Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mickey was too busy listening to the sound of high-pitched ringing in his ears to focus on his surroundings. The air around him was cold, but he wore a long-sleeved top layered with a graphic t-shirt, and by graphic, he meant blood. His baggy jeans went past his skinny ankles, his withering socks still had glass sticking out of them. Fucking Iggy smashed a beer bottle against the fridge whilst his poor socks just happened to be there.

He focused rapidly on the noise that rung out into static. TV’s probably fucking busted. He didn't get up, though. Bills hadn’t been payed since like..ever. Probably that. He stared dully at the rotting bananas laying around the kitchen. How long had they been there? Looked like his Mom’s fake tan. Probably smelt like it too. His dad hadn’t been in, which was a shame. His dad made everything cool. Now he was stuck with Mandy’s pansy-ass while she fucking fiddled around with the TV antenna. 

Suddenly, the fiddling stopped. Fuckin’ finally. As he was too focused staring at the spotted bananas, Mickey saw but didn't really hear Mandy getting away from the TV to stand behind him in the kitchen. She was so fuckin’ small, stupid bitch-ass 8 year old. She clung onto his shirt desperately as his dad almost ripped the door off its hinges from how aggressively he opened it. (It was like Mandy had a sixth-sense or something?)

“Hayley,” Dad said, calling out his Mom’s name gruffly. “Not here.” Mickey said, looking up at his dad, who saw Mickey sitting there and scoffed. “The fuck are you doing home?” Mickey looked past his shoulder, and saw a trail of smoke coming from what must be his cigarette. Awesome. “School ended early. Can I have one?” He lied. School wasn't something he attended often, why the fuck would he do it on a Monday? His Dad grumbled in response, handing his 10 year old a cigarette and a lighter. 

Mandy quivered behind him, her big eyes peering out from behind his shoulder to stare at the cigarette in his pale hands. Dad was now peeling one of the brown-ish bananas and eating it, belching. Mickey lit the cigarette, his eyes widening as the flame burnt brightly before dulling slightly. He chuckled, his knee bouncing up and down from excitement. His dad always had these, so they must taste like heaven. Like fucking coca-cola on steroids. He put the end in his mouth, sucking it before instantly choking. 

Mandy looked up at him, “Mickey! Mickey! Are you okay?” Her high voice scared and pulling on the end of his shirt. Mickey scoffed, recovering from his coughing fit and pushing his stupid sister away. He rolled his eyes just like his dad did. Mandy looked hurt, but mostly annoyed. She looked him up and down before walking back over, and grabbing the lighter, running back up to her room. Mickey gasped at her sneakiness. “You little- MANDY!” He yelled, hopping off the low-chair as he rushed up the stairs, his short legs fast as he hit corners, racing to her room.

He banged on the door, hearing her annoying laugh from inside. His dad came upstairs from all the noise. “Shut the fuck up! Quit your fuckin’ whining, fuckin’ homo.” He heard the words, but didn’t process them. Home-o? He owned a home? Was he even talking to him, Mickey? Or maybe his bitch of a sister, WHO GOT HIM INTO THIS MESS!!!!

Dad clipped him on the back of his ear harshly, and Mickey groaned, rubbing the aching spot. “Your sister in there?” He nodded towards the door, Mickey nodded tentatively, confused. His dad started banging on the door and Mickey covered his ears. He squinted his blue eyes, the cigarette long forgotten. Probably burning the kitchen, shit. He walked downstairs as he saw his mom race up the stairs but he ignored her, (he should have paid more attention looking back, it was about the only time she wasn’t high.) He raced down the stairs, picking the cigarette up and placing it back into his mouth. The taste burned his tongue in a weird way, but not unlikeable. Tasted like rain on wood. He heard his Mom yelling his dad’s name as Mandy screamed. They did this every night. It was like a weird cycle.

Mickey groaned, grabbing his stupid coat and zipping it up, as his little sister ran down the stairs, panting, hugging him. “Mandy, get the hell off of me!” He tried pushing her off, but Mandy grabbed on tighter. “Take me with you! Please, Mickey!” Mickey sighed, throwing her coat at her face as she rushed appreciatively out the house. Mickey threw the cigarette at the back of Mandy’s neck as she slapped his arm. 

