Chapter Text
MICKEY
I get a bad reputation for being a hot head and that I’m too impulsive. The former is true, I can’t deny that, but impulsive? No. I’m methodical, a plotter. I know how to put a plan together. What folks calls “impulsive,” I think of as being passionate. And committed.
Say, for instance, when some redheaded motherfucker tries shit with my sister. The guy dodged me all day yesterday. I only got the slightest glance of him when I tried to corner the guy at his work flanked by my brother Joey and cousin Jamie. The chicken-shit coward bolted into the back room and out the back door before I could get a good look at him. The guy knows what’s coming to him, messing with girls like some rape-y creep. And he has the poor sense of self-preservation to try and grope my baby sister? Just toe tag the asshole now.
That ginger Gallagher shithead is a dead man walking. And the longer he dodges his beating, the uglier it’s gonna be when I finally lay my hands on him. Ian Gallagher better not expect me to go easy on him because his smartass brother already took his lumps. Seriously, who the hell hears “your brother tried to force himself on my sister” and thinks now is as good a time as any to slut shame her. Fucking Gallaghers, man. Where does Lip get off calling my sister a hoe when he’s got Fiona “one and done” Gallagher at home?
Today’s that ginger shit’s day. If the pussy knew what’s good for him, he’d take his medicine and swear never to touch her again while I’m still only planning to beat his ass with a pool cue.
I get up bright and early, intending to set up camp outside Gallagher’s front yard like I did last night. He can’t stay inside forever. I probably would’ve been out the door early even if I didn’t have this exciting new pet project. I don’t like spending much of my waking hours around the house when my pop’s home these days. Ma used to keep him from roughing me up too much, but now that she finally got out, Terry has been worse than ever.
Shit, I don’t even blame her for walking out on him. I came home from school and found her black and blue often enough that I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. Mandy and me both take after her more than the others, and he obviously doesn’t plan on moving on any time soon. And Terry would never hurt his little princess, so I get knocked around a lot for the both of us while he works through his feelings. So, I count on the fact that my old man is usually black out drunk most mornings and get long out before he wakes up around 10 am.
I cross through the alley between Trumbull and Wallace and make my way down the street towards the Gallaghers’ house when I spot him at a distance. I don’t know what gets into me— I’m not scared of the asshole— but I duck behind a beat-up old jalopy on cinder blocks that has been collecting cobwebs for the past five years so I can get a better look at him.
He’s not a bad looking guy for an alien-ass ginger creep. Straightened, coppery red hair that curls into wisps around his ears and the back of his neck, freckles that form constellations across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His face is screwed into a serious expression, like he’s going to war. And in his hand, he is brandishing an old, but solid-looking, bat that could probably crack some skulls.
Okay, Mr. Tough Guy Gallagher. One more excuse not to hold back.
I follow him a couple blocks and I am just floored by the balls on this guy. He’s turning onto Trumbull. He won’t face me, but he has some sorta death wish, stomping in the direction of my house like he’s a man on a mission, making a beeline directly for my sister. Maybe she’ll kill him for me, do her own dirty work.
“Get away from me, you perv!” I hear he holler.
“Mandy, we need to talk!”
My fingers, dry and achy from the cold, grip the handle of my pool cue. My lip curls, just waiting for a reason to barge in guns blazing.
“You’re a dead man, Ian Gallagher!” She warns him as she attempts to put distance between the two of them. She has that murder look on her face, like when Colin sold her cd collection for weed. “Fucking dead!”
Where does he get off? Mandy already told him to fuck right off and he still doesn’t get the point? I feel my pulse quicken and my cheeks burn red hot as blood rushes to my face. My fingernails feel like they are about to embed themselves in the cue. Now would be a great time to beat this guy within an inch of his—
“I’m gay!” Blurts out Ian desperately.
It’s like sound stops existing for a moment. The silence is that deafening. I had just been about to step my fool ass out from the shadows and give Gallagher a fucking beatdown he won’t forget, but now I fall back.
I catch myself breathing softly as I listen to their conversation, tucked behind a dumpster with the hood of my coat pulled over my head. I hug my knees, barely registering what they’re saying. Still, i manage to conclude that Gallagher must have stuck his neck out for her. Mandy, fuckin’ tragic, confused a good deed with an invitation, then lost her shit when Freckles panicked.
I want to be mad at my sister for siccing him on the guy. Sounds like Gallagher is decent when you get down to it. But Milkovich blood runs hot; I can’t hold it against her.
I gotta hand it to Gallagher, though. It’s gotta take a pair of solid brass to admit you’re into dick in this neighborhood. I sure as hell would never tell a soul. And I certainly wouldn’t have been crazy enough to shout it within earshot of Terry’s bedroom window… if I was a fag, I mean.
IAN
Life is getting back to normal. I think. It’s been over forty-eight hours since the last time one of Mandy’s psycho brothers have tried to jump me. My bar is so low that being able to walk from home, to school, then to the Kash ‘n’ Grab and back without getting chased down by the local clan of neighborhood toughs.
I’m not exactly sure how coming out to someone for the first time resulted in me getting a girlfriend, even if it’s just pretend. Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.
