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Chapter Text

Mickey turns the tap on and places his hand under the running water. He watches the basin turn a faint red and tries to ignore how much everything hurts. His knuckles sting like a bitch, but from his reflection it’s obvious that Mickey’s right eye caught the worst of it.

Fucking Soc apparently knows how to throw a punch. The only thing keeping Mickey from feeling entirely pissed is remembering the sound of a slight crack as Tony had stepped on the fucker’s wrist. And the guy sure as hell deserved it too – what else did he expect, coming into Greaser territory with little to no back up? The stupid fucker had been asking for it, taunting at Mickey and his brothers, acting like a regular northside piece of trash.

Mickey prods at his bruises one last time before sighing at his reflection. He picks up his comb, greases it up, and then brushes his hair back with a practiced ease.

Lip Gallagher, the little shit. Thinks he’s better than Mickey just ‘cause he’s a Soc. Mickey had been fine with letting the fucker mouth off, whatever, until Lip had mentioned Mandy’s “loose tendencies”. After that, Mickey and Tony gave him a proper beat down.

Mickey snorts out loud at the guy’s stupidity. What the fuck was he trying to achieve, anyway? Lip Gallagher apparently has a death wish.

*

Fucking Socs with their souped up Mustangs and varsity jackets.

Mickey can see that the drive-in theatre is practically swarming with them. He almost turns around, tempted to flake off the whole thing, but then he remembers Mandy waiting for him at the bleachers. And shit, he doesn’t want to leave her alone with all these Socs crawling around.

When he gets there though, he sees Mandy laughing and joking with some guy and it’s clear that she’s in no trouble. The first thing Mickey notices is that the guy is smiling with a level of happiness Mickey thought wasn’t possible around this part of town. He’s good-looking too, nice clean face and bright eyes. But Mickey’s eyes zero onto his ironed plaid shirt, and then the soft-looking shock of red hair. He realises that this guy’s a fucking Soc.

He steps over to them and crosses his arms, well aware that he’s blocking their view.

“Mickey, get out of the way. We’re missing the good bits.”

Mickey ignores his sister and eyes the Soc. “Who the hell are you?”

The guy smiles all sweet, but Mickey feels like he’s getting laughed at. “Ian Gallagher. Nice to meet you.”

“Gallagher?” Mickey snorts. “So you’re related to the stupid shit who got his ass handed to him today?”

Ian raises his eyebrows, “So you fucked up my brother’s wrist?”

 “He got what was coming to him,” Mickey says. He looks at Mandy and unwillingly remembers Lip’s comment. He can’t stop himself from blurting out, “Don’t tell me you’re fucking this guy.”

Mandy makes an indignant noise and Ian the Soc almost chokes on his cola.

“You’re kidding me,” Mandy crosses her arms. “First of all, no, we just met. As a matter of fact, he’s sitting next to me ‘cause a couple of Socs were bothering me and he’s keeping them away.”

Mickey opens his mouth, but Mandy doesn’t let him interrupt. “And second, what’s it to you if I sleep with him?”

“He’s a Soc!”

“He’s a nice guy!”

“He’s also sitting right here,” Ian interjects. He looks a little embarrassed, even in darkness; Mickey can see a faint blush slowly colouring his pale, freckled skin.

“You look nothing like your douche brother,” Mickey says abruptly, and Jesus, it’s like he doesn’t have control of his own mouth all of a sudden.

Ian shrugs. “Technically we’re half brothers,” he says mildly, but then he freezes and his eyes widen. “Shit, I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Mickey almost smirks. Looks like blurting things out is becoming contagious. For a moment Ian just stares at Mickey.

“…Okay, like I was saying,” Mandy seamlessly breaks the weird tension that was filling the air. “I can date whoever I want Mickey. And it’s not like it matters whether they’re a Soc or a Greaser. Everyone else doesn’t give a fuck, so why should we?”

Mickey’s about to reply to Mandy’s stupid question when Gallagher interrupts.

“Yeah I kinda agree,” he shrugs. “Sometimes it feels like our whole lives revolve around messing with you guys. Don’t get me wrong; some of you are fucked up trashy pieces of shit, but obviously you’re all not like that.”

Ian smiles at Mandy and it seems fucking genuine. Mickey feels like he’s been knocked over the head.

He snorts though, trying to cover up his confusion. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t know what world you live in, but shit doesn’t work that way… Anyway, how are you even saying this while the guy who beat up your brother is standing right in front of you?”

“Perspective,” Ian answers, like it’s that simple. “I know for a fact that Lip does stupid shit to rile you guys up so I guess he did have it coming.” Then the fucker smirks. “And it looks like he got in a few good punches so I’m not too bitter about it.”

Mickey doesn’t know how to reply to that, and it’s just as well because suddenly all his brothers and buddies are all over the place, greeting Mickey and Mandy with shoulder-shakes and half-hugs – and basically making a scene out of saying hello.

Mickey’s used to it though, so he grins at his friends and gives Benny a lighter when he asks for one.

He looks towards where Gallagher and Mandy are sitting and hears him say something about how Mandy is probably safe from dumb Socs now. Mickey watches from the corner of his eye as the guy gives Mandy one last smile before sliding off his seat. He keeps his head down as he leaves, which is probably a smart move because no one’s noticed yet that the guy’s a Soc. Mickey’s surprised that he’s actually feeling a little relieved, but it’s probably because he doesn’t exactly want to deal with another fight right now.

He lights up a cigarette and watches Gallagher walk away, completely alone. It’s a weird sight, because Mickey’s never really seen a Soc completely alone before. Usually they have their pretentious buddies or a cheerleader girlfriend hanging off their arm. But something tells Mickey that Ian Gallagher is far from the usual.

Chapter Text

Mickey’s gotten used to the stench of gasoline tainting every single item of clothing he owns. It’s fucking stupid though, because even though he’s only ever worn his uniform to work, somehow the smell has spread to his favourite leather jacket.

Iggy walks into the room humming some stupid tune under his breath while Mickey tries to air his jacket out for one last time.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Iggy speaks around the cigarette hanging off his mouth and Mickey remembers that he’s out of smokes.

“Got a spare pack of Kools on you?” Mickey asks, instead of answering the question.

“Nope. Last one and I’m keepin’ it.” Iggy shrugs, completely unapologetic.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Gotta make a run to the store anyway since we’re out of milk and cereal.”

“Need help?” Iggy asks, and Mickey knows he’s talking about back up.

“Nah, think I can lone this one. Got paid yesterday so can probably scrape a few dollars.”

Iggy shrugs again but he looks relieved. Mickey knows the feeling. It’s becoming more of a risk stealing shit, especially with Tony finally gaining custody after their dad was killed off in the cooler. They have to lie low so Mickey and Mandy don’t get sent off to group homes.

But even then, Iggy’s still a true Greaser, just like Mickey. “You should pack a heater in case you run into a few Socs. You know they’re still sore from losin’ the rumble.”

Mickey nods, the rumble was almost two months ago but a few Socs are still bitter over it. He shrugs into his leather jacket and takes the handgun out of the drawer.

*

Since most southside stores owners have taken to pulling out their .32 automatics as soon as Mickey steps foot inside, Mickey feels like avoiding trouble and ends up going to some store that’s located somewhere in no-man’s land between the north and southside.

He goes about stacking up on food supplies and almost drops a loaf of bread when some guy clears his throat. Mickey turns around and is met face-to-face with the sight of Ian Gallagher, who apparently has no concept of personal space.

“Fuck,” Mickey says, and tries to take a step back. But he only hits the back of the shelf, so he just stays put and glares at Gallagher. “What?”

Ian raises his eyebrows, “Thought you might want a basket?” He holds one up and offers it to Mickey.

“What?” Mickey says again. Because why is this kid even talking to him? He’s a fuckin Soc and Mickey’s feeling nervous in a way he’s not used to. Especially with the guy’s face so close – close enough for Mickey to count every freckle and notice stupid things like how there’s a speck of what looks like flour under his right eye, and the way his pinkish lips look a bit cracked.

Mickey shakes out of his thoughts and steps around Gallagher, and that’s when he notices the apron.

“You work here?”

“Yep,” Ian says. “Well, do you want the basket or not?”

Mickey thinks about saying no but then he figures what the hell and snatches the basket with one hand while balancing the items with his other arm. “Thanks,” he says, albeit begrudgingly.

“No problem,” Gallagher gives Mickey a small smile and Mickey is seriously feeling more confused than ever.

“Uh,” he says, and makes a move to step around him. Normally he’d be threatening this guy to step aside or pulling out a switchblade, but his brain has literally turned to mush.

“Hey, I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said the other night at the drive-in,” Gallagher says abruptly.

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Which part?”

“Y’know, what you said about how we can’t live in a world where a Soc can go steady with a Greaser.”

Mickey laughs, because go steady? , “I said ‘fuck’ not ‘go steady’. Typical Soc.”

