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He's been waiting for the proverbial fade to black for what feels like forever.
Come to think of it, pretty much since the movie started because Jesus Christ, was this a shitty-ass one! A deal’s a deal, though – it had been Ian’s turn to pick and if there’s one thing about movie nights that’s non-negotiable it’s the choice of movie. So if Ian wanted to watch a romance-slash-drama – why, though? why?? – then that’s what they watched.
Mickey’s not sure what irked him more: the long monologues in what barely hinted at English, the sad as fuck ending or the fact that DiCaprio used to be hot as hell when he was younger compared to not-so-much right now.
Either way, when the end credits do start rolling, he literally sighs in relief.
‘Thank fuckin’ god!’ he grumbles, rolling his shoulders and neck. ‘Five more minutes and I would’ve killed myself!’
And it’s not like he’s expecting Ian to agree with him. After all, his husband’s a giant softie who tears up whenever he discovers another species that mates for life. He’s expecting a huff and an eye-roll – which very promptly come – but surprisingly enough, they’re followed by a sniffle and Ian surreptitiously wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
What in the ever-loving fuck?
‘You gotta be shittin' me! You fuckin' cryin' right now?’
Ian’s eyes flash dangerously and his chin lifts in defiance.
‘Excuse me for being attuned to my feelings and not being ashamed to let them out.’
‘Ashamed?’ Mickey laughs incredulously. ‘The fuck does shame have to do with anythin’?’
‘You're telling me you didn't find the story the least bit romantic?’ Ian asks and Mickey is tempted to push about the shame thing but this is too good an opportunity to rant about the movie to pass up.
‘No? I'll tell you how I found it, though. Fuckin’ boring!’
Ian scoffs, wipes his nose one more time and gets up from the couch with a long-suffering sigh.
‘Should've known it's beyond your capabilities,’ he snarks under his breath while gathering the empty beer bottles and reaching for the almost-empty bowl of popcorn.
‘The fuck’s that supposed to mean? I’m still eatin’, asshole!’ Mickey snarks back, snatching the bowl right from under Ian’s fingers. ‘And why are you so fuckin’ offended?’ he carries on around a mouthful of cold popcorn. ‘Not like you directed the damn thing!’
Ian’s already on his way to the kitchen, so Mickey assumes this is the end of the conversation. Wrong assumption.
‘Why didn’t you like it?’ his husband asks in the most demanding tone before stopping in front of the couch with arms crossed and lips pressed in a thin line.
‘I don't know, man, I just didn't,’ Mickey replies placatingly but Ian seems adamant to not let it go because he just keeps staring at him.
‘Christ, Ian, you want a fuckin' Rotten Tomatoes review?’
Silence and raised eyebrows.
‘Okay, fine!’ Mickey huffs because it seems this is how they’re communicating tonight, through noises expressing annoyance.
'First of all, the way they talked. The fuck was up with that?'
Ian rolls his eyes in slow motion and it makes Mickey want to throw popcorn at him. He settles for shoving some in his mouth instead.
'It's the original text of the play.'
'Thanks, Sherlock, I figured as much,' Mickey flips him off with a mock-smile. 'But wasn't it supposed to be a modern retellin' or whatever? Because it just sounded stupid and out of place. All that talk about swords when they were clearly usin' guns.'
'That was the whole point!'
'What, to make me feel like I'm not in the present but not in the past either?'
Ian opens his mouth, then quickly shuts it. 'Yeah, I guess,' he finally concedes half-heartedly.
One point for Milkovich.
'And then, the whole story itself.'
'What about the story?'
'Fuckin' sad and depressing!'
This time Ian briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head. 'It's a tragedy, dumbass!'
Mickey casts a quick glance at the bowl in his lap: empty, unfortunately so if he does want to throw something at Ian, it's probably going to have to be a pillow. He puts the bowl on the coffee table, leans back on the couch and crosses his arms as well.
'Yeah, well, if those two dimwits had two functionin' brain cells it wouldn't've had to be a tragedy.'
'Again, you're missing the point,' Ian says slowly, over-enunciating each word. 'They're star-crossed lovers, things are not supposed to work out.'
