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Every year since Ian and Mickey started living together, they would take a bet on their predictions for Groundhog day. And they took it pretty seriously.
They were laying in bed now, having just finished their usual morning romp, with the tv on one of the various news stations claiming to have first footage of the one and only furry weather-creature.
Mickey had his head on Ian’s chest and his arm across his waist. Ian had his hands resting behind his head. “How long are they gonna keep talking about the thing before he actually comes out?”
Ian laughed, “His name is Punxsutawney Phil, Mick.”
Mickey scoffed, “More like Punk-ass bitch. Who’s afraid of their own shadow?”
"I thought you wanted him to see his shadow," Ian yawned, putting an arm around the other man’s shoulder.
"Yeah, I do. I’m tired of all this snow bullshit."
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it the other way around?”
Mickey thought for a minute, looking up at the redhead. He shrugged and scooted closer. “I never fucking know, but if he does, you still gotta pay up.”
Ian rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, unless he doesn’t see his shadow. Then I get six more weeks of you doing whatever I say.” He grinned, kissing the top of Mickey’s head.
"Not gonna happen, Gallagher."
The news reporter announced that there would be six more weeks of winter, to Mickey’s anguish.
"Furry bastard," he mumbled, as he flipped the pancakes for Ian’s breakfast in bed.