“That’s right,” Ian smirks. “I mean fuck a Greaser.”

Jesus. Mickey ignores the way his body decides to respond to the way Gallagher says the word. “Yeah, what about it?”

Ian shrugs, “Just sayin’. I mean, you already know I think it’s not true. And today I saw one of your Greaser buddies lending Lip his lighter. So it’s not like we can’t be friends.”

Mickey stares at Ian, “Wait. You wanna be friends?”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t saying that. I just,” he splutters and goes a little red. Mickey thinks back to the other night. God, this kid blushes easily. “Whatever, man. I was saying that it’s all real stupid.”

Mickey wants to say something like No, you’re an idiot for thinking shit like that. But the truth is that Mickey’s been thinking about what Ian said too, that thing about perspective.

Mickey’s always had a deep resentment reserved for Socs. Because they’re rich and happy and they shit on Greasers like they’re the scum under their shoes.

But Gallagher’s not acting like that right now. And it makes Mickey pause.

Ian doesn’t say anything else for a while, but he doesn’t make a move to leave either. Mickey quickly feels weird about the silence and asks about the thing that’s been bugging him since he’d seen the apron on Gallagher.

“So you work here, huh? Thought you’d be leeching every dime off your fancy rich parents like a good little Soc.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Yeah. My dad’s an absentee alcoholic and my mom’s having multiple affairs behind his back. Real fancy.”

Mickey’s eyes widen, “Jesus, okay.”

“Um, sorry,” Ian says, looking slightly embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to snap, I’m fed up with it, that’s all.”

“No shit,” Mickey snorts.

“Why do I always blurt out shit about my life when you’re around?” Ian asks, but it sounds like he’s talking more to himself.

Mickey smirks, “Yeah. Next thing you’ll be recountin’ what you had for breakfast two days ago.”

“Shut up,” Ian laughs.

And Mickey feels himself smiling back, if only a little. He feels like he’s in some sort of limbo where he’s kind of known Gallagher for his whole life – which is fucking dumb to say the least.

The thought overwhelms him so much that he abruptly pushes past Ian, basket in hand. “I gotta go,” he looks back at the redhead. “Aren’t you supposed to be working or some shit?”

Mickey almost laughs at his expression. Looks like Gallagher forgot all about work.

Chapter Text

Karen Jackson has a brand new car. Corvair, white. Lip likes to pretend that it’s his car most of the time and takes the driver’s seat every chance he gets.

Wednesday morning he offers Ian a ride to school, and if it were any other day Ian would roll his eyes and leave them to making out during traffic stops. But since he’s already running late, Ian thinks he can brave this one out for the sake of limiting the increasing number of late slips he’s filling out lately. He reaches between Lip and Karen to turn up the radio and they’re too distracted to even notice (thankfully, they’re arguing instead of eating each other’s faces off).

The traffic is a fucking joke, Ian considers jumping out of the car and walking to school instead. And when he sees Mickey Milkovich sauntering down the sidewalk all by himself, Ian finally makes up his mind.

“Hey, where the fuck you think you’re going?” Lip calls after him.

Ian doesn’t bother answering. He lets his feet do all the thinking as he walks towards Mickey.

Ian doesn’t fucking know why he’s even doing this, since the few times he’d even talked to Mickey he never failed to embarrass himself one way or another.

He should be walking the other direction when he sees Mickey Milkovich. The picture-perfect Greaser, all decked up in his leather jacket and a cigarette burning in his left hand. He’ll probably sneer at Ian when he sees him. He probably has a switchblade or a pistol in his pockets. He fucking screams trouble.

“Hey,” Ian says, and hopes that it sounds surprised and casual.

Mickey throws Ian a sidelong glance. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Gallagher,” he acknowledges.

He has a fast pace, but Ian has longer legs so it’s easy to keep up.

“You following me?” Mickey finally says. He sounds a little more curious than annoyed. Probably.

Ian hides a smile. “Nope. My school’s this way.”

“School, huh?” Mickey says and Ian just can’t figure out his tone – if it’s condescending or impressed, or whatever. Ian wants to know Mickey well enough to figure this shit out without hurting his brain.

“Yeah,” he chances a glance towards Mickey. “What about you?”

Mickey snorts, “School doesn’t pay so fuckin’ well.”

Ian nods, though that’s not exactly what he was asking. He knows already that Mickey had dropped out a few months ago; the news had filtered through to Ian’s circles that one of the Milkovich kids finally dropped out. He hadn’t made much out if back then. Sad as it sounds, it wasn’t unusual to hear about Greasers leaving school. Most Socs make a huge joke of it, Ian even remembers the time Benny the Greaser actually turned up to class one day and all of Ian’s friends mock-applauded the guy as he took his seat.

“No, I mean where you headin’?” Ian clarifies. It’s none of his business of course, and Ian wonders if Mickey will even answer.

“Does it fuckin’ matter?” Mickey raises his eyebrows at Ian. “Why’d you want to know, anyway?”

Ian shrugs and tries to act nonchalant. He must be transparent though, because anything to do with this guy piques his curiosity. It may or may not have something do with Mickey having the bluest eyes since Paul Newman. And also something to do with how familiar Mickey feels to Ian, like they could’ve been friends in another life or some shit.

In the last few days whenever Ian has thought about Mickey, he’d somehow gotten this weird feeling, like he might be missing out on something great if Ian doesn’t at least speak to him. It’s fucking stupid and dumb and makes Ian feel a little embarrassed just thinking about it.  

Mickey snorts, thankfully breaking Ian out of his thoughts. “Heading to work… not that it’s any of your business.”

“At the gas station?” Ian asks, before he can catch himself.

“How’d you know I work there?” Mickey turns towards him, and Ian feels like he’s been caught red-handed.

“Um, I guess ‘cause you always smell like it?” Ian says, which is a fucking dumb thing to say because a) he could’ve just lied and said he heard about Mickey working there or, b) it sounds like an insult, which it definitely is not. Because Ian’s classified himself as one of the few weird people who actually likes the smell, strange as it is.

“I mean, I actually don’t mind it at all. I’m one of those people who likes the smell of paint and fresh markers…um,” Ian trails off as Mickey continues to stare at him.

“…It’s my brother’s work. He sells weapons and shit,” he eyes Ian and takes a drag from the cigarette. Ian’s just relieved that they’re both ignoring how fucking odd he’s acting. “Sometimes they need an extra pair of hands so I figure why not.”

“Weapons, huh?” Ian smiles, now this he’s comfortable with. “Like what kind?”

Mickey shrugs and keeps walking. “Knives, switchblades sometimes a heater. Whatever we could get our hands on at the time.”

He starts listing all sorts of handguns and weaponry. Ian crosses his arms and wonders if Mickey’s trying to size him up – to see if Ian will pussy out of the conversation just because he mentioned weapons.  

“Cool,” Ian nods. “I kinda miss firing at shit, you know? Was in ROTC until I had to drop out. Used to have a pretty good shot.”

Mickey huffs out a laugh. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, you got a good shot, huh?”

“Yep,” Ian shrugs and doesn’t bother being modest. “I can hit a freckle from two hundred yards using an M16.”

Mickey starts grinning then, all wide and bright. Ian would’ve spent more time admiring it if he wasn’t so busy feeling laughed at.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothin’,” Mickey shakes his head. “Just wasn’t expecting that, you know, from a Soc like you.”

“Man, how many times I gotta tell you we’re more than just Socs and Greasers.”

Mickey waves a hand, “Yeah, yeah I fuckin’ heard you the first time.” He eyes Ian and seems to be considering something.

Ian waits. They’ve both stopped walking now, and are facing each other in the middle of the pathway.

Mickey snubs out the last of his cigarette. “I guess if you really wanna fire a shot, you could come with me to Joey’s work,” he raises his eyebrows. “Prove you’re really as good as you say.”

Ian crosses his arms and smirks, “I am.” He has a brief thought of missing classes, but who the fuck worries about ditching school when they’ve been practically invited to hanging out with Mickey Milkovich? Ian doesn’t have to be asked twice.

*

They end up at some all-day burger joint to pick up the shared Milkovich car. Mickey says that his brother Iggy works there and Ian’s too busy trying to keep up with all these Milkovich siblings to even notice Mickey saying something about going in to buy a shake. Ian buys one too and ignores Mickey’s scoff when he gets a strawberry, because strawberry is the best fucking milkshake flavour there is and no one can convince Ian otherwise.

They walk to the parking lot arguing about the best flavour for things (Mickey can’t stand cola favoured shit). They stop in front of a black Pontiac, and it’s in much better shape than Ian had expected.

Mickey must’ve noticed Ian’s expression because he starts glaring at Ian, defensive as ever. “What? Just ‘cause we’re gettin’ by on pay checks and have no fuckin’ parents don’t mean we can’t afford a good car.”

“Hey man, I didn’t say anything,” Ian shakes his head and smiles. “I just like it, is all.”