10 minutes later

“Sooooo.” Mandy begun, her jet-black hair puffing around her. “Shut up.” Mickey interrupted, not looking at her. 

“I didnt say anything!”

“Uh, yes you did, and your talking now!”

“Only so i dont hear your annoying fu-cking voice!” Mickey raised his eyebrows at the curse.

“No swearing, thats five bucks.” Mandy gasped, stuttering.

“Wha- bu- you- you swear ALL the time!” Mandy said, throwing her arms up in the air. The air was crisp around them and Mickey saw their destination in the distance.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-huh!!”

Mickey flicked her ear just like his dad had done, and Mandy squealed in pain, hitting his shoulder.

“Ha-ha didn’t even hurt, you little shit!” Mandy smirked, holding out her hand.

“Cash or card?” Mandy repeated the phrase from the lady at their favourite shop, Kash N’ Grab (looking back, its quite ironic.)

Mickey paused, humming. “How about I pay you in quarters?”

“No!!”

He sucked his teeth.

“Then I guess it sucks to suck, fuckface.” Mandy whacked her fist into the side of his face.

2 minutes later

They arrived and Mickey instantly ran over to his favourite bench as Mandy rushed over to play in the sand-box with this small ginger girl. The park. His favourite place ever. If he had to imagine heaven, it would be a park, this park. Sure his place was okay, but the park was amazing. 

As he sprinted towards his favourite bench (which was nothing special, after all, it was just as worn down as the rest) he saw a slightly taller figure swinging their legs, perched atop his bench. Fuck these fucking home-o’s. Mickey smiled as he muttered to himself the new word he had learnt, coming from his dad. The kid didnt seem to be older than him, in fact he might have been Mandy’s age, but he was noticeably taller than Mandy, (and most importantly) him.

Fuck that, though. He wasn't a pussy. In fact, he was a Milkovich, which people around him said were the opposite of pussies! They were bastards! Bastards must mean something good, because people tend to smile as they say this to him. Then again, old women always smiled when speaking to him, like he was some slow bitch who needed fuckin’ help. The figure grew clearer, and so did his features.

Orange hair, quite wavy, a whole pile of freckles, a weird wooly hat and bright green eyes. Pussy. In fact, Mickey had seen a cat the same colour as this kid’s hair! “Fuck off my bench, man.” He stated, expecting the kid to get startled and run away to his other ginger siblings. (Or vampires, apparently ginger people don't have human families). Instead of hopping off like a rabbit though, the ‘pussy’ stayed still. “Why?” He asked, his green eyes turning to him in curiosity.

“Uh, because i said so!” Mickey stuttered slightly, not expecting the resistance, but copied his mothers words perfectly all the same. The kid made a ‘pfft’ noise and leaned further into MICKEY’S bench! Mickey let his annoyance at this be known, and instead of talking it out, like ‘grown-ups’, Mickey pulled back his fist and…hit the kid square in the face. The kid yelped, covering his noise, tears in his eyes. Mickey felt like celebrating, but didn’t, because he wasn’t truly satisfied.

weird.

Usually when he punched people or even just uttered bad words at them, he would have this shining feeling in his heart. But…seeing this ginger kid look so upset did things to him. Mickey looked around, waiting for the eventual outburst of tears, uncomfortable. Usually when his sister cried he’d tell her to be quiet or just wait for his mom to come and deal with her. But the outburst never came, in fact not one noise had escaped the kid’s throat apart from his initial yelp.

The kid didn't want to give him the satisfaction! Mickey was impressed Mickey was annoyed. Instead, the kid looked him up and down, in all Mickey’s short, dirty glory, and sighed. “You’re Mickey Milkovich.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Mickey wasn’t particularly surprised, but seeing the blood trickle down from this kid’s noise made him wary. The kid quickly blocked it with his wooly hat, the blue-ish colours turning slightly red. “Uh..yeah. You’re…” he trailed off, hoping the boy would fill in the gap. “Ian. Gallagher.” Gallagher. His dad had said that last name a lot, mostly when he was hitting Mickey or annoyed. “Fuckin’ Frank Gallagher bullshit!”. Mickey wasn’t sure why, but he reckoned that punch had sort of, in a way, melted the ice? Or broke the ice? Whatever.

