Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mickey sat on the curb outside the construction site, dirt and dust caked into his jeans and boots. He unwrapped his sandwich with his usual scowl, taking a bite as his boss, Tommy, plopped down beside him, cracking open a soda and taking a long swig. The two men sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of hammers and drills filling the air, before Tommy broke it.

“You married?” Tommy asked suddenly, gesturing toward Mickey’s hand.

Mickey blinked at him, his brow furrowing. “What?”

Tommy pointed again. “The ring, Mick. You wear a wedding ring.”

Mickey glanced at the plain silver band on his finger, then back at Tommy, already annoyed. “This ain’t a wedding ring, dumbass. It’s a friendship ring.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, visibly puzzled. “A friendship ring?”

“Yeah,” Mickey grunted, stuffing more sandwich into his mouth. He chewed aggressively, avoiding Tommy’s curious stare. “It’s a fuckin’ thing, okay? The guy’s my roommate.”

Tommy laughed, not buying it for a second. “Your roommate gave you a friendship ring? What kinda Hallmark movie shit is that?”

Mickey rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the memory that surfaced. Ian, with that stupid grin on his face, had dragged him down to the beach a couple years ago, saying they needed to “officially” promise to be friends forever. Mickey thought it was the dumbest shit he’d ever heard, but Ian had that look—the one where Mickey could never really say no.

“Look,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “The dude’s… weird, alright? He made me go down to the beach one day and promise to be his ‘friend forever.’ I told him he was bein’ weird as shit, but, y’know… I think his mom must’ve dropped him on his head when he was a baby or somethin’, so I just said okay. Thought that was it, but nah. He throws this whole… fuckin’ ‘friendship party,’ invites both our families and everything.”

Tommy choked on his soda, laughing. “A party? Like, with people? A ceremony or somethin’?”

“Kinda,” Mickey admitted, shrugging. “My dad almost beat the shit outta Ian for it, too. Shit was hilarious.”

Tommy chuckled, clearly enjoying this more than Mickey would’ve liked. “Did you wear a suit?”

Mickey scowled. “Yeah, I wore a suit. Ian showed up in this gay-ass white one. Told him he was gonna get it all stained up, but the dumb fuck didn’t listen.”

Tommy’s laughter turned into a knowing look. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, forming a crude gesture with his fingers—the index of one hand poking into the circle of the other. “So… do y’all ever do the dirty?”

Mickey smirked, finally leaning into the absurdity of the conversation. “Yeah, we’re friends with benefits. What of it?”

Tommy burst out laughing again. “So… you live together. You’re bangin’. You sleep in the same bed?”

“Yeah, saves a bunch of money on rent,” Mickey replied nonchalantly. “Other room’s for his kid.”

Tommy’s eyes went wide. “Ian has a kid? Before or after he moved in?”

Mickey shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. “He adopted the kid like a year after the friendship party.”

Tommy sat back, staring at Mickey like he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Holy shit, Mickey… I think you’re married.”

Mickey froze mid-bite, narrowing his eyes at Tommy. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“Think about it,” Tommy said, counting on his fingers. “You had a ceremony. You wear rings. You live together, share a bed, raise a kid, and, oh yeah, you’re fuckin’. That’s marriage, man.”

Mickey stared at him, the gears in his head turning as the realization slowly sank in. “…No. No, it’s not.”

“It is,” Tommy insisted, grinning like he’d cracked the biggest mystery of the century.

Mickey shook his head vehemently, but the small knot of doubt had formed in his chest. He thought of Ian again—his stupid smile, the way he always made sure the apartment was spotless, the lunches he packed for Mickey every day, the dinners waiting for him when he got home, even after Ian worked his own job. Mickey thought about the kid, too—how Ian called him their kid, like Mickey had been there from the start.

Tommy leaned back with a smug expression, watching Mickey’s face shift between denial and realization. “Face it, Mick. You’re a married man.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Mickey muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.

And deep down, he knew Tommy might be right.

—
Mickey slammed the door to their apartment, his boots thudding heavily against the floor as he stormed in. Ian, sitting on the couch with their kid curled up next to him, glanced up from the TV, raising an eyebrow at the sudden entrance.

“What’s your problem?” Ian asked, casually tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Mickey threw his lunchbox onto the counter with more force than necessary and jabbed a finger in Ian’s direction. “Are we married?”

Ian blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me, Gallagher!” Mickey barked, stepping closer. “Are. We. Married?”

Ian paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge if this was a joke. “Uh… no? I mean, not technically.”

“Not technically?” Mickey snapped, throwing his arms up. “Tommy’s been runnin’ his mouth about how we live together, got rings, sleep in the same bed, got a kid—hell, we even take baths together sometimes. And now he’s convinced me you tricked me into some gay-ass marriage shit!”

Ian leaned back against the couch, biting back a smirk. “You’re mad because you just realized our life together is, what, too gay for you now?”

Mickey scowled, pacing in frustration. “Yeah! It’s gay as fuck! And I ain’t gay!”

Ian let out a laugh, which only made Mickey glare at him harder. “Mick, you’re gay. You’ve been gay. We sleep together, share everything, raise a kid, and, yeah, sometimes we take baths together. That’s about as gay as it gets.”