Mickey’s shoulders relax. He gets in the car and Ian takes his silence as invitation to do the same.

They argue about the radio station while Mickey drives. Ian can’t stop looking at Mickey’s hands, how they grip the steering wheel with his left, and how his right one rests on the gearshift. He has tattoos, and for the first time Ian’s close enough to read them.

“What?” Mickey grunts out, obviously he’d noticed the staring.

Ian wills himself not to go completely cherry red at getting caught. “Nice ink,” he says quickly.

Mickey looks down at his hands like he forgot they were even there. “Yeah,” he smiles a little and Ian finds it fucking endearing. “We all got ‘em.”

“Greasers?”

“Nah, I mean Milkoviches. My cousins too.”

Ian nods and wonders what these guys will think of Mickey when he brings Ian along side him to some weapon shop. He wants to ask, but can’t bring himself to do it.

“Can’t imagine Mandy having them,” he says instead.

Mickey huffs, “She says they look dumb.”

Ian laughs and Mickey grins, telling him to shut the fuck up.

He looks at Mickey, smiling all wide and genuine, and Ian has the sudden urge to know what it feels like to have those lips against his own.

Shit. He really, really wants to kiss Mickey Milkovich.

Ian knows that he’s gay. A homosexual, a fucking Nancy Boy, queer fudge-packer, whatever. He knows that thinking like that might get him arrested or killed. Shit, he’s only ever been with one boy before. Roger Spikey. The first time it happened, he’d gone with Lip to the annual start-of-summer, parents-are-away Soc party.

Ian was fourteen and drunk – Spikey was 17 and probably more drunk. It had happened about four times after that, and he had never so much as made eye contact with Ian in the school hallways. Spikey disappeared out of everyone’s lives after moving away with his long-time girlfriend for college. Ian had been a little bitter. He was never in love with Spikey, but it hurt thinking about what could’ve been.

Not that he can ever have anything like that, not with another man at least. And now that he’s feeling this – this connection with Mickey Milkovich, Ian knows that the best he can hope for is maybe becoming friends with him instead.

But Mickey’s grin is fucking intoxicating, and that might be easier said than done.

Chapter Text

Mickey tries not to stare too obviously, but it’s fucking difficult considering the sight in front of him.

Gallagher’s holding the model 10 revolver like a pro and his stance is damn near perfect. The beer cans Mickey had lined up earlier are flying like birds into the air one by one.

Mickey’s dick seems to enjoy the display way more than it should – he’s sporting a fucking semi because apparently watching goddamn redheads systematically shoot at beer cans is a major turn-on for him now

“Shit,” he says, without meaning to. Gallagher must’ve heard though, because he turns around and smirks at Mickey with an entirely too satisfied look on his face.

“Told you,” he says. He’d taken off the lame varsity jacket earlier and it’s obvious to Mickey how much Gallagher works out those arms of his, the stupid close-fitting plain grey t-shirt isn’t really helping matters either.

But Mickey doesn’t enjoy being bested. He thanks the fucking lord that he’s wearing his loose pair of jeans and saunters up to Gallagher with probably more confidence than he’s really feeling.

“Yeah, your fancy fuckin’ military training paid off, but so what? It’s obvious you’re missin’ something – and it’s called Greaser style.”

Gallagher starts grinning. He raises his eyebrows, “So you’re saying I don’t have style?”

“Greaser style.” Mickey corrects. He walks towards the log and starts setting up a new line. When he comes back, he puts his hand out and Ian gives him the gun without a word.

The weight is familiar in Mickey’s hand. He reloads it and readies his stance.

His fire is on-target and he feels pretty good about himself – until the last one. Mickey goddamn fucks up and misses by a good amount.

He knows that if there was ever a time to feel downright embarrassed that it’s probably now, but Mickey’s a fighter. He’s just about ready to spout out some bullshit about how he’d done it on purpose, when he feels Ian’s presence behind him.

It seems as if he’s standing way too close, Mickey can feel warm puffs of breath on the back of his neck. He belatedly remembers that this kid has absolutely no sense of personal space. He’s about to step forward when the weight of Ian’s hand on his arm makes him pause.

“Straighten your arm a little here,” he says. His hands are so fucking gentle as he pushes Mickey’s arm into place. Mickey feels like he’s frozen on the spot and somehow the thought of pushing Ian away doesn’t even cross his mind. “Oh, and you should probably steady your hand more here.” He touches Mickey’s wrist and Mickey practically fucking shivers.

“Now shoot,” Ian says, real intimate and close to Mickey’s right ear.

Jesus fuck, this guy will be the death of him. Mickey shoots.

The blasting sound of the bullet hitting the can seems to break them both out of whatever weird trance they were in. He feels Gallagher stumble backwards and when Mickey turns around, Ian looks a little sheepish – maybe even a little guilty.

“You showed me Greaser style,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “Guess I just wanted to give you a few pointers on what we call Ian Gallagher’s style.”

Mickey stares at him for a moment, before barking out a laugh.

“Man,” Mickey shakes his head. “That was really fucking lame.”

Ian grins at Mickey, all freckles and bright eyes. “My technique still works though.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. Ian waits for him to go on. Mickey chews on his lips. “So why’d you fuckin’ drop out anyway?”

“From ROTC?” Ian shrugs. “Um, I guess it was a whole bunch of stuff that lead up to it…. Everyone else was too busy when my mom got sick. I was the only one who could afford time to take care of her, so I dropped out.”

Mickey tries not to, but he pictures an image of his own mom lying in bed pale as the sheets under her, hardly conscious most of the time. “Your mom’s sick?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods. “It’s hard to explain, but sometimes someone has to keep watch over her at all times. In case…” he trails off suddenly and looks down. Mickey wonders how they even got here and wants to kick himself for bringing it up. It’s none of his fucking business anyway; he wonders why Ian even told him so much.

“Probably best if we head back now, right?” Ian asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” Mickey nods. He packs his shit up and they start heading to the car.

“So you sure your brother doesn’t mind? Y’know, that you missed work and all.”

Mickey shrugs and shuffle out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lights up and takes a drag before answering. “Nah, man. He owes me anyway, so whatever.”

He can feel Ian eyeing him as they walk, and Mickey can take a guess on what he’s thinking.

It probably has something to do with wondering why exactly Mickey asked him to ditch school in the first place. Why they’re here right now, the two of them alone in some makeshift outdoor shooting range.

The truth is, Mickey has no fucking idea why he asked. Sometimes he feels like he’s being torn apart two ways when it comes to Ian Gallagher – one side is telling him, no fucking way don’t do it – being near this guy will make you want to fucking touch him all the time, and Mickey knows what that eventually leads to. A decent fag-bash or good ol’ honor killing. Mickey’s heard of it happening before.

But the other side. Goddamn the other side, because it’s pushing him towards Ian like they’re fucking magnets or some shit. Mickey hates that he probably doesn’t mind it as much as he should.

*

After they’d parted ways with Mickey dropping Ian off two blocks away from his school, Mickey doesn’t see Ian around for almost a week. It’s fucking weird, because he jolts every time he sees a flash of red hair or a tall figure wearing flannel. But it’s never him and Mickey doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

He’s starting to think that all their little encounters were straight out of that stupid show Iggy secretly watches – the fucking Twilight Zone or some shit.

And it’s typical that just when Mickey’s starting to feel like that he’s maybe probably, possibly okay with never seeing Ian Gallagher again – he fucking shows up at Mickey’s work.

“Nice ride,” Mickey says and nods over to the white Corvair.

“Not mine,” Ian replies. “Lip said he’d pay me to take it to the gas station. And I figured why not, since you’re here.”

For a moment, Mickey’s dumbstruck by how blunt Gallagher’s being. He doesn’t know exactly what to say to that, so he goes about giving Gallagher the right amount of change.

“What time do you get off work?”

Mickey considers lying. But when he glances up, Ian looks so fucking earnest he practically blurts out the truth.

“In about ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Ian smiles. “I’ll wait.”

“Wait for fucking what?”

“For you.”

Mickey honestly doesn’t know how to feel then. He glares at Ian, because why the fuck is he being so…honest?

“There’s a movie showing downtown in about half an hour. We can probably make in time if we hurry.”

“Wait, are you asking me –” he stops himself from finishing that sentence and stutters a little. “What, so you fucking wanna be friends, again?”

“Maybe,” Ian smiles. Like it’s no big fucking deal.

Mickey sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He thinks about saying “No, fuck off”, and he almost does. But that thing – that other side, it makes him pause, makes him think that he should say yes because otherwise he’ll miss out on a whole afternoon with Ian Gallagher and his stupid freckles and smirks.

“What fucking movie is it?” Mickey asks, and Ian practically beams.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles again. “I think maybe you’ll like it.”

Chapter Text

Ian’s sitting in the driver’s seat with the window rolled down and his left arm hanging out, apparently as casual and cool as ever. Like he didn’t just ask Mickey out on a fucking movie date and Mickey didn’t just say yes. Jesus fuck.

