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The first thing Mickey becomes aware of is the soft pitter-patter of rain against their apartment window. The second is the warm weight of Ian's arm around his waist, holding Mickey against his chest, his soft breaths gently moving the hair on the top of his head. He burrows further under the covers, taking up as much warmth as he can and luxuriating in the still heavy feeling of his limbs. Sundays are sacred, as far as Mickey is concerned. Nothing is expected from him on Sundays. No deliveries, no Gallagher family drama, just relaxing and lounging around the apartment with his husband.
The rain makes this Sunday extra lazy. Rain means that they can cuddle up in bed or on the couch and watch movies, the atmosphere begging them to stay half asleep the entire day. He feels himself relax further into the mattress, sleep hovering at the edge of his consciousness, the comforter feeling extra warm in the way that makes things hazy around the edges. He could probably fall back asleep if he wants to. Yeah, lazy, rainy Sundays are the best kind of lazy Sundays.
Before he can fall completely back to sleep, Ian shifts behind him, inhaling deeply and tightening his grasp around Mickey's waist. Mickey's lips quirk up into a small smile despite himself when Ian takes a moment to keep his nose in his hair a little longer, the smell freak that he is. A moment passes where they both live in the quiet, the room cold and gray from the rain, but warm underneath the covers.
"Hey," Ian mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep.
"Hey yourself," Mickey whispers back, turning around in Ian's arms, making sure to keep the arm around his waist. Ian's eyes are half closed, his body is still sleep-warm, and he looks moments from falling back asleep. He blinks slowly, smiling softly as he meets Mickey's gaze. Warmth spreads through Mickey's chest, because he's cheesy and weak like that now, and he pats his hand against Ian's chest lazily.
"You look like you're going to fall asleep again there sleepyface," he says.
"Mm," Ian hums, stretching his legs slightly. "Think I should get up though. I need to eat." Mickey definitely does not whine at this. He definitely does not cram his face into the junction between Ian's neck and shoulder, and says "No" petulantly. He just wants to sleep more, is all, as all Sundays call for, and his husband being in bed with him is an important part of the sanctity and strict rituals of said Sundays. Ian huffs, amused, and rubs his hand down Mickey's back.
"C'mon, Mick," He says after kissing the crown of Mickey's head, "I'll make pancakes." Mickey grumbles, but acquiesces, groaning unhappily when the cold apartment air hits him as Ian gets out of bed. And because his husband loves him, and knows he'll try and soak up as much time as possible in bed (even though they'll probably — definitely — end back up in bed before the day is done), he tucks the covers back around Mickey's shoulders and kisses his head with a loud 'smack' before leaving to head to the kitchen. He takes a second to curl into the warmth that Ian left behind, face down in Ian's pillow. Alongside the rain now, Mickey hears Ian going through their cupboards to get all of the ingredients, humming lowly to himself.
After taking a deep breath to rally himself, because his stomach is growling now, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen, joining his husband after throwing on a pair of flannel pyjama pants he's pretty sure are actually Ian's, if the length is anything to go by. He sits at the kitchen counter, reaches for Ian's, now his, cup of coffee and takes a sip. His toes curl against the cold tile flooring, and he instinctively wraps both his hands around the hot mug. The warmth helps against the chill that usually accompanies rainy days, and the view of his husband making breakfast for the two of them helps too.
"I thought for sure you'd stay in bed as long as possible," Ian teases, pan sizzling.
And because Mickey is mushy now, and he can say gay things because he's gay married to his gay husband, he doesn't even think before he says, "It's too cold without you. No fun if you aren't there."
It's always worth the brilliant smile Ian sends his way.
Breakfast is served with a hefty amount of maple syrup for Mickey and some fruit for Ian. Mickey even lets Ian put some strawberries on his plate, even though he's pretty sure the amount of syrup will counteract any health benefits. They sit at the kitchen table together, knees knocking against knees. Ian hisses when Mickey presses his cold feet against his shins and kicks him off, reaching over and stealing a sip of coffee in retaliation, even though he had poured himself a new cup after Mickey had taken his. The rain slows while they eat, eventually stopping altogether, but the heavy clouds remain.
