Chapter Text
When Ian really takes the time to think about it, it started back when him and Mickey were kids. Elementary school to be exact.
His earliest memory of it is one from the first grade, but a part of him thinks it could have happened even earlier than that, and he just doesn’t remember it.
Knowing Mickey, it likely did.
Ian had fallen victim to an unforgiving stomach bug, and even though he was in no position to be in school, he had been forced to spend the day surrounded by his peers, suffering in silence.
He had done pretty well for the majority of the day. His nausea was brutal, but his 7-year-old self hadn’t been able to find the words to describe it to any nearby adult.
Getting through the first half of the day was a hard task.
Where he would usually enjoy sitting in the front of any class, that day he had opted for a seat in the back corner of the room, hoping that no one would notice the fact that he kept taking slow measured breaths, and swallowing thickly.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that he realized his grave mistake of trying to brave school in the first place. One whiff of the cafeteria’s attempt at sloppy joe, and he was running to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth and his stomach churning.
Thankfully, a teacher had seen his quick dart from the cafeteria, and had been kind enough to walk him to the nurse’s office.
Once inside, she had sat him down in a plastic chair against the wall and told him to hold tight until the nurse could make a call home and someone could come pick him up.
He wasn’t sure who that was going to be.
Monica and Frank had been missing for 3 whole days now.
He didn’t recognize the teacher, and she didn’t recognize him, so he didn’t make any effort to share the fact that he had 2 older siblings in the school too.
Once she was sure Ian wasn’t going to be sick again, she had ducked out of the nurse’s office, leaving Ian alone.
The silence of the waiting area he was in was nice. It was a contrast to every other area of the school and definitely a contrast to his life at home.
If he was being honest, he didn’t think his house was ever quiet. Even in the dead of the night, there was always a tv on, or the hum of the water heater that seemed to only work when it felt like it.
Even though he still felt sick, he found himself relaxed as he slumped against this chair, his hand clutched over his abdomen and his eyes closed.
With his eyes closed, he hadn’t realized that someone was opening the door to the nurse’s office and had almost jumped out of his chair when he heard the door creak.
Opening his eyes, he was met with a then 9-year-old Mickey.
Despite his nausea, he had sat up quickly, looking at the older boy as he took the seat next to him.
There was a cut on Mickey’s face. A long gash that went almost down his entire cheek.
It had looked painful, and Ian knew if anything like that had happened to him, he likely would have been crying. Being sick was already reason enough for him to be teary, he couldn’t imagine having a cut on his face like that and not wailing about it.
But, Mickey wasn’t crying, if anything he looked as angry as 9-year-old could get.
He sat next to Ian with his bookbag at his feet and a scowl on his face.
He must have noticed that Ian was staring at him, because he eventually spoke up.
“What are you staring at? Never seen blood before?”
Ian swallowed. He didn’t think he was being that obvious with his inspection of Mickey’s injury.
“Looks like it hurts,” he had said quietly.
Mickey hadn’t known how to respond to that, and just gave him a curt nod, hoping that would nix anything else Ian had to say.
In the moment, he wasn’t sure what had compelled him to voice his own curiosity, but he raised his eyebrow and looked at Ian skeptically.
“What are you here for? You look fine.”
Ian hadn’t had any scrapes or bruises, and Mickey didn’t notice any blood or vomit on him, so he couldn’t understand why Ian was in the nurse’s office with him.
“Threw up. I’ve been sick all week,” Ian told him.
Mickey’s face had gone soft. Any hint of his scowl had been replaced with what Ian recognized as a face of kindness.
“That sucks,” Mickey had simply said.
“Yeah,” Ian had agreed.
10 minutes had gone by, and the nurse still hadn’t been out to see them. Ian was almost sure she had forgotten about him, but he didn’t want to chance being sick again in class, so he just waited patiently.
Mickey wasn’t so patient, and after 15 minutes of no one coming to see why he was there in the first place he had stood up.
“This blows,” Mickey complained, “Don’t know why I got sent here anyway, it’s just a cut,” he had mumbled under his breath. He threw his backpack on his shoulder before placing his hand on the doorknob and twisting.