Mickey lets his feet do all the thinking as he walks towards the Corvair and opens the passenger door, sliding in without a word. He’s feeling on edge but Mickey’s usually a go-with-your-gut kind of guy, and this time he’s chosen to go with his instinct and just do it.

Ian doesn’t smirk at him like Mickey half-expects him to; he looks happy though, like very, very genuinely happy. He starts talking about shit, like whatever they’re doing is fucking normal. He talks about his family, about school, about his favourite food and movies and music and the fucking weather.

Mickey thinks that he should be annoyed that he’s talking so damn much, but it feels nice just hearing Ian speak. He’s doesn’t say stupid shit and he’s pretty damn funny when he wants to be, and okay maybe Ian fucking Gallagher has a nice voice. Halfway through the car ride, Mickey relaxes without even realising – which might have been Gallagher’s goal all along, the sneaky fucker.

When they get to the ticket booth, Mickey rolls his eyes and pays for his own damn ticket. Ian goes about buying popcorn and gets a whole bunch of candy – it’s pretty fucking obvious this guy has a sweet tooth, which somehow makes Mickey feel fond of him or some shit. He is so fucked.

The movie house is dark and relatively empty from what Mickey can see. They take their seats somewhere all the way near the back, which is fine by Mickey. Ian practically shoves half the candy towards Mickey and tells him to “Just take it, you dick.” Mickey doesn’t put up much of a fight.

The thing is though, five minutes into the movie, Mickey realises that he’s hardly even watching. He’s way too conscious of Ian sitting next to him, full of heat and just there. He’s sitting on Mickey’s left, eating candy and watching McQueen strut around on the big screen.

Out of nowhere, it kind of occurs to Mickey that he’s waiting for Ian to do something to break the weird fucking pressure that’s going on between them. Mickey doesn’t know what the fuck he’s expecting, he kind of wants to walk out and forget this entire thing even happened because it’s fucking stressful.

But Mickey’s a man of his word, even if the promise he’d made was to himself. He’ll just run on pure instinct.

*

Ian’s whole right side feels like its on fire. Mickey is sitting beside him and finally, finally he’s so fucking close. Ian thinks that after a week of denying this – whatever this thing they have, they both deserve something good out of all the tension and confusion.

Fuck it, Ian’s going with his gut.

Mickey just about jumps when Ian puts a hand on his thigh. He quickly trails up and grabs Mickey’s dick through the denim. Ian doesn’t bother containing his smirk because a) Mickey’s semi hard already, proving that Ian’s not alone in his condition and b) his almost-yelp is fucking funny.

Mickey’s body goes tense but he doesn’t tell him to stop. He doesn’t even look at Ian and simply stares straight ahead towards the screen, as his buttons and zipper are swiftly undone. Ian probably would’ve been bothered by the lack of attention – if it weren’t for Mickey’s controlled and heavy breathing, easily heard even over the surround sound.

Ian slips his hand into Mickey’s boxers and takes a hold of his cock with his bare fingers. He leans in closer and starts to steadily and very slowly jerk Mickey off with his right hand. Mickey seems like he’s frozen on the spot, so Ian cranes his neck even closer.

“Relax,” he says, and makes damn sure that his mouth is close to Mickey’s ear, practically caressing it.

It surprises Ian how instantly Mickey takes his advice. He leans his head back and shifts his legs a little, so they’re practically wide open for Ian’s benefit.

Ian holds back a groan at the sight. Fucking Mickey Milkovich and his leather jacket-wearing ass will be the death of him.

The sound of a car accelerating makes them both jump, and Ian looks up. He figures they’re missing out on a pretty crucial scene of the movie. Not that he cares. Fuck, he’d almost forgotten that they’re in public, since he’s been so totally consumed with the guy sitting beside him.

“Shit,” Ian whispers. He looks around and figures they’re relatively safe from people spotting them. The room is pretty much empty and they’re sitting far in the back. But still. “Reckon we should get outta here?”

Mickey opens his eyes. His voice is a little hoarse when he speaks. “You gonna leave me hangin’, Gallagher?”

Ian hides a smile and slips his hand out of Mickey’s boxers. “C’mon. I’ll finish you off in the bathroom.”

Mickey looks down at his crotch and Ian almost laughs at how frustrated he looks. But he seems to understand that public sex probably isn’t the best direction for them and zips himself up.

They both have pretty obvious hard-ons as they sneak out of the room, and if it were happening to anyone else, Ian would be laughing his ass off. 

Luckily, Ian’s been to this particular movie house about a million times, so it’s not hard to find the bathroom. There’s a guy washing his hands when they get there, and Ian feels Mickey tense up. Obviously he didn’t consider the prospect of running into other people.

Ian thinks fast and offers Mickey a cigarette. Mickey raises his eyebrows, but takes it anyway. They linger around waiting for the guy to finish up, and he takes fucking ages, drying his hands on the towelettes and checking his hair in the mirror, not paying much mind to either one of them. Ian sees Mickey light up just as the guy leaves the bathroom.

“The fuck took him so long,” Mickey says through his cigarette. Ian laughs, almost giddy, and pushes Mickey into the stall. Mickey looks like he doesn’t mind being manhandled but raises his eyebrows as Ian locks the door.

He gets down to his knees and undoes Mickey’s zipper just as fast as earlier. Ian glances up and sees Mickey watching him with heavy eyes. He still hasn’t put out the cigarette and Ian doesn’t mind – actually thinks that it’s kinda hot.

He wraps his lips around Mickey’s head and starts sucking in slowly. He feels Mickey shift above him and hears something that might be a groaned out “Fuck.”

He places his free hands around the shaft just as Mickey puts one hand in Ian’s hair. Ian smiles around Mickey’s cock, because fuck yeah. He loves it when people play with his hair and even though Mickey’s more clutching onto rather than playing with it, it’s making Ian impossibly hard. 

Ian loosens his jaw and tries deep-throating him, but only once because it strains him a little and Ian’s out of practice. He licks and sucks bobbing his head up and down, gives it his fucking all until he feels Mickey’s grip tighten in his hair. Mickey shudders and comes in Ian’s mouth without much warning. Ian spits it into the toilet and notices Mickey’s cigarette already in there. He stands up grins at Mickey’s expression.

He somehow looks blissed-out and exasperated at the same time. Ian guesses it’s because he didn’t last very long, but frankly he doesn’t mind at all. Right now, the only thing that concerns him is his own dick and he’s pretty sure he won’t last very long either.

Ian starts unbuttoning himself, but Mickey’s hands stop him. For a moment, Ian’s confused and wonders whether Mickey will leave him hanging.

But Mickey just finishes Ian’s undressing and pulls his jeans down a little roughly. He avoids Ian’s questioning eyes as he stands close and grabs his dick. He starts jerking Ian off, and maybe it’s a little messy but to Ian it’s fucking heaven. He leans his head back against the door as Mickey jerks him hard and fast. He's standing so close, close enough to breath harshly onto Ian’s neck. Feeling Mickey’s lips so close to the sensitive skin there is what finally pushes Ian towards the edge. He comes with a groan and Mickey’s name in the back of his throat. He practically slumps on him for a few moments until Mickey shoves Ian off of him.

“Jesus,” Ian says, and he knows he sounds breathless like a fucking schoolgirl. But he can’t help that Mickey’s constantly taking his breath away.

Luckily from Mickey’s expression, it’s clear that the feeling’s at least a little mutual. They’re both silent for minute, just staring at each other and catching their breaths.

“Man, I gotta wash my hands,” Mickey finally says.

Ian laughs. “Lucky we’re in a bathroom,” he says. He turns around and unlocks the door.

Ian studies at his own reflection as Mickey washes his hands. His hair is all messed up and his lips look slightly swollen, fuck, even his cheeks look a little splotchy with red.

But he’s smiling. He’s smiling so big and wide, it’s ridiculous.

Chapter Text

Mickey’s house is fucking hard to find, especially when most houses on the street have address numbers that are either too difficult to read or have partially fallen off.

But it’s not like Ian’s gonna let that stop him. He’s pretty much still shell-shocked from being asked to come over while he’d been hanging around the gas station waiting for Mickey to finish his shift.

It’d been a slow day for Mickey, so Ian had gotten away with sitting on the hood of some car and just talking about everything and anything, while Mickey would fill up the occasional car that came along.

It’d been nice and even relaxing – until Ian had spotted a few Greasers walking towards the station, and he’d known it was time to leave.

“My place is gonna clear out later today,” Mickey said, while doing that thing with his lip. “When my shift’s over. Everyone else won’t be coming home for a while.”

“Okay,” Ian replied. He’d tried (and failed) to not read too much into it.

Mickey told him where he lives, but it’s not like the information is doing much help now. It takes Ian another ten minutes, until he finally sees the place.

He knocks on the door and waits, wondering whether Mickey’s taking his sweet time answering on purpose.

