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It’s that peaceful time of morning before the rush to get up and get ready for work. Mickey isn’t in a deep sleep anymore and keeps waking up, but every time he does, he can smell the familiar scent of his husband, Ian. It’s sweat and spice and something uniquely his own. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, mouth open, snoring softly.
Mickey checks his phone and he’s happy to see that there’s about fifteen minutes left before his alarm clock will start that annoying BEEP BEEP BEEP sound.
“Fuck,” he yawns, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.
Over the loud sound of the box fan, he hears the bedroom door open and the small pitter patter of feet on the hardwood floor. There’s a dip on the mattress with a small grunt. Mickey’s eyes are closed and he feels tiny fingers touching his face one by one. It’s peaceful until it’s not.
“RAAWWWWWRRRR!!!!”
Right in his fucking ear.
“FUCK!” Mickey exclaims, sitting up. “YEV!”
Yevgeny Milkovich, his two and half year old son, grins at him on all fours.
“I’m a dragon,” he says, laying down and giggling as Ian sleepily wraps an arm around the little boy’s waist.
“Little butthole is what you are,” Mickey grumbles, sitting up.
“Ian, I’m a dragon,” Yevgeny says to Ian, who lets out a loud, deep yawn.
“I heard,” Ian says, voice foggy with sleep. “Are you a dry dragon?”
He pats the seat of the little boy’s pants and says, “You stayed dry all night. Good job, Kid.”
“RAWWWR!” Yevgeny yells again, this time up at the ceiling.
“I ain’t lettin’ you watch that fuckin’ stupid movie no more,” Mickey says, referring to How To Train Your Dragon.
“No!” Yevgeny says, pointing a finger threateningly at his father, but his face is playful.
Mickey pretends to bite his finger and then pats him.
“Get up,” he says. “Go potty.”
“No go potty,” Yevgeny says, kicking his feet playfully.
“If you pee in this bed,” Mickey warns. “I’m gonna take a big black trash bag, go into your room, and take all your toys and throw ‘em in the dumpster.”
“Not the monster trucks,” Yevgeny says.
“Especially the monster trucks,” Mickey responds. “Go.”
Yevgeny sighs dramatically and climbs over his father, sliding off the bed like kid-shaped Jell-O. He’s tall for two years old and lanky with dark brown hair and blue eyes. It’s funny because of his build, when he’s out with Ian, everyone thinks he’s a Gallagher. When he’s out with Mickey, he’s pure Milkovich. He gets his height from his mother, Svetlana, who they share joint custody with.
He toddles off to the ensuite bathroom in his fathers’ bedroom and they hear the toilet seat noisily lift up.
“I peed,” he announces.
“Flush and wash your hands,” Ian calls, voice still drowsy.
“There’s underwear on the floor,” Yevegeny also lets them know. “Daddy, is it your underwear?”
“Maybe,” Mickey calls back. “Why?”
The sound of the toilet flushes and then the sink turns on and stays on for a suspiciously long time. Mickey groans and gets up to investigate what’s going on. When he opens the door of the bathroom all the way, Yevegeny startles. He’s playing in the sink, the lid of the hand soap dispenser unscrewed and the sink filled to the brim with bubbles.
“Move,” Mickey says, moving to turn off the water. He fixes the little boy’s crooked underwear.
“Yevvie?” Ian pops into the bathroom as well, moving to use the toilet. “What would you like for breakfast, Buddy? Pancakes or a breakfast sandwich?”
“I want pancakes with syrup on top,” Yevgeny says.
“Didn’t you just have pancakes last night?” Mickey asks.
“Eggos,” Ian corrects him, flushing the toilet and then joins them at the sink. “I was too tired to cook.”
“I want Eggos,” Yevgeny says, changing his mind.
It’s understandable that Ian is too tired to cook sometimes. He’s currently in school to get his teaching degree and works as a server in a high-end restaurant. He’s regularly taking his medication and things have been good these past two years. Mickey landed a job in a factory around the same time Ian decided to go back to school and even though the hours are long, the money is good and Mickey is good at what he does.
“Let’s hurry and eat so we can go to school,” Mickey says, referring to daycare.
‘Yay school!” Yevgeny says. “Daddy, catch me!”