Mickey stopped pacing, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t sign up for a marriage, Ian! This was supposed to be… I don’t know, just us. Friends. With benefits.”

Ian’s smirk disappeared, and his tone softened. “Mick, you’re the one who said yes to the stupid friendship rings. You’re the one who shows up every night, cooks sometimes, helps with the kid, and doesn’t leave. Call it whatever you want, but you’re here because you want to be.”

Mickey opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, he huffed and flopped onto the couch beside Ian, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

“This is still your fault,” he grumbled.

Ian laughed and leaned over, kissing Mickey on the cheek. “Yeah, yeah. My fault. Now shut up and watch TV before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Mickey muttered under his breath, but as Ian slung an arm around his shoulders and their kid snuggled closer, he didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

The next day, Mickey sat on the curb at lunch, tearing into his sandwich like it owed him money, Tommy slid down beside him, cracking open his soda with that same irritating grin Mickey had grown to hate.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back casually. “How the hell didn’t you know Ian’s kid was yours?”

Mickey froze mid-bite, his head whipping toward Tommy. “What the fuck are you on about now?”

Tommy chuckled, taking a sip of his soda. “Saw you the other day with the little guy. Heard him plain as day, callin’ you ‘Papa.’ So either Ian’s kid thinks you’re his dad, or you got somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”

Mickey scowled, turning his attention back to his sandwich. “He’s two, Tommy. Kid doesn’t know what the hell he’s sayin’. He calls everyone stupid shit like that.”

Tommy shook his head, smirking. “Nah, Mick. That wasn’t random. Kid knows who you are. He’s not callin’ Ian ‘Papa,’ is he?”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably, ripping off another bite of his sandwich like it might help. “He’s Ian’s kid. Not mine. I just… help out sometimes, that’s all.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Help out? Mick, you live with him, the kid calls you ‘Papa,’ and I’m guessin’ you’re there more than Ian is. Sounds like you’re a dad to me.”

“I didn’t sign up to be a fuckin’ dad!” Mickey snapped, slamming his sandwich back into the wrapper. “I didn’t even wanna live with Ian in the first place. He’s the one who begged me to move in.”

Tommy just laughed, shaking his head. “Mick, I hate to break it to you, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

Mickey shot to his feet, his fists clenched. “Fuck you, Tommy.”

But as he stormed back toward the worksite, Tommy’s words lingered. Papa. Mickey hated how it didn’t sound completely wrong.

—

Mickey stormed up the apartment stairs, his boots echoing like thunder. He was fuming, Tommy’s words circling in his head like vultures. By the time he reached the door, he didn’t bother using his key—he kicked it open with a loud bang.

“Gallagher!” he roared, his voice echoing through the apartment. “Get your ass out here right now! You got some fuckin’ explaining to do!”

Ian appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, the toddler perched casually on his hip. The little boy, wide-eyed but unfazed by the noise, sucked on his thumb, leaning against Ian like he belonged there. Ian raised an eyebrow at Mickey’s outburst.

“What the hell’s your problem now?” Ian asked, his tone flat.

Mickey jabbed a finger at the boy. “Him! You tellin’ me he’s fuckin’ mine?!”

Ian groaned, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the toddler. “We’re on this shit again? Really, Mickey?”

“Answer me, Ian!” Mickey barked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yes,” Ian snapped, clearly annoyed. “He’s yours, Mickey. Our kid. You’ve known that since day one.”

Mickey stood frozen for a moment before his anger boiled over. He slammed his fist into the nearest wall, leaving a dent. “When the fuck did I agree to havin’ a kid, huh? When?!”

Ian’s expression softened, but his grip on the toddler didn’t waver. “You didn’t, Mick. But you didn’t walk away, either. You’ve been here for two years. Feeding him, playing with him, putting him to bed. Hell, he calls you Papa, and you don’t even correct him.”

Mickey ran a hand over his face, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “I can’t do this, Ian. I’m gonna fuck it up. I’ll be a shitty dad, just like my old man.”

Ian stepped closer, his voice firm but calm. “Mick, stop. You’re not your father. Look at me.” Mickey hesitated, but Ian’s blue eyes held him in place. “You’ve been a dad for two years. And you’re not screwin’ it up. The kid adores you. I adore you. But you gotta stop fighting it. This is your life. You’re married. You’re a dad. Deal with it.”

Mickey let out a frustrated growl, gripping his hair. “This shit’s too much, Ian. You tricked me into some gay-ass family life.”

Ian smirked despite himself. “Yeah, I did. And you’re still here. So maybe you like this gay-ass family life more than you think.”

Mickey stared at Ian, then at the toddler who was now reaching out for him. With a heavy sigh, he walked over, reluctantly taking the boy into his arms. The kid smiled, patting Mickey’s face with sticky fingers.

“Papa,” the toddler said cheerfully.

Mickey swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “…This is so fuckin’ stupid.”

Ian grinned, leaning in to kiss Mickey on the cheek. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Mickey didn’t respond, but he didn’t let go of the kid, either.