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Ian has always kinda liked group settings. You’d think, growing up in a house with over half a dozen people in it at all times, he’d crave solitude. But he doesn’t. He sort of hates being alone, actually, so when he sees a flier for the university’s Sexuality and Gender Equity group hanging up on a bulletin board in his hall’s lobby, he snaps a picture of it and writes down the date on the calendar in his room. Lip was always telling him that he needed more friends, anyways.
So, Wednesday at six pm has Ian writing down his name, pronouns, and university email on a sign in sheet. They’re in one of the large classrooms in the fine arts building, the tables pushed aside and chairs in a circle in the middle of the room. People trickle in slowly. Ian makes conversation with the people sitting around him - a smiling nursing student named Julie with long locs that remind Ian of Vee, her partner - an education major with bleached hair - Max, and a lanky exchange student from the UK named Jack. They’re nice people, and Ian chats with them easily.
During a lapse in conversation, Ian’s eyes wander across the room, at the people filling up the chairs. Everyone looks like normal college students, tired and overworked, but the knowledge that everyone in the room was open and accepting has people loosening up, it seems. Almost every occupant is talking to someone else, smiling and laughing. The only person who seems to not be participating is the most beautiful person Ian has ever seen sitting directly across from him.
They’re breathtaking, with sharp features, strong shoulders, black hair, and piercing eyes. Ian has always been a sucker for grumpy looking motherfuckers, and this person seems to fit that mold perfectly. Arms crossed over their chest with a scowl on their lips, eyebrows furrowed as they observe the room. They look like they don’t want to be here, but they also sort of smile when the person next to them says hello. It looks more like a grimace, but Ian can tell they’re trying their best.
Cute, his mind supplies.
Fuck.
After a few minutes of disorganized chatter, a tall, purple haired person stands in the middle of the circle and introduces themself. “I’m Cody, and I use she/they pronouns. I’m the president of SAGE here at UIC. We’re happy to welcome all the new faces as well as familiar ones.” She smiles at the group, face open and welcoming. They sort of remind Ian of Fiona. “How about we start with going around the room and introducing ourselves. Name, pronouns, major, and identity, if you’re comfortable sharing.”
The first person to share is only a couple of seats away from Ian, so he starts mentally planning out what he’s supposed to say, listening to what others reveal. Almost everyone says a variation of the same thing, their name, their pronouns, then their. Julie goes before him. “I’m Julie. She/her. I’m a lesbian and I just got accepted into the nursing program.”
People congratulate her about nursing school, and then it’s Ian’s turn.
He smiles broadly at the room, easily becoming the outgoing version of himself, the one that thrives around lots of people. “Hey,” he starts. “I’m Ian, I use he/him pronouns but I’m cool with they/them too.” He shrugs. “I’m a Biomedical Engineering major, Pre-Med track. I’m trans and gay.”
Julie leans over and smiles at him. “Didn’t tell us you were a nerd, man.”
Ian shrugs again, cheeks turning the same shade of red as his hair, like they always do when someone points out anything about him.
People continue to talk, and before Ian knows it, they’ve made it around the circle and to the fascinating person across from Ian. They look a little apprehensive, but they clear their throat and speak with a type of steely confidence that makes Ian even more curious about them. “I’m Mickey. He/him. Physics and mathematics major,” the guy says, eyes shifting around the room, one of his legs bouncing. The nervous energy radiates off of him, but his voice remains steady. “I’m, uh -” He pauses and runs one of his knuckles across his eyebrow, and Ian notices dark ink against the pale skin. “I’m a gay trans man, I guess.” He chuckles nervously, eyes focusing downwards, fingers picking at the rip in his baggy jeans. “Shit, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever said that outloud.”
The rest of the group greets him, and a couple of the other transmascs in the circle toss out encouragement and grins, Ian included. Mickey still looks nervous, but he calms down considerably at the warm welcome. Ian finds himself even more intrigued. The cycle continues, more people introduce themselves, but Ian focuses on Mickey, watches him watch the people around them both. He doesn’t talk much when Cody starts asking questions to the group - asking about their identities, how they’ve grown in confidence, in pride, since starting college. Ian participates, smiling as he recounts coming out stories, about how his brothers only complaints were adding another guy to their cramped bedroom. How they didn’t make him feel any different than before, how his older sister actually bought him his first binder when he was fourteen even though he promised to pay for it himself.
When Ian finishes talking, he notices Mickey looking at him, a calculating look on his face. It looks good on him, and Ian can see how he’s a physics major. He looks like Lip does when he’s formulating a plot that will get them both in trouble. There’s intelligence behind his eyes. Ian tilts his head at the guy, lips shifting into a smile he hopes is kind.
