Last chapter, guys!
Epilogue
The rain loudly patters against the window. Mickey's eyes follow a single drop sliding down the glass before it pools with the others, the streetlamps outside the sole source of light.
A hot splatter of water hits his bare chest and he hisses and turns the tap off, dips his hand in the soapy water and turns on the cold when he decides that scolding his hands isn't fun at all. He can hear Ian calling his name; trying to keep quiet but be loud enough for him to hear. Mickey smiles to himself because the guy is such a fucking douche.
He's washing out a mug, the sides stained brown thanks to Zoe's latest craving for hot chocolate, when he hears the light patting sound of Ian walking towards him. Turning his head slightly to the side, he watches Ian for a moment. He's still topless in a pair of Mickey's boxers and his hair is ruffled from where Mickey was tugging and pulling on it a matter of minutes ago; his hand rubs at his eyes and Mickey turns back to his washing up so that Ian doesn't catch his smile.
"You're so weird," Ian mutters, hands dropping to Mickey's waist, his mouth kissing a mark he'd made when they were fucking.
Mickey places the mug on the draining board. "Why's that?" he asks, putting the plates all of them ate from tonight into the sink.
"How you need," Ian pauses to yawn and wraps his arms around Mickey's waist, butting his forehead against the nape of Mickey's neck over and over, "to wash the dishes before you go to bed."
Mickey still isn't used to this. The casual way they touch, yeah, but not how Ian sort of clings to him for at least a half hour after he's come. It makes him feel like he's needed, not just wanted. It's fucking heady and weird and it'll take more than their six months together to get used to, but maybe he doesn't want to get used to it.
Fuck. Ian is turning him into such a faggot.
He eventually tunes back into the present and lightly elbows Ian in the ribs. "The fuck would I leave the dishes knowing that they'll still be here tomorrow mornin' 'cause nobody but me does them?" Mickey has lost track of how many times he's had this discussion with Ian - one time it actually turned into an argument, but neither of them bring that up - and it always ends the same way.
"Yeah, but leavin' the bed practically as you're comin-"
"I don't fuckin' do that."
Ian snorts. "Sure you don't." He rests his chin on Mickey's shoulder. "Guess I just don't know why it pisses you off so much."
Like Mickey hasn't explained his logic a million times before. "Because," Mickey begins, "I'm, as you call me, a lazy fucker in the mornin's so I don't wanna get up and do the dishes. And like I said, nobody but me does them." He puts the now clean plates onto the rack. "Fuck knows why Dylan bought a dishwasher - never even seen him use the thing."
Apparently done with the conversation, Ian starts kissing and biting at the skin behind Mickey's ear, one hand slowly trailing down Mickey's side. His fingers brush through the fine, blonde hairs below Mickey's naval and he moves closer so that Mickey can feel the warmth of Ian's chest against his back.
As Ian's fingers tease at the waistband of Mickey's sweats, Mickey has to suppress a shiver. How he can feel completely undone with such simple touches sometimes frightens him. Makes his heart beat like it's battling against his ribcage trying to break free.
He twists so that he can put his lips to Ian's, kiss away the taste of toothpaste until it's just a mix of the two of them. Hand dipping into Mickey's sweats, Ian teases Mickey's lip with his tongue and Mickey can feel himself growing harder in his pants.
"Swear to God." Dylan's words startle the gentle silence the two of them had fallen into.
Ian makes a noise of surprise detaching his mouth from Mickey's and resting his forehead on Mickey's shoulder.
"If either of y'all get jizz on my china, I'mma cut you," Dylan warns, though his threat lacks any real heat .
Exaggerating his movements, Mickey carefully shows Dylan the china bowl he washed then places it on the dish rack. When Dylan nods and smiles Mickey flips him off and turns back to his dish washing.
Eventually Ian releases him and goes to sit with Dylan on the couch. As if it isn't already two in the morning. They're all practically fucking nocturnal.
"Shit!"
At the sound of Zoe's shout Mickey spins around, his soapy hands dripping everywhere. Panicked, he watches Dylan trip over his feet to get to the bathroom door.
"Babe, hey, what's goin' on?" he asks, worry making his voice comically high.
The door opens slowly and Zoe walks out and Mickey doesn't know the look that's etched onto her face; his legs move towards her without him knowing, but he's starting to fucking freak out.
"So my water just broke and I nee-"
"Fuck, fuckin' shit, really? Okay, okay, well just stay calm," Dylan rants. His eyes are wide and his mouth gaping. His hands fly up to frame her face before dropping, hovering near the baby bump and then back up to her arms before Zoe grabs hold of them. "Gotta stay calm, baby, just - deep breaths, rememb-"
Zoe slaps at his chest and shouts, "I am fucking calm!", silencing him in an instant.
