First Day of My Life

Puppies

It was just past 3am when Mickey woke up with a kink in his neck and a charley horse in his thigh. Trying to remain as quiet as possible, he massaged the muscles in an attempt to loosen them before gingerly climbing out of his son's bed, careful not to disrupt his sleep. In the past, he'd spent an abundance of time in a twin size bed with a much lankier bedmate, limbs as strings tangled carelessly with hands held tight. It was different sleeping next to Yevgeny, the need to protect him leaving him more prudent and worried. He stood in the center of the room, just as he had for the last several nights, bare feet tickled by the plush rug Svetlana had lain over the stained carpet, watching his child. He was cherubic, his alabaster cheeks flushed with sleep, still padded by baby fat that seemed to lessen with each passing day. His little mouth, framed by full lips, pink as posies, was reminiscent of his own with a deep Cupid's bow and a puckered pout.

Life had a way of constantly leading him in directions that he'd never thought he'd go. From being a gay man open with his sexuality to his incarceration and then subsequent career with the DEA, the twists and turns he'd encountered had been relentless. At each juncture, he'd kept going, mustering the strength he'd fostered early in his childhood, a toughness born out of the need to survive his father. After having one like Terry, a father was not something he ever hoped to be. His car crash of a conception made it easy to push Yevgeny away, to reject the very idea of him. Of the few things he was proud of in his life, the short list of accomplishments that was growing with time, allowing himself to fall in love with his son was the most difficult, but rewarding.

Svetlana had been consistent in bringing Yevgeny to visit him while he was in prison and eventually he started to look forward to seeing them both. He'd studied Yev closer each time, trying to determine where Svetlana ended and he began; the slope of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the expressions of his face. He surprised himself by missing him while he was in Mexico, wondering how he'd grown and changed, worried that the picture in his mind no longer reflected the boy he saw in the visiting room. It hadn't. By the time Mickey got back to Chicago, Yev's hair was darker, his eyes were bluer, he was taller and leaner, a little person instead of a baby blob. In him, Mickey saw an effervescence and innocence he was sure he himself had never possessed. Yevgeny was full of life and bright as hell, open, loving and able to disarm his father with a smile. He never thought he would be able to feel the love a man was supposed to feel for their child for Yev, but he did, he felt it in spades.

He moved closer to the bed again so that he could pull the fluffy, airplane comforter up around Yevgeny's shoulders, the smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo wafting up to fill him with warmth. It wasn't that the scent made him nostalgic; it didn't. It was the fact that he could afford to purchase the 'nicer' soap for his child, that Yevgeny's sheets were softer than any he had ever slept on, that he had a mother, father, uncles, aunt, and whatever the fuck Ian was who gave a shit about him. His kid had a good life, a comfortable life and there was nothing that he would ever be prouder of than that. He raked tattooed fingers through black hair and gazed down at the boy for another moment before heading back to his bedroom.

He'd watched Ian leave hours ago, but it didn't stop him from feeling disappointed when he opened the door to see an empty bed. He'd grown used to sleeping alone, but it didn't mean that it sucked any less. He missed the way Ian's breath would fan over his bare shoulders as he held him close, how the redhead would burrow his face into the skin of his neck inhaling him like he was the oxygen that filled his lungs. More than anything, he missed waking up to the kisses and hugs the affectionate man would lavish him with. Emotionally, Ian had never been as giving as he was physically. Mickey couldn't have imagined that he'd be the one in a relationship that would share more, need to talk more, but he was, he did. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and looked at the screen, not surprised to find a texts from Ian, but taken aback by what they said: