Chapter Text
It was still dark in the bedroom when he opened his eyes. They had adjusted to the darkness, and he turned his head to the side to look at Mickey. He could clearly make out the black hair that stood out in contrast against the white pillows and couldn’t help but smile. Mickey always looked peaceful when he slept. It had been that way since they were teenagers and hadn’t changed over the years.
If Ian had to name a version of Mickey that he loved the most, the sleeping Mickey would win by a close race. That’s when he was peaceful and gentle and soft, completely and utterly relaxed.
Ian let his gaze wander and saw the bare chest rise and fall with each steady breath, his name tattooed over Mickey’s heart—there forever, forever under his skin.
A soft snore escaped through the slightly parted, perfectly pink lips he loved to kiss, loved to taste. The lips that had promised to love him so long ago. The lips he would never get enough of.
His eyes were closed, the long lashes a contrast to his fair skin.
Ian thought about the color of his irises, how they always seemed to change when they looked at him, and he could swear the blue became a little warmer whenever they met Ian’s gaze.
He knew those eyes, loved remembering the early days when they had looked at him so full of love, even as Mickey tried to deny what he felt. All those nights in their past when the moon had reflected in them, all those days when they shimmered in the sunlight as they exchanged silent glances—where words were unnecessary or could never have expressed what they had to say.
The years had passed, and he was still drunk on Mickey’s presence. Still intoxicated by his husband, his looks, his touch, the little gestures that hadn’t faded over the years. His beautiful husband, with his ivory-colored skin that was thin like paper. The stubble on his chin that tickled whenever they kissed or cuddled, the raven-black hair that sometimes stuck out in all directions. All the scars on Mickey’s skin, not only because of him but also telling their own story, showing where Mickey came from and the life they had both left behind long ago.
Ian’s beautiful husband, whom he had adored for decades. A man who fought every day—against himself, against others, sometimes against Ian—and who looked so peaceful when he slept.
He would never tire of looking at him, of admiring his strength.
Not just physically, with those arms and muscular thighs, but also mentally, with everything Mickey faced every day.
Ian shifted a little closer to Mickey, resting his head at the edge of his own pillow and inhaling Mickey’s scent, closing his eyes again as he tried to slip back into dreamless sleep. He had never really understood how pheromones worked, but ever since he had known Mickey, it was one of the many things that had drawn him to him. Mickey’s scent. And if he had to name one thing about Mickey that he loved the most, it would probably be that.
Because even after more than five years of marriage, Ian couldn’t get enough of the way he smelled. He was drunk and high every time he held Mickey in his arms, buried his face in the smaller man’s neck, and filled his lungs with that scent. It smelled like home and grounded him in a way nothing else in the world could.
He moved even closer, slipping his leg under Mickey’s blanket, his knee touching Mickey’s thigh. He had missed him and wanted nothing more than to touch him. Because as good as it was to look at him, it was better to feel him.
Mickey turned his head toward Ian but kept his eyes closed.
“Why are you already 'wake?” he mumbled sleepily. “It’s still dark.” His brows furrowed, and Ian’s heart skipped a beat. He could look at him for hours and still not get enough.
“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” Ian answered quietly, slipping a hand under Mickey’s blanket and resting it on his stomach. The skin there was soft, and Ian felt the hair beneath his fingertips. He didn’t want to make it more sexual than it was, so he moved up to his chest and let his hand rest there.
“Sleep a little more,” Mickey said, pulling his arm out from under the blanket. “C'mere.” He lifted it over his head, giving Ian the opportunity to rest his head on his chest. “Today’s gonna be a long day.”
Ian laid his head against Mickey’s shoulder and closed his eyes again, breathing in his scent once more. A mix of shower gel and Mickey, creating that sweet combination he had been addicted to since day one.
A light kiss brushed against Ian’s hair. “You’re sniffing me again, creep,” Mickey murmured, then quiet snoring followed. Mickey was asleep again, and Ian just listened to the silence of the room while staring into the darkness, which was gradually giving way to the daylight of the rising sun.
Ian watched as Mickey’s chest rose and fell, as the first rays of sunlight slowly pushed through the curtains.
Eventually, Ian’s alarm rang, and he managed to turn it off with one hand without lifting his head from Mickey’s chest. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t.
