Work Text:
Ian grumbled in pain when a guy on a moped ran over his foot. “Motherf—.”
The guy sputtered away, disappearing into the crowd that gathered in the parking lot of the Englewood Community Center.
Ian grabbed his foot. “Message received, universe.” This kind of shit happened to him all the time. He got it. His life had no meaning. He didn’t fucking matter.
But that's the whole reason he was here today, wasn't it? To prove that he was worth something?
Ian needed to earn a spot in the Chrysalis III bunker. He needed to be underground when the bunker closed tomorrow so he could survive the coming apocalypse.
He put weight on his foot and stepped forward, joining the crowd.
Society had gone haywire since they announced that the Lib-E7 asteroid was headed for Earth. The press called it “Libby,” and that name had consumed everyone's nightmares for months.
The economy tanked, which meant Ian lost his job slinging boxes at a warehouse.
No job? Check. No boyfriend? Check. No significant impact left on anyone's life? All the checks.
Then the government started building bunkers in every city. They randomly handed out tickets to the population, offering spaces inside. Offering a chance to survive.
Every single one of Ian's siblings had snagged a bunker ticket.
Ian had not.
So, yeah, he had a right to be pissed. Defeated. Angry as hell at the unfairness of it all.
“Are we going to get into the special house, mama?” A girl about Franny's age tugged at a woman's sleeve. The girl wore a bright yellow ribbon in her hair. She shied away from the noisy crowd.
The mom hugged the girl to her side and inched along the pavement. “There's a gap up here, baby. I think we have a chance of getting through.”
“But how many tickets they got?”
Ian knew the answer to that one. “They're giving out a hundred tickets today.”
The girl's eyes widened. “I can count to a hundred.”
Ian could count to a hundred, too. That's about how many people were crammed into this parking lot, clawing at each other to get to the front of the building.
Fate, if you were ever on my side, help me now.
The double doors of the community center opened. Two guards in full riot gear stepped out. The people around Ian rushed forward, sucking him in like a damn wind tunnel.
A woman in a suit emerged from behind the two guards. Ian recognized her as a city council member. She spoke into a megaphone. “All right. One ticket per person and then move on.”
Optimism crept under Ian's skin for the first time in weeks. He watched the woman stiffly hold out tickets, pressing the red rectangles of paper into people's hands.
He watched the stack of tickets grow smaller by the second. He watched the distance between him and the councilwoman shrink. One ticket. One step. One ticket. One step.
Ian was going to make it. Hot damn, he was going to get a ticket. He could join his family in the bunker during final boarding tomorrow morning, hours before Libby would strike.
The man in front of Ian took a ticket.
The stack looked alarmingly low.
“Final ticket.” The councilwoman held out her hand.
Ian grabbed the last red rectangle. But so did someone else.
• • •
Ian tugged, trying to pull the ticket toward himself. The paper was tough, reinforced with plastic strands and woven holograms. “This is mine.”
The guy holding the other end looked about Ian's age. He wore a ratty tank top and jeans. “My hand is on it just as much as yours, Copper Top.”
Ian looked up for assistance, for backup, to have the councilwoman verify that this ticket was for him and not some asshole who swooped in at the last second. But the lady had vanished. The guards in riot gear had vanished. They'd slipped away in an instant now that their job was complete.
Desperation swirled inside of Ian, gaining speed. “Where did you even come from?”
“Been standing beside you for ten minutes, man.”
Ian let out a snort. Not likely. He would have noticed this ball of swagger from a mile away.
“Oh, I get it.” The guy waved a wide circle around Ian's hair and face. “You’re a Gallagher, so you think you can scam your way into getting a spot.”
“What does that even —”
“Frank's not here to do your dirty work?”
Fucking Frank. He'd gotten a spot in the bunker and was probably already inside, stinking up the place.
Ian clutched his half of the ticket. He took a closer look at this guy who dared to judge him on sight. Black hair. Blue eyes. Stained clothes. Knuckle tattoos, which were a dead giveaway. “Great, a fucking Milkovich. Are you going to stab me, shoot me, or knock me unconscious?”
The arrogant guy stood his ground. “All of the above, if you don’t let go of this goddamn ticket.”
The crowd had scattered, but the neighborhood wasn't any quieter. People packed luggage into cars in driveways and gathered on the sidewalks. Ian hadn't seen this many people outside before, not even on days when the Sox won big games.
Ian thought of the only leverage he had. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for it.” His family had cobbled together cash in the off chance that he'd survive the meteor strike. Spending the cash to snag this bunker ticket would be a solid investment.