When Mickey finally opens the door, Ian sees that he’s changed into a grey wife-beater and his hair looks more soft than greasy – like he’s had a shower.

Ian doesn’t even try and supress his smile; he practically starts beaming when he sees Mickey. “Hey.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, stepping aside as a silent invitation. Ian just smiles some more and walks in.

Mickey’s house looks cosier than Ian had expected. Ever since he’s been a kid, Greaser houses were  pictured as messy and dark, with tables full of weapons or drugs or something. There’s a switchblade sitting on the coffee table besides the newspaper, but that’s about it.

“It’s getting cold out, man” Ian says, pulling his jacket on tighter. “Your house was a pain to find, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know. Should’a told you to stop at the one with all the junk on its lawn,” he goes to the kitchen and Ian just follows him, not knowing what else to do.

“You, um…have any trouble with your cousins. Y’know, seeing me?”

Mickey doesn’t look at him when he answers, “Nah, they didn’t see.”

He takes a beer out of the fridge and shoves it in Ian’s hand without a word. He takes one out for himself too, and starts chugging it.

Ian takes a swig and smiles because Mickey’s maybe a little nervous and he’s doing a shit job at hiding it.

“So,” Ian starts. “You hear about that new big-company supermarket that opened near the place I work? They’re stealing all our customers and shit, people go there just ‘cause it’s new and work’s so boring with no customers. Plus, the owner’s always mad these days and takes it out on me, which fucking sucks. I hear they have good products though, so it’s no wonder –”

“Ay, Gallagher,” Mickey interrupts. He rubs his lips and looks at Ian with those fucking Newman-blue eyes. “You gonna chit-chat all day, or you wanna get on me?”

Ian smiles, because he’d been waiting for that. It’s hard to find a balance for when to push and when to pull with Mickey, and Ian doesn’t want to be the one who’s always pushing.

Mickey still looks a little nervous, but he’s smirking at Ian all softly with his eyebrows raised. It makes Ian want to kiss him. A lot.

But then there’s that balance thing again, so he grins at Mickey instead. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Mickey’s smirk widens as he leads the way. The house is relatively bigger than how it looks on the outside, and they pass a fair few rooms down the hallway – but Ian’s having a hard time concentrating on anything besides Mickey’s ass in front of him.

“Got any lube this time?” Ian asks as they reach Mickey’s room.

“Fuck off, it’s not like I carry that shit ‘round with me,” Mickey laughs a little gruffly. He starts rummaging around his room while Ian takes his jacket off.

Mickey suddenly throws the bottle his way, but Ian was too distracted looking at all the posters and drawings on the wall, so it falls straight to the floor.

“Thought you were the athlete kind, Gallagher.”

Ian shakes his head and picks up the bottle. When he looks up, Mickey’s already shirtless and he’s unzipping his jeans.

“Jesus, I gotta catch up,” Ian mumbles to himself, and then follows suit with no time to lose.

He feels Mickey eye him closely. Ian smiles, because he knows he has a nice body since he works out so much, but it feels good having Mickey look at him like that.

“C’mon man, don’t be tease,” Mickey huffs a little. “Get over here.”

Ian doesn’t waste any time and crosses the room. He pushes Mickey’s naked body onto the bed and almost groans out loud at the sight when Mickey gets on his knees and shoves his face into the pillow, ready for Ian to do as he pleases.

He lathers his fingers with lube and makes a quick work of prepping Mickey since he’s apparently in such a hurry. But it’s not like he’s the only one either – Mickey’s little supressed groans was enough to make Ian fully hard.

He lines himself up and presses in with a groan at the back of his throat. It’s difficult resisting the urge to just thrust and get himself off, because Mickey feels so fucking good it’s almost ridiculous. But he wants it feel good for Mickey too, so he eases into it and slows the jerk of his hips until they’ve got a rhythm going.

“F-fuck,” Mickey says softly, and rocks back with him. “C’mon, firecrotch.” The sight of him balling the sheets up into his fists makes Ian groan out loud this time, and he thinks maybe he could speed it up some more.

He knows exactly each time he hits Mickey’s sweet spot, ‘cause Mickey swears out loud every time. And it makes Ian want to laugh, and just fuck him even harder.

*

“So,” Lip says abruptly. Ian looks up from his English homework and thinks fucking finally, since Lip’s been staring at him for longer than necessary. Meanwhile Ian’s been waiting for him to spit it out already and say whatever’s on his mind. “I heard you’re hanging ‘round Greasers now?”

Ian sits up a little straighter, because ok maybe he hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah? Who’s been talking?” Ian raises his eyebrows and tries to make his voice as casual as possible.

Lip shrugs, but his eyes look serious. “Y’know how word gets around with us.”

When Ian doesn’t reply to that, Lip takes it as an invitation to go on. “Look, I try and stay outta your way for most things but c’mon, man. Are you friends with this Milkovich guy or what? You know they’re the ones who did this, right?” He holds up a bandaged wrist and Ian rolls his eyes.

“That was like… more than three weeks ago. How long are you gonna wear that for?”

Lip ignores the question and presses on like always. Sure, Lip likes to say he stays out of Ian’s business – but he’s real nosy when he wants to be.

“Really, Ian. What’s next? You gonna ditch the varsity for a leather jacket, buy some Murray’s and start wearing clothes with holes in them? Carry a handgun around? Get your rocks off of beating the shit out of people? Ian, if this is some kinda phase…”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Ian interrupts. “I can make my own damn decisions. And if you don’t like it, it’s your problem… Anyway, they’re not all like that.”

There’s a beat of silence while they stare at each other. Ian can feel his anger boiling up inside him, ready to reach breaking point. He knows Lip’s just being stupid and it’s no reason to lose his shit over, but it’s not like Lip makes it easy.

Just when Ian thinks they’ll leave it at that, Lip’s expression completely changes like he finally understood something. “Oh fuck,” he says slowly. “Shit Ian, don’t – Don’t tell me you’re fucking him.”

Ian’s caught off guard at that. He’s a shitty liar, so he doesn’t say anything and glares at Lip some more.

“Shit, Ian,” Lip suddenly sits down and rubs a hand over his face. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ian says, crossing his arms.

“No, fuck. Don’t give me the fucking chin when your life’s at stake,” Lip shakes his head and takes a cigarette out. Ian watches him light up, and doesn’t know exactly what to say.

“Shit, are you sure he’s a homo? He might be fucking with you just to see if you’re one. Then he’ll get his brothers to kill you in your sleep. I’ve seen it happen before.”

Jesus Christ. Ian feels like his whole body is on alert, so he clenches his fists and counts to ten. He’s starting to regret the night he’d told Lip about Roger Spikey – he’d been fucking blitzed and Spikey had just left for college. Fuck, Ian really is shit at lying.

“No,” Ian says finally. His voice sounds much quieter than before, even to his own ears. “He’s not like that.”

Lip nods, like he’d been expecting that answer. “How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times have you been with him?”

Ian frowns, “I don’t know. A few times, I guess.”

“So he’s definitely not playing you?” he asks.

He thinks back to earlier that afternoon. He’d gone to Mickey’s home, and Mickey had invited him there. If what Lip’s saying was even remotely true, wouldn’t that have been the perfect opportunity to gang up on Ian and beat the shit out of him? Ian knows he’s really, really into Mickey – and he knows that they have something going on between them. Something neither of them could ignore so they both kept coming back for more. Something that’s impossible to fake.

Ian could say all that, but he doubts Lip will even try to understand. Shit, he doesn’t even understand it himself. “He’s probably got more to lose than I have, okay?” He says instead, and crosses his arms again. “Now will you quit drilling me?”

Lip nods, “Be careful.” He gets up and finally makes to leave, before abruptly pausing at the doorway. “You take your pills?”

Ian looks up in surprise. The whole thing’s been a fucking taboo; he hasn’t talked about it to everyone except his mom. So he just nods.

“Good,” Lip says and closes the door behind him.

It takes a while for Ian to get into his homework again.

*

Mickey’s house is practically overflowing with people. Luckily, Ian had been gone a while before people started rolling in. He’d left saying something about a paper due and Mickey had grunted a goodbye, feeling well-fucked and happy.

Now, Mickey’s just having trouble taking a step without bumping into one of his cousins or his cousin’s best friend, or their best friend. And it’s no surprise either, because somehow word gets around whenever Mandy cooks lasagne and they end up with a house full of underfed Greasers on a Thursday night. Mickey doesn’t mind it since he’s pretty much used to his home being open for business around dinnertime to anyone who feels like dropping by. Besides, it’s kind of nice watching cartoons and having a smoke, thinking about nothing in particular. Sitting between Fat Jared and Iggy isn’t the most comfortable fit, but Mickey’s just lucky that he didn’t end up sitting on the floor like everyone else.