Mickey is still just sort of lingering there, completely unsure about what to do and when he looks, Ian doesn't seem to be any better. A few times Zoe's told them how it's all going to work out, each person assigned a different job. But all of that has been replaced with panic and excitement and Mickey feels like he's buzzing from the adrenaline pumping through him.
Taking a deep breath, Zoe faces Ian. "I need you and Mickey to stop looking so fucking debauched, get dressed, one of you call Mandy and then go down to the car." When neither of them immediately move, she barks, "Now!", and sets them all in motion.
Geared up, Mickey moves on autopilot. The restless, alert feeling he's got right now reminds him of how he used to feel before he went to threaten some guy for Mandy or a junkie who hadn't paid up. But he was used to doing that; the fighting and the intimidating is still basically second nature to Mickey. This horrible, sick feeling he's getting, almost irrational anxiety that something is going to go horribly wrong with Zoe and the baby - none of it is familiar and he fucking hates it.
Just as he's about to leave the bedroom, Ian catches his wrist and tugs him back. "You okay?" he asks, frowning.
Mickey nods and scoffs, says, "'Course", before they both leave.
...
Coupled with the bright lights overhead, the clinical smell of the hospital is giving Mickey a real bastard of a headache. Aren't hospitals supposed to make people feel better? Mickey's felt nothing but tense for the three hours he's been in the waiting area, his ass going numb thanks to the plastic chair he's sat on. He didn't think to bring anything to entertain himself and playing Angry Birds on Ian's phone proved to only be fun for about ten minutes and then he had to stop before he threw the thing to the ground.
Now all he can do is glare daggers at Zoe's sister, Zara, as she talks with Ian. She's been fucking crushing on him since they first met at the party Zoe's mom, Andrea, threw for Zoe and Dylan. She's all seventeen and preppy and pretty and Mickey wants to punch her in the face. Ian thinks he's being paranoid or some shit whenever he brings it up, but that's bull. The girl used to hardly ever come round their apartment but now that she's aware of Ian's existence she invites herself over nearly every day after school lets out.
And the little fucker knows exactly what she's doing. Keeps sending these 'ha, yeah, look at me talking up your boyfriend' smirks Mickey's way and Jesus fucking Christ, can Ian just get back over here before he loses his shit?
His phone vibrating in his pocket momentarily puts a stop to his thoughts. He stretches out his leg so that he can wedge his fingers inside and pull it free. Trust the first pair of jeans he found to be Ian's - both a little too long and a little too tight on him.
'ur jealousy is fuckin dumb' is what the message says and without looking at her, Mickey flips Mandy off in response. He isn't actually jealous - Ian doesn't want to fuck the girl or anything - but he's allowed to not like someone.
Ian finally moves back to the seat beside him and Mickey ignores how his shoulders deflate, the tension leaking out of them like the air in a popped balloon. Probably trying to get his attention, Ian knocks his knee against Mickey's, but Mickey just knocks his back and keeps his chin against his chest.
"Stop brooding," Ian says quietly, tugging on Mickey's hood that's half hiding his face.
Mickey tries to dodge Ian's hands as they pull on his hood with more determination. "Fuck off," he grunts, trying to sound gruff even though he can feel laughter bubbling up in his throat when Ian gets him in a loose headlock. Mickey playfully bites Ian's nipple through his shirt, eliciting a muffled yelp, and gets dragged even closer against Ian's chest.
"Y'know," Ian starts, giving up with the headlock and simply draping his arm over Mickey's shoulders, "you're probably all pissy 'cause you're tired."
He isn't fucking pissy, Zara is just a bitch, but he can't deny the fact that he's tired. Shuffling about, Mickey ends up with his legs sprawled wide and his back slouched. When he wakes he'll have one hell of a stiff neck, but for now he's comfortable.
...
The moment Mickey cracks open his eyes, he groans and closes them again. He can't tell what time it is now, but it's somehow become impossibly brighter in the waiting area. Rolling his shoulders back makes pain twinge in his neck and he really wishes he'd just gone and got some coffee because he's still fucking tired and the pain isn't worth it.
"Time?" he croaks, sitting up properly and stretching his arms up above his head. Seeing Ian eye the slither of skin that's revealed is hugely gratifying and if Mickey were any pettier, he'd point it out to Zara and laugh. But he isn't so he doesn't.