“You think money is worth a damn anymore? Give me a fuckin’ break. I saw a homeless guy down behind the Shell station using a hundred dollar bill to wipe his ass.”
The color in Ian's thumb turned from purple to white. The paper curled up from the pressure. The guy never stopped eyeing him with the stubborn patience of a goat.
What the hell was Ian supposed to do? If he released the ticket, he'd be admitting what the universe had been trying to tell him all along: he wasn't worth a damn. He wasn't worth a single breath beyond tomorrow.
Frustration took hold, starting as a clench of Ian’s teeth. It roiled through his chest. It vibrated down his arm and into his tight fist.
Ian swung at the guy.
Shit, it was hard to get power with his left hand clutching the ticket. The guy anticipated the move and blocked it, easily.
“Jesus.” Milkovich pulled the ticket, hard, pulling Ian face to face with him. “You rip this motherfucker, it won't be good for either of us.”
Ian stomped on the guy's foot. His leather boot absorbed most of the blow. So damn annoying.
Ian rotated to try to slam his elbow into the guy's stomach. He twisted their bodies around, but nothing worked the way he wanted it to.
“Would you just fucking … let go … already.” Ian screamed and kicked out the guy's legs.
Milkovich stumbled to the ground, pulling Ian down with him. God, the parking lot smelled bad. Ian's face landed in something sticky. His shoulder pressed against the rough concrete.
They both continued to clutch the ticket.
The guy wrestled around until he pinned Ian tightly in place. He leaned down and growled in Ian's face. “You’re lucky I don’t have my Luger on me.”
And, oh, this guy had a faint spray of freckles across his cheeks. He had an upturned curl at the corner of his mouth. A vein popped out from his sculpted forearm.
In what possible way was it fair that Ian got chained to a hot Milkovich?
They lay on the sidewalk, breathing heavily. Blood prickled to the surface where the guy's skin had scraped the ground.
Milkovich could only use one hand, so he had to bear down with his hips to hold Ian in place. The pressure wasn't unpleasant, and that pissed Ian off. He bucked, trying to gain position. “You're strong for a guy who could fit in my pocket.”
Milkovich pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth, grinning. Damn, the guy was tough, and he knew it.
This was not how Ian had planned to spend his last afternoon on Earth.
• • •
They stayed tangled together until the summer sun ducked behind the nearby buildings, casting shadows over the street. It would be a perfect afternoon for having a cookout or joyriding on the L, if not for the world's impending doom.
Ian wiped blood from his face and wormed his way to a seated position. “Fuck this, man, I'm going home.”
Milkovich dragged them both to a stand. “Well, I’m going home, too.”
Ian started to walk with exaggerated steps, sure that he'd stretch out the guy's arm. But they both power-walked in the same direction.
Ian couldn't even succeed at storming away pissily. He groaned. “You live over this way, too?”
Milkovich smiled like this was the funniest damn thing.
Ian focused on the ticket. He had to keep his guard up. He had to think of ways to outsmart this guy. Even if the universe hated him, Ian had grit and perseverance on his side. He could outlast anyone.
They walked in tense silence down 79th Street, away from the community center. A man had draped a white bed sheet to the side of a duplex. A projector broadcasted a news report, showing a countdown timer. Under eighteen hours until Libby would arrive.
At the next building, residents gathered in a courtyard. They played loud dance music and wore plastic beaded necklaces. Not a single one of them looked sober. A woman with a cotton skirt and no shoes sat sobbing on her front steps.
Ian had been too focused on his own survival today. “Shit, man, things are getting bad.”
Milkovich walked steadily beside him, keeping a solid grip on the ticket. “Yeah, well, you basically have two choices at this point. You're either heading to a bunker, or you’re knocking items off your bucket list.”
“Guess no one's doing laundry or paying taxes anymore.” Ian nudged them left down a side street, toward his block. “How are you so calm? I'm on edge constantly.”
Milkovich scratched his eyebrow with his free hand, looking serious for once. “The apocalypse is just one rotten day on top of all the other rotten days, man.”
“Then why try so hard to get this ticket?”
“Rotten is better than dead.”
Ian admired the guy's morbid optimism. “The rest of my family is already in the bunker. I’m the last one outside.”
“Cry me a fucking river. I’m the only one in my family that would get to be in there.”
“Great. Then the Milkovich family tree can die out.” Ian immediately felt guilty. Even at the end of the world, he shouldn't kick a person who's down. He felt cruel on top of feeling worthless. Fuck, was this really the type of person he wanted to be? Armageddon or not, he couldn't let himself fall apart.