Mickey turns pink and focuses on the rip in his jeans again.
Oh, he was going to be the death of Ian.
*
After the meeting ends, people mingle. Ian talks to a girl he recognizes from one of his chem classes about the lab next week, eyes flicking over the room, looking for someone. He catches sight of his target, black hair and broad shoulders leaving alone. He apologizes to the girl he’s talking to and rushes to follow Mickey.
He’s not really sure what he’s doing, but he lets his feet carry him downstairs, following the short, stocky form he sees push open the doors and shuffle out into the wind. Ian follows him outside, starts yelling, “Hey, Mickey!” before his brain can catch up with his mouth.
The street is mostly empty, a few people from the meeting heading back to their dorms or towards the library, so there’s probably only Mickey stomping his way towards the shittiest set of dorms on campus, the ones Ian lived in, too. The man in question actually slows down when Ian calls for him, turns around with a scowl painted on his face. “The fuck?” he asks, dark eyebrows furrowing.
Ian comes to a halt right in front of the shorter man - this close, Ian can see that he’s got a good few inches on Mickey, Mickey’s spiked hair at the same level as Ian’s chin. He’s scowling even harder now that Ian is closer to him, muscular arms that Ian is kinda jealous of crossed over his chest, tattooed fingers gripping his biceps. Up close, Ian can finally make the words inked on the skin. FUCK U-UP.
Carl would probably say they were bad ass.
Ian thinks they’re hot.
Like really, really hot.
“Um,” he hears himself saying, mouth once again working faster than his mind. He scrambles to catch up with himself. “Sorry, I just-” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes deciding to focus on the tree behind Mickey’s shoulder. Words start tumbling out. “You’re Southside, right? You’ve got the vibe and, well, I thought it’d be cool to get to know someone else from home. These Northside fucks are kinda getting on my nerves, you know?” That’s so not the main reason Ian chased him down, but you can’t run up to a complete stranger and say, “I think you’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen so I ran after you” without sounding insane.
Mickey still stares at him like he’s lost his goddamn mind. “What the fuck, man?” he asks again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Ian smiles sheepishly. “Wanna, like, go get coffee or something?”
Mickey’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Why the fuck would I wanna go get coffee with you?” he asks.
Ian shrugs. “Why not?”
*
When Ian was thirteen years old, he realized he was not like the other girls. He’s hated skirts, dresses, and tight shirts for as long as he can remember, but when he was thirteen and his body started morphing into something he hated, he realized he could never be like the rest of the girls. Mandy Milkovich tried to paint his face in makeup, tried forcing him into short skirts and crop tops. She told Ian how pretty he was, how he could be a heartbreaker if he only dressed better. But Ian didn’t want to be a heartbreaker, didn’t want to be like his sister, like Mandy. He didn’t want to be a girl. So he wore hand-me-downs from Lip and cut his hair shorter and shorter until it was a mop of curls on the top of his head like Lip’s.
He came out as trans at fifteen.
When Fiona became his legal guardian, he changed his name and started HRT. He’s spent the past three years of his working to get out of the Southside, to save money, get a job, get top surgery before he tries to cut off his unwanted chest himself. He knows he’s lucky. He has a supportive family and siblings that would kill for him, but he still wants to get away. To go somewhere where no one knows the old Ian, the girl, and just be a man, not Frank Gallagher’s lesbian daughter. Going to college, getting into med-school, was the first step in that plan. He used to want to join the military, but he gave up on that pipe dream when he realized he’d have to enlist as a girl.
Mickey’s the first trans man Ian’s ever met who seems like he might be able to get Ian. Being trans on the Southside versus anywhere else was completely different. The Northside fucks really do get on his nerves, mostly because that just don’t understand. They’re all about being out and proud and Ian knows that he’s not ashamed of his identity, but he’s also never been in a situation where he can comfortably be himself, one hundred percent of himself.
He thinks, maybe, that the intriguing boy who looks like someone Ian would have ran away from back home could be the person Ian is himself around.
They’re sitting in one of the coffee shops just outside of campus. Mickey sits in the corner, eyes darting across the rest of the room. Ian’s genuinely surprised that Mickey agreed to this, and he looks comically out of place, sipping on a latte in some hipster coffee shop with that scowl on his face, those tattoos on his fingers. It’s really, really cute.
They make small talk, something Ian’s never really been the greatest at, talking about classes and professors and bullshit financial aid. He even gets Mickey to laugh a couple of times, a light sound that has Ian grinning, leaning across the small table to get closer to it. After a small lapse in conversation, Mickey clears his throat.
