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It looks like a crime scene. There’s red streaked over the three small tables, the side of his own desk, and the supply cabinets. He thinks the smeared red handprints that slide down one side of his white board are a nice touch.
Mickey vows to never let the kids near red paint again.
His plan this week had been to focus on nature paintings, let the kids paint a snow scene based on either what they could see outside the classroom window, or get inspiration from some of the snow scenes he would rotate across the white board.
White paint wouldn’t have backfired like this.
It was Principal Owens who’d suggested he squeeze some holiday art into his curriculum. Something about how it would be a nice gesture for the kids to bring home something cute for their parents, which would earn parental approval for the school overall. Mickey wasn’t interested in earning parental approval, but this was a prestigious school, and he was interested in keeping this job. He’d set about researching different holidays to cover the diversity in the school, and then readied the paint, some cotton balls, and even some sticks and pinecones he’d personally collected.
At the beginning of each class, Mickey reviewed what the options were, and even spent some time demonstrating how to get the effect of fire with paint for anyone who wanted to include candles. The first two classes of the day had enthusiastically and cheerfully worked on their projects.
Then Mr. Mason’s second grade class had arrived…
The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted his thoughts, and Mickey turned towards the sound just as a man whose red hair rivaled the red covering his room, rounded the corner of the doorway and swung himself into Mickey’s classroom. The man stopped short just inside, though, and Mickey watched as green eyes widened as they scanned over the crime scene-like pattern of red paint.
“Holy shit,” the man exhaled in horror.
Mickey nodded and stood up from where he’d been crouched, doing his best to scrub red paint from one of the stools that circled the small tables.
“Mr. Gallagher?” Mickey asked.
The man’s mouth dropped open and closed a few times as he continued to gape at the disaster that had struck the art classroom.
“You are Mr. Gallagher, right? You have a kid who goes here?” Mickey prodded, hoping that this was a student’s parent and not some rando who managed to get into the school. It was after hours now, which meant there was just a limited staff at the front desk to allow people entry.
Finally, the man spun around to face Mickey and began to nod furiously. “Yes, yes. I’m Franny’s uncle. I currently have custody of her. Sorry, I’m just” — he threw a hand out towards the red mess — “a little shocked. I mean, she said there was a paint incident, but she didn’t say…” His hand waved towards the general vicinity of the room again. “This looks like a crime scene.”
Mickey held back a laugh, as it was likely unprofessional, even if the description had matched his own exactly.
“Well, this was a paint incident, so she was correct.”
“Oh my god.” Mr. Gallagher rushed over to the whiteboard. “Oh god, this looks expensive. Do you think the paint will come off? If not, I’ll pay to replace it.” He rubbed his own fingertips furiously over the paint and his shoulder sagged in relief when some of the red transferred to his hand. “Here, I’ll help you clean.” He rushed to the sink and grabbed one of the sponges and began to run it under the water.
Half of Mickey’s mouth pulled up in a smirk, something about this frazzled, frantic guardian was calming his own frustrations over the day. He fought the half smile down as Mr. Gallagher turned back from the sink and seemed to eye the overwhelming amount of red again, as if trying to decide where to even begin.
“You really don’t have to help clean,” Mickey offered. “The custodial staff is coming —”
“No, no, no, no. This is just extra work on top of their regular work.” Wide eyes seemed to once again scan the room, as if for the first time. “I bet I can get most of this up before they’re even here. I grew up in a big family. I’ve dealt with huge messes before.”
“No — wait — Mr. Gallagher, I’m not the one who called you,” Mickey said haltingly. “You really don’t have to help clean.”
“It’s Ian.” Bright green eyes met Mickey’s now as he spoke. “And I know. I already spoke to the principal. He’s the one who suggested I come down here to ‘experience the incident fully’”.
Wednesday night found Mickey in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, doing his best to decide if he should be responsible and buy the cheerios or give in and buy the holiday-themed cinnamon vanilla Lucky Charms with what appeared to be snowflake marshmallows.
He glanced up after tossing the Lucky Charms into his cart and immediately noticed the pair at the end of the aisle. The little girl was tugging at her guardian’s hand, trying desperately to move him away from the cereal aisle, but the man wasn’t budging. His feet remained planted while his eyes remained locked on Mickey.