The guy didn't talk for a bit. He watched a family set up chairs in their front yard, with blankets and pillows and a telescope. He glanced at Ian from the corner of his eye. “Are you the smart one or the gay one?”
“Huh?”
“One of you Gallaghers got paid to do people's homework.”
Ian had to dodge this inquiry like a grenade in a minefield. “Who says we're not both smart?”
Milkoviches weren't known to attend too many pride parades, unless they were protesting them. But this guy hadn't said “queer” or “faggot.” He hadn't snarled up his face in disgust. He’d asked simply. He didn't push for an answer.
Maybe he’d be okay with Ian being gay. They had been walking around all this time holding the same ticket. To any outsider, it would look like they were holding hands. The guy didn't seem to care about that.
At the very least, he didn't want to actively kill him. Ian would accept every small victory that fate handed him today.
He took this as a win.
• • •
A heron spread its wings and flew away from the lagoon in Auburn Park. The orange glow of sunset bounced off its feathers. Ian watched it with awe. “That bird looks like it's a phoenix. On fire or something.”
“Nah, not until tomorrow.” Milkovich stood beside him on the stone bridge. He was more interested in looking down, at treating the lily pads like targets. He threw rocks with the one hand that wasn't holding the ticket.
Navigating the apocalypse was easier with a man glued to your side. Ian had someone to talk to, to share his silly observations with. It calmed him in a strange way. As a middle child who was neglected, he valued quality time above everything else.
Ian wasn't sure yet if this time with Milkovich was quality, but it was definitely time.
“Check it. That dude just fell down the bank. He's even klutzier than you.” Milkovich shot like a spear with every word, but that meant he was paying attention. He'd watched Ian closely all evening, finding any opportunity he could to needle him.
Ian huffed. “It takes an idiot to know one.”
“Can I go home now, your highness? Or do we have to grace more neighborhood landmarks with our presence?”
“Uh uh. No way we're going to your house. You probably have eighteen cousins with shivs waiting to cut me down.”
“Only three.” The guy smirked. He rested his elbow on the bridge. A breeze blew over the water, making his bangs dance across his forehead. “That how you think I am, too? A mindless thug?”
Ian’s heart beat faster at being put on the spot, at his impressions being directly challenged. “I don’t think you’re anything. Just a guy in my way.”
A really damn good-looking guy in Ian's way. A guy in Ian's way who made him laugh. Who could hold his own in a fight. Who had mesmerizing confidence and a sharp wit.
Milkovich let the inquiry slide. “I'm fucking starving. If I'd have known I'd be stuck with your ass all day, I'd have packed a ham sandwich.”
Ian tugged on the ticket, pulling the guy closer to him, close enough that their knees touched. “Then come with me.”
Milkovich's mouth popped open. He stared at Ian for a second before he wordlessly followed.
• • •
A hot dog vendor stood at the entrance to the park, at the southernmost point near where the train tracks criss-crossed. The tiny brick building had menus tacked on the outside, faded from years of use.
Ian led the guy through the line of customers. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. The smell of fried food and peanut oil beckoned him.
Milkovich seemed happier now that they had a goal in mind beyond aimless wandering to wear each other down. “You're paying, Raggedy Ann. I don't have my wallet on me.”
“Ian!” The lady inside the stand wiped her hands on her apron. Her thick hair was held back with a bandana. She'd been running this booth since Ian was a little kid.
“Hey, Nina. You still giving out food?”
She shook a basket of fries, sending a sizzle of steam into the air. “Until I run out or the world ends.”
“Are the hot dogs free even if you aren't worried about the apocalypse?” He pointed over his shoulder. “This one isn't scared of Libby in the least.”
Milkovich scowled. “What is there to be scared about? A few explosions? A flood? Big fucking deal. It'll be over faster than one of my dad's benders.”
Ian had learned a lot about the guy's family as they'd walked here. They'd swapped stories of terrible fathers, of relying on siblings, of growing up with the world stacked against you. It was getting harder and harder to see this person as a rival when they had so much in common.
Ian figured they had the same taste in food, too. “A couple of dogs with everything, please.”
They moved to the pickup area, along with all the other neighborhood folks who didn't want to deal with cooking anymore.
It had been a while since Ian tried to barter for the ticket. He nodded with his chin. “Hey, what's your first name?”
“Mickey.”
Ian stepped close. He felt bold. He felt invisible, surrounded by customers who weren't paying attention to them. He whispered in the guy's ear, blowing gently against his skin. “Mickey, I’ll suck you off if you give me the ticket.”