"Maybe we should take advantage of the rain stopping while we can," Ian muses, "go get some groceries." Mickey frowns.
"Do you not understand the concept of a lazy Sunday? We stay in and do fuck all."
"I know what a lazy Sunday is. But we're out of beer and chips," Ian says, "How fun will 'Lazy Sunday' be if we don't have those while we watch whatever at the end of the night?" Mickey presses his lips together.
"You know it'll start raining the fuckin' second we step outside, right?" he says. His husband rolls his eyes.
"Well, we better get a move on then." He stands up, gesturing at Mickey to finish his last few bites. "Faster we get this done, the quicker we can get back and do fuck all." He says, heading into the bedroom, presumably off to get some sweatpants and a hoodie. Mickey hangs his head for a second, bemoaning the fact that he has chores to do, completely going against what he wanted to do today, which was nothing, before shoving the rest of his pancake in his mouth and joining his husband in the bedroom to get some warmer clothes on.
The usually busy streets are pretty much deserted as they walk to the Whole Foods close by. Only the occasional dog walker or random passerby are out and about, an occasional car passing by. Mickey had already given one the finger and a few choice words when it had driven in a puddle way too aggressively and almost drenched his pants, much to Ian's amusement. It seems as though the rest of the populace had decided to stay in, the slight chill in the air only reinforced by the heavy clouds and slight breeze. So far, the rain is being kept at bay, and Mickey hopes that Ian was right and they'll be able to get in and out of the store with the goods before it inevitably kicks back up again.
Buying everything is uneventful and quick, as barely any other customers are in the store. The only delay they have is the usual debate on what flavour of chips to get ("Original is the way to go, you know this!" "We got Original last time! I want to try the All-Dressed." "They taste the same, Mick, c'mon!" "No they don't, are you insane? In what world do they taste the same?") With Mickey carrying the beer and Ian carrying the Original chips (he never can deny his husband anything, even if his choice of chip flavour is boring and uninspired), they walk out of the store.
Everything is fine as they walk back to the apartment, making idle conversation about the recent Gallagher escapades, until Mickey feels a drop of rain on the tip of his nose. And then another on his cheek, and another on his arm.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," is all he manages to get out before the heavens themselves seem to open, immediately drenching the two of them. And since his dear husband had insisted that they would finish the grocery run so fast they would beat the rain, they hadn't brought an umbrella to shield them.
"The park, Mick! Over there!" Ian points at the gazebo in the nearby park, immediately dashing in its direction with his arms over his head. The sight might've been funny, with the bag of chips waving around in the air, if Mickey himself wasn't also getting soaked. So he follows, swearing the whole time, trying to cover his head as much as possible with just one arm, while the other carries the rapidly soaking cardboard box containing the beer. If this whole thing ends up with a soggy bag of chips and a box of beer falling to pieces on the ground, Ian's sleeping on the couch tonight.
The gazebo itself has glass paneled walls, like fancy windows you'd see on a big ass house, and benches lining the inner circumference. There are some flowers planted around the outside, weighed down significantly by the pouring rain. More importantly, there's a roof as shelter from the downpour. It might've been a pretty sight, if Mickey wasn't currently trying to blink away the water pouring down his face into his eyes.
They take a moment to catch their breath and watch as the rain falls down around them, the drops of water running down the glass of the gazebo walls, blurring the outside until everything is just smears of vague shapes and colours. Thunder rumbles ominously outside, but the sound of it as well as the rain is slightly muffled from inside.
"I fuckin' told you man," Mickey says, looking out and wondering how long it'll take the rain to slow down so they can go back to the apartment. He is absolutely drenched. He feels how his hair is plastered across his forehead and he tries to swipe it back with his equally soaked hand. His boots squeak against the ground as he sets the beer case on one of the benches, exasperatedly taking off his coat with a long-suffering sigh, and setting it down as well. He squeezes his shirt with one hand, trying to wring the water out, before looking over at Ian. His husband is already staring at him, a small smile on his face, before he promptly bursts out laughing.