Kenny’s little brother’s going on about how they should get one of those technicolour televisions sets that are getting popular these days, and if they can’t afford it, maybe it’s time they should give University Stereo a night-time visit and swipe one. Tony says, “Nah kid,” and leaves it at that, never mind that he’s working two and half jobs to finally get shit like that for his family without having to lift it.

The conversation dulls down and Mickey stops paying attention – that is, until he hears the name Gallagher mentioned and he sits up straighter.

“Yeah man. Like I said, that Gallagher kid is messed up.” Kenny says, and then takes a swig from his beer. Mickey waits for him to go on, but it seems like he’s missed the conversation already. He debates whether to ask what the fuck he’s going on about, when Joey beats him to it.

“Which Gallagher?” Joey frowns, “Fuck, there’s like a million of those swarming the north side like they own the place.”

Kenny laughs at that, “Yeah like you can talk, Milkovich. Anyway, I think it’s that red head one. At least from what I’ve heard.”

Shit. Mickey tenses up because he has no fucking idea what they could mean by messed up. Where they live, messed up means a lot of things, and fuck, maybe Kenny heard a rumour that Ian’s gay or saw him with Mickey and is trying to imply – shit, shit.

Mickey stands up. “Ay, move,” he grunts out, and shoves his way past everyone. He goes to his room, closing the door behind him and sits on the bed – on the same sheets he and Ian had fucked earlier, where fucking anyone could’ve just walked in on them. A million different scenarios play in his head and suddenly they all seem inevitable.

For a while he just stares at the wall, trying to figure how he’d gotten so stupid and fucking reckless. But then something catches the corner of his eye, bright and colourful and completely out of place. Mickey walks up to for a closer look and realises what it is pretty quickly.

Crumpled on the floor between the side table and the dresser, is Ian Gallagher’s jacket.

Chapter Text

The Soc’s a fighter, that much is clear. Mickey watches as the guy claws his way past two of Mickey’s cousins and manages to throw in a right hook at another. He dives in headlong into Benny and knocks him out cold. There’s no one left standing, so it’s Mickey’s turn to finish him off.

He clenches his fists and walks his way closer. Now he can see that the guy’s shaking, piece of cake Mickey thinks. The Soc went ape on the others so he hardly has any fight left for Mickey.

He’s on his bloody knees, shoulders heaving like he’s catching his breath. He has soft, red hair and he’s wearing a jacket, blue white and gold.

Mickey stares and feels his limbs freeze ice-cold. It’s Ian, his mouth is covered in blood.

“The fuck are you waitin’ for?” It’s Kenny, gasping from the ground. “Finish him. Kill the fag.”

Kill the fag.

*

Outside, the sky is turning from orange to pink and white, when Mickey gives up on his lighter after the fourth attempt. It might have something to do with how badly his hands are shaking, but he throws it across the room anyway because it’s a useless piece of shit.

He rubs a hand over his face and tries to get a grip on all the shit he’s feeling. Fuck, that was the third time he’s had a dream like that. And every time, Mickey wakes up just as soon as he sees Ian’s face, bloody, bruised and exhausted.

Ian. It’s been more than a week since Mickey’d last seen him. And it’s…it’s not like Mickey’s some fucking schoolgirl, he’s not hung-up on missing Ian – and wouldn’t that be a joke? It was Mickey’s decision to put a stop to whatever the fuck they thought they were doing in the first place, so it’s hilarious that he’s ––

No, Mickey’s sure as hell isn’t pining after him. Maybe he’s a little worried or anxious, or whatever. The last time he’d seen Ian, Mickey’d completely shut the guy off and told him not come by to his work anymore. And Ian’s just as proud and stubborn as Mickey, so after he’d been completely ignored for two days straight, he’d suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth.

So maybe Mickey has reason to be fucking worried. Shit, and how can you blame him? One wrong move, one mistake and they’re dead. If there’s a thing Greasers and Socs have in common, it’s that they’re real capable when it comes to killing fags.

*

Ian likes to run. It’s not something he does competitively like Fiona – he sure as hell’s not trying out for the track team.

It’s that in-between state that gets him out of bed an hour earlier. It’s a time where he’s allowed to be alone and just think about nothing – but somehow, he’s also thinking about everything. It’s hard to explain, and he doesn’t even understand it himself but when he runs, Ian lets himself think about things without feeling the pressure of the thought.

Monday morning, Ian watches the sunrise and he lets himself think about Mickey Milkovich. It feels like giving in after holding his breath for a long, long time.

Mickey’s a fuckhead, is his first thought. There’s no other explanation as to why someone would invite Ian over to his home one day, and the very next, completely ignore him to the point where Ian’d felt like he was speaking to brick wall.

It’s fucking aggravating, is what it is. And Ian’s getting good at controlling his emotions these days, he knows when to take a step back. In Mickey’s case, he’s taken more than a few steps back – Ian’s gone around and reversed the entire thing. He’s avoiding Mickey at all costs because Ian’s had enough of his bullshit.

Except maybe he hasn’t. Because all right, he kind of misses Mickey and his half-smiles. Or the way his eyes light up when he speaks about his family, and how he does that thing with lip – the little supressed moans he’d make whenever Ian went down on him.

Yeah, Ian wants him. And he knows there are risks involved with the entire thing, but what’s the point of anything if he doesn’t fight for what he wants.

Maybe Mickey doesn’t want him back, and if that’s how it is, Ian knows he’s just gotta accept it.

But Mickey never said he didn’t want him – Mickey never said anything. Maybe Ian needs to give him one more chance, for that conversation that never happened.

*

After school, Ian borrows Seth Campbell’s car for the afternoon and drives it to Mickey’s house. He hadn’t really thought much ahead, so it’s fucking typical that the one time he hadn’t planned something out meticulously, he’s caught stuttering at the Milkovich front porch.

“The fuck you want?” It’s one of Mickey’s brothers. Either Joey or Tony, maybe. He’s holding a beer in one hand and it looks like he’s ready to bash it over Ian’s head the minute he says the wrong thing.

“I -- um,” Ian stops, and clears his throat. “I came to see Mandy.”

“Mandy ain’t here,” he says, and then squints at Ian. “You think a Soc like you can fuck around with my little sister?”

“No! We’re, uh, we’re friends.” And it’s not exactly a lie, either. After that night at the drive-in, Ian had started talking to Mandy every now and then. It took a while, but the kids in their classes eventually kind of got over the fact that a Greaser and Soc were speaking to each other without the aid of yelling and switchblades.

Joey (or Tony) laughs, “Friends, huh?” He takes a swig from his beer and squints at Ian some more. “Get the fuck off our property.”

Ian glares at him, but does as he’s told. It’s pretty much what he deserves, after all. He’d been stupid, not thinking ahead and now he feels even more stupid because he doubts Mickey wants to see him. What the fuck had Ian been thinking? Mickey’s probably relieved that whatever they had going is finally over, he’s probably laughing at Ian coming all the way to the south side, only to get kicked off the porch.

*

“Who was at the door?” Mickey grunts out, just as Tony sits on the couch. He snatches the beer out of his brother’s hand and takes a drink, since it’s the last one and Mickey’s thirsty.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Tony shoves at him and takes it back. He quaffs it down until it’s finish and burps obnoxiously loud. It’s silent for a minute or two, until Tony speaks again. “Shit, that kid has balls I’ll give him that.”

“Who?” Mickey asks, briefly glancing away from the television set.

“Some fucking Soc was at the door, can you believe that? The fucker had his plaid on and smelt like fucking flowers.”

Mickey freezes, but keeps his eyes on the TV. “The fuck did he want?”

“Was askin’ for Mandy. Like we’d let a Soc even lay eyes on her, right?”

Ian doesn’t exactly smell like flowers. Maybe he smells nice though, from what Mickey remembers. Fresh and something like early summer days, or morning dew.

Jesus Christ. Well at least the fucker’s okay. So what if Mickey misses him, as long as they have bones unbroken and Ian’s face stay clean and unbloodied – Mickey can put his fucking feelings on the backburner for that.

He has no idea where Ian Gallagher lives; or when he starts and finishes his shifts at work. Mickey doesn’t know what time he has a free period, or where he usually hangs out when he isn’t with Mickey at the gas station.

He’s never done this shit before. And it’s just as well, ‘cause Mickey knows that he’d fuck it up eventually.

*

Tuesday morning, and Ian’s running again. He stops to take a breath just as the sky turns from orange to pink and white.

Chapter Text

Ian rummages through his closet for the fourth time in a row when Fiona barges in.

“Hey, dinner’s ready -- holy shit,” she walks into his room and nudges a pair of jeans with her foot. “It looks like a tornado came in and knocked everything over. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ian answers, still distracted. “Have you seen my jacket?”

“No, and I doubt you’ll find it by destroying everything you own. You better clean this up before mom sees.”

Ian rolls his eyes, “She won’t care.”

“Ok, but you might trip over one of your trophies and hurt yourself. Clean it up.”

