The second one-shot in the A Move Too Far 'verse! Thank you to Billie (stitchandrepair) for all the help.

The first argument - the first that is more than simply a petty disagreement - happens a month after they first get together.

Mickey's had the worst the fucking night in the history of worst nights. Seriously. It started when some new girl at work spilt a Bloody Mary all over his freshly washed slacks. Naturally, Mickey swore and angrily muttered to himself as he tried to dry the wet patch, causing the girl's bottom lip to tremble. Then, not only did this girl start to fucking bawl when Mickey asked her why the fuck she was getting all teary-eyed, but everyone else working decided that he was an asshole for it, as if he didn't have fucking vodka and tomato juice seeping through his pants, and would barely look his way.

And, like they sensed his bad mood, three drunk idiots decided to hassle him about his tattoos. The one with a visible tattoo of a skull on his neck thought they were "fucking awesome, dude", whereas the other two took it upon themselves to slur about how dumb they were.

Then, just as he was heading for the bathroom, this drunk chick actually kissed him. Like full on fucking kissed him, looping her skinny-ass arms around his neck. And of course she had a huge boyfriend who tried to start a fight with him before Clive kicked them out.

Plus he was out of smokes.

Seriously. The worst fucking night.

When he finally gets home, he's sucking the blood off of one of his finger after chewing at the skin around his nail for too long. He's gone straight passed the point of wanting to either fuck or fight off his anger; collapsing onto his bed is all he wants now.

Stripping out of his clothes as he goes, Mickey all but jogs to his room, slacks balled up in one hand. He grunts something at Ian, some sort of hello that takes minimal effort, takes off his shirt and then falls flat on his stomach.

He ignores Ian's annoyed, quiet little mutter of "dude" and continues to shuffle about until he's comfortable.

Mickey has never had a good sleeping schedule or any of that shit. With parents that didn't care enough, he would stay up most nights trying to silently watch tv or fuck about with the lighters he'd stolen. He's also been cursed as a light sleeper, so even when he was desperate to fall asleep it'd take his mind hours to shut down and then every noise louder than a snore would wake him. It isn't so bad now, but he still needs complete quiet and darkness to fall asleep.

Ian is a loud typer. The fucking loudest, even. And it's weird because most of the time he's gentle with his hands, no matter what they're doing.

But when Mickey is attempting to sleep, his fingers sound as though they weigh 100 pounds each, fucking crashing onto the keyboard of Mickey's laptop.

Mickey groans. "Could you seriously do that any louder? Like, is it humanly fucking possible for you to type any louder than you are right now?"

Ian snorts. "Probably," he says, "want me to test it out?"

Why does he like this smartass again? Mickey blindly searches the air before he finds Ian's stomach and pinches.

It works for about two minutes. Mickey can tell that Ian is trying to tap lightly but eventually he's back to the loud smashing. Plus, the light from the laptop is so bright in the room and it flickers whenever Ian changes tabs. Mickey wants to scream.

"Ian. Seriously, can't you do that some other time?"

"Has to be in tomorrow - it's important."

Oh, well if it's important. "So's me sleeping and right now your fucking important shit is getting in the way of that, so."

Mickey can practically hear Ian rolling his eyes. "What crawled up your ass?" he asks, voice edging closer to that pissed off tone Mickey has come to recognise.

And why is Ian getting pissed? He's the one keeping Mickey up. "I've had a shitty night and when I get home I can't even go to sleep. That's what."

"This is my work, Mickey, I-"

"Yeah and this is my bed."

The typing stops and Mickey knows that he's crossed a line and maybe if he weren't wound up so tight, he'd take it back, but he is so he doesn't.

"Your bed?" Now Ian sounds just as pissed off as Mickey feels. And Mickey knows that Ian is doing that fucking chin thing despite the fact that he's still facing away from him.

Giving his pillow a punch (like that'll make him any comfortable, like that'll rid the room of tension and pent-up anger), Mickey says, "My bed, my room", because apparently he's in the mood to fight now, and if he can't do it with his fists he'll use his mouth.

Ian scoffs. "Right. Like those aren't my clothes in the wardrobe and my shoes by the door," he knees Mickey in the back but Mickey doesn't turn over, "like that isn't my fucking pillow you're using, you dick."

"Still my fucking bed," Mickey snaps, not even taking notice of what's leaving his mouth. He can still, ever so faintly, smell the Bloody Mary on his skin and boxers; is still itching to get his hands on a cigarette and to inhale those familiar toxins. "Just fuck off if you're gonna get all pissy about it.

Mickey wasn't expecting Ian to actually fuck off. Didn't even want him to. But, with a scoff and a, "Fine, enjoy sleeping by yourself", the bed is dipping and Ian's bare feet patter on the floor as he leaves the room and Mickey alone in bed.

