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Terry stood in front of Mickey. Screaming his fuckin face off.
It wasn't like this was anything special. Shit happened once every Tuesday, at least.
Mickey stared at the ground, wishing he could just disappear, trying to disappear inside his head. He learned long ago screaming back would only make everything worse. Thoughts swirled around, none landing while he heard his father yell without really hearing him.
He felt his cheeks wet with tears, when had he started crying?
This was a normal fucking day, with normal fucking problems, why was this making him all weepy and shit?
Of course, this just made Terry angrier. Like Mickey was doing in on purpose. Like he chose to get berated for not loading the dishwasher or whatever the fuck he was mad about this time. It was always something, always Mickey's fuckin fault.
At this point he just loses himself to the thoughts, stops trying to listen, stops getting so fucking weepy. Loses track of the world going on around him. He knows Terry wasn't going to fucking stop, so why should Mickey give him the pleasure of fighting back? Why should he make himself more upset? Why give himself yet another thing to cry about in the privacy of the fucking bathroom?
He thought he had gotten over this. That he didn't care what Terry said, that it didn't fucking matter, but that didn't matter. None of that mattered when the reality was that he did care. For whatever reason, he wanted his deadbeat, asshole of a father to be proud of him.
But that wasn't going to happen.
So Mickey stood quietly.
Saving his tears for when no one would see them.
Saving his desperation for later.
Saving...himself.
Terry finally got bored and stumbled off, but Mickey just stood there. He stood with his fists clenched and trying to just breath because it wasn't ever easy after this. It always ended with short breaths and the struggle to just fucking calm down, to feel like he wasn't going to fucking die with every breath, or lack thereof.
Mandy entered the room, looking worried, probably going to calm Mickey down, but the feeling of eyes was just too much for him to handle and he ran out the front door, making sure to slam it behind him.
**********
Ian was just going to visit Mandy. Maybe sneak a few glances in Mickey's direction, but on the whole, the visit was for Mandy.
That was before he heard the shouting. At first, he thought it was for Mandy. It was obvious her father resented her. Ian wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if it was Mandy. However, it definitely wasn't Mandy.
Terry was going on and on about his "worthless, scum son" who "couldn't do a fuckin' thing right to save his life".
Ian bit his lip. He wanted to help, but Terry Milkovich was scary in his own right, let alone when he was quite probably drunk and screaming at one of his kids.
Finally, the screaming stopped, Terry presumably left to find some other target.
Then suddenly, the door slammed open.
**********
The last person Mickey wanted to see was fucking Gallagher. Mickey didn't want to see anyone, let alone his little sister's best friend, who he'd been seeing? fucking.
Besides that, Ian was wearing a stupid fucking look on his face, one of pity maybe?
Whatever it was, Mickey just wanted to get out of the way and move on with his life.
Unfortunately, his body had other plans.
Mickey...broke down. He started just sobbing. He tried to stop himself, but that just made it worse, just made him hyperventilate as well.
He was so focused on reigning himself in that he didn't recognize Ian approaching and drawing him in.
His only thoughts were that he was eternally grateful that Ian was taller than him, and that his chest smelled like cigarette smoke and...comfort somehow.
The hug, the embrace, calmed Mickey down. It was like, all this time, there was a switch to turn the crazy off. It was as simple as a hug, but it occurred to Mickey that there wasn't anyone willing to hug him, to help him, to calm him. Just that thought started his tears again, but he was still pressed into Ian, still being held by Ian.
It's crazy how this simple thing can seem so far away, the distance growing through desperation.
Ian held him until his tears stopped running and Mickey started to pull away.
"You-you didn't have to do that."
Mickey said it with downturned eyes. He was a chore, a burden, and he was angry at himself for letting himself break down, for making Ian be a part of that break down. He probably hates you now. He's never going to want to see you again, you know that it's true, you're awful and-
"What?"
Mickey looked up to see Ian look as confused as ever.
"The-whatever- the fucking thing you just saw, you didn't have to do that."
"I know, I wanted to."
Still with that confused look. Mickey wanted to kill the boy so he could look a fraction less confused, the bastard.
"Listen Mickey, I know a great place for pie if you wanna go with me. You don't have to and you don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to, but I want you to know that I am here to listen if you want to talk."
Mickey wanted to say no, wanted to swat him away, but looking into that asshole's bright eyes, he couldn't refuse him.
"Okay. But I want so much pie I'm not gonna eat for a fuckin' week."
Ian laughed
"Deal!"
And down the street they went, stopping only for Mickey to cautiously thread his hand into Ian's. They talked, just like they would for years to come, and Mickey was saved.