Chapter Text
For as long as he can remember, Fiona and Lip have been warning Ian to stay away from the Milkovich family.
“They’re bad news, Ian,” Fiona said. “They’ll get you in trouble.”
“They do weird shit, man,” Lip said. “They’ll kick your ass if you look at ‘em the wrong way.”
Still, there’s only so much control a kid has over who’s in his class or on his Little League team. The South Side’s only so big. Everyone kinda knows everyone. Not that Ian’s familiar with every Milkovich. There’s too many of them to even keep count.
Most guys in his school know Mandy Milkovich. Well, most guys in his school have slept with Mandy Milkovich. Or been asked out by her. From what Ian’s seen, he figures she’s one of those girls who falls for every guy to pay attention to her.
Then there’s Mickey. Mickey’s technically in the grade above Ian with Lip, though Ian’s not sure he’s in school enough to count as a student. They played baseball together as kids, Ian remembers because he almost burst his lungs laughing when Mickey got kicked off the team for pissing on first base. There was something weirdly endearing about it. Ever since Ian watched him get dragged off the field kicking and screaming that day, he can’t help but find Mickey cute.
Not that he would ever admit it.
Most people are scared of Mickey, think he’s gross, think he’s stupid, or some combination of the three. And sure, he’s maybe scary and stupid. He’s definitely gross. But for some God forsaken reason, Ian can’t help but feel a little giddy when he lays eyes on the guy.
Despite Fiona and Lip’s insistence that Ian stay away from the Milkoviches, the Gallaghers always seemed to end up at the same events as them. This time, it’s a party at the Alibi.
Ian has no clue what the party’s for. He’s pretty sure he heard Kev mention something about singing happy birthday. Whatever the reason for the occasion, people of the South Side will take any excuse for a party.
His stomach swoops when he catches Mickey walk in, tusseling with one of his brothers. He’s pretty sure it’s Colin. Or is Colin a cousin?
As per usual, Mickey’s covered in a layer of filth under his homemade muscle tee and ripped jeans. His playful smile, icy blue eyes, and messy black hair makes Ian’s heart speed up a bit.
And, look, Ian knows it’s stupid. The Milkoviches are the most notorious fag-beaters on this side of Chicago. If Mickey catches Ian looking at him the wrong way, the gay way, then Ian’s sure to end up in the hospital. So, he makes a point of not looking at Mickey like that. He tries not to let his eyes wander in that direction at all if he can help it.
Though, sometimes… He’s probably making it up, honestly. There’s no way. It’s stupid to think. But sometimes, Ian swears he can feel Mickey staring at him. A few times, he’d even seen Mickey’s head snap in the other direction when Ian turned his way. If he’d caught on to Ian’s dumb little crush, he’d probably have beat him up by now, right?
He knows it’s an insane thought. That Mickey fucking Milkovich might… But that’s ridiculous. It’s more likely that Ian’s the only gay kid in all of Illinois than it is that Mickey’s also queer. Really, he’s probably just plotting the best place he can hide Ian’s body.
So, Ian’s grateful when the Milkoviches pick a table that his back is turned to. The urge to look is still there, it never seems to leave, but it’s dampened. Instead, he lets Lip talk at him about some chick from his history class he wants to bang.
“I swear, if she just nutted up and left her fuckhead boyfriend, she’d be all over me!” he insists.
“Mmhmm.”
“Like, she gives me these eyes, man. You know?”
“Totally.”
“I’d probably go for it if he wouldn’t kick my ass.”
“Who?”
“The boyfriend. Catch up.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Taking a drag of his cigarette, Lip asks, “What about you? Anyone you thinkin’ about?”
Hmm. What a question.
There aren’t any girls who come to mind that aren’t in their vicinity, so Ian tells him, “I dunno, man. I’m just trying to focus on work and training and stuff.”
Lip scoffs. “Yeah, sure you are.”
Someday he’ll tell his brother all about the boys he actually likes instead of picking a random name from their yearbook. But not today. Not with the most infamous gaybashers in the neighborhoods within earshot. Especially when Ian’s kind-of-not-really crushing on one of those gaybashers for some insane reason.
It’s probably in his crazy Gallagher genes to go for the worst options, he figures. Frank and Monica had to wind up together somehow.
There’s just something about Mickey. The way the stupid, smartass comments he makes on the days he does show up to class make Ian laugh so easily. The way he’s clearly more intelligent than everyone gives him credit for. The way he’ll correct people as if the answer was obvious.
Also, cute is cute. Ian won’t let himself be judged for that. Mickey’s objectively hot.
At some point during his conversation with Lip, Ian starts to feel like he’s being watched. For a few minutes he’s able to ignore it. Eventually, though, he can’t help but check behind him.
When he looks, Ian finds Mickey Milkovich’s attention focused on him. He feels his cheeks heat up at the revelation. Mickey’s eyes are wide in panic. Before Ian can figure out his next move, Mickey sneers and drags his thumb across his throat before turning away.
Ian’s skin flares as Lip returns to the table. His brother sees the confusion on his face and asks, “You good?”
Another great question. After opening and closing his lips a few times, trying to figure out a response, Ian decides to lean in and say, “I think I just got threatened by Mickey Milkovich?”
Lip snorts.
“You think you know why?” Ian shakes his head and shrugs. “Eh, prob’ly not a good reason, anyway. I told you, dude. Don’t get mixed up with them. They’re batshit insane.”
Exhaling through his nose, Ian agrees, “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry. Can you even imagine that? Me getting mixed up with a Milkovich?”
It’s just a stupid crush. A stupid crush that Ian desperately needs to get over. It’s not like anything would ever actually happen between him and Mickey Milkovich.