He takes off running out of the bathroom and bedroom and Mickey good-naturedly groans before tearing after him, fake growling and scoops the toddler up in his arms, turning him upside down.
“You’re a goddamn brat, you know that?” He says, tickling the boy who shrieks and laughs.
“No, Daddy!” Yevgeny breathes between laughs. “I’m a dragon.”
The two of them go into the small apartment kitchen where Ian is double toasting Yevgeny’s waffles and heating syrup in the microwave. He uses the espresso machine to make two coffees-one for himself and one for Mickey, and picks up Yevgeny to let him use the milk frother to stir the milk into Ian’s cup. Mickey takes his black.
“Would you like milk or juice?” Ian asks him, kissing the top of his head.
“Chocolate milk,” Yevgeny says.
“Chocolate milk is for after school,” Ian reminds him.
“White milk,” Yevgeny says.
Mickey snorts at this.
“It’s just milk,” he corrects him and motions for him to sit at the table.
“You tell the teacher if you need to go potty today, alright?” Mickey says, helping to cut his waffles into pieces. “I don’t want no clothes bein’ sent home in a grocery bag because you peed on yourself.”
Yevgeny only roars in response and Mickey rolls his eyes. Ian chuckles and joins them, handing Mickey his coffee before sitting down with his own.
“I’ll take him on my way to class,” he tells MIckey.
“Nah, I can take him,” Mickey says. “I ain’t gettin’ off until six or so tonight so you can pick him up.”
“That actually works out perfectly because I’m off today,” Ian says.
—-----
As they walk the short distance to the preschool around the block, Mickey thinks back on when this all began-not the life of Yevgeny, but the life of him, Ian, and Yevgeny together as a little family. The time that he and Ian sat down and talked about really starting their life together. Yevgeny had been with his mother at the time-it was never a spoken agreement, not really. Svetlana would just keep the baby for a week and then Mickey and Ian would have him for a day or two. A day or two turned into three or four days and then it became one week with Yevgeny, one without.
Mickey thinks it’s Yevgeny that really changed them. Yevgeny, who had crawled into Ian’s heart and made a home there and made Mickey realize that he wanted a family with Ian more than anything.
Now he’s holding a warm little hand, walking his son to school. Yevgeny, who is wearing a Spiderman backpack and jumping with two feet every few seconds.
“Walk normal,” Mickey tells him.
“I’m a tiger,” Yevgeny says. “Tigers jump, Daddy.”
“Wow,” Mickey says, his thoughts miles away.
He’s thinking of Ian and his school and his mental health and he’s thinking of his own piece of shit father who the last he heard was in jail. He thinks of his own childhood- booze and fights and screaming and feeling angry and scared. Everything he wants to protect his own son from.
Before he knows it, they’re being buzzed into Shady Oaks Preschool where a friendly receptionist greets, “Hey there, Mr. Milkovich!”
She’s talking to Yevgeny, who smiles a little shyly and hugs onto his father.
“Little faker,” Mickey chuckles. There’s not a shy bone in his son’s body.
“Yevgeny!” Cayson, one of the preschool teachers- the sports coach maybe? Ian would know better than Mickey. He knows all about preschool Mickey just basically knows where it is.
“Mr. C!” Yevgeny says excitedly and goes to give him a high five.
“I’ll take him to class,” Mr. C tells Mickey.
“Alright,” Mickey says. “C’mere, Squirt. Gimme a kiss.”
Yevgeny goes back to his father who hugs him so tight he picks him up and kisses him.
“Be a good boy, yeah?” He says.
“RAWWR!” Is Yevgeny’s response.
—----
Ian picks Yevgeny up from school along with a folder full of drawings and coloring sheets and several loose pieces of dried playdough. Yevgeny rides on his stepfather’s shoulders, chattering away about dragons and racecars.
“Go potty,” Ian says when they get inside the apartment. “I’m gonna start dinner soon.”
“Eggos?” Yevgeny asks excitedly.
“No.” Ian chuckles. “Not Eggos.”
“Aww ,” Yevgeny says. “I like Eggos.”
“Potty,” Ian reminds him. “And take this art gallery with you.”