Ian had been watching him the whole time as he got ready to leave, but instead of immediately walking out of the nurse’s office Mickey had hesitated for a second and turned back to look at Ian.
He looked like he was thinking about something, but Ian hadn’t been brave enough to ask about it, and just started back at Mickey.
It was as if something clicked for Mickey, and he stopped whatever contemplating he was doing. He unzipped his backpack, rummaging around in it for a second before finding what he was looking for.
“Here, take this,” he had mumbled, passing Ian a smushed PB&J sandwich.
Ian wasn’t sure why Mickey would be passing him a sandwich when he had just told him he had thrown up, but he took the sandwich, offering Mickey a small smile in return.
“Thanks,” he had said easily.
Mickey had nodded, looking toward the floor.
“Don’t mention it.”
+
Years later, they found themselves much more than two kids forced to sit next to each other in the nurse’s office.
They had found themselves having a friendship. One that Ian knew was special.
His days were long, and even though he was exhausted after finishing a day of school and hours of ROTC training, once he stepped foot into the Kash & Grab he felt himself perk up with a newfound energy.
Mickey had tended to do that to him. He likely had no clue of this power, but Ian had long since convinced himself that Mickey acted as some type of recharge for him just by simply existing.
“You look tired as shit,” Mickey had greeted him. He looked up from the magazine he had been reading behind the counter and took inventory of Ian’s slow pace and sunken in features.
“Long day,” Ian had said. “Give me my seat back.”
Mickey took the order without any pushback, getting up from Ian’s claimed stool and opting to stand at the other side of the counter.
The magazine he had been reading was interesting, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on the words in front of him, because he kept looking up at Ian who was slowly counting money in the register.
He thought his glances were sly, but Ian had eventually caught him in the act, and had raised his eyebrow suggestively.
“I look good?”
Mickey rolled his eyes, looking back to his copy of US Weekly.
“Fuck off.”
And Ian did. He didn’t bother Mickey any more, and didn’t make any comment about the looks he could feel Mickey shooting his way.
A few customers came in, and Ian begrudgingly completed their transactions, before leaning down onto the countertop with his head in his hands.
He was close to falling asleep just like that, but soon jerked out of his semi-conscious state when Mickey knocked on the counter with his fist.
Ian had to blink to get his bearings, and was a little confused as to what Mickey had woken him up for.
“Ring me up?” Mickey had asked him, pushing over a bag of plain Lays chips so Ian could scan them.
That only confused Ian more.
Mickey never paid for anything he ate on the clock. Ian tried time and time again to convince him it was the right thing to do, no matter how he felt about Kash, but Mickey never budged.
“Just eat them,” Ian had said, not really feeling like dealing with the register.
Mickey’s mind was already made up. He had already pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and fished out a 5$ bill to give to Ian.
“Just take the money,” Mickey had breathed out, his voice suddenly frustrated.
Ian looked at him incredulously, but he did what he was told and scanned the chips before taking Mickey’s cash and giving him back his change.
Mickey opened the bag not even a second later, but instead of him taking any of the chips out of the bag, he turned it toward Ian.
“Here,” he voiced, when Ian didn’t automatically take the hint and eat one.
Ian’s face screwed up.
“What?”
Mickey blinked. He pushed the bag closer to Ian.
“Here, have some.”
Ian looked at him for a second, trying to read his face and see if there was something there that he was missing. All he had been met with was a look that he knew was one of care.
For good measure, he took a handful of the chips, tossing them into his mouth and playing up how good the salty snack tasted.
“Forgot how good chips can be, when they aren’t stale,” he had praised.
Mickey had tried to hide his satisfied grin.
“It’s good shit,” he had agreed, even though he hadn’t had one.
+
Being married to Mickey was never something Ian had foreseen actually happening.
It was an unvoiced wish that lived in his heart for years, but with the way everything had gone down between them, he couldn’t ever see life being kind enough to him to let it actually come true.
Finding himself married to Mickey was the one thing he still couldn’t completely wrap his head around. He had long accepted a lot of things in his life, both good and bad, but being married to Mickey was something he still found himself constantly pinching himself over.
He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he knew he was thankful for it.
