Archive of Our Own ^beta

Step 1: Lie to friends for a minimum for three months. 

If you knew Mickey Milkovich you would know that he wasn’t the type of guy to make up a fake boyfriend. That was a desperate move reserved for teenage girls in movies or incels trying to look cool in their why women having Instagram accounts is cheating internet forums. It wasn’t for people like him. 30 years old, had never had a serious relationship, spent all his time working… that wasn’t desperate, that was just aloofness. Honestly, it wasn’t his fault. 

So whose fault is it you ask? Wow, the hard questions already? We’re not even into paragraph two but if you must ask. It was all Tipper’s fault. The platinum blonde who worked the front desk at the auto shop added a lot to the environment of their little world. If it weren’t for her he would have no idea who Meghan and Harry were, and he had to admit Friday morning lattes we’re nice, but this was entirely all her fault. 

It had been November when Tipper, angling to hook-up with Massimo suggested an Orphan Christmas. As everyone who worked at the auto shop were parentless for the holidays either by circumstance or choice, it was an easy thought to suggest spending it all together. Mickey no control over this and before he knew what was happening everyone was making plans, booking dates, and requesting deposits. 

Really, he had no chance, dear reader. None at all! When Tipper aggressively told him his share it had been just so easy to give her the few hundred dollars, after all he had no real expenses and his consistent work had given him a stable bank account balance. But it was when she told him they made room for his boyfriend that the reality of Mickey’s lies caught up with him. 

He had no boyfriend. None. Not even one once. So why would a former hardened child of the Chicago South Side, current mechanic and productive member of society lie? Well because… it was kind of embarrassing. At first it hadn’t been. At first he said he had never been in a relationship proudly, after all love and feelings were for pussies. Then he hit 28 years old… and suddenly the declaration didn’t hit quite the same. Now people looked at him pitifully or suspiciously and he knew what they were thinking, what is wrong with him. A question he himself didn’t like to confront, to face, because then life got too real, and a little too sad. 

So, what do you do when you hate almost everyone and that prevents you from dating, but your only friends pity you because of it… well you make up a boyfriend, of course. And he had. Since September. He had told them over greasy pizza that the man’s name was Mark. Work? Well he worked at the… umm… hospital, duh. When could they meet him? Oh you’re busy Tuesday? Well Tuesday was his only day off, damn. 

Mickey didn’t have much of a plan other than to fabricate a break up. Why would they break up? Well the sex was too good, obviously. Mickey was too emotionally adjusted, of course. How could they date when Mickey was totally normal and hadn’t been mentally and emotionally damaged from a violent and horrific upbringing? That was it. They’d break up because Mickey was too okay and too normal. That’ll show ‘em.

But as all totally foolproof and completely not spontaneous lies go… failure was swift and sudden. Or at least it would have been if it hadn’t been for Ian. Mickey would learn much much later that Ian was pretty good at being the perpetual helpful hand. 

“We all think you’re lying about having a boyfriend.” Tipper accused as she walked up to Mickey at the The Swallow gay club. Mickey choked on his beer causing Tipper to grimace and remove her knock off Louis Vuitton off the bar where it wouldn’t be tainted by his spit. 

“The fuck? I thought we were meeting up to talk about this god forsaken trip? Not for me to be accosted with accusations.”

Tipper smiled, “Accosted? You have been reading the Word of the Day calendar on my desk. I knew you were a secret smartie.” Mickey’s rolled his eyes before taking another sip of his beer. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Me and George think you’re lying.”

“You and George can fuck off.” Mickey responded and while his demeanor was calm and maybe slightly radiated annoyance, inside his brain was racing. He couldn’t possibly claim a break-up now, it would look too suspicious. Fuck. If they found out he was lying about a boyfriend he’d never live it down, he’d be a target for jokes for the rest of his fucking life, and it wasn’t like he could threaten them with a beat down, he worked with them, not only did that shit lead to arrests at 30, but job loss. He liked his stupid fucking job. 

Tipper smacked her pink lips and leaned against the bar, eyes scanning the patronage. She was a fucking terror, and as her eyes flitted across the room targeting anyone who she could possibly take home, it gave him just enough time to look down the bar. He could get a boyfriend… like right now, it couldn’t be that hard. Of course, if it wasn’t so hard he’d have one already but those were rational thoughts for losers, and he wasn’t a loser. 

That was when he spotted him. 

Tall. Red headed. Good body from what he could see. Pleasant to look at. Not totally embarrassing to be dumped by in a fake scenario. And as anyone would hope when trying to rope a stranger into their bullshit, he looked sad. The man leaned over his beer, arms on the bar, clearly putting up walls between himself and anyone else. Which meant he was alone. His red puffy eyes looked promising. 

“He’s right down there, had a hard day at work. Needed a moment.” Mickey said as casually as he could making sure to not talk too fast as to appear as panicked as he definitely was. 

Tipper followed his gaze, and when she saw the red head her face scrunched up in disbelief. 

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking liar. I can’t believe you’ve had a fake boyfriend this whole time. What in god’s name is your trauma?”

