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Mickey was laying on the couch smoking while watching some broadcast when Ian came rushing out of the bedroom, wearing just pants and going through the small pile of dirty laundry they have in the corner.
“Hey, have you seen any of my shirts clean?” Ian asked as he sorted through the laundry.
Mickey’s eyes don’t leave the television as the red head rummages through the dirty clothes.
“Uh, no.” He replies. “You can borrow one of mine if you want.”
“They won’t fit,” Ian states simply. “I love seeing you in my clothes, you look all cute and shit. But yours are too small for me.”
“Are you calling me fucking short?” Mickey asked with no real bite in his tone.
“Mick, you’re 5’7”. That’s like, just barely taller than most girls here.” Ian states, simple as a fact as he continues going through the clothes.
Mickey rolls his eyes then glances over at his husband then back at the broadcast. “You got plans today or something?” He asks as Ian finds a shirt he deems clean enough and tugs it on.
“Gonna paint our room.” Ian informed and grabbed socks and his clunky shoes before dropping onto the couch next to Mickey.
“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” Mickey asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Ian shrugs as he begins to lace up his shoes.
“Got the idea last night.” Ian informs. “I already moved a lot of our stuff around while you were at work looking for an old book I had because I remembered it and wanted to reread it. So I figured since everything was already moved why not paint? I placed a tarp down too.”
Mickey raises an eyebrow and turns to him.
“You wanted to read a book so you moved everything in our room? How the fuck do those two correlate?” Mickey asked. He had stayed overnight with Mandy at her place last night after helping her with a job so he was unaware of the apparent state their room was now in.
“Couldn’t find it, figured it’d be under the bed. It wasn’t.” Ian said and jumped to his feet, grabbing a jacket off the coat rack near the entrance. “Oh, I should probably get painter’s tape so it doesn’t get everywhere. Also there’s pancakes in the kitchen if you’re hungry while I’m out. Or you could come with and we can go on a date. We can catch a movie before I come back and then you can take a nap on the couch while I paint.”
Mickey pauses for a moment as Ian begins a hunt for the car keys and Mickey sighs deeply, shoving his cigarette on their table to burn it out and he stood, walking over to Ian and placing his hands on his shoulders, making the red head turn to look him in the eyes.
“Hey,” Ian said with a soft smile and leaned down to kiss him before pulling back to look for the keys again.
“Ian,” Mickey scratches his face as he watches Ian get down on the ground to look under the couch. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Nope,” Ian replies. “Had to find my book. Then I face timed Lip for a bit and then texted Debbie. Franny’s doing great by the way. Oh, and then I wanted to make you pancakes ‘cause I didn’t know when you’d get back. I accidentally ate the whole first batch so I had to make a second one. You’ve been here for the rest.”
Mickey stares at him for a moment.
“Okay, uh, shit. You got a lot of energy?” Mickey asked.
“Tons!” Ian says and stands with the keys in hand. “Feel like I just drank five red bulls but I didn’t. I feel great!” He turns to grab his wallet off the coffee table.
“Does time feel like it’s moving super fast?” Mickey asked and Ian shrugs. “Why? What time is it? It should be only like seven am, right?” Ian replies.
“It’s 2 pm,” Mickey responds and Ian chuckles a little. “Damn, than yeah time is moving fast.”
“Do you feel agitated at all?”
“Uh, I will if you keep pestering me.”
“You feeling impulsive at all?” Mickey asked and Ian finally turns to look at him, smile faltering for a moment and he ducked his eyes.
“I know these questions,” Ian mumbles distastefully and Mickey crosses his arms.
“Ian, are you feeling impulsive?” Mickey asked again and Ian rolls his eyes and groans.
“Yes, okay?! I feel impulsive!”
“Like you want to run into the road without looking both ways? Crash the car? Jump off a roof?” Mickey ran through the questions Fiona had given years ago as Ian stared at him with an upset expression.
“I don’t feel suicidal, Mick .” Ian says with a growing frown.
“That’s not what I asked, Ian .” Mickey said and Ian stares at him for a moment and then looks at the ground.
“Okay, yeah, fine, whatever. Impulsive like that I guess.” Ian said and then shook his head. “But I’m smart, I’m not gonna fucking kill myself. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you,” Mickey promises and rests his hand on Ian’s forearm, fingers loosely squeezing. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong,” Ian said. “I’m not manic.”