There are a lot of things Mickey has given up lying about recently: that he doesn't get off on giving Ian head, because he does; that, if Ian has an early morning, he doesn't wake up at ass o'clock in the morning just to say bye, because he fucking does. But one of the few things he's still kept to himself, kept from the ears of Dylan and Zoe and Mandy and Ian, is how he finds it virtually impossible now to fall asleep without Ian beside him. It's quite possibly the gayest, girliest thing and yet it's true. Even if the room was devoid of any and all noise and there was no light at all, Mickey would still spend hours lying there chasing sleep if Ian weren't next to him.

He sighs and rolls over on his back. Sighs again, louder this time, up at the ceiling. If he really tries, he can hear Ian tapping away on the laptop and he instantly kicks off the sheets and heads out, Ian's pillow in his hand.

"'Ey," he says, "stop being a dick and get in bed."

Ian doesn't even turn around as he says, "I'll be finished in a minute, I'm sure you can last that long without me", and Mickey unwillingly smirks before throwing the pillow at Ian's head and walking back to bed.

He doesn't have to wait long before the pillow is thrown back at him. The bed dips slightly and then Ian's plastering himself against Mickey's back, nuzzling the back of his neck, an arm draped across his stomach. Fucking spooning him.

Mickey squirms about, the heat from Ian's body too hot to be comfortable, but Ian holds onto him tighter and laughs.

"You're the biggest fuckin' idiot I know," Mickey mumbles, giving up with escaping from Ian's hold.

"Shut up and let me spoon you."

Reluctantly, Mickey does.

...

Their second, fifth and ninth arguments all start and finish in an almost identical fashion. A disagreement (over films and take-out and the fucking X-box) spirals wildly out of control until they're up in each others' space, the red of their faces matching the fiery anger pulsing through them.

Things that shouldn't be said are said; they push and shove, desperate to get a rise from each other. Mickey inevitably brings up the fact that Ian spent years lying to his sister and, in retaliation, Ian brings up how Mickey was perfectly happy to hook up with his sister's boyfriend.

One of them might leave (Mickey usually) but they always end up having hard and desperate make-up sex. They say their apologies with the marks they leave and the pleasure they give.

...

Argument #13 happens very shortly before their biggest. It's a week before Lily's first birthday and they're out to buy her a gift.

Mickey hasn't spent much time with Ian lately. Ian has a new friend. This new personal trainer at the gym called Dean who he's decided to take under his wing and spend practically every fucking moment with. It was fine until it wasn't anymore. Because Mickey isn't one of those assholes trying to control people - Ian can have as many friends as he wants - but when his fucking boyfriend starts cancelling on him to hang out with his new friend he can't help the direction his thoughts go in. Being a little paranoid is in his blood and it's just instinctual that he thinks of the worst before sifting through the alternatives.

At this point, he doesn't think Ian is fucking Dean, but he does think that maybe Ian wants to.

Today, though, Ian is free from his usual plans and is happily driving the two of them so they can shop. Despite his protests, Ian is heading for The Baby Den.

"She's one, Mickey, how will she appreciate a goldfish?"

Mickey only just stops himself from slamming his hands against the dashboard. "She has fucking eyes! And she's obsessed with animals - Dylan's allergic to cats, nobody wants to walk a dog and a goldfish is the easiest pet to look after," he sighs heavily, "better idea than some generic toy."

"A generic toy that'll last years. Goldfish die after, like, a day."

Mickey stares blankly at his profile. "That's literally the dumbest thing you've ever said, man," he says, "You've told me that my eyes are like the ocean, and that is the dumbest thing you've ever said."

Ian shoots a glare at him before focusing back on the traffic. "I was drunk," he stresses, "and you know what I mean, goldfish don't last long." Some shitty indie song comes on the radio and Ian turns it up.

Slouching down in his seat, Mickey props his feet up on the dashboard and chews on his thumbnail. "Whatever, man. Buy whatever the fuck you want and I'll buy her the goldfish."

"Thought we were gonna get a joint present?"

Mickey takes Ian's phone from where it's resting in the cup holder to distract himself and instead sees that he has two texts from Dean. "Jesus, who fucking cares!" he snaps, louder than was necessary, before tossing the phone back.

Ian looks over at him, eyebrows screwed up, and then down at his phone. "Who are the texts from?" he asks.

Sneering, Mickey says, "Dean", the word tasting bad in his mouth.

"You don't even know him and yet you say his name like he's ruined your life." Ian snorts but his smile fades when he takes note of how unamused Mickey is looking. "Okay seriously, you have a problem with him?"

Yes, he really does. "Why would I?" is what he says instead of the truth.

"You tell me."