Mickey felt his stomach twist, the delicate ache that only came with an unescapable truth. He didn’t have a boyfriend. What was worse? He didn’t want one. Not really. He didn’t like most people and who wanted a boyfriend when they didn’t like people? But the saddest thing of all, was that Mickey knew, in the depths of his gut, that he was probably fucked up. 

Tipper had enough of this sad show, and Mickey could barely face the cringiness of it all, so much so that he didn’t notice she was halfway over to the avatar playing his boyfriend until he was scrambling off his barstool to catch up with her. 

Just as he was about to grab her, pull her back from the emotional wreckage she was about to scar him with for the rest of her life, she was sliding up next to the teary-eyed red head, pink lips sliding into a big smile. 

“So you’re the ‘boyfriend’, huh?” Boyfriend was said in air quotes and Mickey felt his stomach drop out of his ass, and in a last desperate move to make this whole thing pan out he locked eyes with the confused looking man and hoped to any gods, demons, deities, or witches out there in the universe listening, that he had developed telepathy. 

Play along. Please. I’ll do anything. Cash? You want cash? I’ll blow you in the bathrooms. Whatever you want.

His blue eyes bore into the green ones looking at him intently, and as if his perverted prayers had worked, the man’s face transformed from that of a sad confused person to a charmer. Smile wide, face perking up, he looked at Tipper and nodded. 

“I am the boyfriend. Ian.” He reached his hand out to shake the woman’s but she didn’t offer hers in return. 

“Ian?” She asked with a healthy tone of skepticism. “I thought your name was Mark.”

“Jesus Christ, Tipper. Mark? Are you kidding. Clearly it’s been Ian this whole time.” Mickey groaned in frustration. “Now go away and bother Massimo and George. Leave us alone.”

Though Tipper was clearly not swayed she gave Ian a friendly smile, “Well, nice to meet you before the Christmas ski trip. Glad we at least know each other’s faces, and Mickey already gave me the money so you’re both set.” She then turned to Mickey, flashing him an obnoxious smile before walking away towards the booth his other coworkers sat.

“Hey, thanks for that,” Mickey said to Ian and when he noted his near empty beer, Mickey reached into his pocket, grabbing a wad of cash. “I’ll get your next one for the hassle.” He tossed down a $5. 

“The old fake boyfriend trick, huh? Let me guess, sister?”

Mickey noted that the overly friendly look on the man’s face fell again and the red puffiness around his eyes were now more evident but it wasn’t his place to ask more. 

“Nah, coworker. Been on my ass about not dating and shit. Going on about this Christmas trip next week. Figure I have a week to nail down our big break-up. So what do you say, want some input into how it goes down?”

A very mild attempt at flirting, but for Mickey it might as well have been a proposal. 

Ian huffed and let out a laugh, “Actually, uhh… my boyfriend just broke up with me today, so you’re welcome to steal ours.”

Mickey frowned, fuck. Okay, this was awkward. He hated emotional people and now he was stuck here. What did normal people do? Listen? A pat on the back? He could kill the old boyfriend, that used to cheer up his sister.

“Oh uh… are you… I mean, did you… how did—”

“He dumped me.” Ian confirmed with a nod. “On my ass. Came out of nowhere. I thought we were good. Two fucking years. Moved here from Chicago for him. Now I’m sitting in this bar, hoping to get laid, but actually…” Ian let out a sigh, looking at Mickey, “I actually just want to disappear. I—” Ian shook his head, not knowing how to even explain the next part, and when he couldn’t figure out how to put it into words for a stranger, he simply chose not to. “A ski trip sounds pretty fucking cool, actually. Your friend is awesome for putting that together. Even if she’s a little pushy.”

Mickey looked over at the booth of his coworkers, their eyes drifting over to him and Ian, pretending to not look over. Then, in that moment, he got another totally rational idea. “You want to come?”

“Huh?” Ian asked, taken back, his fingers pausing the picking of the label off the beer. 

“The trip.” Mickey clarified. “You play boyfriend for a weekend, we end it with a break-up, you get a free vacation. Stick it to the ex.”

Ian paused, clearly thinking over the arrangement, and in that moment of deep sadness, he couldn’t see how it could go wrong. 

“Yeah, that actually sounds pretty… cool. I’ll be such a good fake boyfriend too,” Ian smiled, this time genuinely, and Mickey had to look away, “I’ll make the break up my fault too.”

Mickey nodded as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and slid it over. “Put your info in,” he tried to ignore the twinge of nervousness he felt at sight of this man excited, it was a feeling he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It felt… good, making someone else light up like that. 

“Text me,” Ian said as he slid Mickey’s phone back over to him. “Let me know the details, what to bring, all of that.”

Mickey nodded, “Will probably have Tipper do it, she’s got a fucking binder on this thing.”

Ian pressed his lips together, “Okay, Tipper can text me too. But like… it’s okay if you wanted to.”

Mickey looked at Ian confused, “Talk to you later, Red.”

And that was how it happened. How Mickey’s boyfriend Mark, suddenly became named Ian, and how his totally fake boyfriend became corporeal. 