He nudges the boy’s backpack with his foot. As Yevgeny trudges to his bedroom, Ian begins tidying the kitchen to prepare dinner. He stops to stare at the dry erase board calendar on the fridge. There are a few dates circled- dentist appointment for Mickey, dress up day for Yevgeny at preschool, a reminder for Ian to check in with his psychiatrist. It reminds him so much of his own childhood and he wonders how Fiona did it all. He only has one kid to care for-part time at that-she had five and was just a kid herself.
Yevgeny is not his biological son, but God does he love that little boy. At first he simply tolerated him. His boyfriend had a baby that he was being forced to care for and because he loved Mickey, he cared for him too, but that quickly changed. He remembers the moment he was holding baby Yevgeny, a soft, powdery little blob with big blue eyes, chewing on his own fist. Ian had been talking to him, bouncing him slightly on his knee, and Yevgeny had removed his hand from his mouth and for the first time, smiled a big toothless grin at Ian. He’d giggled and flapped his little baby arms and Ian knew in that moment that he wanted to be in this child’s life.
Now Yevegeny was his whole life-him and Mickey. Usually marriage came first and then kids, but their story wasn’t exactly conventional. It was because of Yevgeny that the idea of marriage had even come up. They weren’t just a couple of clueless young men caring for a baby. They wanted to build a family.
“Smells good in here.”
Mickey comes in through the front door and Yevgeny runs into the living room to give him a hug. He doesn’t care that Mickey is wearing dirty coveralls and smells of sweat and factory.
“You dry?” Mickey asks him, setting him down. “Good boy.”
Ian comes up out of the kitchen and says, “Spaghetti with ground sausage tonight.”
They both stare at Yevgeny, who is standing in front of the TV in his t-shirt and underwear. He basically never wears pants at home, but who can blame him? Mickey strips out of his coveralls, standing in his own undershirt and boxers and pecks Ian on the lips.
“ ‘m take a quick shower before dinner.”
As he heads for the bathroom, he playfully slaps Yevgeny on the seat of his Paw Patrol underwear.
“Hey,” Yevgeny says, eyes still glued to the TV. “Don’t spank my butt, Daddy.”
“Or else what?” Mickey asks.
“I’ll fart on you,” Yevgeny says and that makes Mickey snort laugh.
“What are you watching?” Mickey asks, glancing at the TV and of course, it’s his favorite movie with Toothless the dragon.
“Jesus Christ, this again?” He asks.
“I thought you were gonna take a shower,” Yevgeny tells him and this makes Ian start laughing.
Mickey picks the boy up.
“What are you tryin’ to say?” He says. “Huh? That I smell?”
“RAWWWR!” Yevgeny roars and then starts laughing when Mickey holds him upside down.
“Who do you love more?” Mickey asks him. “Me or Ian?”
“Mama,” Yevgeny says and then gets tickled in response.
—-----
“Bedtime,” Ian says, emerging from the bathroom where he’s just given Yevgeny a bath.
The toddler, still wrapped up in his towel, says, “I wanna read a book.”
“Get dressed first,” Mickey says. “Then I’ll read to you, okay?”
Yevgeny has Ian put lotion on his face and arms before being dressed in clean underwear and a t-shirt. He crawls into bed and Mickey goes over to his little bookshelf on the opposite side o the room.
“Anything in particular or should I surprise you?” He asks.
“The Rainbow Fish,” Yevgeny says, pointing with one hand, his opposite thumb in his mouth.
“The Communist Manifesto,” Mickey jokes with a straight face. “Got it.”
Ian snorts.
“Don’t call it that,” he says.
“That’s what it fuckin’ is,” Mickey defends. “Fish givin’ away all his fuckin’ scales because it’s fair.”
“Daddy, read!” Yevgeny says.
“Get’cher thumb out of your mouth,” Mickey says, removing the boy’s thumb. “Fuckin’ gross.”
“Read,” Yevgeny says.
Mickey climbs into the little twin bed beside his son, Ian nearby, putting laundry away, smiling softly as Mickey reads to their two year old, occasionally changing the words to make it funny. He’s not even to the end when Yevgeny’s breathing is slow and deep, his eyes closed.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Mickey says quietly, removing himself from the bed. “My back.”
Ian helps him to stand and takes Mickey’s face in his hands.
“You’re a good dad,” he says, kissing him.
To Be Continued…