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They've been fighting since this morning, and Ian's had enough.
An off-handed comment about babysitting Franny later this week, and now they're yelling at each other in the kitchen about kids.
It isn't the first time the topic has come up, and Ian's been hinting at the fact a bit more often in these past few weeks, but Mickey just refuses to engage. Closes himself off, tries to change the topic, anything not to talk about kids.
And seriously, when married to a guy like Ian, how could Mickey have expected this to not come up eventually? The Gallaghers are the most "family-oriented" clan out there. Kids were bound to be brought up. But Mickey's perpetual refusal is grating on Ian's nerves, and today he just couldn't handle it anymore.
They've been doing better at communicating, but sometimes shit like this comes back up. Denials and push-backs against things they don't want to talk about. But Ian's had enough, okay? He just wants to talk to his husband about having their own family one day, is that so hard to ask? It's the logical next step in their lives, and Ian just wants to discuss it, even just a few minutes would do. Mickey's having none of it.
It doesn't help that the two of them really know how to get on each other's nerves. Over ten years of being in relationship will do that to people. So when the argument heats up, evolves into throwing around old grievances long since forgiven, petty insults and annoyances getting flung at each other from their respective positions on opposite sides of the living room, Ian snaps.
"I'm leaving," he says sharply. Mickey doesn't reply, just stands there. Probably holding back from swearing up another storm. Whatever. He feels the way that his face is heated with frustration, tension coiled along his body. It won't to either of them any good if they continue like this. It'll only cause more harm than good.
He doesn't look back, just heads towards the door. His head isn't in the right place to continue this conversation, and they've both been trying so hard not the be at each other's throats anymore. He just has to go calm down, and then they can keep talking. Just a small walk.
The door closes behind him with a click, and he heads towards the elevator.
He just needs to clear his head.
Ian doesn't even look at him as he leaves.
Ian doesn't even look at him as he leaves.
He feels the anger seep out of his body at such a rapid pace that he's left feeling cold. All of the fight leaves him in a rush, his shoulders slumping as the door closes with a horrible sense of finality.
How many times has Mickey been in this situation by now? How many times has he watched as Ian's left him behind because of something Mickey did or didn't do? Memories flash in his mind, of a whispered "don't" in his bedroom (not enough), a poorly concealed plea to wait (not enough), a desperate attempt for the last few steps across a border (not enough). Mickey had thought, once they got married, he had finally got it all. That nothing was going to separate them now, not when both their fingers were adorned with a silver ring, when they had the documents tucked away into a shoebox in the corner of the closet, when they founded their own business, when they got their own apartment.
Mickey thought that it would be enough. That he had finally given enough. That there couldn't possibly be any reason why the two wouldn't agree on whatever came next, even with minor hiccups along the way. This doesn't feel like a minor hiccup. This feels like another goddamn ultimatum, and Mickey isn't sure he can fucking budge on this one.
Didn't Ian understand why Mickey couldn't give him kids? Doesn't he get the fact that Mickey already has one, and it isn't like he's been father of the year for the past seven years?
Mickey tries very hard not to think about the kid he already has.
He gets that the situation is complicated, alright? That both he and Svetlana were both forced into it, that neither of them had the choice, that Svetlana had the rougher end of the deal by having the carry the fucking kid for nine months, that she didn't have the luxury of escaping the outcome of…what Terry did. Okay? He gets that. He also understands that he couldn't fucking look at the baby without his hands shaking, that he couldn't hold it without an insane fear and horrible urge to drop it, because he couldn't look at it without remembering what had happened that caused the baby to be born.