Step 2: Volunteer a stranger to help you with your lie. 

Okay so Mickey wasn’t a total idiot! He caught on to the flirting, it was just really hard to go for it, to send the text, to be vulnerable. However, even after Tipper had the guy’s number and was happily sending along the details of the trip, he finally managed the courage, and it was Monday when he finally sent the text. 

Mickey: Leaving Thursday morning, don’t forget. 

The sweat on his brow, the anxiety, the rumination all from a simple reminder. It had taken days for a response, no it had been weeks, wait, maybe it was months. 

Actually, it look two minutes. 

Ian: All packed! Let’s meet up a little earlier so we can go over any need to know information. 

Mickey sat on his couch, cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared at the response. Need to know? He quickly responded. 

Mickey: Need to know? Like what?

60 seconds this time. 

Ian: You know, how long we’ve been dating, are we serious… have we fucked yet? Met parents? Said I love you? Also Tipper seems like someone who would really need to know who tops who. 

Mickey read over the line of questioning and suddenly relationships seemed rather complicated. Fuck. He hadn’t done nearly any of these things with anyone. Well… except fucked of course… but the rest of it was out of his experience range. 

Mickey: You’re right. She’ll need to know. Also, all that other stuff, I don’t really do all that. It’s all a no. Except fucking, obviously that’s happened but the rest of it. No. 

He sent the message in a mild panic. No. All no. Just… no. 

Mickey: And three months. But don’t forget we’re breaking up soon. 

30 seconds later. 

Ian: Mhmm… we’ll need to negotiate on some of this. So breakfast before van pick up? 8am? I Google Map-ed the pick up location and there’s a diner across the street. 

Google Map-ed? Jesus. This guy was prepared. Maybe he and Tipper should bang. 

Mickey: Yeah, whatever. Talk then. 

Yeah. Whatever. 

Words of pure romance. 

Step 3: Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT, wholly dislike said stranger. 

“Coffee. Black.” Mickey ordered and from the smell of the diner odds are it would be burnt, not that he really knew the difference between good coffee and shit coffee. He sat the light blue diner table, a duffle bag in the booth next to him as he waited for his boyfriend to show. 

He really had lucked out on this one, hadn’t he? Truly he didn’t know anyone who would just… go along with this, and yet he found the one motherfucker in the whole city who seemed willing. 

“Hey!” Suddenly Ian was sliding into the booth across from him, his tightly-fitting blue sweater was oddly revealing and… had his hair been that red the night at the club? Oh fuck, his face was cute. Mickey’s mouth dried and he huffed at the sudden annoyance at this other man’s attractiveness. 

Ian seemed to pick up on it and he smiled, “I get that a lot.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Fuck you.” 

This only made Ian smile wider, his green eyes seeming to sparkle at the insult. “Tough shell, huh? I knew guys like you growing up. Ready to fuck you under the bleachers but call you a fag on the sidewalk, gets old.”

Despite the nailed profiling, Mickey frowned. “You don’t know me.”

“What’ll it be?” The server in her blue apron that matched the table asked, and after Ian ordered a coffee he looked back to Mickey. 

“Let’s get our story down so we’re not embarrassing on this trip. Which… thanks again, it’s been a nice distraction from having my ass left only days ago.”

“Yeah, well you’re doing me a favor. Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“Same.”

The server set Ian’s coffee down in front of him and after the two ordered a very basic breakfast of eggs and bacon Ian seemed ready to get down to the nitty gritty. 

“You said three months. How’d we meet?”

Easy. “The club.” Mickey suggested, “We go there all the time, it makes sense.”

Ian paused, “All the time? I’ve never seen you there.”

“All the time.” Mickey confirmed. “Not a flashy bunch.”

“Have we met each other’s parents?” Ian asked. 

“Fuck no. Dead parents.”

Ian frowned, “Yeah, same.”

Orphans. Made the whole thing easier, didn’t it?

“Top or bottom?” Ian asked, sipping his coffee to hide his delighted smile. 

“You top, I bottom.” Mickey surprised himself with his own level of confidence with that one, no flinching, no groaning, it was growth. 

“Nice.” Ian’s eyes cocked and Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“They’re gonna get stuck like that if you keep rolling them.” 

“Stop giving me reason to roll them.”

Ian laughed, “Probably won’t. I’m kind of always like this.”

“What? Annoying?” Mickey took a drink from his mug, his eyes meeting Ian’s as he did, keeping them locked a second longer than he should of. This made Ian lean back, eyeing him a bit. 

“Oh you like it. You like that I’m annoying.”

“Shut up.” Mickey cleared his throat. “We’re two guys who fuck sometimes and can tolerate each other enough to go on a trip. There, easy story.”

Their breakfasts were set down in front of them. 

“We in love?”

Mickey almost choked on his bacon, “Fuck no. No. That’s a lot, man.” he stammered. “That’s for normal people, you know? People who are… not me. No.”

It was hard for Ian to not notice the intense fluster at the question, but he didn’t poke it further. This was a free trip after all. 

“Why me?”

Mickey froze at that. “What?”

