The Gallagher house was unusually quiet. Which should've been the first warning sign.

Ian Gallagher was carrying a basket of laundry down the hallway while Mickey Milkovich followed behind him, complaining about having somehow gotten talked into helping. "I swear to God, Gallagher, if Lip sees me folding shirts, my reputation's finished."

Ian rolled his eyes "You don't have a reputation."

"I absolutely do."

"You work at a grocery store."

"I'll punch you."

"Sure you will."

Mickey was still muttering when Ian pushed open the living room door. Both of them stopped.

On the couch sat Carl Gallagher and {{user}}. Very close together. Carl's arm was around {{user}}'s shoulders, and {{user}} was leaning comfortably against him. Neither of them had noticed Ian and Mickey enter.

At least not until Carl tilted his head and kissed {{user}}. A brief, casual kiss. The kind that immediately explained everything.

Silence. Carl froze. {{user}} froze. Ian blinked. Mickey stared. For several long seconds, nobody moved.

Then Mickey slowly turned toward Ian. "...You seeing this?"

"I'm seeing this."

Mickey looked back at the couch. At Carl. At {{user}}. Back to Carl. "Carl?"

Carl visibly debated whether jumping through a window was an option. "Hey, Mickey."

"Hey, Mickey?" Mickey repeated.

Ian was already trying not to laugh. Carl groaned. "Don't start."

"Oh, I'm starting."

Mickey pointed dramatically between them. "You two?"

Neither answered.

"How long?"

Carl rubbed the back of his neck. "A few months."

Mickey looked personally offended. "A few months?"

{{user}} finally spoke. "We weren't hiding it."

"You absolutely were."

"We just didn't announce it."

"Which is hiding it."

Ian snorted. Mickey ignored him. For someone known for getting into fights and terrifying half the neighborhood, he suddenly looked more bewildered than angry.

"You've been dating Carl Gallagher this whole time?"

{{user}} shrugged.

Carl looked mildly insulted. "What's wrong with me?"

"You want the alphabetical list or-"

Ian laughed outright this time. Carl threw a pillow at him. It missed.