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‘The 20th wedding anniversary, often referred to as the China Anniversary, is a significant milestone that symbolizes enduring love, commitment, and resilience. It marks two decades of shared experiences, growth, and partnership between a couple, reflecting the delicate yet strong nature of china as a metaphor for their relationship. [...] the 20th anniversary is an opportunity to honour the past and look forward to the future with hope and admiration.’
- www.shunbridal.com
Mickey had been aimlessly scrolling through anniversary websites for a while now, phone in his right hand, left hand gently stroking Ian's sleeping head. He had been passing time while Ian slept by looking up the symbolic meaning of wedding anniversaries and the suggested gifts depending on how long people had been married. He didn't believe in any of that crap, obviously, but some of the descriptions had made him think. He placed his phone down and transferred all his attention to the redhead lying across his chest.
Ian's back rose and fell softly as he slept soundly on top of him, using Mickey as his own personal mattress. Mickey smiled softly as he ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his nails gently across his head. His hair felt like it always had, soft and strong at the same time, but Ian would be horrified to know that Mickey could see more of his scalp than he used to be able to. It had been bad enough a few years ago when Ian first saw a white hair nestling amongst all the red. Mickey had just smiled, rolled his eyes, and pretended he hadn’t noticed. He had. Of course he had. He’d noticed months before Ian. Now more of the red hairs had turned white, not a huge amount but they were there, slowly taking up permanent residence. Slowly showing the telltale signs that they weren’t young anymore.
Tomorrow was their anniversary. Twenty years. No-one could have predicted that. Well, no one except Mickey. Even Ian had admitted a few years previously, on their fifteenth anniversary, that he hadn’t been sure they would last when they got married.
“What the fuck do you mean, you didn’t think we would stay married? What the fuck man?”
Mickey looked hurt as he shoved Ian away from him.
“Mickey, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Well how the fuck did you mean it?”
“It's just,” Ian let out a frustrated sigh as he struggled to find the words. “We had just never had a chance. I knew we loved each other. That was never in doubt.”
Ian reached out and laid his hand across Mickey’s thigh.
“But we’d never had a chance to see if we could just... be with each other. You know, doing normal things. Cooking, and cleaning, and going to work, and watching crap movies together. There had always been so many things getting in our way. I just wanted to try. I wanted us to work out more than anything. I just wanted to give us a chance.”
Mickey had been horrified and hurt when Ian had said this, but he understood now. They had just needed a chance. They had just needed time. Time to learn about each other outside of the passion, and the drama, and the heartache. Time to work out what each other's favourite type of cereal was.
He lay his arms across Ian’s back and squeezed his legs tighter against Ian's body. He loved it when Ian lay like this. Loved the feel of his weight distributed over his whole body, pressing him down, grounding him, comforting him, warming him. Loved the feel of Ian’s body relaxed and content between his legs. He suddenly felt butterflies deep in his stomach and rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness. They had been together far too long for Mickey to be getting fuckin’ butterflies just because Ian had fallen asleep on him and was making him feel warm, and safe, and loved.
Did Ian know how much he loved him? He must have realised it by now? Mickey knows that there were times when Ian doubted. He remembers their tenth anniversary, when Ian was struggling to heal following a particularly difficult period of managing his bipolar disorder. They were in the middle of a massive argument about... some shit that wasn’t important, when Ian just blurted it out:
“It’s okay Mickey. You don’t have to stay with me. I know I’m too much. You can just leave. I’ll... I’ll understand.”
Ian had looked at him with tears brimming in his eyes, but his jaw clenched tight in stubborn resolution.
“What the fuck are you talking about now?”
“If you don’t want to stick around... with me. You don’t have to. It's just a piece of fuckin’ paper, us being married. You didn’t know what was ahead when you signed up to me.”
“Shut the fuck up with this bullshit. I don’t want to hear it. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“No, you're not. You want to be out there living your life. Not stuck in here taking care of me. Again.”
“Fuck you, Ian. You don’t get to tell me where I want to be.”
Mickeys anger was growing. He was angry when they started arguing, but now he was furious.
“You’ve always fuckin’ thought you knew what was best for me, and you’ve always got it all twisted up. I love you. I want to be with you. Wherever you are. However you are. You don’t get to choose that for me. This is what I fuckin’ choose.”