He still can't really think about the kid without a swell of nausea and misplaced anger. It isn't the kid's fault. He gets that now. It was Terry's, and only Terry's, fault. Svetlana was just as much as a victim as he was in the situation, even if she managed to hide the effects of what had happened much better. Mickey knows he treated her horribly, and knows that she had tried to build a tentative bridge with him, and that he had burned it down just as quick. He couldn't back then, he couldn't. He knows he could've done better. It doesn't change the fact that he didn't and hasn't since. He doesn't think he'll ever want to talk to them both ever again, and he doesn't know if he feels necessarily guilty about it, which just makes him feel guilty. And then he gets angry. The kid doesn't deserve that, and Svetlana doesn't either. So he doesn't.
And it isn't just the situation with Svetlana and the kid that messes him up, okay? Living in the kind of household he did, with the monster of a father that he had, it kind of knocks a few screws loose when it comes to thinking about offspring. What if he turns out like Terry? It's a thought that never leaves his mind. He spent most of his life trying to be the man Terry wanted him to be, acted just like him just to get a smattering of acceptance from the piece of shit, what if that never rubbed off? What if, deep down, Mickey is like Terry, and having a kid will only make that part of him come out? What if he hits them?
What if he can't control his anger, takes it out on the kid? Mickey's a pretty violent guy, and that fact might have calmed down in the years he and Ian have been together since prison, but it doesn't change the fact that Mickey's still violent. He's still a major prick most of the time to other people, can't stop swearing no matter how hard he tries, smokes like a chimney, drinks a hell of a lot more. He isn't exactly father material. So, what if?
Ian would be a good dad, though. A great dad. He's got the patience, the love, everything a kid would ever need for a dad. Sure, the man can be stubborn and sometimes too quick to make decisions, but he's got the heart for it. Probably has to do with all the siblings he helped raise. But Ian was always good with his…the kid too. It didn't matter how the kid was made, he still treated him like a baby. Something fragile, soft, deserving of care. Ian made everything a bit simpler back then, made it easier to breathe.
Hell, the only time Mickey had ever felt something other than sick when he saw the kid was when Ian had kidnapped him. Worry. He'd never felt that towards anyone else before. Ian made him do that.
So clearly, it was possible for Mickey to feel anything other than anger when it came to kids. Even dealing with the little Gallaghers wasn't awful, though, most of them were already toddlers or older when Mickey was in the picture. Liam was fun to hang around with.
So why can't Mickey budge on this? Why can't he give this to Ian, like he gave him everything else? What fucking mental block is making everything so fucking difficult?
He sits down heavily on their couch, burrows his head into his hands. His knee won't stop bouncing, his eyes staring unseeing at the carpeted floor.
What if this is enough to make Ian leave? For real, this time? What if this is something they can't work through? The idea seems insane, since they've been through so much worse together already, but for some reason, it fills Mickey with dread. Ian's always wanted kids. That much is obvious. If Mickey can't give it to him, will he leave? Will he find someone else, someone better, who can give that to him? Will he realize that he's wasting his time waiting around for Mickey, again, and leave for good? It makes Mickey's stomach churn with anxiety and fear.
He's gone. He's gone. Ian's already left the fucking apartment, didn't even look back, what if he just never comes home? He'd call, right? If he decided not to come home for the night? Or would this be another instance where Mickey's left waiting for someone that'll never come back? That he'll have to take the hint when the apartment stays empty, as days creep along, until he realizes that Ian wants him to leave?
He pulls at his hair until his scalp scream at him, his vision going suspiciously blurry at the thought. He can't have Ian leave again. He can't do it. But he can't give him what he wants this time. He can't. Even saying "maybe" to the guy doesn't seem like enough, 'cause Ian'll run with it until suddenly they're buying supplies and turning the extra room into a nursery, and suddenly breathing gets a little bit difficult. His chest feels tight, his hands feel cold, and he keeps tugging at his hair in a desperate attempt to calm the fuck. Down.
Ian has to come back, right?
The walk does exactly what Ian hoped it'd do.