'That so? Then what the fuck is romantic about all that?'
'Everything!' Ian cries, throwing his hands in the air in obvious exasperation. 'How they desperately wanted to be together, how willing they were to give up everything for each other, how they hatched a plan-'
'No, no, no, no, no,' Mickey cuts off Ian's passionate speech, 'she hatched a plan. A lame one. First of all, you don't pull off a move like that without makin' sure the other one knows what the fuck is goin' on! And second, if he was able to sneak into her room so they could bang, then she could've snuck out and they could've ridden together into the sunset or whatever the fuck. No need for all the pointless drama and definitely no need for both of them to fuckin' die at the end!
'I swear you're being obtuse on purpose!' Ian huffs, for the hundredth time this evening. 'You're completely missing the point. They couldn't live without each other.'
'No, you're missing the point! When you can't live without someone you fuckin' make sure you won't have to. You fight tooth and nail against everyone and everything, you burn the whole world to the ground if you have to and you sure as shit don't leave anythin' to fuckin' chance! Okay? You don't trust the details of such a complex plan to fuckin' anyone because one little glitch could blow the whole thing up! And guess what? That glitch did happen and the whole thing did blow up. And yeah, I know that's the point of the story, to show us that sometimes life is shitty and it deals you shitty hands and no matter what you do, you just can't fuckin' win but don't tell me this is in any way romantic. It's just fuckin' depressing!'
At the end of his impromptu little speech he feels like he's run a goddamn marathon. His cheeks are burning, his chest is rising and falling rapidly and he's so thirsty he could drink a gallon of water in one go. And Ian is pretty much gaping at him, no doubt taken aback by this little outburst.
The thing is, the stupid movie kind of struck a nerve. Or maybe not just the movie, maybe it was also Ian's insistence that they perform a fucking frame-by-frame analysis of the damn thing. Either way, Mickey's a bit surprised too by his own vehemence, but let it not be said he's not attuned to his feelings or however the fuck Ian put it.
Speaking of Ian…
He's frowning now. It's like the little cogs in his brain are in overdrive because he keeps making weird faces, opening and closing his mouth and Mickey decides it's time for the final kill.
'Do you think our story is romantic?'
'I- what?'
He clearly wasn't expecting the abrupt change of direction because his frown has been replaced by wide eyes and a slack jaw.
'Think about it. Two gay guys from the South Side, one of them with a nazi piece of shit for a father. Pretty much like Romeo and Juliet, right? Anythin' romantic 'bout that?'
Mickey briefly pulls his lips inward and raises his eyebrows expectantly. And Ian just blinks.
'Come on, think about it. In a different world, we would've been high school sweethearts. Would've both been out. Held hands between classes, gone on cheesy dates, made plans for college. The whole nine yards. Boring? Definitely but also kinda nice. Now think about our version. Really think about it. Can you honestly say it's a romantic story?'
Silence. He watches Ian swallow, hard, then slowly shake his head.
'You can't. Because it ain't. Maybe if we tell it to someone else they'll think it is but we both know it ain't. And don't get me wrong, I love it because it's ours. We both fought for each other and we got our happy ending, so maybe that's why someone else would say it's romantic. But if the ending had been different… it would've just been a tragic story. You get what I'm sayin'?'
More silence. And then, quietly, 'Yeah, I think so.'
'Good,' Mickey replies and gets up from the couch, making sure to grab the bowl before heading for the kitchen.
He's busy filling a glass of water when he hears footsteps behind him and then feels a tentative hand between his shoulder blades.
'I'm sorry I said you aren't attuned to your feelings,' Ian says softly, placing a small kiss on the nape of his neck.
'You didn't,' Mickey replies and turns around to his husband's crooked smile.
'I implied it. And I was wrong.'
'Yeah, well…' he trails off with a shrug.
'Also, you should definitely consider posting your reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. They have an audience score too, you know.'
'Fuck off!' he laughs, trying to shove Ian away and failing miserably when his arms wrap tightly around him.
'C'mon, let's go to bed. You can take revenge next time.'
'You bet your ass I will. We're watchin' a zombie movie!'