Mickey should have known forever was too much to wish for. But he guesses sixty-three years are the next best thing.
He's lying in his bed, having refused to go to the hospital, even though he knew he was dying. He figured what was the point anyway? His time on earth was counted, and he'd much rather spend his last breathing moments next to the love of his life.
They've had a good life together, he and Ian. They've built a family, the most beautiful family he could ever have wished for, and they've been happier than he'd ever dreamed possible. They had made it work, and Mickey had loved every second of it. Ian was what had made Mickey's life worth it.
"Sorry," he says in a raspy voice to his husband who's sitting beside him on the bed. His hair, as Mickey's own, has faded to white, and there are wrinkles etched deeply into his face, especially around his mouth, from the uncountable smiles he'd given Mickey. "Looks like I won't be making it into forever."
Ian caresses his face softly. "Are you kidding? I'm finding you in the afterlife. You're not getting rid of me yet."
"I'd never want to."
And as he drifts off into his final sleep, he thanks the universe for giving him so many chances at making it right. And he had.
He looks up at Ian and smiles one last time. He has definitely made it all right.