“You always say you’re not manic when you are.” Mickey pointed out. “And your mania is normally triggered when you’re stressed out and shit. So what went wrong?”
“Nothing!” Ian pulled his arm away and tucked his wallet into his jeans. “Everything is fine. I tell you when shit goes wrong.”
“You do,” Mickey said and shrugged. “But it’s okay to keep secrets you know. And if something went wrong that’s causing you to be manic, I gotta know at least that something happened. Not what.”
“Look, I’m being honest, nothing has gone wrong. Got a raise at work, got to see my family and nothing went horribly wrong when I visited, I got the love of my life here. Everything is great.” Ian says and looks Mickey in his eyes.
The shorter man is silent for a moment, holding Ian’s gaze.
“Well maybe it’s that everything is too perfect? Something has to be stressing you out. That or you haven’t taken your meds.” Mickey says it mostly as a joke but the way Ian quickly avoids his gaze gives him enough of an answer.
“Ian,” Mickey says scoldingly and Ian begins to storm out the door, Mickey shoving his shoes on to quickly follow. “Why?”
“ Because ,” Ian snaps, getting into the car. “They make me feel fucking numb and boring and it feels like I’m in an eternal loop. Without them I at least feel . I don’t care that it’s too much.”
“Ian, being manic isn’t healthy, you could hurt yourself by accident, make a bad mistake or something else.” Mickey said, sat in the passenger’s seat and he grabbed Ian’s hand. “I can’t fucking deal with you going to prison or some shit.”
Ian rolls his eyes and pulls out of their driveway.
“Oh, but me dealing with you in jail for years and years was just all fine and fucking dandy though, right?” Ian spits out.
“Ian,” Mickey says softly. “Please just take your meds, okay? We can still paint the room and go on a date. Just- Look, I fucking care about you, okay? And it scares me that you might do something impulsive and hurt yourself. And your psychosis, Ian. I don’t want you scared something is going to come after you when you’re safe here with me.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m a fucking psycho.” Ian says but shakes his head. “Meds are at home.”
Mickey opens the glove department and smiles tightly, shaking three pill bottles in his face.
"Fuck you," Ian says and Mickey shakes his head. "Ian, you put these here. Because you know when you get manic you won't listen to anyone but yourself. You're not thinking straight right now, please just... Just take your meds Ian. I'm trying to do what's best for you."
"And why is everything that's "best for me" something I don't want to do?" Ian said and slammed his hand against the wheel. "Like jesus fucking christ Mick! I hate the meds, the meds make me feel like shit and I- I hate feeling like shit! IT made me-"
Ian pauses and swallows hard and sniffs.
"It made me feel like I couldn't love. Couldn't love you or- Or myself." Ian mumbles and his shoulders sag. "I hate them."
Mickey is quiet for a bit and looks down at the meds in his hands.
"We'll talk to your therapist, see if they can switch up some of the meds, maybe prescribe new ones. They said it's a shot in the dark years ago, we never really like, went over the side effects with your doctor or anything." Mickey said. "I love you, and I don't want you to stop loving me, obviously. But I'd also rather you not be at risk for doing something stupidly impulsive and getting yourself hurt or worse."
Silence falls over them again for longer.
Finally, Ian sighs but holds out his palm.
Mickey drops one of each and then grabs an abandoned beer bottle from the back and hands it over. Ian downs the remaining beer and pills before sighing out slowly.
The couple remains silent for a good portion of the drive, not mad or sad, not happy either, but just silent.
Ian is the one to break it, shakily exhaling before opening his mouth.
“I’m sorry I’m not normal.” He apologises. “Sorry you have a fucked up husband who either feels nothing or feels crazy. And that you couldn’t get someone who was fucking sane.”
“Hey,” Mickey says. “Shut the fuck up, that’s my husband you’re talking about.”
Ian laughs lightly as Ian parks outside the hardware store.
“I don’t care that you’re not normal.” Mickey says. “I care that you’re Ian fucking Gallagher. Okay? You don’t need to be normal, stop trying to be.”
Ian smiles and leans forward, resting their foreheads together.
“Love you.” Ian says and Mickey grins. “You fucking better, that ring you’re wearing cost a shit ton. Come on, let’s go pick out paint for out bedroom like a bunch of fucking domestic ass queers.”
“We are domestic ass queers.” Ian says and climbs out of the car.
“Oh good, I thought this whole thing was just some sort of sting operation.” Mickey jokes and they link arms as they enter the store.