Ian shrugged, “You don’t date. You clearly are pretty anti-social, no relationships from what it seems… so your friends will want to know… why me? Why now?”

Fuck. It was a good question. One that was bound to come up. Mickey’s gaze shifted downwards as he considered it. Why now when Mickey didn’t even know why anyone would want to date him. What would anyone want with him? It was a question his father had asked his entire childhood, one that Mickey carried on asking after his death, and he just… didn’t know. 

“We can just say…” Ian began, “I thought you were hot and I approached you. You blew me off because… obviously you would.” Ian smirked. “I have mommy issues and your unavailability was freakishly alluring. You clearly couldn’t resist me because… I’m gorgeous.” Mickey snorted, Ian smiled. “And…”

Mickey nodded before continue, “…and I found your happiness disgusting. Luckily, I’m disgusting, so it worked.”

“You think I’m happy?” Ian asked, a slight weight in his tone. 

“For someone who was dumped a week ago you sure as hell smile a lot.”

Ian shrugged, “Yeah… I tend to think the future has got to be better than the present, right? And so far, I’m usually pretty right.”

“You’re not terrible for a random perv at a club.”

Ian faked offense and gasped. “Why am I a perv?”

“Everyone who goes to the those places are pervs, Ian.”

“You were there,” Ian countered. 

“I’m a perv too.”

That was when Mickey smiled.

The rest of breakfast was uneventful, a few grumbles here and there updating Ian on the friend group. Tipper was annoying but without her he would have no friends. Massimo was single, hot, and Tipper was in love with him. George, another mechanic, was coming with his girlfriend Stephanie. It was pretty straightforward and Ian just seemed grateful to get away.

It was startling to Mickey how easy this all seemed, how cleanly he was pulling off this scam. Historically, who ever got away with lying about having a boyfriend or girlfriend? And yet, Mickey was pulling it off flawlessly, he had to admit, he was a genius. 

Even the shuttle to the resort was uneventful after Tipper, her dark sunglasses set on her face, declared she’d stab anyone who talked before 10 am. That made any awkward drilling of Ian non-existent and after thirty minutes of the group sitting in the van, the hum of the engine, the gentle rocking against the road, Mickey actually started to relax. He took a deep breath, and when he breathed out he felt his shoulders sink a bit. 

Vacation. He could do this. He could be totally relaxed. 

“What the fuck?” George voiced, jaw dropped, matching the other slacked jaws in the group as they stood outside of the van, the driver unloading their bags behind them. 

“Tipper… this isn’t what we paid for.” Mickey looked at the house, wait no, it was a fucking mini-mansion that looked like Santa Claus had jizzed all over. The two storied house was decked out with multiple balconies, one of which Mickey was sure had a hot tub. Multi-colored Christmas Lights graced the home, that sat just on the edge of the ski resort. 

“What we paid was the deposit,” Tipper admitted as she pushed her sunglasses up with her fingers, “My dad paid for the rest. He married my best friend 3 years ago so once a year I make him foot the bill for a trip.”

Mickey was stunned, the powder white snow blanketing the hand railings, the soft whooshes of people skiing in the background, it was… disgustingly magical. He felt Ian’s hand gripping his shoulder, and when he looked over at the guy, he saw the same look of disbelief. 

“Whoa,” Ian finally said. Mickey was sure that after this he could angle a few weeks of fake boyfriendry out of him. 

“Let’s quit starting at the thing and go inside,” Massimo said in his thick Italian accent. 

“You heard the man.” Stephanie agreed, grabbing George’s hand and pulling him towards the front door, him grabbing their bags before she could pull him too far. The other four walked in, leaving Ian and Mickey standing there. 

“This is the best fake date of my life.” Ian said, still clearly in awe. “I’m going to ski and drink so much hot chocolate.”

Mickey laughed as he reached down grabbing his bag, “I’m not going anywhere near physical activity, and I’ll be by the fire getting drunk.” He began inside, and when Ian noticed he quickly grabbed his bag and followed. 

“I could get drunk.”

The inside of the cabin was just as nice. The two floor home had an open living space, opening up to the top floor. The dark woods and hunter greens created a sense of groundedness, calm, and Mickey decided in that moment… he could live there. He eyed the leather couch and the numerous fur blankets casually draped over it. He could nap there. And only feet away was the bar with a sign that read, alcohol included in your stay. Oh yeah, fuck skiing. 

“There are three bedrooms,” Tipper announced like a flight attendant. “First door up the stairs is mine and Massimo’s. Only room with two full beds. Second door is George and Stephanie’s room, biggest room felt fair to the engaged couple. Last room is Mickey and Ian’s. Now,” she said loudly, just to make sure she had their attention. “All bedrooms have their own balcony with a hot tub. Enjoy it. Don’t be weird about it.”

Tipper then looked around, wondering if she was missing anything, but she shrugged. “That’s it! We have full access to skiing… so enjoy!”

Grabbing their bags each couple made their way up to each room, all eager to get comfortable after the shuttle ride. However, when Mickey pushed open the door to his and Ian’s room, there was one thing he strangely hadn’t thought about it. 