The crisp air is refreshing as he strolls around the block, leaves drifting around on the sidewalk, as the colder autumn temperature descends on Chicago. He's calmer now, can think a bit clearer without the red haze of frustration. He'd overreacted, he knows, but he can't help but get…confused sometimes. He knows Mickey would be a great dad. He knows it! He's seen his husband with his younger siblings, with his niece, and he's fantastic! A bit rough around the edges, sure, but he always treats them with patience and his own brand of care.
A paper lunch bag for Liam when he's getting ready for school, playing with Franny and babysitting whenever possible, bonding with Carl over their shared love of anything involving a rush of adrenaline. He's also on pretty good terms with Debbie, helped her out a little when she was struggling with doing her taxes (which had made Ian laugh at the time, the idea of Mickey and Debbie sitting at a table and looking over tax papers. Until of course, he saw Mickey do math at lightning speed. Then he just wanted to take him home and show him that his competency really did it for Ian).
The point is, Mickey would be a great dad. To any kid. Ian's kind of got it in his head that they'd take in a kid from South Side, start off with experiences similar to their own upbringing. They'd be so good at it. And damn it, Ian really just wants to raise their own little family together. He wants that with Mickey, always has.
Even back when he was first manic, a time he really doesn't like to dwell on for too long, he loved raising Yevgeny with Mickey and Svetlana. They had a little family unit going on, sharing the responsibilities of caring for the little baby. Of course, it ended…horribly. It still makes Ian's gut twist with guilt, the potential danger that he put Yevgeny in. The worry he caused. He never got a chance to fix things, really.
But that's the thing. They took a horrible situation and made it into something good. Yevgeny's conception was traumatic for all of them, but they still made do with what they had, and it was at such a good point of his and Mickey's relationship that Ian can't help but to look back on it with a mix of nostalgia and fondness. The mania kind of tinges the edges of every memory, but still. It was good, if only for a little bit.
Which is why Ian can't understand why Mickey doesn't see it the same way he does. That they've kind of done this before, that they're older now, more mature, stable, have actual legal income, that they can do it all again, but better.
So he pushes. Because Ian knows from experience that Mickey needs a little push sometimes. He does it far less than he used to, because he knows his husband better now and he understands that sometimes Mickey just needs time to adjust to things. But he can't help pushing on this, just a little. Maybe Mickey just has to shift his perspective, maybe he just has to be shown that it while it's scary and new, it's also exciting and another step for them to take.
When Mickey pushes back, that's when Ian has a little more trouble. Because he's always been stubborn, the special Gallagher kind at that, and he never backs down when it comes to Mickey. It's practically been like that the entire course of their relationship. Ian pushes, Mickey shoves back, Ian pushes a little harder, Mickey caves.
Ian won't say he doesn't regret the way he pushed, back then. His recklessness and impatience had clashed many times with Mickey's own brand of stubborn. Mickey shouldn't have been forced to come out in front of his entire homophobic family and gotten the shit kicked out of him, but he still came out. It changed his life, both their lives. It got them to where they are now. And who would've thought that the two of them would get out of South Side, get married, get their own place? Again, Ian signing the lease without Mickey was a mistake, he'll admit that he should've waited for Mickey to get used to the idea. But, still. Push and shove.
Ian's better at being patient now. This was just a small hiccup. He and Mickey have always managed to get under each other's skin in ways no one else could. They know what words to say to hurt, which Ian wishes wasn't the case. He shouldn't have lost his cool, he knows better than that. They've been through worse, though, and they'll get through this too.
He should apologize to Mickey for getting frustrated. A little peace offering. Maybe he can stop by that cafe two blocks down, get them both a coffee and a little something for Mickey's sweet tooth. It shouldn't take him too long, he's only been out for a little over an hour.
Then, when he gets back, they can talk a bit and maybe watch a movie. It's a bit overcast outside, there'll probably be rain later tonight, so they can get cozy under their blankets on the couch and binge-watch horror movies. Shelf the kid conversation for another day.
Ian nods to himself. Good plan. He'll be home in thirty minutes, tops.
Ian's been gone for two hours, and Mickey thinks he's going to throw up.