Ian doesn’t turn around, but Fiona’s voice softens. “Look…whatever’s going on with you, you can talk to me, okay?” He doesn’t reply to that either, so she sighs. “We’re waiting downstairs. Not starting without you.”

“After I find my jacket.”

*

Mickey hasn’t seen Ian in a while.

He feels like he’s always on edge – because Ian might just drop by again and Mickey doesn’t know what to expect. Honestly, he’s constantly on the verge of saying fuck it, and finding Ian himself. If only to get rid of all the fuckin’ suspense.

So it’s typical that the day he finally sees Ian, it completely surprises the shit out of Mickey, and Ian too, by the looks of it.

They’re walking out of Steak ‘n Shake of all places, and only because Benny was jonesing for a steak burger and apparently no one can say no to him. Ian’s with a couple of his Soc friends, about to go into the restaurant, when he stops still and just stares.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at, Soc?” Ken says, breaking Mickey out of his shock. The little shit has a mouth full of food and is glaring at Ian like he’s done him a personal injustice.

“What’s a Greaser shit stain doin’ in this part of town?” One of Ian’s friends retorts, and steps a little closer. That’s when Mickey finally looks away from Ian, and shoves at Ken a little.

“Ay, let’s get outta here,” he says quickly. “I wanna eat this shit before it gets cold.”

Kenny turns and shoots him a strange look, “These Socs need to be learnt a fuckin’ lesson. That Greasers can go wherever the fuck we wanna go.” He spits on the ground for extra measure.

Mickey has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Whatever, we can deal with ‘em later.” He grabs Kenny’s arm forcefully and drags him away. Luckily Kenny doesn’t struggle, but only ‘cause he’s probably hungry and wants to finish his burger.

“That’s right, pussies! You’re all a fucking joke. All talk and no walk!” A Soc calls out as they start walking away.

Jesus, these guys are dumb. Mickey can’t imagine Ian voluntarily hanging out with these jocks – but then again, Mickey really doesn’t know enough about Ian, or how he acts when he’s with other people.

“This ain’t over!” Ken yells back. They walk towards the El and the whole time, Benny’s convincing Ken not to run back to the Steak ‘n Shake just so he can finish what had started.

“The fuck’s up with you, Mickey?” he suddenly asks. “Any other time, you’d be all over those Socs like I fuckin was. Then Benny’d be bugging you to calm your shit.”

“Nothin’. Just didn’t feel like getting my hands dirty just now. Got a problem?” Mickey glares at him until he looks away.

“That Gallagher kid was staring at you awful close,” Ken mutters under his breath.

Mickey’s heart jumps but his voice is as calm as he can possibly manage. “Think that’s the guy who wants to get with Mandy,” he lies through his teeth. “Tony straightened him out the other day.”

For a moment no one talks, until Benny shrugs and wipe his nose. “Seemed like he knew you,” he says quietly.

Shit, Benny was always more fuckin’ perceptive than anyone gave him credit for. For a while Mickey’d thought Ken was the one who suspected that Ian was gay, or that he knew something. But it seems like he’d meant something else that other night when he said that Ian was messed up – ‘cause Mickey’s sure Ian would’ve gotten the beat down already if the wrong people figured he’s queer.

“Yeah, well. I don’t know him,” Mickey lies again and leaves it at that.

They get off the El and walk back to their shitty neighbourhood without much more talk. Mickey feels like shit for the rest of the day, and wants to just lie down and forget everything for a while.

Trouble is, the first thing he pictures is Ian lying beside him. And ain’t that a fucking joke.

*

“Can you believe those guys? This is our turf. They can take their scum somewhere else – preferably somewhere we don’t eat.”

Ian can only stand blatant stupidity for so long, so he finally speaks up. “Jesus, Seth. Will you give it a rest? They’re gone now anyway.”

“Yeah, for now.” Jason shoots him a knowing look. “They’ll be back. They’re like fuckin’ cockroaches.”

Ian rolls his eyes and stands up.

“Where the hell are you going? Our food hasn’t even come yet!”

“Not hungry,” he says. “I’ll just walk home, it’s okay.”

He ignores their protests and detailed explanations of how far it is. Whatever. With his daily morning jogs, Ian’s pretty much used to it by now, and anyway he could use the time to think.

Once he’s far from the restaurant, Ian starts walking slowly and lights up a cigarette.

Mickey had looked so fucking surprised. Like he never thought this would happen. Like Ian was something that only existed when no one else was around – which is true, to some extent.

And shit, even with all the fucking ignoring, Ian still felt his heart swell up at just the sight of him. Just seeing Mickey’s face – which has a new bruise on the right of his jaw from doing God knows what, but still it’s Mickey.

Mickey, who knows him better than most people. Who Ian had felt most comfortable with when it came to just talking about shit – shit that he keeps bottled in, like his mom or dropping out of ROTC or even how he hates living in Lip’s shadow constantly. Whatever it was, Mickey would listen and Ian would just talk. He’s not usually a chatty person, but Mickey probably thought he was.

Shit, it just felt like they’d known each other their entire lives – except it’d barely been a month. Somewhere along the way, they really did become friends and now even that’s over.

Ian doesn’t want to accept that just yet. No – he’s not going to just give up on the best thing that’s happened to him in a long while. He needs a new plan – preferably one that won’t get him in trouble with the Milkovich brothers.

*

“Hey, shithead.” Mandy walks in and grins at Mickey. “You got mail.”

She picks one out from the pile of envelopes and throws it at him. Mickey barely catches it, and is busy picking it up from the floor while Mandy puts the rest on their growing pile of bills.

The envelope is simple with no stamp on it, so it had to be hand delivered. Dark blue ink, Mickey it says, in a scratchy cursive handwriting.

Mickey’s heart feels like it momentarily lurches out of his chest. He looks up to see that Mandy’s distracted, so he quickly heads to his empty bedroom and shuts the door behind him. For a moment he just stares at the envelope, wondering if it’s real.

Nothing good can come out of this, Mickey’s sure of that. The little encounter at Steak ‘n Shake yesterday afternoon was enough to rattle Mickey’s bones, so what would happen if Ian were caught in their neighbourhood again? And this time carrying an envelope that says Mickey.

He considers not opening for about half a second, before curiosity gets the better of him and he carefully breaks the seal.

Can we talk?

Meet me at the alley behind my work, 5pm tomorrow (Tuesday).

Ian didn’t sign his name, which is probably a smart move. In fact, he doesn’t even give a specific location, so if anyone else had picked it up, they’d have no idea where to go if they were curious.

It’s much shorter than anticipated. And shit, was it even worth the trouble? For all Ian knows, Mickey could’ve just ignored the envelope altogether.

He took a chance, and fuck if Mickey lets Ian Gallagher out do him on who has the biggest balls.

Mickey can take chances too.

*

According to Ian’s watch, it’s almost half past five. He lets his stomach drop a little as he accepts the fact that Mickey’s not coming.

Who is he even kidding? Why the fuck would Mickey go out of his way to meet Ian, when all he’s doing lately is avoiding him. It was a stupid move, Ian knows that. But still, he waits.

*

The sky is darkening when Mickey spots Ian’s silhouette against the dimmed streetlights.

He’s leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, crouching into himself against the cold and looking down at the ground. As Mickey walks closer, Ian seems so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice him at first. But when he does, Mickey swears his whole face kind of just lights up and shit, the place feels a little brighter.

“You came,” Ian says. His voice is soft, but he controls his expression this time.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. Ian stares at him for a moment before Mickey crosses his arms, feeling cold and nervous. “So you wanna talk or some shit?”

Ian nods and uses his weight to push himself off the wall. Mickey ignores how the fluid movement goes straight to his cock.

“Yeah, I kinda do.” Ian says, he steps a little closer towards Mickey, before suddenly stopping still. “I guess, I just,” he hesitates again and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, okay. I know you don’t wanna hang out anymore and that’s fine. But could you at least tell me why? ‘Cause I’m tired of thinking I did something to fuck it up or that – shit, I’m not good enough for you or something.”

Ian stares at him the entire time he’s talking until the last part, when he looks down like he can’t bear to see Mickey’s face.

And Mickey – well Mickey feels like he might be fucking speechless. Because in what world is Ian Gallagher not good enough for him? Where the fuck did Ian pull that from?

Mickey looks away, towards the street outside the little alleyway when he finally answers. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you.”

“How does this have nothing to do with me?” Ian makes a frustrated noise and shakes his head. “It’s about me. You’re shutting me out.”

“Stop actin’ like you know what you’re goin’ on about.”

“Then tell me,” Ian says, and this time steps closer and doesn’t stop. He crowds up into Mickey’s space with a look of determination. “Tell me, ‘cause I sure as hell have no idea why you had to go on and end something good.”

Mickey doesn’t step back like Ian probably expected him to. “Shit, your really don’t get it,” he says and shakes his head. “You could get fucking killed. Every time we’re even near each other, we’re askin’ for a death wish.”