Mickey glares at him and is more than a little impressed by his bitch face. All retorts flee from Mickey's mind and he's left just staring back at Ian before he notices that the light has turned green. "Light," he says, turning away from him.

Ian mutters something too quietly for Mickey to hear and for a little while they drive in an awkward silence. Nails now too short to chew on, Mickey rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, fingers drumming against his thigh in a random beat. He has the urge to ask Ian if he's fucking Dean or is thinking about it, but he knows that that'll only piss Ian off and start another argument. Fuck, he wants to get out of the car, distance himself from Ian and the thoughts of him and another guy that are circling around in his brain on an endless loop. Because the more Mickey tries to stop thinking about it, the more he ends up thinking about it until he bites down too hard on his lip and the familiar metallic taste of blood is on his tongue.

"Just drop me off here, I'll get a cab to a pet store." His voice, he realises, has turned hoarse and he can feel the tightly coiled anger in the pit of his stomach, how it's threatening to spring free with every second that passes by.

Ian looks at him but Mickey keeps his eyes trained ahead. "What? Mickey, come on-"

"Drop me off here," he repeats and this time Ian turns down the nearest street.

Without even a glance backwards, Mickey is up and out of the car, slamming the door on whatever it is that Ian is saying to him. Stupidly, as he takes off down the busy street, he questions what the fuck he should be doing with his hands now that he's left his hoodie in the car. He spares a look behind him and sees Ian backing up before driving away. Long after the car has gone out of view, Mickey stares at where it was, the sun warming his back. When he forces himself to stop being so pathetic and find the nearest pet store, he bumps directly into a woman with about a hundred shopping bags and mutters a half-assed apology before speedwalking away.

...

What causes the next argument is Mickey walking through the apartment door after he spent the rest of the day picking out a tank and all the shit for Lily's present and then scoring some weed from a couple of stoner friends of Dylan's; Mickey is reluctant to call them his friends. He went back to their place, took a few hits from their bong and scrutinised the little fish he bought as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever come across.

Sat on one of the stools in the kitchen, Dylan is lingering near Lily as she attempts to feed herself some yoghurt. He eyes the tank and the fish in Mickey's hands and hurriedly stands in front of Lily. "Dude, is that for her?!" he says, eyebrows high on his forehead.

Completely ignoring Ian who's sat on the couch, Mickey shrugs and pulls a face. "Who else would it be for?" he asks, kicking off his shoes.

Dylan beams at him. "Go put it in the room, but, like, somewhere she won't see."

Like there are a load of secret hiding places in Dylan and Zoe's room. Mickey walks over and goes straight inside, not bothering to knock. Which Zoe clearly didn't appreciate given her shriek.

"Fuck, chill," Mickey mutters, placing everything on their bed, "not like I just caught you rubbin' one out."

Her annoyed expression turns bemused as her eyes wander over what Mickey's placed on her bed. "You bought a goldfish?" She rubs her nose then bookmarks her page before picking up the bag the little fish is in. "For Lily, right?"

Mickey hates that fucking smile she's directing at him. It's all fond and as if she's proud of Mickey for caring. "Yes, for Lily," he says.

Her smile widens and before she says another word Mickey is backing out of the room.

Ian is staring directly at him and he can't think of what to say. He never has to worry about his words around Ian and yet now he's lost because there are so many things he wants to say, questions to ask, but Dylan and Lily are right there and before he knows it he's nodding towards their room and has Ian trailing behind him.

"Are you gonna say why you just took off earlier or?"

Mickey spins around. Arms crossed over his chest, Ian leans back against the closed door, an expectant look on his face. Mickey snaps.

"Are you gonna tell me why you and Dean come as a duo all of a sudden?"

Ian actually laughs slightly at that. "What the fuck is your problem with him? Y'know he's a total gun nut, you'd have so much to talk about."

Now he's making jokes. Mickey glares at him. "Fuck you," he spits. "And guns? What is he, a Winchester?"

Ian snorts and pushes his hands behind his back, hips angling forward. If he thinks he's going to distract Mickey like that, he's mistaken. "Nah, he's against hunting and shit, just loves guns. It's pretty funny."

Rubbing a hand down his face, Mickey says, "Of course you'd think so".

"What?"

"I said of course you fucking think it's funny, it's probably impossible for you to find anything about him not fucking hilarious and great, right? Like, why else would you spend every waking moment with him, right?" The smirk has left Ian's face and his attempt at interrupting Mickey is shot down - Mickey's on a roll. "Why else would you be making me look like a fucking idiot, cancelling on me?"

Ian darts forward, taking a step closer. "Is this going where I think it is?" he asks, voice a mixture of incredulity and anger. "Because if you actually think that I'd cheat on you, then what the fuck are we even doing?"