Where could he have possibly gone for it to take this long to come home? He hasn't gotten any texts, any calls, nothing. He's pacing around the living room, periodically sinking onto the couch and staring off into space, before jumping up and trying to shake away the persistent feeling of his skin crawling.
He can't actually be gone, right?
No. Ian wouldn't do that to him. He said he'd stay this time. They're married, for fuck's sake. They say "I love you" every morning and every night. Sickness and in health. Ian'll come home.
…Right?
His hands won't stop fucking shaking.
Where the hell is Ian? Where is he? He went on a walk to "clear his head," what walk takes two fucking hours?
He takes out his phone, hands still shaking, and opens Ian's contact. It takes him three tries to send "where r u," and when Ian doesn't answer within thirty seconds he throws his phone onto the couch and grips at his hair again.
He can't do it. He can't do kids, he can't. Just the thought makes him feel nauseous, makes his stomach twist and turn and try to escape out of his throat. He can still smell her perfum. He can still feel the blood dripping down his face. He hears the baby crying at night and he feels the judgmental stare as he does nothing to help. He tastes the booze he drank to get through the day, tastes the ash of three packs of cigs he had to smoke to keep from exploding. He can't, he can't, he can't.
He can't give this to Ian. The full realization makes him freeze. He can't give this to Ian. He's given everything, everything, to Ian. All that he is. But he can't do this. It feels like the floor drops out from under him.
God, he's stupid. He's so stupid. Ian wants kids. He's always wanted kids. Why did Mickey think he could get married to the guy and avoid it? Why did he think he would be able to push through and do it, for Ian? He can't. His chest feels tight, every breath feels like it's coming through a straw.
Ian's going to leave him. He's going to leave again, because Mickey can't do it, can't give this to him, and he's going to leave and never look back and he's going to wonder why he even gave Mickey the time of fucking day.
He's not coming home. He isn't coming home. He's probably out there, thinking about fucking…divorce papers or something.
His scalp is screaming at him, strands of hair pulled to the max, his temples are pounding, his heart is racing so hard he could probably see the skin jump with each beat, his fingers feel numb.
Ian's going to leave me.
Okay, so the cafe took a bit longer than he expected. He probably should've expected them to be busy around lunch time, but he didn't realize just how popular the place actually was. It'll give Mickey some extra time to cool off. After a twenty minute wait in line (twenty minutes! Insane), he managed to grab two coffees (2 milk and sugar for Mickey, 1 milk for Ian) and an extra chocolate chip muffin for his husband.
He was right, it did start to rain on his way back to the apartment. He was hoping to beat it, but whatever. The things he does for love. Thankfully, it was only a few spits of rain as he sped his leisurely stroll into a faster-paced walk, but by the time he actually got in the building, the rain was coming down full force. He jogs up the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, and heads towards their apartment.
"I'm back," he calls out as he enters, tone a bit tentative. He hopes the alone time did them both some good. He doesn't want to come back and have another fight. Isn't it better to take some time to cool down separately? He thinks he read that somewhere, once.
"I brought you back a-" he starts, before stopping near the front of the living room.
Mickey's sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, and shaking. Ian can see the way he's gripping his hair, knuckles white with the force. He doesn't seem to have heard Ian come inside. He quickly sets down the coffee and muffin on the kitchen counter, droplets spilling through the top of the paper cups and landing on the floor. He doesn't dwell on it, rushes over towards Mickey and kneels in front of him.
"Mick, hey," he says, concerned, hand hovering above his knee. He doesn't touch, not yet, not until he knows Mickey's aware of his presence. Up close, he can hear how Mickey's breathing quicker than normal, a slight wheeze on the inhale, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Mickey's head snaps up, eyes a bit wild. He seems surprised that Ian's in front of him, blinking multiple times in quick succession before one hand reaches forward and clings onto Ian's forearm, tight enough to hurt a little.
