Roger had already turned off the timer and taken the lasagna out by the time Mickey came in. He was cutting portions and carefully serving them on the paper plates. “Hope it’s good. Pasta usually reheats pretty damn well.”
Mickey smiled. “I’m sure it will be great. It smells amazing.” He accepted his plate and a plastic fork, cutting off a small corner of the lasagna.
“Don’t burn your mouth,” Roger scolded. “It literally just came out of the oven.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey blew on the little piece to cool it down and ate it. As he chewed, two things happened at once.
The first was he was impressed by Roger’s culinary prowess because damn if this wasn’t the best lasagna he’d ever tasted.
The second was a wave of grief, a deep longing that forced him to set the plate down and take a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.
Yes, the food was great, but Pops should have been here with them.
In some twisted and sad way, he wished Duncan was too.
“Hey.” Roger was beside him in a blink, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Did I fuck up? Should I have just trashed it?”
“No.” Mickey hated how weak he sounded. “It’s okay. I’m glad you brought it.” He forced himself to take another bite. “It’s really fuckin’ good. Seriously.”
“You miss him, huh?”
“Pops? Yeah.”
“It’s good that it hurts,” Roger soothed. “Means you loved him a lot. If you didn’t care about him, you wouldn’t give a fuck that he was dead, you know?”
“I know you’re trying to be nice in your special crazy way, but that’s really not helping.”
“Look, eventually the pain goes away and then all that’s left is the love. It gets better.” Roger hugged him. “I swear it does.”
“Yeah?” Mickey’s heart fluttered.
“Yeah.” Roger kissed his cheek. “And on the days that it still hurts a lot, we can totally go find where Salvatore is buried or whatever and piss on his grave. How’s that?”
“Now that is helpful.”
“See? I’m pretty damn perfect.” He held his head high. “Roger Lorre, expert thief, heartbreaker, and all around perfect human being.”
“Yeah, you are.” Mickey smiled ruefully. “Maybe even too perfect for me. Can’t shake the feeling you’re gonna get around to breaking my heart someday.”
“You’d have to have a heart for me to break,” Roger teased.
“Fuck you.” Mickey snorted. “Asshole.”
“Well, you better quit now while you can and stop falling in love with me. It’s pretty easy, but you can try to resist. I believe in you.”
“Fuck, I hate you.” Mickey swung down his hand and popped Roger’s ass. “But I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“For what?”
“You know what, jackass. Come here.” Mickey held Roger close, and his heart was lighter. “No matter what you do, no matter whatever fuckin’ happens, you’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” Roger agreed. “My beautiful monster.”
“Yours.”
“Forever?”
“Always.”
