Chapter Text
The tables were already lined up in long rows across the lawn. White cloths, rectangular plates, golden glasses in between.
Mickey wore his light green T-shirt, the one with the white logo on the chest. He held a bucket of dahlias in one hand, scissors in the other. He was working quickly, but not rushed. Just a few small details left. Three more tables, then he’d be done.
The sun was still low. It was early, and the breeze was soft, but it was already warm.
He was leaning over a centerpiece when two arms wrapped around him from behind. Warm and familiar.
“If you don’t head inside now, you’re going to miss your own wedding,” Ian whispered at his ear and kissed just beneath it.
Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, took in the warmth, and exhaled softly.
Then he turned his head, just a little, and kissed him. Short and gentle.
“I have to finish this,” he murmured.
“It looks perfect, Mickey.”
“No, it doesn’t. And nobody’s going to start without me, right?”
He pulled away and kept working. Ian could only roll his eyes.
A moment later, Toby came walking across the grass. “I’ll take over. Go get changed, Mick.”
Mickey hesitated. Looked at the unfinished arrangements.
“Mickey,” Ian said, gently warning.
“I got this,” Toby added. “Promise.”
Mickey sighed. Handed him the scissors. “If you cut the dahlias too short, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Got it.”
Mickey nodded briefly, but Ian was already tugging him toward the house by the hand.
Upstairs, the bathroom smelled like lavender and hairspray. His shirt was neatly ironed, draped over the back of a chair. Ian had followed him into the room.
It had been over a year since they’d first slept together.
Everything moved quickly after that.
Snickers had moved in with Mickey first. Ian came a few weeks later.
They’d fallen for each other headfirst, and it was almost scary how close they were after just a few months.
Mickey had remodeled the flower shop after a quiet winter. He stopped keeping fresh cut flowers for walk-ins and only did bouquets by order. Instead, the shop was now full of succulents in every shape and size, and cacti in little, colorful pots. It worked better than expected. And it made him calmer.
In March, Ian had asked him to marry him while they were eating tamales. They were both on lunch break, sitting in the shop, on the workbench between leftover eucalyptus from a half-finished order.
Mickey had looked at him like he’d misheard. Then, after a “you’re insane,” came a “seriously?” And then they had sex.
Choosing the flowers for the wedding had been a nightmare.
You’d think Mickey would know exactly which flowers, which colors he’d want for his own wedding.
He made lists, deleted them again. Stayed up at night scrolling through Pinterest. He wanted it to be perfect.
Ian eventually told him to just pick what made him happy.
It turned out far from traditional. It was nearly autumn, and Mickey had gone with warm colors. He combined deep red dahlias with orange gerbera.
They matched the venue Ian had found—the one that cost them all their savings.
And now everything was ready. Except for him.
He was just pulling on his shirt when the door to his room opened. Ian poked his head in.
“Can I come in?”
“Not sure if that’s bad luck.”
Ian stepped inside anyway. He had a small, flat package in his hand, wrapped in paper.
“I wanted to give you something. Before we don’t have a minute to ourselves anymore.”
Mickey frowned. “A gift?”
“Just something small.”
He took it. Opened it slowly.
It was a mug. But not just any mug.
He looked at it. Then at Ian.
“Is this…?”
“The mug from back then,” Ian said. “The one that fell when we bumped into each other.”
Mickey turned it in his hands. The cracks had been glued, but a few little pieces were missing.
“I found it in the trash back then and wanted to buy you a new one. As an apology. But I couldn’t find the same one again, so I glued it. Then I thought I’d give it to you for your birthday, but Ester said you'd hate that. So I just stuck it in the back of a cabinet. You probably can’t even drink from it—I’m terrible at puzzles.”
He smiled and laid a hand on Mickey’s hip.
“I’ve got something super cheesy prepared. Want to hear it?”
Mickey could only nod, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Let’s always fix what’s broken, okay? Whether it’s just a mug or our marriage.”
Mickey didn’t say anything at first.
Then he carefully set the mug on the windowsill and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“If you make me cry one more time, I swear I’ll kill you, asshole.”
He chuckled, and Ian did too, leaning in to kiss him.
“Promise,” Mickey whispered against his lips.
Debby knocked on the doorframe. “Ready?” she asked.
Ian nodded at her, then turned back to Mickey.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you at the altar.”
Mickey smiled and watched him disappear outside.
He glanced back at the mug on the windowsill. Ran his finger over one of the cracks.
Ian hadn’t just fixed the mug.
When the music began to play, Mickey smiled and left the room.