Mickey stirred slightly, ran his hand over Ian’s back, and kissed his hair until Ian finally sighed.
“I’m not going,” he said quietly against Mickey’s chest. So quietly that Ian feared Mickey hadn’t heard him. But Mickey’s movements froze for a second before he leaned back slightly, trying to look at Ian.
The blue of his eyes was just as Ian had expected, but his brows were raised in curiosity, and he studied Ian closely. Ian avoided his gaze.
“Why?” he asked, confused.
“I don’t want to,” Ian shrugged. It was the truth. He didn’t want to. But there was more to it, and Mickey wasn’t dumb. He knew Ian. He knew that was only half the truth. So Ian admitted, “I can’t.” he whispered.
Mickey sighed and held him tighter, wrapping his other arm around Ian and whispering into his hair. “You have to.” Ian’s chest tightened painfully, but he didn’t respond. “Alley needs you.”
Ian sighed and nodded against Mickey’s chest, then kissed the spot above Mickey’s heart where his name was tattooed before pulling away from his husband to get up.
“You’re right,” he admitted as he rolled out of bed.
“I know,” Mickey smirked.
He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth when he heard small, bare feet padding across the floor in the hallway.
“Daddy?” she asked, and Ian opened the door, seeing the four-year-old standing in the kitchen doorway in her light blue Disney Elsa pajamas. She rubbed her blue eyes sleepily with one hand while holding her turtle in the other.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Ian smiled, walking over to pick her up. “You slept in your bed?”
She pressed her little nose into Ian’s neck as they walked into the kitchen together.
“Turtly didn’t want to come over,” she explained. “She wanted to sleep in our bed.”
Normally, Alley would come into their bed every night sometime between 3 and 4 a.m. and sleep between them. But in recent weeks, it had become more irregular, and she was sleeping in her own bed more and more often.
"You hungry?" Ian asked as he set her down at the dining table.
"Yes, Turtly wants toast," she said with a smile.
Ian nodded and started making coffee and breakfast while Alley played with her turtle. They were inseparable, even though the poor turtle's shell was already flattened because the stuffing inside had been compressed from intense cuddling, and one of its ears (yes, Turtly was a turtle with ears) had already been chewed off.
"She looks cute in those light blue pj's," Mickey said, leaning against the fridge. "You should put her in blue more often. Pink's gay."
Ian rolled his eyes at him.
The suit Mickey was wearing was one Ian hadn’t seen on him in years, and it was a shame because Mickey looked really good in it. It was dark blue with a simple lapel, and the shirt underneath was pure white, with the top two buttons undone. His hands were casually buried in his pockets. He was not just beautiful. He was handsome.
Ian placed the toast on Alley’s plate and sat down next to her with his coffee.
"Daddy, can we go to the zoo today?" Alley asked while chewing.
Ian took a sip of his coffee, then shook his head. "Not today, sweetheart."
"But Turtly wants to! She’s neeever seen a real turtle before!"
"That’s not true. We just went to the zoo a few weeks ago. Besides, we have to go somewhere else today," Ian explained. "When you’re done eating, go brush your teeth and get dressed, okay?"
Alley sighed and rolled her eyes. She looked so much like Mandy when she was annoyed.
"Can I wear my turtle sweater?" she asked hopefully.
Ian sighed. "You can wear the dress Aunt Debbie got you," he said. He knew his daughter hated dresses, so he had a dark blue pair of pants and a white blouse ready just in case there was a protest.
"No," she said, furrowing her brows. That was definitely from Mickey. Even though she was biologically only his third cousin, she was undeniably his daughter.
Stay diplomatic, Ian. "Alley, you can wear your turtle sweater when we get home, okay?"
"I want to wear it now," she said firmly.
Ian sighed. He knew a battle was coming.
Mickey had bought her that sweater over a year ago when her obsession with turtles had just begun. Back then, it had been way too long for her, but now the sleeves were already getting a bit short after her last growth spurt. Still, it was her favorite sweater, and Ian knew that sooner or later, there would be a lot of tears when it became too small to wear.
"Alley, you can’t wear it today," Ian said again.