"Uh, just coming up to seven," Ian says. To put it plainly, Mickey thinks he looks likes shit. His eyes are starting to get that sunken in look and he looks sort of pasty. And Mickey'd crack a joke about it but he knows that Ian won't be in the mood for it and he's too worn out to argue.
Across from them, Mandy and Marcus are sharing a pack of Red Vines. Mickey holds out his hand expectantly then kicks Mandy's ankle when all she does is roll her eyes at him.
Holding out the packet, Marcus smirks at him. "Here," he says. Ever since Mandy started seeing him more regularly, he's slowly been trying to win Mickey over. It's only mildly pathetic. Mickey thinks he's alright: he's good to Mandy and when he comes over he brings his X-box with him. He's yet to get a fist to the face and Mickey's, for lack of a better word, happy that Mandy's found someone decent.
He takes five Red Vines and only gives Ian one because if he wanted some he should've fucking taken some himself.
Another hour slowly ticks by. He and Ian have both grown too tired to come up with anything to talk about and it feels like the silence is trying to swallow Mickey whole.
He understands that giving birth takes time, but fuck, they've been here for so long. Without anything to keep his mind occupied, Mickey begins to worry again. The nurses and doctors and shit would say if something went wrong, right? Mickey reasons with himself because Zoe's mom is out here and surely they'd have to tell her if her daughter and grandkid were about to die.
His thumbnail is almost too short to chew on thanks to how much Mickey's been gnawing on it. And his leg is shaking up-down, up-down as if it has a mind of its own. Fuck. Mickey'd pace if there weren't so many people about.
A hand clamps down on his leg and Mickey jumps before realising that it's Ian. He looks over at him but Ian is tapping away at his phone.
"Why the fuck is this taking so long?" he asks to nobody in particular.
Running a hand through her now shoulder-length hair, Mandy gives him an unimpressed look. "She's pushing out a person through her fucking vagina, Mickey, not getting a smear test."
Was that actually supposed to calm him down? Because all it does is remind Mickey of that night a few weeks back when Dylan was freaking out and Googling all the problems that can occur when a woman gives birth, and-
Before Mickey can figure out what's even going on, Ian grabs his hand, pulling him up off his seat. Their sneakers make loud squeaking noises as Ian directs them to the hospital shop.
Mickey gives Ian a quizzical look.
"What?" Ian widens his eyes innocently. "Your stress was stressing me out, it was annoying."
"Fuck you," Mickey says, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets. He wanders over to the candy aisle, his eyes sweeping over the familiar names without really taking note of them. Waiting for someone to have a baby is fucking exhausting.
Ian creeps up behind him and kisses his temple. Mickey would complain about it but the shop is empty and he just can't be fucked. "Get some M&M's," Ian says, pointing to the packets.
Settling back against Ian - only a little, the guy is fucking comfortable - Mickey snorts. "Why'd I spend money on shit I don't even like?"
"Don't be an asshole, man, I forgot my wallet," Ian actually whines, the little bitch. "And it doesn't even make sense that you don't like them," Ian maneuvers around him and picks up two packs, "you like chocolate, peanut butter and candy, which is what they are."
Mickey rolls his eyes to himself then checks Ian out as he walks over to the magazine stand. He gets himself a Hershey's bar and then drags his feet over to the coffee machines. Holding one of the cups in the air, Mickey looks over at Ian and loudly says, "Hey!", and waves it about. Ian nods and so he fills up two of them with the dark, runny sludge that passes as coffee in this place.
"What are you doin'?" he asks Ian who is now fiddling about with the assortment of balloons beside the coffee stand.
"We should buy a couple for Zoe."
"She'll hate that."
Ian smiles impishly. "Exactly." He takes the strings of two gender-neutral balloons and then fucking pouts. And Mickey can say 'no' to a lot of shit, but when Ian turns those fucking puppy eyes on him his protests crumble.
"Fuck off with your fucking face, man," Mickey mutters, heading towards the half-asleep cashier whose bleached blonde hair makes Mickey's eyes hurt. Following behind, Ian slaps down his M&M's and says, "These, too", nodding at the balloons. Mickey hates him and pays for it all.
He puts his Hershey's bar in his pocket and tells Ian to take the coffees. Opening the M&M's, Mickey takes out a green one. "Hey, catch." He aims for Ian's mouth, but it's a little too high so Ian has to take a couple of steps back to catch it between his teeth.
The smile he shoots at Mickey is wide, almost childlike in its sincerity and Mickey can't help but smile back.
