. Went out to the forest to salvage them ourselves cus I told her I wanted to be in the army, learn how to have wilderness skills or whatever the fuck”
Mickey gave a little chuckle at that. Sure sounded like Ian, always so enamoured with the armed forces. He couldn’t help but think back to all those nights on the baseball field or behind the bleachers. The times he stuck around after they fucked. How those times were always filled with Ian telling him his life plans and how that all started with defending the country because that would have made him someone. Mickey was beyond grateful the whole army thing never worked out but he did have to agree that despite it all, Ian had made himself into someone. Someone who was kind, ambitious and annoying as hell sometimes but someone who Mickey loved the fuck out of. Someone who deserved much more comfort than Mickey was offering him at that moment.
“Sounds like some shit you would do, boy scout” Mickey gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster. He figured that even if he didn’t know exactly what to say, that if his words were falling a little flat, Ian knew they came with good intention. He watched Ian again, a whole new wave of nausea rolling through him as he watched Ian’s face twist up again. “I got so sick Fiona had to miss a few days of work just to take care of me. She didn’t make rent. Lights got turned off for like a month until she managed to convince them to turn them back on” His head bowed down, back against his flannel’s sleeve, his emotions finally bubbling up.
Mickey spoke again not even thinking as he blurted out “well, were the cookies at least good?”
Ian’s eyes were finally back on Mickey’s as he whipped his nose, his own little smile forming, swallowing down the lump in his throat till his airway didn’t feel as constricted. “Fucking delicious. I’m a great baker.”
Then the unimaginable happened, Ian laughed. Not a pity or ingenuous laugh, a from-the-heart type of laugh that instantly made Mickey’s face light up at the sound.
“Yeah, well, if this security business don’t work out we can always open up a bakery, convince those fucking Westside assholes ‘Miligar’ is a type of spice”
The laugh sounded up again, making Mickey join in, relief rushing through his body, he could feel the urge to run completely slip away.
Then there was silence again amongst a few last chuckles. He eyed Ian over once more as the man wiped his face. “You gonna be okay?”
“I’ll be fine” Ian continued to wipe his the corners of his eyes, his sweater sleeves covering his bawled fists. “Don’t gotta worry about me”
“Always gonna worry about you” Mickey immediately countered, eyebrow drawing up daring Ian to even try to argue against that. He was glad Ian didn’t, just graciously accepted that as a fact. He just gave a knowing nod, arms retreating against his knees once more. “She was never a good mom, even if she was good to me sometimes. Ya know just good enough that it taints all the bad” he didn’t avoid Mickey’s eyes that time. “Did stuff together every now and again” his hand reached up, rubbing his temple from the headache all the crying undoubtedly gave him. “I think that those outings were her thing. Her way of saying sorry without ever actually having to apologise”
The silence wasn’t heavy this time as Mickey offered him another sad smile. “She would have loved you, ya know?”
“Oh yeah?” Mickey gave him a more playful eyebrow raise.
Ian just nodded, head tipping against the wall. Mickey braced himself, once again fearful the tears would start up again. They didn’t, instead, he was smiling again.
“Told her about you a little when we were still together back then, she couldn’t remember your name so she just called you ‘Mouseboy’” another little chuckle followed. Despite all the pain, the memory brought him, he chose to focus on the good of it all, of Mickey. “Wanted to buy you a steak for putting up with all my shit”
Mickey’s mouth dropped open, about to refuse equating their relationship to just ‘putting up with Ian’s shit’ but the ginger was quicker, sticking a finger out of him. “I know that’s not what you were doing” His look was stern till Mickey rolled his eyes in defeat. “But she liked you, thought you were good for me”
“Hmh,” Mickey thought it over. “Well, I guess she was right?”
There was a slight tint of embarrassment that spread across Ian’s face, almost undetectable through his already rosy cheeks, still, Mickey’s eyes crinkled at the sight.
Another lull as Ian took a deep breath, sitting up from the wall with a stretch. “Can you let go of my ankle now?” There was a slight smile at the request Mickey almost missed as his hand flew off of him.
“Sorry” Mickey coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment over the fact that their entire heartfelt conversation was just with him holding onto Ian’s leg. “Not great at this whole ‘comforting’ thing”
Ian didn’t even take a beat. “I think you’re doing pretty good”
“Thanks” he relished in the compliment before it hit him that Ian said that to make him feel better. “Hey, I’m the one that’s supposed to be making you feel better, asshole. Not the other way around”
Ian smiled again, leaning more into the embarrassment of being vulnerable marked him with. His hands shot up in mock defence. “Yeah well, guess we still gotta figure the whole comfort thing out. Maybe that’s a second year of marriage venture”.
His smile was much more assured of itself. A look of such pure admiration that Mickey felt butterflies erupting in his gut. As if they were school kids crushing on one another and not already declared partners for life. Before the same hue of embarrassment could paint him, Mickey lunged forward.
He pulled him into a hug. A real genuine hug. A hug that brought him back to his youth, pulling Ian in before the doctors escorted him into the psych ward.
It took Ian a second to process what was happening, his arms slowly lowering down to wrap around Mickey’s mid. Mickey pulled him even tighter, forehead pressed against his shoulder as his arms rubbed up and down his back.
They finally broke apart, Mickey couldn’t tell how long they were drawn together. Could have been a few minutes, a few seconds, it was all a blur. He didn’t want to let go of him just yet so his hands moved up north, securely against Ian’s jaw as he pulled him in, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. He stayed there, lips pressed against his flesh, feeling as Ian’s body went boneless, completely relinquishing control to the kiss. He continued to caress his cheek, pulling away just enough so that his breath hit Ian’s flushed skin.
“You wanna go see her?”
“It's like ten degrees out”
“So? We’ll bundle up. C’mon Gallagher” Mickey patted Ian’s cheek one last time before rising to his feet. He stood in front of the bed, excepting Ian to follow his lead.
Ian stayed unmoved, his eyes looked so green against the bloodshot red. “Thank you” Was all he could manage to make out.
Mickey stood, searching Ian’s eyes for one last moment, committing the look to his memory. They were soft. Lovestruck. Red glowed across his cheeks as he reached his hand forward once more. His fingers curled around Ian’s chin once more, tilting his lover’s head up. His finger marked ‘K’ stroked across his lip as he smiled. “You don’t ever get to thank me” He then pulled his head up higher for a kiss.