“There’s only one bed.” Mickey commented, a hint of question in his voice causing Ian to look at him confused. 

“Uh yeah,” he closed the door behind him to prevent their voices from traveling, “Of course there is.”

Mickey stared at the queen-sized bed, oddly, almost as if he had never seen such a thing. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

“No.” Ian said quickly. “This is not a and then there was only one bed, type of thing. You knew we were sharing a room, right?” Mickey nodded. “And you knew we were sleeping here, right?” Another nod of confirmation. “So you had to have known we were sharing a bed.” No nod. Mickey continued to just stand there. 

“This is not a thing, Mickey. Somewhere in your head you knew this was happening, it’s not a plot twist, it’s not a weird thing. It’s just an aspect of this whole plan.”

Dear reader, Ian is right. This is not a and then there was only one bed situation. If Mickey had thought about this plan for more than three seconds he would have known that. 

“I’ll sleep downstairs on that sweet fucking couch.”

Ian had to roll his eyes as he tossed his duffle bag onto the bed. “Come on, man. We’re adults. We can sleep in a bed and not fuck each other. You are the one making this weird. So be a man, and sleep with me.”

Mickey grumbled causing Ian to smile. “You’re really the grumpiest person I have ever met.”

Mickey huffed as he opened his duffle, tipping it over letting his clothes tumble out onto the bed. “Got set up on a blind date once, I thought it went fine, as fine as any date could go. The dude told me I was too negative and declined a second date.”

Ian laughed at that, causing Mickey to chuckle in response. “You are negative. Surprisingly so.” He folded the clothes from his duffle bag, carefully putting them into the dresser that was in the room for them. “But it’s kind of funny and even a little endearing.”

Mickey couldn’t help but watch as Ian carefully put his things away. “It doesn’t bother me. I accepted a long fucking time ago that I wasn’t for most people. I like how I am. I don’t jerk people around and I’m honest. I tell it like it is. I know what I like. I know what I don’t. A lot of people don’t like that.”

Ian paused for a moment, the wheels in his head turning briefly. “You know who you are.” Mickey nodded. “I never know who I am day to day.”

“Whats with that?” Mickey asked as Ian neatly folded his duffle bag and slipped it under the dresser. 

“Oh, left over from the military. Wasn’t even in for a year before I lost my shit.” Ian tried to make it sound casual, funny even, but there was a hint of hesitation in his voice, one that Mickey wouldn’t catch onto. 

“Ah well… fuck. Least you gave it a shot— guns were cool I bet. That grade-A government shit.”

Ian had never received that response, well except for maybe from his brother Carl. “It was pretty fucking awesome.”

Step 4: Actually, kind of, sort of, fall for the guy…

Ian, Tipper, Massimo, and George had been anxious to get out into the snow, to rent some skis and take advantage of what the resort had to offer. Time had passed quickly as all the couples unpacked, cleaned up, everyone ate, and those anxious to face the cold dressed for the occasion. But they had only been gone an hour when all of their phones’ emergency alarms blared, alerting them to a possible storm, there were grumbles from the snuggly dressed sports enthusiasts as they came back inside, forcing them to sit and join the I’d rather stay inside members of the group. 

“Ok, so tonight’s a bust, that’s fine. There was only like thirty minutes of light left anyways. We have tomorrow and we can even ski a bit on Christmas if we wanted to. It’s totally cool. Tonight we’ll make drinks and sit around the fire.” Tipper concluded, and as if perfectly orchestrated by the god of thunder himself, a loud crack and flash of light caused them to jump.

“So who’s bartending?” Ian asked after a chuckle, as he sat down next to Mickey, who already had a bourbon in his hands. 

“Massimo is great,” Tipper said nodding to the man, and he raised his hands in humility before nodding. 

“Yes, I can make a few rounds. How are we feeling? Festive?”

“Do your worst.” Stephanie declared as she folded herself up into George’s lap doing the obnoxiously cute thing that couples do.

Mickey ignored the way Ian’s body was positioned towards him, the way he was just so casual and made their closeness look familiar and easy. He tensed up at this. Not because he didn’t like Ian’s body being so close— he smelled fresh and musky and it was slightly annoying how much he liked it— but it was the ease that Mickey resented. 

Ian must have notice him become rigid because in a move that was even more infuriating, even more ballsy, and disgustingly smooth, took Mickey’s hand into his, eyes on George as his spoke, thumb brushing against Mickey that not only made Mickey’s skin tingle and his stomach flutter, but he felt like his heart was going to drop out of his ass. 

Mickey didn’t know how to react and luckily he didn’t really need to, because Ian seemed more than capable. Then just as Massimo poured his concoctions into short glasses, and Tipper turned on the gas fireplace, adding a much needed warmth into the room. What was when the power went out, plunging them all into darkness. 

A round of groans rumbled through the large living space. 

“Well we have a fire.” Stephanie shrugged. 

“And drinks.” Ian raised his glass, sliding his hand out of Mickey’s and taking the opportunity to casually drape his arm along the back of the couch where Mickey sat. 