"Ian," is all Mickey says, and seems unable to finish. It sounds choked up, like he had to force the word from his throat.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," he gently wraps his other hand around Mickey's wrist, rubs his thumb along the inside. "It's okay."
Mickey's grip tightens briefly, and his head ducks back down, other hand tugging at his hair again.
"Hey, no, none of that," Ian says, concern ratcheting up. Mickey's scared about something. He never sees Mickey scared. "Gimme your hand."
When Mickey doesn't provide him with an answer, he gently grabs onto the hand clutching at his hair and carefully tries to pry the grip off. The pain can only be making things worse for him in this mindset. It takes a second, but eventually Mickey's grip loosens enough for Ian to interlock their fingers and place them next to Mickey's hip.
"Hey," Ian murmurs gingerly, as Mickey's breathing calms down gradually the longer they sit together, "you're okay."
Mickey still isn't looking at him, which isn't preferred, but not exactly unexpected. He probably didn't want to be seen like this, vulnerable on their couch. It doesn't matter how many years pass, Mickey still has trouble showing any signs of weakness (not that being scared is equivalent to being weak, but his husband doesn't really seem to understand that). Ian lets him sit quietly for a moment, lightly squeezing their joined hands periodically to remind him that he's here, his other hand wrapping around Mickey's forearm in kind, strokes along the soft skin, ignores the nails digging into his own forearm.
"What happened, hm?" He asks, trying to duck down and meet Mickey's gaze. "What's wrong?"
Did the fight impact him this much? Ian feels a surge of guilt rush through him. He shouldn't have left, wouldn't have if he'd had known Mickey would be freaking out on his own.
"You left," Mickey chokes out, and Ian can tell he's trying to sound angry and unattached, but it seems as though he doesn't have the energy.
"Yeah," Ian says, a bit confused, "but it was just to cool off. I wanted us to calm down."
"You left," Mickey repeats, eyes staying glued to Ian's chin instead of looking directly at him.
"Mickey, hey," Ian's concern grows. He didn't actually think he'd leave for good, did he?
"Fuck," Mickey breathes out, like he didn't hear Ian at all. "You're leaving."
"Woah, woah, woah," Ian says, a bit frantic now. "Who said that? I'm not going anywhere."
"I can't-" Mickey his hands tighten again, expression pinching. It makes Ian's heart clench in his chest when Mickey swallows thickly, his eyes going a little red at the waterline.
"Can't what?" Ian asks. "I'm sorry for yelling earlier, if that's it. I didn't mean to."
His guilt is ramping up eleven-fold now. He should've cleared things up before he left. Mickey's been home stewing in this for two hours, while Ian's been out and about getting a fucking muffin. They've been doing so much better at communicating, so much better at talking about things healthily, he shouldn't have left—
"I can't give this to you!" Mickey yells out, wide and frenzied eyes finally meeting Ian's.
What?
Mickey looks at him pleadingly, and Ian can only stare back, eyes similarly wide in surprise. What's he talking about? Can't give him what? And why would he leave because of it?
"I can't-" Mickey gasps out harshly, "I can't do it, Ian! I really fuckin'-"
Mickey's hand wrenches out of Ian's, and he runs it through his hair, making him look even more disheveled.
"Kids," Mickey near-whispers, and if it were anyone else they would've thought he was angry, but Ian knows him. Knows that this isn't anger, it's fear. It's like a dam breaks, and Mickey starts to ramble.
"I can't do kids, man, I really can't, and I know you want them real fuckin' bad and you keep gettin' frustrated that I won't fuckin' talk about 'em but I just can't do it!"