“You’re one of Frank Gallagher’s kids, ain’t you?”
Ian chokes on his coffee. He coughs, and Mickey looks almost apologetic as Ian wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Uh,” Ian says, deciding to look at his coffee. One of the reasons he’d ran up to Mickey was because the guy was obviously from the same area as him, he just wasn’t expecting Mickey to know who he was. He decides that there’s no point in lying. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
Mickey snorts. “I remember a tall-ass ginger following that asshole Lip around all the time,” he says, casually, like Ian’s heart rate isn’t going through the fucking roof. “That was you?”
Ian nods. “Yeah,” he says, looking up from his coffee. “Yeah that was me.”
Mickey stares at him for a moment, eyes blank yet calculating at the same time. He stares right at Ian, and it kind of feels like he’s looking for something. “Shit, man,” he says after thirty long seconds. He leans back in his seat. “Didn’t even recognize you.”
Ian laughs a little. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it?”
Mickey nods. “Yeah, man.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, Mickey staring at Ian and Ian staring at Mickey, trying to figure out how Mickey knows him but he doesn’t know Mickey. Ian’s positive he would remember the man in front of him, with those eyes and that attitude. Those tattoos. But no matter how much he racks his brain, he can’t find any memories of him.
Ian’s ripped away from his thoughts by Mickey’s quiet laughter. “Don’t remember me, do you?”
Ian shakes his head, feeling a little bit ashamed, for some reason. “No,” he admits. “I’m sitting here running over like every minute of my life and can’t remember anything.”
Mickey shrugs, almost looking proud of himself. There's a crooked smirk on his face that Ian can’t help but focus on. “That’s the point, ain’t it?”
“Huh?” Ian asks, confused.
“You used to hang out with my sister,” Mickey says, ignoring Ian’s confusion. If anything, he only amplifies it. “Thought you were an annoying little fuck, but Mandy loved you. I always thought you two were dating or something.”
Mandy.
“You’re a Milkovich?”
“Unfortunately,” Mickey says, something like a smile on his face. His eyes finally shift away from Ian’s face, settling on an area close to Ian’s shoulder, maybe behind it.
“How?” Ian asks. “How do I not remember you, then?”
Ian used to spend entire afternoons at the Milkovich house, when Mandy’s dad was gone or in prison and it was just her brothers. And Ian had met all of her brothers: Joey and Colin - Dumb and Dumber, as Mandy called them - Iggy, Tony, and a few guys who Mandy said could be her cousins or her brothers or both. No Mickey. And Ian figures that Mickey was in the closet then - had to be, from all the shit Ian knows about Terry Milkovich - but Mandy only had one sister, a blonde that used to throw pizza rolls at his head while he and Mandy studied on the couch. She was always in juvie, and Ian probably met her twice before he stopped going to Milkovich house all the time, when his voice started dropping and Mandy’s brothers looked at him weird. He doesn't even remember that Milkovich sibling’s name. Maybe Mickey is one of the cousins that came in and out all the time?
Mickey still has that self-satisfied look on his face, his eyes flicking back up to Ian’s slack-jawed face for a couple of beats before he looks down at the table. “Started dying my hair as soon as I moved out, you know?” he says. “Hated being blonde, made me look like Terry.”
Ian’s head is reeling. Mickey is Mandy’s brother? That asshole blonde who literally threw a kitchen knife at him one time for trying to get a closer look at the tattoo Ian could see peeking out a t-shirt sleeve is the same person sitting in front of him, sipping a vanilla latte and bitching about physics assignments?
Holy shit.
Mickey is laughing, giggling. He’s an asshole, but his laugh is too cute for Ian to give a shit. Ian doesn’t remember ever hearing Mickey laugh before. It makes sense, he supposes. He couldn’t even remember Mickey’s name before - he wonders if Mickey remembers his.
But people didn’t laugh much in the Milkovich house, and Ian figures Mickey even more reasons not to than the rest of them.
“Oh, man,” Mickey says, sounding all smug and amused. “You should see your face.”
“You tried to knife me!” Ian finds himself saying, pointing an accusing finger at the laughing man in front of him.
This only spurs Mickey on. “To be fair, man, I was fuckin confused with all this gender and sexuality bullshit and you were hot, even then!”
“So you tried to stab me,” Ian deadpans, ignoring the way Mickey’s words have his stomach swooping. “Multiple times.”
“Yep,” Mickey says, popping the ‘p.’ He’s grinning, and Ian is too.
“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. He never expected to run into a Milkovich at college, much less one that was like him in ways that no one else could understand, but he’s glad he did. “All that for a crush?”
“You’re the one that chased me down the fucking street, man.”