#s7e10

The van isn’t the most comfortable setting for a reunion, but at least it isn’t the bleachers. Or the freezer. At least here, they’re alone. Just them. No expectations, no words they aren’t ready to say or questions neither wants to ask. 

Just warmth and breath and the quiet creak of the van settling around them.

Ian shifts, pressing closer, his face burying into the crook of Mickey’s neck like he’s trying to anchor himself there, like maybe if he breathes deep enough, he can etch this moment into his bones. His arms tighten instinctively around Mickey’s waist, and he exhales, voice barely more than a murmur against warm skin. “You smell the same.”

Mickey, half-asleep, doesn’t even open his eyes. His fingers comb absently through Ian’s hair, lazy and familiar, like muscle memory. 

“Like what?” Ian hesitates, the answer catching in his throat before he finally exhales it, soft and certain.

“…I dunno. Just. Like home.”