He looks at Ian, but he can't think of anything to say, can't think of a way to comfort his own fucking husband-
"And, I- I know you're gonna get fed up with me," Mickey seethes, but he only really seems angry at himself, "'Cause I can't give this to you, but believe me, man, I really fuckin' tried, okay? I keep fuckin' thinkin' about it 'cause I know you want them so bad but I can't do it without wanting to throw somethin' at a wall and you're goin' to fuckin' leave again—"
"Hey," Ian interrupts, finally kicking himself into gear, placing his hand on Mickey's knee and rubbing his thumb back and forth, "slow down, Mick. I'm not leaving, okay? I'm not," he insists, when Mickey just scoffs out self-depricatingly. "How long have you been thinkin' about this?"
"Since fuckin'…" Mickey seems to be at a loss, for a second. "I don't fuckin' know, since you brought it up the first time. With Freddy."
"That long?" Ian asks, surprise tinging his tone. That had been months ago now, an off-handed comment about having their own kids when they had been babysitting the youngest Gallagher baby.
"And then you kept…hintin' at it. Whenever we babysit or see kids on their way home from school or whatever. But I can't, Ian, I just-"
"Okay, okay" Ian shushes when it seems like Mickey's just going to amp himself up again, "I'm sorry for pushing, Mick, I really am."
And he is. He hadn't realized just how much of an impact it was having on Mickey, he just thought it was another thing Mickey wanted but thought he couldn't have. He never would've…fuck, he feels his throat go tight. He pushed too hard this time.
"It's just-" Mickey cuts himself off, presses his lips together. "The kid-" he can't seem to finish his sentence, huffs angrily at himself.
"The kid?" Ian prompts.
"Like…" Mickey hems and haws, "y'know I already- fuck!" He yells out, frustration clear. Realization dawns on Ian, then.
"Yevgeny?" He asks, tentative. The two of them haven't talked about Yevgeny in a long while, even if Ian thinks about him fairly often.
"Yeah," Mickey says, tightly.
"What about him?" He doesn't want to push, not if Mickey doesn't want to. The topic's always been sensitive for his husband.
"I-" Mickey starts, stops. Ian doesn't mind, he'll wait as long as Mickey needs. "Y'know I'm a piece of shit dad, right?"
"What?"
"Like, I'm not even in the kid's life, don't want to be, barely cared about him when we lived in the same fuckin' house," Mickey goes on, gaze distant. "I couldn't even hold him without wanting to," he winces, "like…throw him or somethin'. I couldn't do it, man."
He looks at him, tension in every line of his body. "What if that happens again? What if I can never look at our own kid and just…" he swallows, "What if I hit it? Not like I really had a good role model."
He scoffs, but it sounds a bit wet. "I looked that shit up y'know. Turns out kids who grew up like I did are more likely to hit their own rugrats, so."
"Mickey…" Ian doesn't know what to say. What can he say? He can't tell Mickey that he's wrong. Because he isn't, as much as the reality of it makes Ian's stomach churn.
"I'm a deadbeat, man," Mickey tries to keep his voice steady, but it wobbles dangerously. "And I can't fuckin' give you any kids, and I want to, but I just—I can't-" his voice breaks, and his face crumples, and Ian can't take it anymore.
He grabs Mickey and drags him into a bone-crushing hug, tucks his husband's face into the crook of his neck and holds him tight. His heart feels like it's being crushed, his throat tight to the point of pain, the tell-tale sting behind his eyes making itself known. Has Mickey been feeling like this the entire time? How had he missed it? Ian prides himself on being the only person who truly understands Mickey, but he missed this. He didn't realize he was making things worse by pushing the topic. Fuck. It hits him then, like a physical blow to the chest, that Mickey actually thought he'd leave him because of this. That Mickey not wanting kids would be enough for him to…Fuck.
"Mick," he chokes out, squeezing his husband as he shakes in his arms, "you have to know that this wouldn't make me leave, right?"
At Mickey's silence, he tightens his hold even further before pulling away slightly to look Mickey in the eyes. He can't help the desperation in his tone. "You know that, right?"
"Fuck," he says thickly when Mickey just shrugs and looks down to his lap. "Mick, I swear, I wouldn't do that to you, I promised I wouldn't leave again."
