If there's anything worse than collecting trash in the height of summer, it's doing it in the middle of winter.
Mickey hates the snow and he's not ashamed of letting people know that.
Sure it'd be fine if he could just sit in the truck driving around, but instead he has to get out, load up the large bins and stand their stamping his feet in the snow fucking waiting.
And to top it off, not only is his partner on the job blasting shitty Christmas songs like there's no tomorrow, he somehow managed to remember to put on a second pair of socks, but forgot his scarf. So there's this horrendous gap around his throat where his jacket doesn't quite zip up. The wind is managing to shoot its way straight under his collar, fingers of cold driving down his spine.
There's not a single thing he can do to ease the situation either.
He just keeps thinking of Ian tucked up in their bed that morning, covers pulled up to his chin and nose a little red from the cold he was still getting over. "Call in sick," he'd mumbled, clutching at Mickey when he'd started to fight his way out from the cocoon of warmth they'd created into the ice of the world.
"Man, you know I can't," he'd said. Why had he said that?
He should have just stayed in bed.
"Alright man, move it on," Mickey says, climbing back up into the cab and pushing his hands up against the heater for the few seconds he gets to.
Louis nods idly, but he's staring out the front of the windshield, squinting a little bit to see through the partially fogged up glass.
"What's this idiot doing?" he mutters and Mickey turns his head a little to follow his line of sight.
The roads are nearly completely clear of pedestrians and cars alike. There's only about two foot of snow, but it's still enough to have people cowering inside in the warm for the day. It's Saturday, Mickey can't really blame them. It's where he'd be in any other circumstance.
But no, he has to be mature now. Ugh.
The sky starts to spit out a slow trickle of snow again and through the haze of it, Mickey can see a figure fighting their way through the white towards the truck. At this distance, they're just a blob of piled on coats.
The person's walking straight down the centre of the road, where the snows been packed down by the few cars to make it through and the ice is minimal. Mickey can make out large boots, pyjama bottoms tucked into the tops.
What an idiot, he thinks.
And then the person gets a little closer and he groans, already starting to fight his way out of the cab, back out into the cold.
It just has to be my idiot, doesn't it?
The small bit of Ian's face that's visible between his hat and where his scarf is pulled up over his mouth is bright red. Beaten by the wind and the cold, Mickey can practically hear his teeth chattering from here.
"The hell are you doing?" he shouts over at him. "You trying to make yourself sick again?"
Ian shakes his head, or at least that's what Mickey thinks he does. He can't really tell through all the layers. Guy looks like the fucking abominable snowman up top, legs stupidly skinny in comparison. His balls must be fucking freezing.
Mickey darts a hand out to catch Ian's elbow when he slips a little making it over to him. Of course, that just means they both almost get taken down, but that's just Mickey's life now. A fucking ridiculous slideshow of Gallagher pulling him down into mess after mess and Mickey loving every minute of it.
"You forgot this," Ian says a little breathlessly.
He's never looked more perfect standing there offering up Mickey's scarf like it's the holy grail. Because right then, that's what it is. Mickey almost wants to kiss him in relief.
He wraps it around his throat tight enough to almost choke himself, already feeling warmer now the wind can't creep in under his jacket. "You didn't have to bring it to me," he points out. "I'm already half way 'round."
Mickey doesn't even touch the subject of how the hell Ian knew where to find him.
Ian shrugs somewhere under all those layers. "It's alright, didn't want you to be cold."
"You're an idiot."
"Maybe," Ian says and then starts a little. "Oh and here, I brought this too."
He pulls a thermos from inside his coat and Mickey really really wants to kiss the beautiful idiot then. So he does. Uncaring of the cold or the fact that Louis doesn't have a clue he's gay and Mickey's not sure he was ever planning on letting him know. Mickey leans in and tugs Ian's scarf down enough to push their lips together. It's all ice and chapped lips and it's over way too soon, but they are in the middle of the street and Mickey is actually getting a little worried about the state of Ian's balls.
"Thanks, I guess," he says, tugging on the edges of his scarf and feeling his face heat.
He doesn't know what to do with the way Ian's staring at him, mouth slack and eyes wide in wonderment. Maybe Mickey finally did something right for once.
Ian's smile turns a little dopey and a whole lot soft and he reaches up to fiddle with Mickey's hat so it's properly covering his ears like Mickey can never make it stay doing for longer than a minute. "I'll see you at home," he says.
Mickey feels suddenly a whole lot colder when Ian's fingers slide away.
He laughs loudly when Ian topples to his ass on the ice not even ten feet away. He laughs a little harder when Ian scrambles up right, trying to brush snow off his ass and flip Mickey off at the same time.
"Who was that?" Louis asks, looking at him out the corner of his eye when they pull off. Mickey wants to snap at him to watch the fucking road, but he just preoccupies himself with taking a mouthful of hot coffee. Black like his soul and with way too much sugar, he can never make it as well as Ian does.
He can't do a lot of things as well as Ian does, but that's fine. It's what he has Ian for.
"Gallagher," he says.
He doesn't feel like there needs to be much more explanation than that, but he still adds, "Ian," like an afterthought.
There's silence for a minute as Louis pulls into another street and Mickey fights to screw the lid back on his thermos with clumsy, gloved fingers. He really doesn't want to get out the cab into the cold, but the faster he gets this done, the faster he can get back into bed in his and Ian's shitty little apartment.
"You're lucky," Louis says eventually. Mickey looks at him curiously, waits with his hand on the door. "My Mrs woulda just let me fuckin' freeze."
Mickey laughs and fights his way back out into the snow. The thing is, he knows he's lucky. He's still a little baffled about how he managed to make it all work out quite like it did, but he's stopped fighting it. He's stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop by now and he's just enjoying the ride.
Hours later, he enjoys a completely different sort of ride when he slides into the bed next to Ian. Ian pulls him closer, tucks Mickey's hands down under the waistband of his sweatpants. Mickey cups Ian's cock in his hands, feels it slowly start to harden and rolls his own erection against Ian's ass.
"You owe me," Ian says, hips rolling forwards into Mickey's hand and then back into his lap. It's delicious.
"Oh?"
"I think I froze my nuts," Ian mutters, breath stuttering in time with his hips when Mickey twists his wrist just right.
Mickey huffs a laugh into the hairs on the back of Ian's neck. He darts a tongue out, tastes the skin behind Ian's ear and drinks in his moan. "Well let me warm them up for you then, tough guy," he says. It's almost worth battling out into the cold if this is how he gets to come home.