"How the hell was I supposed to know it was going to do that?" he gets out between bouts of laughter. "I thought it was going to drizzle at most, I didn't expect a fucking hurricane!"
Mickey fights against his own smile, which is a lost cause when he starts to laugh too.
"You mean you didn't see those dark ass fuckin' clouds outside and think 'oh, maybe I should listen to my husband, it looks like a storm is coming'?" Ian only smiles in return, copying Mickey as he takes off his own coat and sets it next to Mickey's, putting the bag of chips on top of the beer.
"You look like a wet rat," he says fondly, softly brushing Mickey's hair off of his forehead before placing a hand on Mickey's damp shoulder.
"You don't look so put together either," Mickey quips back, even though Ian's hair is too short to really make him look all that dishevelled, moreso flattened on his head. Droplets of water are running down both their faces, and they both laugh softly again at the state of them both.
"So much for a lazy Sunday, huh?" Mickey says, lightly putting his hands on Ian's shoulders as Ian's hands move to his waist.
"Mm, I don't know Mick," Ian muses, "I think I prefer this to staying on the couch all day."
"Oh?" Mickey raises his eyebrows, "You like getting drenched in the cold fuckin' rain instead of staying warm at home?"
"This is much more romantic," Ian murmurs, smiling a little. "Like straight out of a movie."
Mickey snorts at that, looking down briefly as a gentle kind of warmth spreads through his chest. Of course Ian would say something that cheesy and mean it wholeheartedly, sap that he is. When Mickey looks back up, a smile on his face, Ian is looking at him with such tenderness he feels the warmth spread to his cheeks and his knees weaken from the pure adoration reflected in his husband's eyes.
Maybe Ian's sappiness has infected him too, though, because Mickey thinks his husband looks downright gorgeous. His short hair is already slowly drying, but there's this one curl at his right temple that lets a droplet of water trickle down his face, and the slight redness to his cheeks from the cold rain is bringing out his freckles, and his eyes seem so green, and he's looking at him like that, and Mickey's sure he's never seen anyone look so beautiful.
He's so caught up with staring at Ian that the loud roll of thunder takes him by surprise, making him jump slightly as he turns his head towards the glass panes as lightning arcs through the sky. The rain is still crashing down, far more audible now, and the world outside is just a blur due to the amount of water pouring down the glass around them.
"Jesus," He breathes, "storm must be right on top of us-"
But before he can finish, Ian puts a hand on his cheek and angles Mickey's head back to face him and kisses him. And because Mickey is just a man, he immediately reciprocates as Ian goes to cradle his head, titling his head slightly upwards as Ian drags him further in.
Both their faces are still slightly damp, Mickey's hair is still soaked through and sending slow rivulets of water down both their faces, Ian's nose is cold as it presses against his cheek, but it is by far one of the most romantic and softest kisses Mickey has ever gotten. There's no urgency, just a gentle press of lips together while the world goes muted around them. Ian delicately brushes his thumbs against Mickey's cheeks, while Mickey plays with the curls at the base of Ian's neck, as they both breathe each other in.
The warmth of Ian's hands makes Mickey shiver, his damp clothes reminding him of the chill in the air, and he presses closer to get more of his husband's body heat. Their soft kiss stops, but Ian presses his forehead against Mickey's, not keen on creating any distance between them. He sways them back and forth, barely any movement to it, just a small rocking, just like they did at their wedding.
Mickey smiles, gently, the way he only does when he and Ian are alone.
"Okay," he whispers, "maybe you're onto something about that romantic shit." Ian laughs, presses a kiss to his forehead, then one on each cheek, on his nose, until Mickey huffs, amused, and kisses his lips again.
"I love you," Ian whispers into the kiss, "so much."
"I love you too," Mickey replies, a little breathless, very much in love. They stand there, listening to the rain and thunder, in their own little world, pressed together from head to toe.
Sundays are sacred, as far as Mickey's concerned. Nothing is expected from Mickey on Sundays. No deliveries, no family drama. Just existing and being so very in love with his husband, kisses growing clumsy from toothy, love-struck grins, as the rain pours down above them.