Ian seems startled at that, and pauses before speaking again, this time with a tone much quieter. “I know that, Mickey. It’s like that for a lot of people. There are so many guys like us who take that risk. Because we can’t fight who we are, it’s something we just gotta accept.”

“Yeah, well.” Mickey has to look away from Ian, who’s somehow standing closer than before. “I ain’t taking that risk.”

“Because it’s not worth it?” Ian asks. His voice is impossibly soft and his face is so close that Mickey can almost feel his lips moving when he talks.

And Mickey thinks about that question. Thinks about how every time he’s even with Ian, he feels like he’s in the right place; like he’s exactly where he wants to be. Mickey thinks about how he felt a hole somewhere in his chest when he’d thought about never seeing him again. Like he’ll miss out on everything there is to Ian Gallagher – smirks and smiles, green sincere eyes or his fucking perfect freckled body.

He looks at Ian now, all earnest and so fucking close – and he doesn’t think anymore, just acts. He reaches up and closes the small distance between them until his lips are pressing against Ian’s into a kiss.

Ian kisses him back almost just as fast, and Mickey’s head’s spinning because he can’t fucking believe that this is actually happening. Then Ian puts a hand on Mickey’s neck and opens his mouth a little gently – Mickey pulls away before it goes any further.

“I…fuck,” Mickey says under his breath. He gazes up at Ian, who seems a little dazed but is smiling at him all tenderly. “I gotta go,” he says, and takes a small step backwards.

Mickey doesn’t like the way Ian’s smile drops at that, so he rubs his lips and looks up at him again. “I’ll come again tomorrow. Same time, right?”

Ian nods fast, his smile back again, full wattage. “Okay,” he says. “Don’t be late again, alright? It gets fucking freezing out here.”

“Tomorrow,” Mickey promises in reply. He turns around and heads out into the open street.

Chapter Text

Friday afternoon, Ian walks out from finishing his shift vaguely wondering if there’s any  chicken left from last night’s dinner, when he stops still mid-step. He stares for a moment at the sight in front of him and doesn’t even try supress the smile that stretches across his face.

Mickey’s across the road, leaning against his black Pontiac and looking out into the road, taking a long, leisurely smoke. He still hasn’t noticed Ian yet, and looks deep in thought, leather-jacket and all. He looks so fucking good like that, so Mickey. Ian wants to stride right up to him and just make out for a few good minutes.

He walks over, knowing he’s smiling a little too wide, but whatever. Mickey looks hot and he’s here. Again. Each time it happens, it’s like the first time, like Ian can’t believe his luck. And it’s even better now, because Mickey’s got the car and that doesn’t mean they’re only gonna have a quick fuck in the storage room or something – not that Ian doesn’t appreciate those, but a change is always nice.

“Hey,” Ian says, and startles Mickey out of whatever trance he was in. Ian grins at Mickey’s face, because damn, how can someone be so irritably cute and hot at the same time? Life’s unfair. “Were you waiting long?”

“Just got ‘ere,” Mickey speaks through his cigarette and Ian raises his eyebrows, because it sure looks like Mickey was waiting for a while.

“So where we heading?” Ian asks. He figures that maybe he should take the initiative, so he heads towards the passenger side.

They get into the car and Mickey starts the engine. When they start driving, Ian pushes. “Mickey? Where are we goin’?”

Mickey does a sort of half-shrug and takes a right turn distractedly. “I don’t know, man. The car’s free for a while, so I figured why not.” He pauses and shoots a glance towards Ian. “Where do you wanna go?”

This time Ian shrugs. “I don’t mind. Anywhere,” he says, and doesn’t add the with you because that’s cheesy as fuck and Ian’s a little embarrassed to even think it.

So they just drive for a while, and it’s nice. Mickey grins at Ian’s lame jokes and talks a lot more than usual. He mostly complains about his family and the rest of the gang in that grudgingly-loving tone Ian’s become familiar with. Ian smiles but can’t help feel a little jealous, or whatever. Though he’s not sure what exactly he’s jealous of.

Ian knows the Greasers are more closely-knit than Socs would ever be, that every member is practically family. It’s easy to be a Soc: as long as you’re rich, or play a sport or have a fucked up family that’s good at hiding how fucked up they are, you’re a Soc, easy as that. But for Greasers, it’s more than that because they hang out in each other’s homes and a lot of them don’t have parents so they share meals together and watch tv together, and they fight for each other – unlike Socs, who Ian’s seen first-hand pick fights just for the hell of it.

He knows that he could never share that bond with Mickey either, because everything’s too different and it’s just an overall impossible thought. Ian’s in over his head and Jesus, he’s really sick of the whole Soc-Greaser thing.

“Hey, Mick. I was thinking…like when I went out for a jog this morning –.”

Mickey interrupts with a snort, “Man, you jog too much. Giving a worthless piece of shit a good beatdown is how I get my daily workout. Don’t be a pussy.”

Ian rolls his eyes ‘cause Mickey’s being a little shit on purpose, so he ignores him and goes on. “Anyway, like I was saying. I was out for my jog and the sun was rising, and I watched it for a while and thought, you know what? You’re seeing the same exact fucking sunrise. Pink, yellow orange, whatever. It’s just fucked up that people act like we’re from different worlds when we see the same things, y’know?”

Mickey’s quiet for a moment after that. He stops at a traffic light and turns towards Ian, looking thoughtful and maybe even a little wistful. Like he knows exactly why Ian said something like that. “Yeah,” he says, and leaves it at that.

They drive for a bit more and Ian resists the urge to ask again where they’re going. He doesn’t mind either way, but he’s the type of person who usually lets curiosity get the better of him.

But it turns out he doesn’t have to ask, because soon enough, they stop suddenly at a park that’s deserted by the looks of it. Ian wasn’t really paying much attention to the directions they were going, but it’s pretty obvious they’re somewhere in the south side.

Mickey reaches behind them and takes a six-pack out from the backseat. He gets out of the car without a word, until he realises Ian hasn’t moved yet. He looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows. “You comin’, Gallagher?”

Ian steps out of the car and looks around. Everything is so yellow – the grass, the chipped yellow-painted metal swings – even the sun is more yellow than usual, probably ‘cause it’s on the verge of setting.

Mickey sits on an old-looking roundabout and opens two beers. Ian follows him there and sits next to him, accepting the can without a word.

Mickey doesn’t say anything either, and there’s a comfortable kind of silence that Ian doesn’t think he’s ever had with anyone else. Mickey takes swigs of his beer and picks at the label, and after a while, Ian lies back on the disc so he can stare up at the changing colours of the sky.

“Used to come here as a kid,” Mickey says finally. “When me and my brothers and parents used to live near this shitty park.”

Ian sits up slowly and tries to look at Mickey’s expression, but he’s staring straight ahead and avoiding any eye contact. Ian waits for him to continue because it feels like he wants to say more.

“You can think of things back then and pretend they were perfect. Some people like to think of bein’ a kid as the only time things didn’t go to shit. But the truth is, everything was fucked up as much as they are now. Kids are too dumb to realise what’s going on so we used to take that for granted,” he laughs suddenly and it sounds bitter. “Ain’t that life, fucking you over.”

Ian’s silent and stunned for a moment, until he reaches out for his hand. “Mickey…”

Mickey pulls away. “Nothin’, don’t worry about.” he says. Ian listens and doesn’t push it. He stares at Mickey and tries to figure him out – wonders if he ever will.

Mickey finishes his beer and stands up, but Ian catches his hand quickly, not letting him leave.

“I haven’t finished my beer yet,” he says, and doesn’t let go of Mickey’s hand. He squeezes it for a moment, hoping it says everything that can’t be said, and then lets it drop.

Mickey looks down at him from where he’s still standing and raises his eyebrows a little. “You wanna hurry with that?”

Ian smiles and holds up the can, “You wanna shotgun?”

Mickey laughs lightly and Ian welcomes the sound. “You tryn’t get me drunk, Gallagher? Drink your own fuckin’ beer.”

“Alright, but sit next to me first.”

Mickey grumbles but does it anyway, and when he sits next to him, Ian doesn’t drink the beer and instead goes straight for Mickey’s mouth and kisses him.

The kiss is soft, and it’s different, because ever since that first kiss in the alleyway, every other kiss has either been heated, a prelude to fucking or during the fucking – while Ian was balls deep and they just couldn’t help themselves.

When Ian pulls away, Mickey’s frowning. “What was that for?”

Ian shrugs, “Didn’t you like it?”

“Wasn’t the question,” Mickey answers, because they both know how much Mickey liked it and that Ian’s kind of fishing for compliments.

Ian shrugs again and smiles this time. “Just been wanting to do that since I saw you today.”

Ian thinks that if Mickey were the type of person who blushes, this would be the time. As it were, he still looks fucking adorable.

“Stop bein’ so fuckin’ smooth,” Mickey says, and this time he closes the gap between them.