Living in the apartment together came with a sense of domesticity that they both got used to easily.
Even with all the grumbling Mickey still did about yuppie neighbors and overpriced groceries, Ian knew he was happy with the change.
He knew Mickey enjoyed the easygoing nature of their days and the freedom that came with having their own apartment.
Sometimes, he would purposely stay out just a bit longer on his morning jogs, giving his husband just a little bit more time to relish in the silence of the apartment, and positive alone time he never got to have growing up.
Coming back to the apartment, Ian was sweaty and hungry. He had full plans to shower, and then make both him and Mickey a full breakfast. But, when he unlocked the door, he was met with the smell of bacon frying and the sounds of Mickey puttering around the kitchen.
“Took you long enough,” Mickey had called out over his shoulder. He was in the middle of flipping a pancake, and even though he didn’t want to miscalculate and ruin breakfast, he still wanted to get a good look at his husband.
“It’s a nice day,” Ian had answered quickly, coming over to press a kiss to the back of Mickey’s ear.
“You stink,” Mickey had complained, but he had relaxed against Ian, and taken it upon himself to take his right hand and press it to Ian’s hip, urging him to stay close.
“I was gonna come in and shower and then make us breakfast. You beat me to it.”
Mickey shrugged. He clicked the burner off before turning around so that he was chest to chest with Ian.
“Eat first and shower later,” Mickey had instructed him.
Ian narrowed his eyes. Mickey had just complained about his smell.
“I reek,” he said, “I’ll be quick, it’ll still be hot when I get out.”
He had expected Mickey to take that as a sufficient answer, but Mickey had only bit his lip and looked at Ian as if he was waiting for him to catch on to some unspoken rule.
Ian nodded slowly.
“Or, I could eat now and be smelly just a few minutes longer?”
Mickey liked the sound of that. He made himself busy by fixing Ian a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon strips.
Once he sat it down in front of Ian who was now sitting in a bar stool at the counter, Ian chucked lightly.
“Jesus, Mick. I’m not training for a marathon,” he said, taking note of just how much food Mickey had given him.
Mickey shrugged, going back to the stove, and making his own plate.
“Thank you,” Ian had spoken, once Mickey had come to stand across from him. “Looks delicious.”
“Eat up then,” Mickey had instructed even though he still hadn’t made any effort to touch his own food.
Ian listened to his plea, taking his knife, and cutting into his pancake. He swallowed down the bite with a pleased smile on his face and noticed the Mickey was smiling too.
“Happy?” He teased, but Mickey hadn’t seemed to be in a playful mood. The smile on his face was genuine, but his answer didn’t have that same teasing tone as Ian.
“Yeah, I am.”
+
With all the big moments they have as a married couple, they never plan for Franny’s graduation from high school to be one of the major events for them.
Watching her grow up over the years was one thing, but seeing her graduate high school with honors, had Ian and Mickey both swelled with a shared pride that was almost overpowering.
“We’re old as shit,” Mickey had said as they drove down the highway toward the venue he had helped Debbie snag for Franny’s party.
“I know. Everything’s happening so fast,” Ian agreed.
“Feels good, though. Every day is just proof that we made it out.”
Once they arrived to the venue, they had found themselves separated from each other.
Franny had made a lot of friends throughout the years, and between everyone she had invited and everyone Debbie had invited; it was easy for Mickey and Ian to both find themselves socializing.
Franny had been introducing Mickey to who she claimed was just a friend, but Mickey quickly recognized the look in her eye when she looked at Sage and knew it was likely more than that.
Even with the attention he was giving his conversation with the two new graduates, he still found himself eyeing Ian who was across the room talking with Lip.
He let the conversation go on for a while, but soon excused himself and left Franny and Sage to continue exchanging heart eyes with each other.
Debbie had done a pretty good job with finding catering, and Mickey was pleased to see that she had taken his advice and stuck with handheld foods that wouldn’t require utensils.
With as grown up as the family had become over the years, the party was still for a bunch of teenagers, so Mickey ultimately found himself making a plate that consisted of a cheeseburger slider and a few French fries.
He thought he was being subtle with his approach to Ian, but as soon as he was about a foot away, Ian turned his attention away from Lip and gestured for Mickey to speed up his walk.