"It’s not dirty! I can wear it! You washed it! I know it’s in the closet! Turtly wants me to wear the sweater!"
Her voice grew louder and more desperate, and Ian could see she was getting upset. But it just wasn’t possible.
Ian tried to take a deep breath and took another sip of his coffee. Even though he was already freaking out inside, he remained outwardly calm. He didn’t know exactly why this was getting to him so much—maybe because everything with Alley had been a battle lately. Bathing, brushing her teeth, going to bed. They were constantly arguing, and it was wearing on Ian’s nerves.
Still, he kept reminding himself to stay calm.
"How about you wear the beautiful dress from Franny today, and tomorrow—"
"No, no, no!!! Turtle sweater!" she insisted, slamming her little flat hands on the table and glaring angry at him.
"Alley!" Ian warned, his voice now louder. "No." There was an energy in his voice that left no room for argument.
Alley’s eyes filled with tears, and they spilled over like tiny waterfalls. Her mouth twisted, and she sobbed. Ian felt a lump in his throat.
He had promised himself he would be a better father than Frank or Terry, that he would never yell at his kids, let alone hit them. But now, he had made his daughter cry, and the fact that these kinds of arguments had been happening more and more often in recent days and weeks didn’t help his guilty conscience.
"Alley, hey, come on. I’m sorry. Alley."
He reached out a hand to rub her back, but she pushed it away and jumped off the chair. Then she clutched Turtly to her chest and ran, sobbing, into her room.
Ian cursed internally and stood up to go after her, but Mickey grabbed him by the elbow. "Let her wear the sweater," he said quietly.
"What? Really? Are you okay with that?" Ian asked.
Mickey gave him a lopsided smile. "Of course. If she’s happy, I’m happy."
Ian sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I can’t do this," he whispered, his eyes growing watery.
"Of course you can," Mickey said, placing a hand on his cheek.
"That’s not what I mean," Ian shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning into Mickey’s touch.
"I know. But you can do this too, freckles."
Ian had to smile at the old nickname Mickey used. He hadn’t said it in a long time, and Ian had missed it.
"You’re such a better father than I am."
"Bullshit," Mickey shot back. "Now go after her."
Ian nodded and went to Alley’s room. The four-year-old was sitting on her bed in her turtle sweater, her black curls curling over her shoulders, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.
Turtly sat next to her on the turtle-patterned bedding, surrounded by all the other turtle stuffed animals that regularly caused space issues in her bed.
"Hey," Ian said, hesitating in the doorway. "Can I come in?"
"No," she said firmly.
Ian sighed. "Okay, then I’ll stay here." It was almost like talking to a sulking Mickey. Ian had experience with that.
"Yeah," she said without looking at him.
"I’m sorry for raising my voice," Ian said awkwardly. He really wanted to hug her, but she was stubborn and remained silent.
"You really want to wear that sweater today?" he asked.
Alley looked at him and nodded firmly. "I’m already wearing it. And I’m not taking it off."
Ian nodded. "Okay. You can keep it on."
Alley’s mood switched like a light switch, and she beamed at him. "Really?"
Ian nodded and sat down next to Turtly on the bed. Alley climbed into his lap, wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Daddy!" she said.
Ian smiled and stroked her back.
He hated it when they fought.
"It reminds me of Papi," she murmured against Ian’s chest, and he felt something break inside him.
"I like the sweater too," Mickey said from the doorway, smiling sadly. "Too bad it’ll be too small soon. Maybe she’ll forget about me too when it ends up in a box in the attic."
Ian suppressed the tears that welled up in his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"It reminds me of him too," he murmured into her black curls. "I like it when you wear it."
"I miss him," she said, hugging Ian a little tighter.
"I know. Me too."
Ian looked toward the doorway, where his mind was playing tricks on him.
"I miss you both too," Mickey said with a smile.
Ian held his daughter for a few minutes, fighting hard against the grief. He couldn’t let it take over. Alley needed him. He had to stay strong. He was all she had. If he broke down, she would have no one left.
Ian pressed a kiss into her hair, took a deep breath, and then pulled away. "Come on, let’s brush your teeth. We have to go soon."
Alley nodded. "Daddy, where are we going?"
"We’re saying goodbye to Papi."