“Hey!”
I turn my head to meet my boss’ gaze. He smiles at me expectantly, hope in his eyes. “Oh. Hi, Kash. I took care of restocking the canned vegetables and women’s hygiene when I clocked in.”
I don’t know what else to say to him. Last night, was supposed to be our first opportunity to spend the night together instead of just hook up in the stock room. But the reality of being with him started to settle in when he brought me upstairs to the apartment that he shares with his wife and sons. I felt like an intruder, invading a world I had no part in.
The older man must sense Ian’s mood because his smile immediately filters. Kash looks over his shoulder to make sure they aren’t overhead. “Look, about last night—”
“It’s fine.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I was trying to push too hard.”
“I said it’s fine, Kash.”
His smile returns. Ian isn’t sure he is glad to see it. “Good because Linda’s going to be taking the boys out for a birthday party and I was hoping—”
“Hey, can I get some service, here?”
Kash turns, stepping aside to reveal the smirking form of Mandy Milkovich’s older brother, Mickey. Just a few days go, he wouldn’t say he was scared of the guy, but he was running on fight or flight instincts whenever he saw that murderous scowl enter his line of sight. Now, though, there is something about the way he’s grinning at him. He doesn’t know how much practice the guy has with smiling. It’s almost playful, but it also there is something uncanny valley about it, like he is trying to affect a smile instead of simply grinning naturally. It should be unnerving. But instead it’s amusing.
“So, um, I‘ll be in the back inventorying the new shipment,” Kash says as he gives me space to ring up Mickey’s hodgepodge assortment of purchases. Gum. Pringles. Dip. Extra Strength Dep. Kids’ band-aids.
After I ring up the bandages, he shoves them across the counter to me. I take them in my hand and examine them more closely. Snoopy and Woodstock are printed on the backs of each bandage.
“For your brother,” Mickey supplies.
I turn my gaze to the Milkovich boy again and I meet blue eyes that don’t quite know where to look. “My brother?” Sure, Liam might like Peanuts Band-Aids for his boo-boos, but I’m not completely sure how many of my siblings Mickey is actually conscious of.
“Phillip. I messed him up but good the other day.”
“We already patched him up,” I answer resignedly. I attempt to hand the package of bandages back but Mickey holds up his hand.
“Keep it,” insists Mickey, who quickly darts his eye up to the security mirror above my head. “You never know when the next time his mouth’ll get ‘em into trouble.”
It takes a second for my ears to catch up with Mickey’s words while Mickey flinches at something out of my sightline. My jaw tightens as I watch the older boy pull out a tightly rolled cylinder of dollar bills and peel off the amount he owes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Did you think I thrashed your brother for the thrill of it?” He holds up two sets of tattooed knuckles. A few days ago, I might have flinched. “These beauts are already looking ragged as it is without curb stomping assholes for no good reason.” This smile feels more natural, a playful little half smirk, inviting me to be in on a joke. There is something darkly entertaining about his showing off his “FUCK” and “U-UP” tats to me. Days ago, these fists were primed to clock me; now he’s showing them off with pride.
“Christ… what did he say?”
“Okay, so it’s like this. Bad enough I had some bad intel and thought you were some kinda sex pest, right? Lip goes and says something like maybe I confused you with one of the other hundred guys in the tenth grade she’s already gone down on.”
I palm my face. “Shit, that does sound like the kind of dickhead maneuvers he’d pull.”
Mickey quickly glances at something over his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“What? Me? Barrel o’ laughs. Why?”
“You keep looking at something,” I explain.
“My Spidey sense is tingling.” Milkovich explains leaning casually on my checkout counter. “Boss man over there keeps staring you down like a hawk about to swoop down on a mouse.”
I make a surreptitious glance in the direction Mickey kept looking at and spot Kash carelessly loading Kleenex boxes onto the wrong shelf while he stares us down, not even pretending to be subtle about it. Kash never likes it when I spend too much time talking to guys my age. It’s the only time he really ever seems to care about me staying on task while I’m on the clock.
“Like, seriously. I’m getting unhinged stalker vibes. Towelhead might want to take you out behind the shop and kill you.”
I have to mask a smirk by rolling my eyes so hard it hurts.
“Want me to intimidate him? Send him running for the hills?”
“I’ll be fine, Milkovich.”
“You sure? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
This does get a laugh out of me, stifled though it may be. “Look, if this is your way of making it up to me for hounding me the other day, don’t worry about it. We’re good.”
“Ian! Am I paying you to goof around with your friends from school?”
My head snaps in Kash’s direction. Kash must really be getting possessive if I can’t even chat up a straight boy without making him jealous. “Sorry, Kash. I was just finishing up with the custo—”
The chime of bells rings as the front door of the shop opens and closes. I turn to greet a new customer, but instead I see a spiky head of black hair walking towards the sidewalk, thin green scarf billowing behind him.
MICKEY
“Gettin’ to be a fixture around here, huh?” I ask casually after Mandy offers to bake some pizza bagels. Presumably she only means for her and Gallagher, but like that’s ever stopped me before.