“I’m coming,” Mickey had said, feeling that familiar pain in his left leg.
Ian must have noticed his slight limp because he frowned and reached his arm out.
“C’mere,” he had said, taking the plate from Mickey and pulling him in so that he could rest comfortably under Ian’s arm.
“Shit never hurt when I got shot, years later and it starts acting up,” Mickey complained.
Ian pressed a sympathetic kiss to the top of his head.
He hated these small reminders of their past.
“You wanna go sit down?” He asked.
Mickey shook his head.
“Nah, man. Came over here to bring you this,” Mickey told him, pointing to the plate that Ian had taken out of his hand without any thought.
Surprise washed over Ian’s face, despite how often Mickey had done the gesture.
“Oh thanks. I was getting hungry,”
He took a fry and popped it into his mouth, before tilting the plate toward Mickey and offering him some.
Mickey was hungry himself, and took the offered food. Once he swallowed it down, he looked back up at Ian who was mesmerized by the crowd of kids running to the dance floor.
There was a fond look on his face and Mickey could tell he was getting a bit emotional.
“You okay?” He asked softly.
Ian nodded, clearing his throat, and popping another fry into his mouth.
“I’m good, It’s all just really surreal you know? We’ve all come a long way.”
Mickey couldn’t help but agree with that. There were still times where he thought life was too good to be true.
Too good to be his own.
“I’m proud of all of us,” he shared with Ian, “Nobody would have thought all of us would have lasted this long. There’s a whole new Gallagher generation taking over now,” Mickey said with a snort.
Ian laughed lightly at that.
“The world better watch out.”
+
The years are kind to both of them, and the only signs they show of any major aging are the grey that’s now peppered into Mickey’s hair, and the full-time limp that he sports. Ian’s a bit slower on his feet too, but that’s only because he’s gained some weight in his old age and there’s more pressure on his back.
He’s insecure about it, but Mickey still is just as eager for him as ever.
They spend their days together, attached at the hip just like they were in their golden years.
Ian’s always appreciated their quiet time together, but as they’ve gotten older, he’s really started to treasure it because he knows it won’t last forever.
Sunday nights have been their official movie night for years now.
Ian isn’t sure when they started the tradition, but they’ve kept it up for so long that he thinks it might have always been a thing.
“Rewatch or something new?” Mickey asks, scrolling through the options they’ve got downloaded to the TV.
“Rewatch. I don’t wanna have to pay too much attention,” Ian answers.
He notices that Mickey’s squinting at the screen, and sighs because he knows it’s only going to give him a headache later.
Mickey should know this is coming, because it happens every week.
Ian takes the remote out of Mickey’s hand wordlessly and continues scrolling through the list that he knows his husband is having trouble reading.
“How about a classic?” He says, hovering over Double Impact.
Mickey gives him a knowing smile, snuggling back into the couch and resting his arm across the back of it so Ian can relax against him.
About twenty minutes into the movie, Mickey’s stomach growls, and he reluctantly detaches himself from Ian, going toward the kitchen in search of a snack.
He comes back to the couch with a bowl of chocolate ice cream in his hand. It’s covered in chocolate syrup and sprinkles. He knows his stomach will torture him later for it, but in the moment it looks delicious.
Ian’s likely to decline his offer, but he still leans the bowl into his lap, offering him the spoon and motioning for him to have some of the dessert.
Ian takes him by surprise and takes the spoon out of his hand, not looking away from the screen of the TV. He spoons some of the ice cream into his mouth, and Mickey has to look away from him because he’s smiling so hard just looking at his husband enjoying a sugary snack without any guilt.
He doesn’t make any comment when the bowl is almost empty, and he still has only had that one bite.
It makes him happier than he’ll ever be able to say out loud.
+1
When Mickey was younger, he narrowed his life down to two options. He was either going to die young, or he was going to live to see himself turn into Terry. There wasn’t much room for any other options.
Now that he’s officially made it to 70, he’s happy that neither have been the case.
He’s lived a full life. One that’s been filled with light and laughter. A life that’s been full of love from so many different angles, sometimes he feels like he’s drowning in it.