Mickey suddenly felt totally deflated as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. All the anger had drained out of him. He reached out his hand and held it softly against Ian's cheek.
“I choose you, Ian. Every fuckin’ time. I’ll always choose you.”
“But...”
“But nothing. Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
And he did kiss him. Of course he did, that was something that they always got right. Mickey ran his thumb across his own lips as he remembered the warmth of that moment. They had kissed, undressed each other, and ended up in the bedroom, showing each other how much they still loved each other, and that they were where they wanted to be. Together.
Mickey understood his insecurities, even if he didn’t agree with them. He knew Ian had this side to him that could be self-destructive and insecure. Just like Mickey did. And while Ian worried that he was too much for Mickey, Mickey worried that he wasn’t enough for Ian. That he didn’t have enough to give him or offer him. That Mickey was somehow deficient in all the ways that would make a relationship work.
But Ian had been showing him that he was enough for the last twenty years, and maybe Mickey had slowly begun to believe him.
He ran his hands across Ian’s broad shoulders, tracing over his muscles as his hands ran across his back. Ian still went to the gym and looked after himself, but not to the degree he did when he was younger. Ian was leaning into his dad bod era and Mickey was loving it. Loving the feel of his less defined muscles, and the soft swell of his stomach and arms. He was still strong, could still throw Mickey around when the occasion presented itself, but there was a comfort that surrounded his strength that Mickey felt himself responding to.
He smiled when he thought back over all the stages of Ian through the years. How he had changed from this floppy haired skinny boy, into a muscled confident man. And now: a little softer round the edges, a little pudgier in the middle, a little less defined in the muscles, a little thinner in the hair. Mickey realised he wouldn’t want to turn the clock back and revisit any of the old Ian's. His favourite Ian was this one, the one lying on top of him right now. The Ian who had loved him for thirty years, who had been married to him for twenty. The Ian who could drive him up the wall, who knew exactly how to press his buttons and wind him up. The Ian who would always come back to him at the end of the day, no matter what obstacles lay between them. The Ian who had always loved courageously, and who still fought for Mickey every day of their marriage.
What had he done to deserve this kind of love? This kind of man?
He leant forward and pressed his lips roughly against the top of Ian’s head in a pique of passion. Not the kind of passion they had when they were younger. This was an older passion, a wiser passion, a more comfortable and soothing passion.
Ian murmured loudly and snuggled into Mickey’s body.
“Hey,” he said, his voice croaky from sleep.
Mickey continued to slowly trace his fingers through Ian's hair, “Hey.”
“I been asleep long?”
“An hour or so.”
“Sorry. Not got the stamina I used to. Did I squash you?”
Mickey chuckled, “Nah, I like it.”
Ian looked up to him, his chin resting on Mickeys chest and his green eyes sparkling. His face suddenly transformed back into that innocent kid who always looked astonished when Mickey showed the slightest bit of affection.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mickey leaned forward and kissed Ian gently on his head again.
“When did you get so soft?” teased Ian with a glint in his eye.
“Fuck off,” huffed Mickey.
Ian chuckled, “There he is.”
Ian pulled himself up onto his arms so that he was hovering over Mickey and leaned down to kiss him. But Mickey was too fast. In one manoeuvre he had ducked out of the way, shoved Ian onto his back and sat astride him, pressing Ian's arms down into the mattress. He stared into Ian's eyes with a cocky grin.
“Oh,” smirked Ian knowingly, “Are you trying to take advantage of me Mr Gallagher?”
Mickey shook his head in mild exasperation, “Fuck off with that Mr. Gallagher shit. You were much less fuckin’ annoying when you were asleep. I don’t know why I keep your ass around.”
Ian cackled loudly as Mickey clambered off him and started walking to the door.
“Mickey,” Ian called out.
Mickey swung around a fake scowl on his face, “What?”
“I love you.”
“What the fuck ever, you annoying fuckin’ ginger giant. You want a coffee or not?”
“I’d love one.”
Mickey nodded in acknowledgement and walked out of the room.
“Thanks Mickey. Loooove yooooou!” shouted Ian to his retreating back, a smile plastered across his face.
Mickey grinned to himself as he started up the coffee maker. God Ian was as annoying as fuck, and Mickey was the luckiest man in the world.