Mickey raised one eyebrow. “You are the gay one.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
Nina handed them two hot dogs wrapped in foil. “Condiments are around the corner. Pile on whatever extras you want. We're out of relish, but there's plenty of ketchup, onions, mustard.”
Ian and Mickey took the food in unison. They didn't look at Nina, only stared at each other, moving in slow motion.
Nina shook her head. “Have a good end of the world.”
Entirely new thoughts wrestled in Ian's mind. To hell with bunkers and red tickets. Had his bravado paid off? Mickey hadn't said no. He hadn't said yes, either, but maybe he was seriously considering the offer.
Ian looked for clues. He looked for hints in the way Mickey walked to the condiment station. He looked for hints in the way Mickey used the mayonnaise dispenser, with three painstakingly deliberate pumps.
Mickey ate one-handed, licking a long stripe along the hot dog, making eye contact with Ian the whole time. He chomped down and took a huge bite.
Fuck, the guy was messing with him.
Ian couldn't muster the ability to do anything but chew slowly and swallow hard. Mickey had a powerful energy about him. He knew he was in charge even if Ian had been trying to call most of the shots today.
The dynamic excited Ian. It made him wish Mickey would relent and let Ian have him. It made him wish he'd met Mickey sooner so that he could investigate this mystery thoroughly.
Ian must have been staring. Mickey gave him a playful look. “What? I got mustard on my face or something?”
Ian wished he did, so that he could lean forward and wipe it off. He calmed the racing thoughts inside him. “We've been chained together for three hours and we haven't killed each other. That's more than I could say for my own parents.”
• • •
The softball field in the center of Foster Park offered the widest view of the night sky. Ian rested with his head on the pitcher’s mound studying the stars. “That one looks bigger than it did an hour ago. That's gotta be Libby.”
Mickey lay beside him with their shoulders touching, on top of a plaid blanket they’d stolen from Walgreens. “Nah, the scientists said we'd only see it for a few hours beforehand. Fucking weird that something so important isn’t even showing up yet.”
Mickey pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket. He held it up, and Ian used his right hand to flip open the lid. They worked in tandem to pull out a cigarette and light it. The motions flowed naturally, like they were conjoined twins working in sync.
Sharing a cigarette with bound hands was sexy. Trying to piss in the urinals in the convenience store bathroom earlier? Not so much.
Mickey blew out a thin stream of smoke. “It's supposed to hit in the Pacific Ocean. We won't feel the ripple effect until like ten minutes later.”
“Do you remember when they first discovered it? My brother used to scare me by whispering about it at night.”
“I remember the mission they sent to try to blow it up. Those astronauts really got me going, man.”
Ian’s body grew about ten degrees warmer. Holy fuck, Mickey was into dudes. Ian’s toe started tapping. His cock twitched, betraying him. He had to move before the electricity inside him erupted.
Ian rolled onto his side. He stubbed out his cigarette. “Guys in space helmets do it for you, huh?”
Mickey kicked against his legs, intertwining their ankles. “Tell me you don’t get off on uniforms.”
Ian was pretty sure he got off on tank tops and unlaced boots. He rolled all the way up and straddled Mickey. The guy was gorgeous. His skin glowed in the low light. His armpit hair looked damn inviting. His chest rose and fell like he had this same electricity coursing through him.
The moment hung in the air, thick between them.
Mickey looked up and down Ian’s face, lingering on his lips. He swallowed. “Ian, I …” His expression grew heavy. “Libby scares the shit out of me.”
Ian fell forward and kissed him. God, the vulnerability. The trust he showed. Ian wanted to wrap him up in the blanket. He wanted to protect him and reassure him and show him that it was okay to be afraid.
Jesus, with that tongue, he wanted to keep kissing him all night.
Mickey paused and punched him in the chest. “This doesn't mean I'm giving you the fucking ticket.”
“Oh, I think you’ll want to give me everything.”
“Cocky bastard.”
Maybe so, but, hell, Ian had seen the look of shock earlier when Mickey glanced over at him in the bathroom. Ian didn’t want to get his hopes up then but they’d totally gotten up anyway, and now he knew that Mickey really had been looking and Mickey really had liked what he saw, and now he got to touch this body and taste this body, and he wanted all of it right now.
Ian grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. “Fuck.” He’d gotten the fabric up near his chin before he realized there was no way to take it off, not without releasing the ticket. “I hate leaving my shirt on.”
“It ain’t the shirt I’m interested in.” Mickey hooked his finger into Ian’s belt loop and pulled it toward him. He palmed Ian’s cock through the jeans, pressing with a long, appreciative stroke.