Motherfucker. Who was this comfortable with people, anyways? Total strangers? A psychopath thats who. Probably going to murder us all tonight. Or, just maybe, he had a functional family and the whole two parent bullshit and he’s adjusted. Idiot. 

“We could play a game.” The daring tone of Tipper piqued everyone’s interest. “Never have I ever?”

“What are we twelve?” Mickey sighed, his flippant attitude trying to hide how nervous Ian was making him.

“No, even better, adults with life experience.” George smiled. “I’ll go first…” he seemed eager and he smiled. “Never have I ever had sex in a public place.” He eyed his girlfriend, and Stephanie blushed taking a sip of her drink, as did Ian. 

“Does outside count? Like alleys and shit?”

“Counts,” Ian confirmed, brows cocking, and Mickey’s eyes met his and looking at Ian defiantly he took a sip. 

“My turn!” Tipper said excitingly, “Never have I ever…” she paused as she tried to think of a good one, “drank that gross coffee pot sludge.”

Everyone but her drank. “Such a priss.” Stephanie sighed. 

“Fine, you go then, Ms. Public Sex.”

Stephanie cleared her throat happily, “Never have I ever shot a gun.”

Both Ian and Mickey drank, leaving everyone else eyeing them. 

“Chicago boys.” Tipper groaned, she must have asked Ian during their communications. 

The game went on, tame and innocent, questions from sex acts to embarrassing teenage stories. Everyone’s favorite porn was somehow revealed, Mickey punching Ian in the shoulder in regards to his military fare and no one being surprised at Mickey’s strange affinity for girl on girl. 

As they played, the fire roared on, rounds of drinks were poured, and members of the team started to drop. Tipper was curled up on the white rug in front of the fire, everyone surprised at how quickly she knocked out, and Massimo had his head in Stephanie’s lap, leaving the only two couples playing.

“My turn,” Ian said, he clearly was running out of questions and in an attempt to nail down the couple across from him he threw out. “Never have I ever been married.”

George and Stephanie didn’t drink, but when Mickey did the three sets of eyes turned towards him. 

“Really?” George asked in shock.

“Weird story.” Mickey treaded carefully. “Seventeen. Shot gun wedding. Kid wasn’t mine. She ran off with a rich dude. It was a strange two years of my life.”

“Whoa,” Ian said as an awkward tension fell over the room. 

“Don’t be weird about it, Mr. Fucked His Boss.” He leaned forward to grab a half-drunken glass off the table from where Massimo had placed it earlier. That was when Stephanie yawned, and George the expert boyfriend sighed. 

“I think it’s time I get this one to bed.”

Stephanie slid off his lap, gently laying Massimo’s head onto a pillow. 

“We’ll turn off the fire,” Ian confirmed as the couple carefully and quietly snuck up the stairs. 

“Married. Wow. That’s kind of intense.”

Mickey tried to ignore the fact that they were now alone, well mostly alone, and the alcohol in him telling him to make a move. 

“Yeah, my dad was a piece of shit. It was apart of his plan to de-gay me.”

“It work?” Ian teased in an attempt to bring levity. “I’m kidding. My dad sucks too.” Ian lifted his chin, pointing to a scar just under it that Mickey could barely see in the dark. “Beat the shit out of me a lot. Though not because I was gay.”

Mickey snorted, “Why then? Because of your annoying questions?”

“Nah, because I looked like my mom. Hated me for it.”

Mickey frowned, “Yeah my pops was weird like that too. But he’s dead and I’m not so,” he lifted his glass in a cheers motion and poured the contents of the glass down his throat. “I win.”

Ian actually smiled at that, “Holy shit, you’re right, aren’t you? We won.”

“We’re the ones living.”

Then before Mickey knew what was happening, Ian was leaning over him, lips pressing to his in a soft, experimental kiss. There was enough hesitation that made Mickey lean in further, kissing him deeper, a stirring in his pants that made him want to sprint upstairs, but mostly, he liked this more. The unsureness, the warmth of his mouth, and the brief swipe of tongue wasn’t overbearing. 

“Upstairs?” Ian asked, and when Mickey saw the glint of lust in his eyes he got up, grabbing Ian by the shirt, and pulling him up with him. 

Step 5: Hope he likes you back. 

This hadn’t been intended. Really, it hadn’t. I hear you right now in a very sarcastic voice saying, really? you didn’t think two adults who are attracted to each other, sleeping in the same bed, wouldn’t have sex. Okay, listen, that tone is uncalled for. Also, dear reader, I am nothing but a humble narrator. I’m just saying they didn’t intend it, okay? 

However, as anyone could guess, it was wonderful. Annoyingly so. Yet, strangely enough, it wasn’t as awkward as Mickey was used to the next morning. When the morning sun streamed in through the snow-caked windows, and just enough of a breeze wafted in, it was an choice to remain under the blankets close to each other. 

It was a vacation, Mickey told himself. This didn’t count. Cuddle-adjacent touching wasn’t weird because it was vacation, and somehow that made enough sense to him. 

“I did promise I’d pretend to be your boyfriend,” Ian teased, smiling against the back of Mickey’s neck who was allowing himself to be spooned. Which he has to clarify, doesn’t count because its vacation. 

