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When Ian had suggested moving in together, Mickey was obviously nervous.
When they had first met, Mickey was insistent that it was made very clear that he 'didn't do boyfriends'. He didn't want to promise Ian anything he couldn't back up. Ian had said he understood, but Mickey's words always rang at the back of his mind whenever Mickey seemed a little too flirty, or when he would grab Ian's hand and tangle their fingers together during sex and moan Ian's name, or whenever he would invite Ian out to dinner or to watch a movie at his place. It took awhile to get used to the way Mickey worked, how to not misread things and scare him off by being too forward. He had tried to talk to his brother, Lip, about it only to have that blowup in his face. Lip telling him that Mickey was just 'leading him on' and to 'find someone who will be proud to be your boyfriend or find someone less complicated to fuck'. Ian had walked out before he could punch Lip in the throat.
Ian understood that Mickey didn't want a boyfriend. He did, and it sucked, but he dealt with it. He would pretend he didn't feel his heart beat a little faster every time he and Mickey would cook dinner together or Mickey would tell him not to worry about the bill when they ate out. Or when Mickey finally, finally, kissed him after months of having sex. Or when Ian invited Mickey to spend Christmas with him and Mickey had showed up with new sheets wrapped haphazardly in wrapping paper and a smirk. He pushed down the flood of feelings he had for this man for so long that when Mickey whispered, "I want to be your boyfriend," into the stillness of Ian's bedroom one night, Ian thought he was having a heart attack.
Two and a half years of being Mickey Milkovich's official boyfriend later, Ian had explained that he was losing a lot of money paying rent and utilities at an apartment he barely lived in anymore, most of his clothes and other belongings mixed in with Mickey's. "In fact," he had pointed out to a wide eyed Mickey, "I'm pretty sure that's my shirt you're wearing." Mickey had looked down at said shirt and when his eyes met Ian's again, they were bright and playful, quirking an eyebrow.
"So, what? You want live the gay dream with me? Get a little dog and bicker over what flavor of non-fat yogurt to buy at the supermarket?" Ian will never forget the way Mickey had smiled after that, crawling across the bed towards him and straddling Ian's thighs. Ian knew Mickey was joking, but when he had said yes before Mickey's lips were crushing the breath out of him, he meant it. He was looking forward to arguing about what kind of cereal to get and what movie they were going to watch and who had to check the mail.
So here they are, a month later, pens poised over the dotted line on their lease for a shitty one bedroom apartment in one of the not so glamorous neighborhoods of New York. Ian signs his name and watches as Mickey dots the 'i' in his last name, and it feels so surreal. He has to stop and have a reality check, running his hand over the arm of the chair he's sitting in. He feels the smooth wood under his palm and grounds himself. He doesn't want to start crying or some shit because it's not that big of a deal, dozens of people are doing the same thing at that exact moment. But they're not signing their name next to Mickey's like Ian is and that's what really gets Ian. No one else is doing this, making a promise as big as this to the love of their life after getting out of their sorry excuse for a neighborhood. Mickey is his and he's Mickey's and no one can take that away from them in that moment.
*
Four rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room. $895 a month near Rockaway Beach, Queens. Ian hadn't really had New York in mind after his dreams of going to West Point were dashed but hearing Mickey suggest New York made him realize that that part of his life was over and to not let it bother him anymore. He had graduated high school with a 3.8 GPA, higher than 90% of his school's population, so he guesses things shook out alright, military academy or not.
After they get all their shit packed into the apartment, they take a tour of their new home. They start with the living room, big enough to fit a couch, maybe a few chairs and the tv Ian helped pay for after Mickey sent his XBOX controller through the screen of his last one, and some other stuff. From there they make their way down the small hallway to their bedroom. The walls are a light grey color and there's a skylight, which Mickey is already complaining about. Ian laughs and pushes him out of the room to the bathroom where Ian hums in approval at the size of the shower causing Mickey to turn around and smirk at him. They shuffle out the bathroom to the kitchen, separated from the living room by a counter/breakfast bar. Ian runs his hand over the smooth counter top as Mickey opens the fridge.
"We need food." Mickey states.
Ian snorts and comes up behind him, bending to gaze into the bare shelves of the fridge. "True," Ian agrees, shutting the door and settling a hand on his boyfriend's hip, urging him to turn around and face Ian. When he does Ian balls his other hand in Mickey's t-shirt and pushes him against the fridge making it rattle slightly.
"Easy there, tough guy, don't want to break anything. I have plans for you later." Mickey says, looking at Ian through his eyelashes.
"Oh, yeah? Like what?" Ian says lowly, releasing the fabric of Mickey's shirt and sliding it down his chest towards the button on his jeans. "Like help me set up the bed frame and mount the tv," Mickey replies, pushing Ian away and laughing at Ian's expression. "Also, grocery shopping." Mickey continues, rounding the counter and starting to unpack boxes. Ian groans and follows.
**
It's been 3 weeks since they moved in and got everything situated and Ian's still floating. He gets to eat with Mickey, and shower in their bathroom with Mickey, and most importantly, sleep in a bed, their bed, with Mickey every night. Mickey grumbles when he wakes up to Ian smiling stupidly at him, asking why he's such a freak, but Ian catches the way Mickey smiles while they go through their morning routine in the bathroom. The way the bubbles of his toothpaste does nothing to hide the smile plastered to Mickey's face as he watches Ian gelling his hair back out of the corner of his eye. Mickey walks out of the bathroom telling Ian to shut up, smile still stuck.
Also, sex. Lots of sex. In their bed, on the couch, in the hallway, the kitchen counters, the shower, everywhere. Even the laundry room located in the basement one late night. They hadn't meant to but something about the way Ian was loading the dryer got Mickey going and Ian was quick to comply.
The thing was, now with their own place, they were free to walk around stark naked if they wanted. It was liberating. They spent most of their time lounging around the living room, snuggled on the couch in nothing but their underwear, watching tv. Ian could walk up behind Mickey as he was cooking and slip his hand into his shorts without the fear of anyone interrupting and it was like a breath of fresh air, with being new in the area and not knowing anyone yet they didn't have to be constantly paranoid someone would come knocking and demand their attention. So they christened all four rooms and the hallway within those first three weeks, several times. Those rooms where they would be living and creating memories together, where Mickey would bang his head on the cupboards and cut himself shaving, where they would have their first real fight and where they would kiss a thousand times and smoke a thousand cigarettes. But they were ready. Ian was so ready and Mickey was ready, too.
These four rooms where the next five years would play out.