Mickey blinked for a moment before he registered that the little girl, still yanking on the man’s hand and doing her best to hide her face, was Frances Gallagher, and the tall redheaded man staring at Mickey was the nice guy who had helped him clean his art classroom top to bottom two days ago.
Mickey offered a small wave before he pushed his cart towards the pair, reassured by the way Franny’s uncle’s crooked grin grew wider as he got closer. It was pretty common to run into his students in the grocery store. Most were happy to see him, and as much as he enjoyed his privacy outside of the school building, he wasn’t sure what to think about Franny’s clear wish to avoid him entirely.
“Hi Mr. Gallagher, Franny.”
“Ian,” Ian directed back at him before pulling on Franny’s hand to get her attention. “One, say hi back.”
“Hi Mr. Milkovich,” Franny muttered dutifully as Ian’s tug forced her to stop pulling on him and just stand still beside him and their cart.
“Two,” Ian continued, “trying so actively to keep me away from him makes you look mega guilty, so tell me what you did this time to this nice man’s classroom.”
Mickey snorted (he wasn’t being paid to be a teacher right now, he didn’t have to keep up with all his best manners) and Franny’s eyes grew wide with surprise. And guilt.
“Tell me before he tells me,” Ian demanded.
Franny grabbed hold of the ends of both her braids, hair the same pretty red as Ian’s, and tugged on them. Large blue eyes were downcast, and her voice was small (much quieter than the one she used in his classroom) as she muttered, “I didn’t know the lid wasn’t on the can of glitter.”
There was an audible gasp from Ian and maybe Ian looked even cuter gaping at the kid on Mickey’s behalf, but Mickey still bit back a smile (because glitter. All over his desk. From now until forever).
“Franny! I literally just cleaned up your last mess, how could you dump glitter everywhere? Did you learn nothing from Aunt Vee’s glitterpalooza this summer?”
Mickey mouthed the word glitterpallooza with a considering frown before he tried to bail the little girl out. “Ian, its fine. That sort of thing happens in the art room.”
“Oh my god you still have glitter on your shirt,” Ian stated as if Mickey hadn’t spoken.
And then Ian’s hands were on his chest, a thin layer of dress shirt separating the two of them as Ian did his best to brush away the stubborn glitter.
“Um, its —” Mickey caught one of Ian’s hands — “I tried that technique earlier.”
He watched Ian’s eyes dart from the hand that Mickey was holding, to the hand he had since flattened to Mickey’s chest, before meeting Mickey’s eyes again. Mickey swallowed as he watched the green of Ian’s eyes darken.
Ian sucked in a breath before nodding quickly and gently pulling his hands back and taking a step away from Mickey. “Yeah, um. Of course you did.”
Ian glanced down at Franny (who Mickey noticed was side eyeing the two of them the way she always side eyed Luke Anderson before stealing all of his working markers) and offered his niece a not-at-all-guilty smile.
“Well, we’re going to leave you alone now,” Ian declared, hands back on his own cart which he began to push behind him even though he still faced Mickey. “Let me know if you need to dry clean that shirt to get the glitter out and I’ll totally pay you back.”
“Ian —” Mickey raised a hand to point but not before Ian had unseeingly pushed his cart into the display of pop-tarts near the aisle end cap.
Ian groaned as a stack of boxes hit the ground.
“Nice, Uncle Ian.”
“Franny, you’re already on thin ice, please just help me clean them up.”
“I can help,” Mickey offered.
“No! No, you can go back to your grocery shopping. Hey, cinnamon vanilla Lucky Charms, those are my favorite. Nice choice. You can just go to another aisle now and make more excellent grocery buying decisions. Away from here.”
“You won’t buy that cereal for me.”
“Please pick up the pop-tarts, kid.”
Mickey did let himself smile now, this mundane grocery store chore much more entertaining than normal.
“Okay then, if you’re sure.” He turned his cart to exit at the other end of the aisle, just to avoid the scattered boxes.
“Oh! Wait!”
Mickey turned back towards Ian at that, catching him trying to balance the boxes back onto the display.
“Tape,” Ian said. “Try tape on your shirt. Should de-glitter.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Mickey smiled again.
And would swear that Ian blushed immediately after.
And that Franny was side eyeing them again.