“Yeah, it’s pretty hectic at my place,” shrugs Gallagher, his teeth gritted as he flails futilely mashing buttons on the GameCube controller in his hand. How he struggling so much at Smash Bros is beyond me. Then again, I’m spamming Captain Falcon’s moves like the chaotic little gremlin that I am, so go figure.
“Yeah?”
“Did Mandy tell you we had to fake my dad’s death? And hold a funeral?”
“What the fuck goes on over at Casa de Gallagher?”
“He owed the mob some money.”
“Well, don’t that sound like Frank. Ah, well. Could be worse. Mandy warned you to steer clear of the house when my old man’s around, right?”
The match ends and Ian tosses his controller onto the cushion between us in disgust. The tip of his pinky finger grazes the side of my hand and I feel a certain spark tremble through my body. What? Does that red hair of his store static electricity or something?
“I’ve grown up around the corner from you guys my whole life, Mick. Nobody needs to tell me to give your dad needs a wide berth.”
Nobody but Mandy or my mom ever calls me “Mick.” Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call me anything other than “Milkovich” before. I gotta admit I like the way it sounds when he says it.
“Heh. So we both got asshole dads and runaway moms, huh?” I murmur, not entirely comfortable with the fluttering sensation in my stomach. “Some shitty luck we got going for us, huh?”
“I’ve heard of worse grounds for friendship,” Ian shrugs, picking at a hangnail.
I school my face into a wry grimace, willing myself not to give myself away by getting all mushy over Gallagher calling me a friend. I should really make him stay away.
Technically, I’m not supposed to know that Gallagher is a homo. At least, he hasn’t told me and I’ve made no hint of knowing. Gallagher passes for straight no question. But get the guy started and sometimes he won’t stop talking until he runs outta words in the fucking dictionary. If he lets something slip on a day when Terry’s around, he’ll be press ganged into a rousing game of smear the queer.
“Friends, huh?” I ask casually. I was just trying to make it up to Gallagher for almost beating that pretty mug of his into a bloody pulp. I wasn’t aiming for bosom buddies, here. Despite my best efforts, I’m not sure if I sound half as nonchalant as I want. So I guess I just sound chalant. Is that how that works? “Haven’t had someone call me that since I was in little league.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Huh? Remember what?”
Gallagher turns to face me, tucking one knee to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. He looks askew of me like he is embarrassed to meet my gaze. “I figured it must be too far back in the memory banks. We were on the same team.”
“We were?”
“Uh-huh. You were the one fourth grader that always stood up for the second and third graders.”
“Yeah, well, Coach Jed’s kid was the biggest bully. Not like he was gonna—"
A memory of the little redhead with a thick nest of curls comes rushing back to me.
“Brillo Pad?” The team nickname occurs to me like I had just unlocked a door and simply found it there waiting.
“Ah, so you do remember me,” Ian snickers. “Here and I thought you must’ve blocked that Summer out or something. “And you were Bulldog.”
It’s a nickname that should make it sound like I was a tough little cookie back then. But now I see pictures of bulldogs and they just look like proper English butlers in dog form. It just goes to show that don’t know shit.
“I still don’t know how the guys were calling me ‘bulldog,’ then got all up in arms when I took a whizz on first base.”
I have to fight the instinct to flinch when he takes me by the shoulder. “Did you know they called first base your territory for the rest of the season? And the next one after that?”
“No kidding?” I smile broadly despite myself.
Ian laughs and nods as Mandy returns with a tray of microwaved pizza bites perfuming the air around her. She sets it down as she insinuates herself between us on the center cushion. “Look at my boys getting along,” she beams.
“Yeah, Mickey’s not bad when he isn’t on the warpath.”
“That’s a five-star review as far as I’m concerned, Gallagher,” I fire back through a mouth full of cheese and sauce, the roof of my mouth slightly burnt.
We joke back and forth the three of us and for a while, having Gallagher around feels natural, like he is supposed to be there. But the mood darkens when he gets a text on his phone and grabs his shit to leave.
“You really gotta go right now?” asks Mandy, GameCube controller in hand. "Don't you wanna watch me hand Mickey's ass to him?"
"You only wish, bitch."
She flips him off.
“It’s Kash,” Ian states as though it explains things. His tone is resigned, like he has little choice in the matter. “Slow night at the shop. He wants to know if I can come over to help do inventory.”
“Just like that?” I ask. “He just texts and you go?”
“I’m not exactly working for spending money,” Ian bemoans. “We all gotta do our part to keep up with the bills. Especially with Lip’s SAT scam going belly up.”
“Don’t let him hold you up too late, Ian,” warns Mandy, sounding like she and Ian both know something I don’t.
Whatever it is, it makes my skin crawl. Maybe if I were blissfully ignorant, and if Mandy had the good sense not to wiggle her eyebrows and use her innuendo voice, I’d feel different. But Karib was already giving me creeper vibes. And now… shit. The guy’s over twice Ian’s age. His boys aren’t that much younger than us. The thought of that forty-something piece of shit putting his hands on Gallagher makes my throat tighten and my stomach bind itself on knots. I don’t like many people, but I’ve let Gallagher in enough to care what happens to him. I guess he’s right— maybe we are friends.