#ixm

"...More than once, I caught them getting high together while wearing camos and bullet-proof vests. Not sure what that's about -- but they're real giggly when they're high!!"

"And the big beefy ginger one is kinda into gardening -- some herbs, some flowers, but mostly tomatoes. He talks and even sings to them sometimes."

("He's um. Mostly off-key, but. I guess it's the thought that counts, huh?")

"Come tax season, the grouchy one sometimes escapes out into the balcony with their laptop and a shit ton of paperwork. He'll smoke like a chimney and chug close to ten energy drinks a night while he's at it. And then they'll argue. A lot. God, those two will yell at each other like they own the whole goddamn apartment complex or somethin'!"

"...And all that yelling would, um, inevitably lead to a face-off. Sometimes they tussle -- and they don't hold back, lemme tell ya!! I once saw the grouchy one break the nose of the ginger one, I had half a mind to call the cops!!"

"But, most times, they resolve their arguments... well... In other ways..."

"What?? You asked!! And they NEVER seemed bothered that everyone and their moms can see them bang out in the balcony! And---"

"--This? This is not what you think. I uuuuhh... I mean..."

"...I... brought a spare? If you wanna...?"

It happened every year, and every year it still surprised him— the heaviness like molasses in his brain, muting whatever usually felt good and warm and whole. Cooking dinner felt like a chore, even when Mickey went out of his way to go to the organic grocery store he was always shit-talking to get heirloom tomatoes since Ian’s garden had long frosted over. Getting dressed for work was a herculean task, with pale grey shadows changing the colors of the clothes he pulled from his dresser. When Ian was a kid, it was easy to hide his winter heaviness in the warm glow of the Gallagher house— even when things were frozen solid and stagnant and just plain shitty, he’d sit by his bedroom window and smoke a cigarette with Lip and watch swirls of smoke and warm alive breath drift outside the window. The fire of everyone together under the same flickering lighting kept him going— and even though he loved his new place with Mickey, and everything was perfect, something about the pallid clouds reflecting off bare white walls made Ian want to nestle further under the covers to where it was dark and warm.

Ian felt a hand scratching a gentle circle onto his scalp.

“You want coffee?” Mickey’s voice was jagged, sleep-soft. He shook his head, eyes still closed but absorbing every ounce of warmth from Mickey’s touch.

“M’kay.” He heard Mickey gulp down some water from the nightstand, and felt the mattress shift underneath him as Mickey sprang up from bed, haphazardly throwing his comforter so it doubled onto Ian’s side of the bed and popping his knuckles as he stood and stretched. On days like this, it never failed to amaze Ian how Mickey could jump out of bed like the world was still spinning— at best, Ian could slide out of bed with the promise of a lighter tomorrow, a tomorrow that right now didn’t seem like it was coming.

Ian squeezed his eyes shut. No. It was coming. He’d said it to his therapist a million times. January is always the hardest.

The doorhinge creaked slightly as Mickey closed the door as softly as he could behind him, making his way into the kitchen to start the day. Ian should follow him— on a normal day, Ian would be bounding home from a jog right now while Mickey was just rubbing his eyes and getting up from bed, and Ian would flop on top of him and press heated kisses down the side of his neck and convince him to stay in bed just a little longer… something about that felt dreamlike right now, soft around the edges, like a happy flashback in a movie.

The coffeemaker was beeping now, and mugs were rattling in the cupboard. The door opened again, letting in a stream of warmer artificial light from the living room. Mickey placed a mug of coffee on the nightstand, hovering by Ian’s side of the bed.

“Brought you a little bit. Gotta take your meds, man.”

For the first time all morning, Ian forced his eyelids open and his husband came into focus. His regular meds, alongside a giant ass pill of a Vitamin D supplement that Ian usually forgot to take, was sitting beside the mug of coffee on a ripped half of a paper towel. The lump in Ian’s throat grew— he didn’t really know why.

Mickey didn’t stay standing— he just hopped back on the other side of the bed, sipping the mug of coffee he’d brought for himself and keeping the entire comforter doubled on Ian’s side. Ian’s gaze stayed fixed on the stream of light coming through the curtains, the heavy January sky. Stupid fucking clouds. If business wasn’t doing so well and the pandemic wasn’t still such a hot mess, he would’ve dropped some of their savings on a plane ticket to visit Fiona in Florida by now, where at least it was marginally sunnier.

But for now he had this— the quiet of their room together, and the promise that something would lift.

Mickey was scrolling on his phone, and slurping his coffee occasionally— as indifferent as he always was when Ian laid like this beside him, without reminding him that yes, they were supposed to be at work in 30 minutes and yes, Mickey would probably need to leave him behind.

Ian mustered the burst of energy he needed to roll onto his other side, tangled in the bunched comforter from where it was doubled over. Mickey was scrolling on Tiktok with the volume all the way down, gazing intently at kid doing flips on his skateboard. He flickered his eyes over to Ian, shutting off his phone and shuffling to face him.

“Shitty out, huh.”

Ian felt tears burning behind his eyes for no fucking reason at all. “Yeah.”

“I know January always fucking sucks.”

Ian nodded his head, his cheek rubbing against the pillow. “Yeah.”

Mickey paused, like he was thinking long and hard about what else to say— like there was some other way to examine the situation that wasn’t just simply deciding that Ian’s brain didn’t work the way it was supposed to.

“You want me to stop by at lunchtime?”

Ian shook his head. By then, he’d at least hopefully be out of bed— maybe he’d watch some dumb cartoons on Netflix, or at least migrate to take a nap on the couch.

“S’fine.”

“You want me to see if Lip and the kids wanna come by later?”

Somehow, the sinking iceberg in Ian’s gut felt warmth shining around its edges.

“That might be good. Just for a bit.” Some chaos, some connection— maybe that would melt the icy walls, just for a few hours.

“You got it, babyface.” Ian rolled his eyes and felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards as Mickey started tapping away on his phone.

“Hey.”

Mickey blew out a breath, not looking up from his screen. “Hey, what.”

“Thanks for dealing with my shit.”

Mickey dropped his phone onto the sheets, and turned on his side to face him. “It’s our shit.” He leaned over to peck him on the forehead. “Kids’ll be over at 5. We can order pizza. None of that vegan shit you made me try, though.”