Walking backwards, Mickey continues to throw M&M's at Ian to catch. He shamelessly watches him as he does so; the way he struggles to not spill any of the coffee then gives up and takes a gulp of each one; how he cheekily winks when he catches the M&M Mickey aimed at his chest; how his face brightens as he grins, his infectious laughter seeming to travel down the hallways of the hospital.
Head resting on Marcus' lap, Mandy is asleep when they eventually reach the waiting area again. Mickey doesn't slap her forehead to wake her up, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to.
Feeling light, almost fucking carefree, Mickey collapses onto the uncomfortable chair he was sat on before and ties the balloons to it. He can't ignore the fact that he's only feeling like this thanks to Ian. He somehow takes all of the thoughts whirling around in Mickey's head, everything that keeps him teetering precariously on edge, and replaces them with reminders of what's good in his life.
Like when, on Mickey's mom's birthday, Mickey couldn't sleep and sat out on the fire escape in the summer night. He was on his fifth cigarette when Ian stole it from between his lips and dropped Scrabble onto his lap. They played until six in the morning and Ian asked him all about how he and Dylan met, how they came to live together.
And now Mickey is chatting about dumbass shit and he knows his grin must look fucking ridiculous but he can't find it in himself to stop.
#
Mickey is reluctant to wake up. He knows Ian is awake because he's running his fingers up and down Mickey's arm. They're going to fucking talk. About feelings and shit and whilst Mickey knows he's has them for Ian he doesn't want to talk about it. Plus, how the fuck are you supposed to? What do you say?
"Mickey," Ian whispers.
For half a second, Mickey considers just pretending that he's still asleep, but that's a dick move. And then he thinks about saying he needs to go to the bathroom and scurrying away. That'd also be a dick move, though. Fuck.
"Yeah," he says back, keeping his eyes trained on the stretch of pillow in front of him.
Huffing a sigh through his nose, Ian drops his forehead to the nape of Mickey's neck. "Fuck. Okay, I'm just gonna say this so we can get it out of the way, alright? I like you and I - fuck, I like being with you."
It's the first time Mickey's heard someone say that to him. He can't even recall a time Jake said it, but most of the memories featuring Jake have been replaced by Ian. Like a slap to the face, the sudden realisation of just how important Ian is to him hits Mickey. And he wants to tell him, convince him to stick around but no words come to mind, so instead he just says, "Yeah, me too".
Ian snorts and Mickey rolls over onto his back. "What?"
""Me too"? Seriously?" His face breaks out into a smile and Mickey's so close that he could probably count the light freckles scattered across Ian's cheeks.
Mickey punches his shoulder. "Fuck you." He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, muttering, "Don't even fuckin' know why I like you", as he puts on a pair of sweats.
Except he knows exactly why he does and Ian's look says he does, too.
#
Mickey gets another half hour of sleep before he gives up. He and Mandy start pointing out people and making up stories about them like they used to do when they were out and high together.
He's softly chuckling as Mandy explains how one of the nurses - "no, the one with the nasty-ass haircut" - imagines that her boyfriend is Edward Cullen when they fuck when Dylan bursts out of the delivery room and screams, "We have ourselves a baby girl!".
Everyone jumps to their feet, congratulating words and joyful laughter making the room brighter than any of the lights do.
Dylan wraps his long arms around Mickey, pressing his wet face into Mickey's hair. "I'm a fucking dad," he says, amazed.
Mickey pulls back and slaps Dylan's arm. "Yeah, you are, man."
Choking out a laugh that sounds more like a sob, Dylan gets enveloped by Ian's arms and then it turns into some weird group-hugging moment. Mickey even puts his arm around Zara - if that doesn't say something about how fucking happy he is right now, nothing will.
"Can we see her?" Andrea asks.
"Dude, fuck, yeah, come on, guys!" Dylan says, herding them all towards the room Zoe's in.
"Hey." Ian stops dead in front of him and twists around.
"What?" Mickey asks, the ghost of a smile still present on his face. Half-tempted to take a quick picture of Ian - Mickey won't admit how good he looks at the moment, not even to himself - Mickey quirks an eyebrow when Ian holds out a hand.
"You owe me $20," he says before laughing and stepping closer.
And Mickey doesn't care that Ian's being a little shit doing that cocky eyebrow thing. He can already here everyone - everyone that matters - cooing at the baby and talking happily amongst themselves and, fuck, he's maybe staring at Ian but he doesn't think he's ever cared less in his life.
Besides, he's already pulling out his wallet. $20 dollars doesn't seem like much of a price to pay.
Thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed and followed and favourited this fic. It really means a lot!
Andandand, because I'm too emotionally invested in this 'verse, I'll be posting random one-shots for it. Yep.