The next time a frantic and worried Ian Gallagher skid into his art room, he found Mickey drawing a picture at the bottom left corner of his main whiteboard.
Ian didn’t say anything as he approached, just got in close to the board (and super close to Mickey) as he crouched near the corner and stared hard to see what had been written underneath earlier.
“Shut your pie hole, Luke,” Ian finally read with a groan.
He fell into a squat then beside Mickey’s chair (still sort of putting him at eye-level with Mickey, Mickey noted, thanks to those long legs) before he dropped his face into his hands with an aggravated huff.
“Hey, this sort of thing happens in all the classrooms,” Mickey attempted.
“She’s done this in other classes?!” Ian’s head popped up, eyes full of alarm.
“No,” Mickey said with a small laugh. “I just mean, the kids are always drawing or writing inappropriate things on the white boards.”
“With permanent marker?”
“Maybe,” Mickey shrugged. “The difference is that I can also use permanent markers to draw something really cool over it and when I’m finished no one will ever know what’s under there.”
“Still, I’m really sorry.” Ian stood to his full height before taking a few steps back to sit himself on the corner of Mickey’s desk. “I’d offer to help but I can’t draw at all.”
“Art teacher,” Mickey said with another shrug as he turned back to his project. “Technically, I know how to get permanent marker off a whiteboard, but I like this sort of thing. Kids aren't the only ones who like to draw on the whiteboard."
“Sure, but its Friday night, surely you want to get out of here. You have plans tonight?”
“Meeting up with some friends, but not till later. Pretty sure it’s set-up night, though.”
Ian grinned. “What do you mean?”
Mickey shook his head but kept his eyes on his work. “At least once a month my sister has a random new friend she wants me to meet.”
“Ahhhh, yeah, the ‘Let me introduce you to this great friend I just met two seconds ago’ kind of set-up.”
“Yeah, she thinks since I have the steady job its time to nail down the husband and mortgage part of life. I guess it that happens to you as well?”
Ian pressed a hand to his chest. “Currently a single dad. Huge extended family with family dinner several times a week? I’ve been introduced to more people than should be numerically possible considering the size of this town.”
Mickey chuckled and swapped the red marker out for black before leaning in to add a few finishing touches. “I think that’s it,” Mickey said, trying to hide his disappointment since he was sure Ian was leave now that the problem had been resolved.
He groaned a bit as he stood and stretched his back. Ian cleared his throat as he hopped off the desk and came over to take a closer look.
“Oh! What kind of flowers are those? They’re really pretty.”
“Stargazer Lillies.” Mickey let himself smile at Ian, pleased that Ian liked the art. Plus, Mickey knew it was considerate of Ian to come all the way to the school to visibly see his niece’s vandalism, as well as offer an apology — it was way more than any other parent had ever done.
He watched as Ian stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and smile back. They stayed like that for several seconds before Ian seemed to remember why he was there in the first place.
“Well! I should go. Let you get on with your night out.”
And maybe it had been a while for Mickey, but he was pretty sure that up to that point, Ian had been lingering.
Not that he minded.
Ian spun on his heel and marched quickly to the door. He was pulling the door open when Mickey called out to him.
“Hey, Ian?”
Ian turned back to him, ready smile on his face.
“You, uh, you sat in the glitter on my desk.”
The smile may have fallen from Ian’s face as he began to brush his hands over his ass, but Mickey could only laugh.
Ian had begun to cringe every time he saw Franny’s school on his phone’s caller ID. Sure, the art teacher was hot and funny and talented and so far didn’t seem terribly upset about Franny’s antics in his class. But that good nature couldn’t last forever, right? At some point, the dude was gonna get fed up.
He hoped today wasn’t that day.
He rounded the doorway of the art room, arm raised with his prize in his hand, ready to reassure, but quickly snapped his mouth shut as he found the hot and funny and talented art teacher on his knees, eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to pick the lock of his supply closet with a very pointy knife.
Ian knew he shouldn’t find this hot. In this place where children learn. Teacher on his knees because Ian’s own niece had stolen the supply closet key and Ian had had to pull out his biggest Santa threats to get her to hand it over at home that afternoon.
He shouldn’t but he sure as hell did.
He allowed himself another few seconds to ogle before clearing his throat.