"What the fuck else am I supposed to think?" he shouts, getting in Ian's face. "What the fuck else am I supposed to think when you're spending so much time with some other guy, cancelling on me? I don't give a fuck what you do, man, have a million friends or none - I don't care! Just don't be making me an idiot, alright?" His chests is heaving up and down, his nostrils flaring. "So are you fucking him or not?"

"Fuck, no! Jesus - you-" Ian throws his hands up and turns around, hands going to behind his head. "I'm not fucking him, I'm not going to fuck him and I don't even want to!" He shouts all of this to the door and Mickey watches his back. "I wasn't ditching you on purpose - honestly, I didn't even realise I was doing it." He sighs and faces Mickey again. "Wanna know why I spend so much time with him? He reminds me of Lip. And I fucking miss him and I miss my family and I'm happy here, I am, but it's weird not seeing them all that much."

Mickey casts his eyes to the wall - talking about family with Ian always makes him feel awkward. "Couldn't just tell me this before?"

"I didn't think I had to! And don't act like this is all on me, Mickey, you're the one who kept all this quiet."

"Oh right, like I can just casually ask you if you're fucking someone else?"

Eyes widening once again, Ian shakes his head. "You could have said that you had a problem with me spending so much time with the guy. Who actually has a girlfriend and really wants to meet you."

Mickey snorts, rolling his eyes. "Sure."

Suddenly so close Mickey can the light freckles on Ian's cheeks and nose, Ian says, "If you thought I was gonna lie to you, why did you even ask? I'm telling you that I don't wanna fuck him - I don't want someone else, and if I did I wouldn't still be here. I...".

"What? You what?"

"I fucking came out for you. Not even - you made me want to come out. Do you not get what a big deal that is?" He worries at his bottom lip for a short moment before turning away once more, his hand going for the doorknob and Mickey wants to say to not leave, to just stay but Ian opens his mouth before he can. "Y'know that thing that we don't tell each other? I do, alright? A lot and so fuck you for thinking I'd give that up for a fuck."

The door slams shut behind him and Mickey swears at the ground, starts pacing and pacing at the foot of the bed, hand running through his hair. He almost wishes that he kept his mouth shut or at least didn't ask Ian if he was fucking the guy.

He falls back on the bed, hands covering his face. He wonders where Ian's gone now and if he'll come back before he falls asleep. Not like Mickey is actually going to find much sleep tonight. He can already feel himself getting closer to just flipping out, because he doesn't deal well when shit goes South, especially when it's his fault. Time hasn't taught him to properly apologise - he'd still rather just buy someone's forgiveness, pass them a joint, cook dinner for them, fucking anything but expresses actual emotions.

"Fuck." He quickly shoves a cigarette in his mouth, smokes it in a minute before replacing it with another. Ian will probably moan at him for it, tell him he needs to crack open a window. If he actually comes back tonight.

He groans at himself before stripping out of his clothes and gets in bed.

...

Teetering on the edge of sleep, groggy but awake, Mickey stops breathing when he hears the door creak open. Could just be Dylan, he thinks, though he knows it isn't and is further convinced when the bed dips.

He considers pretending to be sleeping, only Ian gently places a hand on his shoulder and says, "Hey, you asleep?", his breath skating across Mickey's skin, causing goosebumps to rise.

Mickey rolls onto his back, takes one look at Ian's face and leans forward to kiss him. Ian's noise of surprise is muffled by Mickey's mouth, and Mickey winds an arm around Ian's neck and pulls him closer, all the while his lips are moving against Ian's, his tongue teasing at Ian's bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open.

Mickey never tires of kissing Ian. They can, and have, spent hours just making out like a couple of teenagers who are too scared to do anything else. They kiss to shut each other up, to turn each other on, to fucking say 'good morning' when they're too tired to talk. It sort of hits Mickey right in the chest how much Ian really means to him, how badly he wants him to stick around. He isn't used to this - this deep-seated fear that he'll be left for something better and the way his stupid fucking heart beats like it's a second away from exploding.

He pulls back for a moment, chastely kisses Ian once more when he darts in again. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?" he says in a hushed tone, unable to look away from Ian's eyes.

Ian smiles at him and Mickey's heart swells. "Me too," he says against Mickey's cheek, before kissing the same spot and then nuzzling against Mickey's temple. He settles and rests his head on Mickey's chest. "I didn't even buy Lily a gift," he quietly chuckles,"The goldfish was actually a really good idea."

After cuffing him upside the head, Mickey's hand softly smooths down Ian's hair and he mutters, "Fuckin' told you, man", whilst fighting off a yawn.

Ian hums, throws a leg over one of Mickey's and pulls the covers around them more tightly.

Whatever. They can just have make-up sex in the morning.