“Yeah well, can’t complain about it.” Ian’s leg snaked over Mickey’s chilled exposed one, pulling it back underneath the blankets, engulfing him completely. Ian was clingy. A trait he would have told anyone he abhorred. But this was… okay. Afterall, it was cold.

“This grumpy thing, the kind of unavailable distant thing, it’s cute.”

There it was. Ian read him like a book. He wasn’t wrong, pinpointing the trait in himself he had been struggling with. He didn’t want to be like this, he didn’t want to end up alone and bitter like his fucking father. And with enough will in that moment, Mickey turned around in Ian’s arms and looked at his face. It was a great face. Green eyes, amazing lips, and then just as they bared the smallest hint of a smile, Mickey went for it, leaning in and kissing Ian hotly.

The first kiss of the morning was enough to melt the slopes, and as Ian softened further against him, pulling him tighter, Mickey gripped the back of his neck. As he pulled away he opened his mouth to say something, paused, and then finally blurted it out. “I don’t want to be unavailable.”

Ian clearly didn’t know what to say but they let the moment sit and settle between them, Ian’s grip on Mickey not loosening, but finally Ian nodded, “Good. Because you’re fucking hot and you’re comfortable with who you are and…” Ian sighed, laying back against the bed, finally relinquishing his grip on Mickey. “There’s this six month medical tech program that I want to take, but I’d have to go back home to Chicago. Family is there, so I wouldn’t pay bills while working on it. It’s something I really want to do.” Ian kept his eyes on the ceiling as he spoke, his words rapid and his breathing starting to become unrhythmic. “If you were dating someone who wanted to leave for six months, would you end it?”

This came out of nowhere, but Mickey shook his head, “I had to do that when I came here to be a mechanic. It is what it is. If I dated someone, I’d really like them, right?” Ian nodded. “Okay so… dating someone I really like, which is a fucking miracle as we’ve established, and they want to go off and better themselves and do something they want… they’d come back right?” Ian nodded causing Mickey to then do the same. “Alright then. Seems simple. Why break up with someone for wanting to be better?”

Ian sat up in bed, giving Mickey a pleasing view of his ass. “That’s why we broke up a week ago. Me and my ex. I just want a secure job, I thought he’d be into it, he’s always talking about doing shit and goals but when I said I wanted to do this he freaked out. Said he didn’t want an absent boyfriend.” Ian rolled his eyes before sliding out of bed and grabbing his clothes off the floor. 

Mickey wasn’t sure what to say, didn’t know the right thing, or even polite thing. So when Ian pulled on his boxers and sat down on the bed, Mickey did the only thing he could think of. In the spirit of none of this counts, he slid up behind him, and wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders. “Fuck that guy.” He mumbled into Ian’s ear before kissing his neck.

The peaceful morning gently transitioned into a peaceful day. Coffee nursed the few hangovers that were reminders of the night before, and the ski anxious individuals, Ian included, finally got their moments to enjoy the fresh snow left from the storm the night before. All while Mickey and Stephanie were left in the large cabin to enjoy the peace and quiet. Which they did, happily. 

Stephanie read the book she brought with her, cozied up on the large leather couch, which Mickey enjoyed his Bailey’s spiked coffee and sat on the porch. He had a lot think about, one of which was how Ian had managed to completely knock him for a whirlwind. He had known the man barely a week, spent not even two days with him in total, and now they were cuddling up in bed and sharing intimate details of their lives? Was this a Hallmark movie? It must have been because something this unrealistically fast, cheesy, and snowy could only exist in such a medium. 

Yet, here he was. His disreputable cold hard warmed by the hands of an overly enthusiastic red head. He tried to tamper his happiness. Keep his joy in check. If Mickey had learned anything from life, it was that one had to be careful letting any good feelings blind them. So when he felt such an emotion, he was quick to push it down. 

But as is most things in life, usually when we expect the worst… we’re right. And it was around 4 p.m. when Mickey was having a smoke, walking around the obnoxiously large house when he caught the tail end of a conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear. 

“I don’t know.” Mickey heard the exasperated voice of Ian say into his phone as he paced back and forth in the snow. “I—” he paused, clearly listening to someone on the other end of the phone. “Maybe we could give it another shot, but—” Another pause. “We did have it good… I think—” Ian ran his hand stressfully over his face. “Yeah, we’ll talk when I get home.” Ian hung up the phone and groaned before turning around and catching Mickey watching him, his eyes widened. 

“Hey…”

Mickey raised a brow. “Getting back with the ex?” Not really a question. Not even an accusation, after all what right did he have to be mad over some guy he wasn’t dating getting back with a shitty ex?

Ian looked at his phone, then back at Mickey and shrugged. “I don’t know. Wait... what the fuck am I saying? No. Of course not.”

Mickey nodded, “Well, you should. Not like you’ve got anyone waiting in line.”

A little sharper than he intended, but what else could he possibly say?

Mickey turned and walked back to the front of the house, leaving Ian standing there in confusion.