Ian wanted to give Mickey all the pleasure, all the reassurance he could. Ian could temper any dark thoughts he was having. He could ease his anxiety. He could distract him from the horribleness unfolding around them.
Mickey popped Ian's button open and unzipped his pants. He shoved Ian’s boxers down, letting him spring free. “Shit, man, you weren’t lying. Take whatever you want.”
“I don't have a condom.”
“Like we’re going to be around long enough to catch something anyway.”
“Speak for yourself.” Ian kissed him. “I plan on surviving.”
Ian shimmied out of his jeans and got to work giving Mickey the best night he could offer.
• • •
The morning dew soaked through the blanket, chilling Ian's skin. Mickey lay curled in the crook of his arm with his head resting on Ian's chest. It was the best damn sleep Ian had gotten in ages.
Mickey fit perfectly against his body. He looked adorable while he slept. His arm had fallen across Ian’s stomach and reached toward the red bunker ticket which sat in the grass.
Mickey had let go of the ticket in his sleep.
One tiny patch of green separated Mickey from his only chance at survival.
Ian didn't hesitate. He slid the ticket between Mickey's fingers as if it had never left.
• • •
A calm overtook the city now that Libby was visible.
The families who had been partying last night stood quietly, watching that white ball in the sky hover like an executioner's ax.
Ian and Mickey walked up Canal Street toward the Kinzie Street Bridge, toward the entrance to the Chrysalis III, the abandoned freight tunnels turned into a bunker. Neither one of them had gone home. Neither one of them carried suitcases or even a change of clothes.
Ian glanced at the meteor often. “Told you that dot was her.”
“The sky's shifted since last night, genius. It's not the same spot you were looking at.” Mickey talked quietly, without bite. He hadn't mentioned the huge question lingering between them. He clung to the ticket as if they still had tons of time to make their decision.
The murmurs of the crowd hit them first, when they were still a block away from the bridge. People gathered behind concrete barricades, straining to get access to the bunker. The National Guard lined the pathway with tanks and ballistic shields.
The chosen few with tickets were allowed to pass, but they were screamed at, spat upon, and pawed at.
Ian kept his hand tightly wound with Mickey’s, hiding the ticket between their palms. “You take your life in your hands crossing that divide.”
“It’s like the world’s scariest picket line.”
“Yeah, and we’re the scabs.”
Ian hung back behind the crowd so they had space to breathe. “Mickey, I …” He pushed away the ticket. “You take it. I don't actually want the Milkoviches to die out. You deserve it.”
“No, you take it. Be with your family. Don't want you to be the only Gallagher floating outside haunting the rest of them for eternity.”
The two of them were just as damn stubborn in their need to help each other as they’d been yesterday in their need to thwart each other.
Ian didn’t know what to do, so he pressed his forehead to Mickey’s. He kissed him like the world was ending, with his full body and every piece of his soul.
Their kiss was interrupted by a cry.
A girl stood near them, clutching her torn dress and wailing.
“Shit, I know her.” Ian stepped to the girl, dragging Mickey along. “I saw her when they were handing out tickets.”
Ian set his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey. What’s going on?”
“They won’t let me in.” She gave the “in” at least four syllables. “They grabbed Mommy and took her inside and I showed them my ticket and then a mean man knocked me down and stole it from me.”
Mickey bristled. “What fuckin’ man? I’ll kill him.”
Ian knew with a burst of clarity exactly what to do. The truth bubbled inside him and terrified him.
He made eye contact with Mickey. He squeezed the ticket and Mickey’s hand.
Mickey shook his head no.
He looked at the girl again, longer this time. She wiped her nose and puffed out her chest with determination.
Mickey’s expression softened. “You sure about this, Gallagher?”
Ian nodded.
Mickey grabbed the girl's arm. He gave her the ticket and closed her fingers around it. “Come on, short stuff. We're going to get you to your mom.”
• • •
Ian sat with Mickey on the 63rd Street Beach, on the shore of Lake Michigan. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, as if they'd all stepped aside to clear a path for the meteor plummeting their way.
Libby glowed brighter than the sun and looked twice as wide. She grew larger with every second.
Mickey held his hand. Those fingers which had been clutching a ticket for so long now held each other freely. “How you feeling?”
Ian could say so many things. He could mention how lost he’d been yesterday, before Mickey showed up and gave meaning to his last day. He could talk about the acceptance settling deep inside his chest. How content he felt, knowing that they’d helped that girl, knowing that he’d helped Mickey address his fear. He could talk about the pure bliss of Mickey's skin touching his.
Ian let out a peaceful sigh. “I feel like I matter.”