“I got it back.” He waved the key in the air when those pretty blue eyes focused on him.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Mickey sighed, pushing himself to stand. “This isn’t working, and my helmet and keys are locked in there.”
Ian grimaced at that, no idea that Franny’s newest stunt had literally held her teacher hostage at the school.
“I’m so sorry!” Ian exclaimed as he placed the key in the waiting palm, greedily letting his fingers drag against the skin on his hand’s retreat (he didn’t imagine the shiver he saw in return). “Seriously, Mr. Milkovich, if you want to kick Franny out of your class —”
“Mickey,” hot art teacher said with a laugh and a shake of his head. “It’s fine. I would’ve eventually called my sister to come drive me home. The head custodian is supposed to be back to work tomorrow, so we would’ve gotten it open eventually.”
“Mickey,” Ian repeated with a small grin, hasty earlier ramble already forgotten, distracted by a cute guy’s first name.
He stood back and watched as Mickey unlocked the closet and pulled out a sleek back motorcycle helmet before stuffing keys into one of his pant’s pockets.
“So, are you also going to tell me this sort of thing always happens in the art room?”
“No,” Mickey said, tone flat and expression doing its best to appear un-amused even though Ian swore the dude was trying to fight off a smile. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
“Never underestimate Frances Gallagher,” Ian attempted to joke. He nodded towards the door. “I’ll walk you out. Make sure there aren’t any more roadblocks to you getting outta here.”
“Why? Did you bring Franny with you this time? She’s not out there letting the air out of my tires, is she?”
Ian laughed and nudged his shoulder into Mickey’s as they walked.
“I’m, like, ninety-eight percent sure she doesn’t know how to do that.”
“That is actually not at all reassuring.”
Ian grinned again, enjoying Mickey’s hilarious monotone as much as he enjoyed the smiles Mickey let loose occasionally. He thought back to the last time he’d seen him and couldn’t help but ask as they walked.
“How’d set-up night go?”
Mickey snorted.
Ian shouldn’t find it adorable. And yet, here he was.
“Tom the banker. Pretty sure my sister grabbed the first guy she could find at the bar that night.”
Ian laughed, desperate to cover his relief to hear that Mickey was apparently still single. “What was your first clue?”
“Other than the fact that my sister introduced him as Ted? The guy’s girlfriend approached us after a few awkward minutes of talking to see if he was coming back to their table.”
Ian stopped in his tracks so he could chortle appropriately. “That’s as bad as the married moms who keep shoving their married friends at me at the PTSA meetings.”
“The exact reason you’ll never find me at a PTSA meeting,” Mickey nodded with a small grin.
Ms. Ruth in the front office is familiar enough with Ian now to let him in the locked building after hours and wish him luck with Mr. Milkovich.
He didn’t have Mickey’s number, and he wasn’t about to send an email through Mickey’s school-provided email, and he didn’t know where Mickey hung out (unless you counted the grocery store or whatever bar he and his friends liked).
So, it was either show up unannounced at the school (with confirmation that Mickey was still there thanks to the presence of the motorcycle in the parking lot) or just wait and see what other terror Franny inflicts on the guy in order to see him again.
While very much out of practice, Ian had thought of a few ways to go about this, including pick-up lines (that were immediately vetoed), suggesting an upcoming winter carnival he and Franny were attending to see if Mickey would also be there, orrrr just directly asking Mickey out to dinner. All Ian knew for sure was that when Mickey had recently mentioned a possible future that could include a husband and a mortgage, Ian had immediately wanted.
He rounded the doorway of Mickey’s classroom and watched as Mickey’s head popped up from where he sat sketching at his desk. But, instead of a happy smile, Mickey’s expressive brows furrowed and he glanced warily around his classroom.
“Did she rig something?”
“What?” Ian stopped walking and also glanced warily around the room.
“I overheard her talking about ink bombs —”
“Wait, really?”
“— and while there haven’t been any explosions yet, did she send you down here to keep me from touching something?”
Ian watched as Mickey warily eyed the pens laid out in front of him, knowing that Mickey was spooked by them because of his niece. The poor guy was paid to put up with Franny’s antics during the day, why had Ian thought Mickey would ever be interested in a scenario that would force him to spend time with her outside of those work hours?