"I can't give this to you," Mickey whispers hoarsely. "Not this."
Ian gently cups Mickey's cheeks, ignores the tears reflected in both their eyes. "Mickey," he says, like a plea, "I love you more than any potential kids."
He swipes at the soft skin under Mickey's eyes. "I'm not gonna lie, okay? I want kids," he shakes his head at Mickey's sharp inhale, the way he tries to pull away. "No, stop. Of course I want kids with you, I love you, I want to watch babies grow up and act like you, say things you say, do the little eyebrow scrunch you do, okay? I've always wanted that."
He swallows, but steels his expression. "But, fuck, Mick. I love you more than kids that don't even exist. I want you, always. If you don't want kids, we won't have any, okay? I love you more than that."
"But-" Mickey tries to interrupt, grips at Ian's wrists.
"No buts," Ian says. "If you can't do it, you can't do it. I'm never going to force you into something you don't want."
He gives Mickey a watery but genuine smile. "I'm so sorry I made you feel like it was somethin' I wouldn't budge on. It isn't and never has been a ultimatum, Mick."
He leans forward, presses their foreheads together.
"Are you sure?" Mickey asks, and Ian can't help but huff out a small laugh.
"I'm sure," he says, kisses him gently. "We're awesome uncles anyways."
Mickey laughs at that, the first time, it feels, since today has started. "With the way your fuckin' family is, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a hundred more kids."
"Mm-hm," Ian hums, smiles and leans away to look at his husband fondly. "We'll be up to our ears in babysittin'."
Mickey returns a small smile, still a bit hesitant. "You're really sure about this?"
"I'm sure," Ian replies, tries to put as much sincerity into his tone as possible.
Mickey bites at his lip, thumbs at his eyebrow. "Is 'maybe' okay? I don't wanna fuckin'…lead you on or whatever, but…"
"'Maybe' is fine," Ian nods. "But I don't care if we never have kids, Mick. Promise. I'm just as happy babysitting for the rest of our lives, too."
"Well, Jesus, maybe not our entire lives," Mickey says, and Ian smiles at the humour bleeding back into Mickey's tone. "We need some time for ourselves too."
"What, don't want little Gallaghers runnin' around the apartment all day every day?" He jokes, laughs when Mickey shoves at his shoulder.
"I can barely deal with your fuckin' ass all day every day," Mickey rolls his eyes, and Ian knows he's so full of shit.
"I love you," he says, and Mickey smiles, leans in to kiss him.
"Love you too," he replies, pats Ian's cheek.
"We gotta talk more about this kinda stuff, though," Ian warns. "We can't have shit like this happen again."
Mickey groans and leans back against the couch, covers his face with his arm. "Hell no," he says, with faux annoyance, "that shit takes it out of me. I'm never doin' that shit ever again."
Ian gets up, his knees creaking in protest after sitting for so long on the floor, and plops himself down next to his husband. "Nuh uh," he says, pokes at Mickey's side and dodges the elbow aimed at his side in retaliation, "but that's enough for today. I'm exhausted."
"Movie night?" Mickey asks.
"Movie night," Ian confirms, and wraps an arm around Mickey's shoulders while his husband digs the remote out from between the couch cushions.
They're far from being perfect, but who was expecting perfection anyways? Marriage and shit takes effort, and sometimes there are rough patches. But considering where they started? Ian's proud with how much they improved. They talk now, way better than before, but things like this still happen. They just have to work harder not to let things fester, anymore. Communicate better. Let each other know when things are bothering them.
But what it all really comes down to at the end of the day, is that they both love each other enough to stick through the hard parts now. That they won't leave, that they'll work through everything life throws at them and come out stronger for it. Which is cheesy, and Ian knows Mickey would make fun of him for thinking it, but it's true. It takes two, and thankfully, him and Mickey are so closely intertwined that he doesn't think anything would be strong enough to pull them apart.
He kisses the top of Mickey's head.
He's got everything he needs, right here.