Chapter Text
Ian sips his beer and avoids Mickey’s gaze. He knows Mickey has never been patronising about his bipolar, he has never asked him if he had taken his meds only because he was pissed off or particularly excited. He knows that if Mickey asks that, he is genuinely worried.
And Ian knows that after one year of lockdown a lot of people had issues with their mental health, so he more than anyone, should be entitled to suffer from ups and downs. But he knows himself, and he knows that those ups and downs are just due to the fucking pandemic and everything that comes along with that.
So Ian knows it’s not hypomania. And he knows his husband is not being a jerk.
Though he knows that, his “I’m fine” comes out a bit harsh, so he adds a more affectionate, “You worry too much.”
He then spies Mickey’s reaction with the tail of his eye. He knows the old Mickey could burst out and yell something like Fuck you, see if I care, but this Mickey, his husband, has grown so much, and he loves Ian with the strength of a thousand suns.
He sees Mickey leaving his beer on the counter and smiling fondly at him while he sneaks between his legs and ties his arms around his neck.
“I gotta worry, you are my husband.”
And Ian melts at that: his expression is so genuine and caring, his eyes so gentle, his smile so endearing.
Mickey doesn’t often spread the word husband -Ian is more the one dropping that word whenever he can. As if to make it even more real, and also because he has found himself being a bit more possessive and jealous than he would have thought.
So when Mickey says those exact words, Ian melts because yeah, his husband, his Mickey has always been there for him and always will.
He returns the smile and leans for a chaste kiss.
At the pull-back, he checks out his husband, for real, for the first time that day.
“By the way, Mister Gallagher,” he leans again, for another kiss. “This outfit really really enhances your…” he teases while he goes to grab his ass. “Eyes.”
Mickey chuckles. “My eyes, huh?”
“Sure,” Ian nods and climbs off the counter. He grabs Mickey’s hand and walks toward the stairs. “I’m gonna need you to undress very slowly so that I can analyse the situation.”
“You can sure anal-something to me.”
Ian laughs out loud. “Jeez, you are the worst.”
“You mispronounced best.”
And yeah, Mickey is right Ian thinks. He is the best.