Mickey was in their room, not sulking, just so you know. He was just sitting in bed reading the brochure on the resort. Paragraph after paragraph about the convenience store, the instructors, and the impressive non-deaths that had occurred on the property. Holly’s Merry Market. Six instructors on staff. Only ten injuries last year. Store. Instructors. No deaths. Yes. Very interesting. Great use of color within the pamphlet. Great place to not get dumped by your non-boyfriend for his shitty ex. Because you have to be dating someone to get dumped by them. You have to like someone to get hurt by them, and that wasn’t what was happening here… so it’s nothing at all. Nice place. Great resort. They should put that in their brochures. Will not get dumped by your non-boyfriend. 

When the knob on the door twisted, Mickey ignored it, when the door opened he focused so hard on the brochure that the words started to no longer make sense. 

In our specially designed learning area, we will get you up, moving, and sliding in no time.

The bed dipped and Mickey could smell the cologne Ian wore. 

Specially designed area, we will get you up and moving. 

He heard Ian take a deep breath, and his eyes only focused harder on the sentence. 

Specially designed heartbreak will get you… moving.

“That phone call was confusing.” Ian began. 

Specially designed heartbreak will force you to move forward.

“This entire trip has been confusing,” Ian continued, and Mickey forced himself to look up from the pamphlet and to Ian. He looked sincere. Fuck. “I meet you and you’re great, and you say people don’t like how upfront you are, but I fucking like it, and it’s not in spite of, it’s because of, and last night was great and this has all been moving so fast. I mean we got here fucking yesterday, you know? I’ve been broken up with my ex for barely a week and… I didn’t know what to say to him, and it’s all so confusing and… I like you but if you don’t want to—”

Move forward. 

Mickey leaned forward and kissed Ian, forcing him quiet, and when Ian reciprocated Mickey felt his rushing nerves calm. He could be brave, he could go for this, yes it was complicated and messy and he never heard anyone say getting into bed with someone freshly broken-up was a good idea, but… what else was he supposed to do? Rot away in his apartment? Become bitter, angry, and cynical at the world he was too broken to get a taste of?

The kiss ended and Mickey shook his head, “I like you, Ian. I fucking do, and I’ve never gone for anyone. But you’re so fucking hopeful and you root for the future, not dread it, and… you make me want to be brave too. I know you have an ex, I know you want to go off and learn and all that and I don’t care. I want to be around you.”

Ian smiled, learning into Mickey, lips moving closer, aching to touch again, “Can you give me six months? Six months to tie up shit with my ex? Get in and out of Chicago? Get my life back together? I know it’s not fair to ask but—”

“I want to try this.” Mickey couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, with this man he barely knew who he felt an intrinsic, unexplainable pull to, who felt new yet familiar, comfortable yet exciting. Was he drunk off of powdered snow? Possibly. Did he kind of want to kick his own ass? A little. But there was a safety in this facade. If it failed, if it turned out Ian wasn’t right for him, it was okay because this relationship was created to end anyways. 

He had nothing to lose. 

They stayed in thier room for the rest of the evening, leaving only to grab food and drink, the small fireplace roaring with a warm fire, and the whish of snow falling outside of the glass sliding door to the balcony. As Christmas eve gently turned into Christmas day, it did so with no fan fare and certainly no notice by the two boys in the room.

They talked about their families. They kissed like teenagers. And they rested comfortably in the safety of this foreign Hallmark-esque place they had found themselves. The magic may break once the shuttle dropped them back into the city. But until then, they were going to take all of this for what it was worth. 

(Optional) Step 6 - Get married. 

1 year later

@IanGallagher - December 25th 

[image of Ian in snowgear, smiling ear to ear looking at the camera, while a cold and grumpy looking Mickey was behind him, sitting on the porch of a familiar looking ski resort cabin.]

What a year it has been, I wanted to share a rare update to friends and family. My busy schedule has prevented me from being as social as I used to be so unfortunately, this has to come in form of a post. After tackling my medical tech program, I was able to land a job Saint Gummarus Hospital and have been working there for almost five months. I love being able to be a positive part of my patient’s day and offering them care and compassion. I moved into a new neighborhood (sorry @GiosPizzaGTM, your pepperoni pizza is awesome) with my boyfriend… well not to spoil the surprise, but I guess fiance is the correct term. We are celebrating with friends during our traditional (can you call it a tradition when it’s only the second time?) winter ski trip. Okay, was this cringe enough? Probably but… swipe to see the engagement rings. - Ian

118 Likes - 46 Comments

—@FGal89: Seeing you so happy this year has made the trip out to see you so worth it. I love you, Ian. Even you too, Mick.

—@shakeBoi69: is this why you haven’t been gracing us with your presence at TS? a real loss, congrats tho

—@debbiedoesitbest: You two make me sick. In the best way. But ew. But cute. ily. 

—@CarlGall312: new job, new apartment, spread the wealth. 

—@CarolOfTheSails: I think I left my pink water bottle at work, could you grab it for me so it doesn’t get gross? I’m out until mid-Jan. 

—@CarolOfTheSails: Oh yeah and Congrats!

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The End