Ian wakes up early as he always does. Every morning he cracks open his eyes to see the bright sun streaming in through their window and his husband snoring beside him. He gets up, puts on his running shoes and shorts, jogging for about thirty minutes before coming back home. He would gently kiss Mickey's head and mutter a quick good morning even though he always knows Mickey would never wake up as early as he does. He jumps into the shower and meanders around their kitchen, eating and scrolling through his phone, until Mickey decides he's had enough sleep and joins him for breakfast or at that point in time, lunch.
Every morning is the same, their dynamic solidifying after marriage. Except this time, when he opens his eyes, he doesn't hear snoring, he doesn't feel a weight beside him, dipping the bed down and pushing against his side.
He does hear soft music being emitted from the kitchen. He looks toward the clock, baffled at how early it is for Mickey to be up.
He slowly picks himself up and drags himself out of bed to investigate.
He finds Mickey standing over the oven, concentrating hard on his phone with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his forehead wrinkled from squinting.
"Why the fuck are you up this early?"
Apparently Mickey hadn't seen him because he practically jumps out his skin, "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Ian holds up his hands and holds back giggles, "Sorry. What are you making?"
"Not telling," Mickey puts his phone down on the counter and walks towards Ian, "Go back to bed. You're not allowed to see it yet!"
Ian scrunches up his face and tilts his head curiously, wanting to see whatever it is Mickey's hiding, "What am I not allowed to see?"
"Your fucking birthday present, fuckface. Now go back to bed and stay there until I'm done."
At that moment two things happened. One was that something started sizzling on the stove, making Mickey curse and jump back to his station. The other was Ian realizing it's his birthday.
"Oh, fuck. I forgot," Ian mutters to himself.
"Well, I didn't so get your ginger ass back to bed and let me dote on you, 'k?"
Ian smiles and gazes at his husband who picks his phone back up and scrolls down, seemingly looking at recipes.
He spots a gift bag sitting on the chair in the living room, "What's that?"
"Ah," Mickey snaps, "Don't make me come over there," he gestures with the spatula in his hand back to the bedroom and Ian follows it, not wanting to upset him even more.
Ian closes the door behind him and collapses onto the bed. His phone buzzing on the nightstand beside him, he leans over and picks it up.
There's about a million text messages.
The one from Debbie includes a video. He opens it and sees his niece twiddling her thumbs and looking up innocently at the camera.
"Go on, babygirl."
"Happy birthday, Uncle Ian, you're my favorite uncle," she smiles and blows him a kiss.
Debbie turns the camera around, "Hey Ian, Franny and I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, didn't we sweetheart?" He hears a small 'yeah' from out of frame that makes his heart squeeze, "Thanks for being my big brother. Love you," she ends the video.
The next message was from Lip.
> You're the best little brother anyone could ask for. Happy birthday, dude."
This also included a picture of Freddie holding up a sign with the words 'Happy Birthday, Uncle Ian' drawn in his handwriting.
Carl and Liam both sent gifs of people screaming happy birthday. Kevin and Veronica texted him something that was surely written by Veronica alone.
> We're so lucky to have been your neighbors. Happy birthday from your favorite aunt and uncle ♡.
Sue even left him a voicemail wishing him a happy birthday with a sly comment about his marital activities she hopes he indulges in tonight.
Then his phone starts to ring. Fiona's face appears over his screen with her name plastered in big block letters over top.
He answers, "Hey, Fi."
"Hey, sweetface. How are you? Did Mickey give you your present yet?" she fires off.
"Not yet, he's out in the kitchen making mystery food and is forcing me to stay in the bedroom until he's done."
Fiona laughs, "Well, I don't wanna hold you too long but I wanted to pop in and tell you I love you. Have a good day, okay?"
"I will. I love you, too."
"Talk to you later."
"Oh, and Fiona?"
"Happy mother's day."
He hears a sniffle.
"Thanks, sweetface. Bye."
He hangs up and closes his eyes. He wasn't expecting much today. Being a Gallagher means being tight knit but he had always been distant, sometimes feeling like he wasn't even a Gallagher.
But here he is, lying in bed, trapped in his room because his husband wants to surprise him with presents and food, listening to calls and reading messages from his family telling him he's loved. He genuinely doesn't think he can be any happier.
Then Mickey kicks the door open holding a tray and the gift bag he saw on the chair in the living room, "Motherfucking shit fuck," he curses as he almost trips.
Nevermind, he can be, "Do you need help with that?" Ian smiles and reaches out, feeling immense affection and adoration for his husband.
Mickey shakes his head, "It's your birthday, isn't it?"
Ian reaches out the tray anyway and Mickey allows him to take it. On it are stacked pancakes dripping with syrup, a plate of bacon on the side, and a glass full of orange juice.
"Aw," Ian tilts his head and looks up at Mickey, "You did all this?" He cups his jaw and brings his lips up to his.
"Wanted to surprise you but you wouldn't fucking leave," Mickey pulls back further and hands him the gift bag.
"Fuck off, you never get up before twelve, thought you were fucking kidnapped."
"Very funny, asshole. Open the gift."
Ian makes quick work of opening up the bag, tossing aside the orange and green paper and grabbing the first object he sees.
It's a bag of tomato seeds.
Ian's eyes water to both men's surprise. Mickeys alarmed, "Why are you crying? Jesus, if the gift is that bad, just say so. We can get you something else-"
Mickey's cut off again by Ian pulling him forward and kissing him deeply.
"It's perfect, Mick. I'm just really happy."
Mickey smiles and reaches into the bag, pulling out a card. It looks like a kids card, on the front is a picture of Justin Timberlake, posing with his palms together, crouching with one leg forward in a white background.
Ian snorts and opens it. Inside, it's filled to the brim with signatures, each giving their own greeting and best wishes. He sees his brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces names, even some of the neighbors they've gotten close to over their time living in the apartment complex.
If Ian wasn't crying before, he is now.
"Christ, you aren't supposed to cry," Mickey sits down next to him and takes the card out of his hand, placing it on the nightstand, "Now eat so I can give you your other present."
"Do my siblings have anything to do with that one."
Mickey giggles and leans forward, speaking against his mouth, "No, they do not. This one's from me and me alone, firecrotch."
"I fucking love you."
"Love you more, happy birthday, Gallagher."