the bathroom drawer
"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"
"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.
"My cologne."
"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."
"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."
"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."
"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."
"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"
"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"
"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.
Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."
Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"
Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.
"Better," Mickey grumbles.
Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.
He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."
"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."
"What the fuck is--"
Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.
Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"
Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."
"Debbie's?"
"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."
Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"
Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."
"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"
"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."
"That shit expires?"
"Supposedly. But who knows."
Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"
"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."
"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."
"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"
"What, make up?"
"Yeah."
"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."
Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"
"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"
"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"
Mickey shrugs. "No."
"Okay."
Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.
"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"
"Weird," Mickey says.
"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."
Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."
Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"
"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.
Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."
"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."
"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."
"You say that about everything you want me to wear."
"And I've never been wrong once."
Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"
"No."
"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"
Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."
Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."
"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.
"How do I do it?"
"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."
Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.
Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."
Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.
"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.
"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.
"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."
Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"
"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."
"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."
"A hot alien."
Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.
"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"
Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.
Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."
"I don't know if I like it."
"That's okay too."
Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."
Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."
Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"
"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."
"I get to punch them."
"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."
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