Things have changed over the years. Everyone’s gotten older and life has considerably slowed down, but him and Ian have remained a solid unit.
He falls more in love with the man beside as the days go on.
“You’re staring at me again,” Ian notes.
They’ve taken to sitting out on their front porch together every morning.
Mickey never thought he would be one to enjoy catching an early sunrise, but the stillness that comes along with it is something he’s grateful for.
These moments with Ian are everything to him.
“So what?” Mickey says, pulling Ian in by the shoulders and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
They’ve gotten older, and their bodies have changed, but Ian’s orange curls are still as vibrant as ever.
“We’re supposed to be looking at the sun, Mick” Ian points out.
“I am,” Mickey shoots back instantly.
He might have lost some of his mobility, but his quick whit is nowhere near gone.
Ian settles back against Mickey. He can still feel Mickey’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t make any comment on it and just soaks in the feeling of his husband beside him.
Eventually, Mickey breaks the silence.
“You want me to make breakfast?” He asks.
He’s not hungry himself, but if Ian is, then he’ll find his way to the kitchen in a second.
Ian shakes his head.
“I’m okay. Just want to be here with you.”
Mickey accepts that answer, but he still says, “You gonna tell me if you get hungry?”
Ian nods, giving Mickey an affirmatory hum in agreement.
There’s a question that’s been on his tongue for a while now, but he hasn’t found the right way to ask it.
He figures on a quiet morning like this, when Mickey’s unguarded and relaxed, he’s likely to be honest with him.
“Hey Mick?” He murmurs, looking up at his husband.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
Ian snorts.
“Can I ask you something else?” he asks. But before Mickey can offer any retort, he changes his phrasing. “I’m going to ask you something,” he warns.
“I’m all ears, man.” Mickey says, watching as the sun starts to poke through the clouds.
“Do you remember when we were kids? That day in the nurse’s office, you gave me your pb&j even though I told you I had just thrown up?”
Mickey wasn’t expecting him to bring that up.
Those memories feel so distant now, he hates that they’re starting to get hazy.
“Yeah, I remember something like that.”
“Why did you do that?” Ian presses.
Mickey shrugs.
“Don’t know.”
Ian looks back up to him. He knows his husband isn’t being honest.
“You do,” he says gently.
In the moment Mickey hadn’t known why he did it, but looking back on it as full-grown adult, he can see his motives for what they truly were.
“Didn’t want you to be hungry,” he says easily.
As if it’s the simplest answer in the world.
As if it doesn’t hold weight that Ian feels.
Ian swallows.
“You probably were hungry, too.”
Mickey shrugs.
He spent a lot of time as a kid hungry, that was almost a normal state for him. That didn’t mean he was going to sit and let Ian suffer just like he had, not if he could do something to help it.
“So what?”
Ian’s quiet then.
He’s known and loved this man for so long, but he still can’t believe he exist.
The man that Mickey’s grown to be is one that Ian constantly finds himself in awe of.
He’s in awe that he’s gotten to have him and hold him for this many years.
“You didn’t want me to be hungry,” Ian repeats, quietly.
He’s lived the proof of the sentiment for years now, but hearing it come out of Mickey’s mouth brings an overwhelming feeling to his chest.
Mickey’s quiet for a moment, and Ian thinks the conversation might be over, but his husband soon speaks.
“I knew what that shit was like. Being hungry all the fucking time. I can’t stand thinking about you ever feeling like that. Makes me so fucking sick.”
It’s the verbal confirmation of what Ian’s known for years now, that brings a tear to his eye.
He’d blame it on his age, but the truth is that it’s Mickey.
It’s Mickey who’s loved him with such ease for so many years now. Mickey, who’s taken care of him, and protected him and done everything right since the very beginning.
“I ever tell you how much I love you?” Ian asks, once he’s swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“Wanna tell me again?”
And Ian does.
He wants to tell him until he’s blue in the face and the words almost don’t sound real.
He settles for leaning up, looking into Mickey’s eyes, and pressing their lips together tenderly.
When they pull apart, he rests his palm against Mickey’s cheek.
After all these years, he still sees his future in Mickey’s eyes.
“I love you.”
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