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Being woken up to incessant pounding on the front door at three in the goddamn morning did two things to Mickey Milkovich: piss him the fuck off, because honestly; and send a surge of panic through him.
He immediately climbed out of bed and pulled his sweatpants on, glaring at Ian, who only stirred and mumbled something under the covers; asshole could sleep through anything. The knocking continued and seemed to get more urgent the longer it took Mickey to thump down the stairs.
As soon as he heard a muffled string of angry Russian coming from the other side of the door, he sighed, letting his head fall back. At least she didn’t sound panicked or scared or something warranting anything other than en eye-roll.
“Seriously?” he groaned, unlocking the door before he swung it open, “The fuck?”
Mickey wasn’t expecting his son to be standing next to Svetlana. Before he could open his mouth to question what was going on, the Russian shoved her way inside, her grip tight on Yev’s upper arm. The sixteen year old flinched, but followed without a fight.
“Sure, come on in,” Mickey mumbled, closing the door.
“You!” Svetlana rounded on him, pointing her finger at Mickey.
Mickey pulled a face, “Me, what?”
“S’goin on?” Ian’s voice filtered from upstairs. He slowly made his way down the steps, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.
“Mother Russia over here’s making a house-call,” Mickey explained.
Svetlana’s eyes went wide as she grabbed Yev’s hands, bringing them up to Mickey’s face. Mickey had to lean back to get a clear view of what exactly he was supposed to be looking at. At first, he thought it was a joke. There was no way in hell his kid had actually gotten “MISCHIEF” tattooed across his knuckles –okay so it wasn’t so far-fetched. But shit.Holy shit.
“Holy shit,” Mickey’s jaw dropped.
Ian came up behind him, repeating his words, “Holy shit.”
Yev grinned, “Pretty fuckin’ badass, huh?”
“No!” Svetlana hissed out another string of Russian, glaring hard at Mickey again, “This isyour fault! He grows up with tattoos on fingers, he think’s this is acceptable! We are getting these removed!”
“Fuck that!” Yev protested, “You know how much this shit hurt?”
“Good!” Svetlana shot back. She turned her gaze towards Mickey, eyebrows perched up in question. “Are you going to say something, or are you going to stand there like fish?”
Mickey covered his mouth, looking over at Ian. Ian’s jaw was hanging open as he took Yev’s hands and kept staring down at the ink. The redhead looked back and forth between Yev and Mickey a few times before dropping the kids hands and sighing.
“Well,” Ian said, clearly at a loss for words.
“I mean…” Mickey scratched the back of his neck, “I…”
But then Yev’s face fell from his grin, “Are you guys mad?”
“Eh… no,” Mickey said, but it came out as more of a question.
There really should have been some kind of parenting book for when you, someone with knuckle tattoos, has a child who gets his knuckles tattooed at sixteen years old… with the word mischief.
But if he were being honest about it, yeah it was pretty fucking badass. And it looked good, not the shitty stick-and-poke job that Mickey had on his own knuckles. Yev had gone out and gotten a proper tattoo-artist for that shit. So… props for that? Fuck, what was he supposed to do?
“Oh my god,” Svetlana sighed, rolling her eyes.
“I’m sixteen. Not like everyone here wasn’t doing worse shit at sixteen,” Yev needlessly reminded the adults. He let out a little chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like I got tattooed on my face, right? Could be worse.”
“Uh, you’re still in trouble for egging Mr. Woods’ house,” Ian said.
“Yeah but that’s still not fair… Mr. Woods is a homophobic prick,” Yev replied, Milkovich eyebrows in full swing.
“He gets these removed!” Svetlana stared hard at Mickey, “Yevgeny, you will not fuck up your future–”
“How am I fuckin’ up my future, exactly?” Yev pulled a face that looked almost exactly like Ian’s wtf face. Mickey kind of loved that. “They’re tattoos, you need to chill the fuck out–”
“Ay,” Mickey gave Yev a warning look. Sometimes the kid got a little too mouthy for his own good. “You ain’t got a lot of ground to stand on right now, going behind our backs to do this shit. Give your dad your fuckin’ phone, ass in your room, and we’ll talk about this in the morning. I’m fuckin’ tired, waking me up at three in the fuckin’ morning for this shit.”
Yev (little shit that he was) sucked his teeth and fished his phone out of his back pocket, handing it over to Ian. “Sorry mom,” he mumbled before heading up the stairs and disappearing around the corner.
Svetlana sighed, looking between Ian and Mickey, “I am going home. I want those gone.”
“Svet,” Ian started easily, “I mean–”
Mickey raised a hand between the two, cutting off the beginning of their conversation, “I’d like to go back to bed now.”
After Svetlana left, Ian and Mickey went back upstairs to their room. The light in Yev’s room was off, but his radio was playing softly. Mickey sighed, climbing into bed next to Ian.
“Seriously, what the fuck,” Mickey grumbled.
Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey and pulled him against his chest, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, “I think it’s karma.”
“He’s such a little shit sometimes,” Mickey sighed.
“Yeah,” Ian laughed, “Karma. But he’s keeping his grades up, so…”
Mickey nodded, settling back against Ian. He closed his eyes, “They’re kind of badass though, right?”
“Hell yeah they are,” Ian huffed a laugh. “And Mr. Woods is a fucking asshole.”
“I’m just waiting for him to give me one of those fuckin’ looks of his again, so I can knock those dentures outta his fuckin’ head.”
Ian yawned, then pressed a kiss to the back of Mickey’s head, “You get ‘em, baby.”