This was a mistake.
“No, no ink bombs,” he finally managed to say with a wave of his hands in front of him. “And I’ll make sure she, uh, doesn’t actually know how to do… that.”
“Oh,” Mickey sighed in clear relief. “Okay. You want to sit?”
Ian hesitated, suddenly not sure what his main goal was anymore. It’d be odd to turn and leave now, though, so he took the few steps required to reach Mickey’s desk, pulled up a tiny stool, and sat himself on the other side.
“What are you working on?” Ian asked, leaning himself across the desk.
“My sister’s birthday is coming up and she’s been bugging me to sketch her a picture of her cat.” Mickey lifted the actual photograph he’d printed to use as a reference and turned it to Ian.
“There’s a cat under all that fluff?” Ian laughed as he took the offered picture and grinned at the Himalayan. He tilted his head and glanced down at Mickey’s work. “She’s going to love that when you’re finished, Mick. I love how she already looks really fluffy there.”
“Thanks. I like to sketch in my free time anyway, so I thought I’d finally get around to this for her.” Mickey peered up at Ian. “What do you like to do in your free time?”
“You mean other than being called into school to hear bad news about my niece or being the sad single parent dude at parties?” Ian asked, smile wide despite the description.
Mickey hummed and Ian could feel his face heat as those blue eyes roved over him in consideration.
“I’ve seen you look horrified, embarrassed, happy. But never sad.”
“Nah, not sad lately.” Ian let his own eyes drop away from the man who had had his mind so happily preoccupied lately. He toyed with a pen on the edge of Mickey’s desk.
“But you were before? Sad?”
Ian spun the pen in a circle as he considered Mickey’s question. Wasn’t he supposed to be trying to calmly talk his way out of here? Not sharing the sort of things that he normally even hid from Lip?
“No more than any other single parent,” Ian said slowly. “And its not like my other siblings don’t help out with Franny. My oldest sister raised all of us. She put her life on hold for us. So when Franny needed a guardian, I just couldn’t let it fall on Fiona. I’m not sure I’m not screwing Franny up, though.”
“Bet you don’t ask for help easily, either,” Mickey said quietly, eyes still studying Ian’s face.
Ian shrugged lightly at that, eyes on the Stargazer Lillies on the whiteboard instead of meeting Mickey’s eyes.
“My family is pretty big, too and I guess you could say my old man was a single parent. If you could call what he did parenting. He never really gave two shits about any of his kids unless we were bringing in money. Franny’s gonna be fine, ya know. Whatever you’re doing with her is surely already a thousand times better than what you or I had.”
“Yeah?” Ian lifted his attention back to Mickey, immediately interested in these peeks into Mickey’s past. “Well and look at you — you turned out great.”
Mickey huffed a laugh and Ian’s eyebrow rose as Mickey nervously thumbed the side of his nose.
“I was… maybe… a …”
“A what?”
Mickey laughed outright then. “I was a fucking hellion, but I promise it was just who I was as a person and had nothing to do with having a single parent. Completely different situation than you and Franny.”
Ian pursed his lips and frowned at Mickey. “I’m not sure that’s as reassuring as you’d like it to sound.” He tapped the end of the pen on the corner of the desk a few times and grinned, but before he could speak further, there was a popping sound from the pen.
Then Ian stared in horror at the blue ink that was now covering his hand, the corner of Mickey’s desk, and even one of the knees of his jeans.
“Fuck!” Ian jumped to his feet and stared down at the pen. “How does she even know how to do this?”
“Ian, wait—”
Ian spun away and began pacing in front of Mickey’s desk. “I am going to kill Carl!”
“Uh, Ian?”
“He’s the one who lets Franny google on his phone!”
“Ian.” Mickey was in front of him now.
Mickey’s hands were suddenly coming towards him and it was enough to earn Ian’s full attention as Mickey pulled Ian’s ink-covered hand away from his face.
“Your entire forehead is blue now,” Mickey laughed as he shook his head.
When had Ian even put his hand on his own forehead? Why did this sort of thing happen in front of Mickey?
Mickey kept Ian’s wrist within his grasp as he pulled Ian over to the sink and stuck his ink-covered hand under running water.
“Mickey, I’m so sorry,” Ian said. He pumped some soap onto his clean hand and began to scrub, but still angled himself towards Mickey. “I swear, I had no idea she —”
“Ian, its fine.”
Mickey swiped a paper towel under the running water and stepped in close to Ian so that he could dab at Ian’s forehead, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, even as his mouth was pulled into a small smirk.
“Someone told me,” Mickey started, “never underestimate Franny Gal—”
“You’re really cute,” Ian blurted out.
Mickey’s hand froze before he slowly lowered the already blue paper towel away from where he’d been cleaning Ian’s forehead. His eyebrows slowly rose in surprise.
But the smirk didn’t go anywhere, even as he said, “I am not fucking cute.”
Ian turned off the sink water and shook his hands a few times even as he kept himself angled towards Mickey. His eyes dropped to Mickey’s mouth for a moment.
“Really cute.”
Mickey sighed in pseudo frustration even as he leaned up and pressed his mouth to Ian’s. Ian’s eyes shut in pure relief and happiness. It’d been a long time since he’d kissed anyone, so the swooping sensation in his stomach caught him by surprise.
In the best way.
Ian’s hands went to Mickey’s neck, causing him to jerk slightly and Ian belatedly remembered that his hands were still wet.
“Sorry,” Ian whispered.
Mickey just shook his head in response as he crowded Ian against the sink.
Ian was still grinning, even as Mickey’s mouth chased after his moving lips as he spoke. “Your neck is turning blue.”
At that, Mickey’s hands moved off Ian’s hips, but still boxed him in as he gripped the edge of the sink instead. His head fell forward and landed on Ian’s shoulder, but Ian could still hear his laugh clearly.
“What?” Ian finally asked when Mickey continued to laugh instead of kissing him again.
Finally, Mickey lifted his head and met Ian’s eyes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before openly smiling at him.
Ian still wasn’t sure what was so funny, but he did know Mickey should smile more often.
“Your niece,” Mickey stated as he finally began to speak, “has used her creative license to turn my art room into a crime scene, glitter bombed my desk and clothes, graffitied the white board, held me hostage at this school by locking away my keys, and we just found her ink bomb.”
Ian could feel his face heat as he thought about each of those events. But then one of Mickey’s hands was sliding around his neck, pulling his face in close again.
“You think I’m going to be scared off by a little blue ink when her hot uncle is kissing me?”
“I really hope not,” Ian whispered as he slid his ink-covered hand up the side of Mickey’s face, giving him a cool blue streak.
Mickey shook his head slightly, as if irritated, but then pressed his face into Ian’s palm.
“Franny can be… a lot.” Ian blew out a breath. “But she’s still my number one girl. Part of the package.”
Mickey leaned in and this time kissed the end of Ian’s nose. Ian wanted to see the act as adorable and loving, but a small part of him wondered at the downgrade from mouth to nose. Before he could get too worried, Mickey released another laugh.
“I’ll have you know I really like your niece. She reminds me of me at that age.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Ian laughed.
Mickey cut him off as he claimed Ian’s mouth again for another kiss.
Ian pulled into a free spot next to Mickey’s motorcycle outside his apartment building and sent a quick text to let him know that he and Franny were waiting outside. They were picking Mickey up as their guest for the annual Gallagher family New Year’s Eve party.
Franny greeted Mickey cheerfully as he climbed in the car — the two of them had apparently come to some sort of understanding recently. The phone calls from the school principal prior to winter break had all focused on her antics in other classes, instead of art.
So, bonus bright side to dating the art teacher. But not a tactic he wanted to try with any of the other teachers.
They were sitting at a red light when something colorful caught Ian’s attention on a nearby building. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed as he focused on it — a large bouquet of blue Stargazer Lillies had been spray painted onto the building’s bricks. The style was extremely familiar…
He side-eyed Mickey and found Mickey looking straight ahead, small smirk on his face.
Ian dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel. “You said Franny reminds you of you?”
Mickey chuckled.
“What does that mean?” Franny asked from the backseat.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Ian muttered.
He sighed happily a moment later, though, when Mickey reached over and began to massage the back of his neck. The physical touch calmed him immediately, much like Franny’s hugs might anytime he was frustrated with her.
It was safe to say they both had him wrapped around their little fingers.
He was okay with that.