“Gallagher. I know you.” And he did. He had seen Ian around the school hallways, hanging out with a boy, lip (or Phillip as Mickey called him. ‘Lip’ called him Mikhailo, so they were even.) Ian smiled, his straight teeth sort of…nice? Fuck that. Nothing about him was nice, in fact if he was nice he would’ve got off Mickey’s bench! “So, now that we’ve had our tea party chat, get off my fuckin’ bench.” Mickey replied, not smiling. Ian scoffed, his demeanour unaffected, and patted the seat next to him, shuffling over. Oh hell no. Mickey groaned, deeply annoyed, and stomped over to the opposite bench. He didn’t want to even look at this clown. Instead he looked over at the sand-box, seeing Mandy playing with this 4-5 year old ginger girl. He couldn't make out her face, but she looked remarkably like the annoying-ass pussy opposite him.

Phillip was also there, his annoying hair falling over his stupid face. He smiled down at Mandy, and Mickey felt his blood boil. An even older girl (Florence?…no that didn’t sound right..) watched over all of them, even though she could only be about 13. They didn’t have parents around them, but Mickey wasn’t worried. Parents do fuck all. A tiny baby was in the girl’s arms, fucking hell!, and it seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Mickey envied the baby. Had an easier life than everyone else there. Must be nice to sleep so peacefully without having to worry if your Mom’s finally snuffed it. Opposite him, Ian watched Mickey carefully.

He had a nice face, but it was covered in dirt. He had big blue eyes, dark spiky hair and big red lips, which kinda made him look cool. Girls would probably say he had cooties. Ian didn’t mind. Even though the bastard had punched him, he had the same sort of vibe as his older sister, Fiona. He was looking tentatively at this girl, Ian’s age, who looked just like Mickey, but a girl.

Ian was annoyed when Mickey walked over to the other bench, because why! The bench was clearly big enough. They could’ve maybe, possibly be friends!…yeah maybe not. Mickey was currently picking his nose with blunt nails, knocking off dirt from his nose. 10 minutes of this ‘hits show?’ And Ian saw Fiona swinging her backpack around her back, pulling Lip’s hand and probably telling him to pick up Debbie. Carl had started crying in her arms, so Ian rushed over to help. Girl-Mickey, Mandy, was sad at being left alone in the sand-box but smiled up at Ian, waving.

Ian waved back, they were both in the 3rd grade together! As well as Mickey. Which was weird, because Mickey was 2 years older…maybe he didn’t want to move up?? Eh, he would ask Lip. They were the same age, except Lip was 5th grade. Ian sighed, hopping off the bench, not noticing that the hat had slipped out of his hands, remaining on the now warm bench. Mandy played dully in the sand-box, giggling about the two cute boys she had just met! Well, she knew Ian, but Lip was 2 grades above. Mickey had for sure mentioned Lip before, except he had never told Mandy how cute he was!! (Probably because Mickey would shoot himself in the mouth before ever using the word ‘Lip’ and ‘cute’ in the same sentence.)

After staring daggers at Phillip for a whole 7 minutes, Mickey had turned away, looking at the weird bushes. He turned back, ready to go round two with gingerbread jr, but Gallagher was gone. Huh. Finally! Mickey sauntered over to the bench, eagerly curling up against the railing, something stroking his leg. Mickey guessed a spider, but stuck his leg out, just to see the weird wooly hat hanging off his leg. Mickey turned to look over at the sand-box, seeing Mandy wave at Phillip and Ian, ew. Knowing her, she was probably plotting their three-person-wedding. He watched the massive family leaving…should Mickey give it back? The hat felt kinda warm, but he didn’t wanna take it. 

Fuck it.

Mickey placed the hat on his head, as he watched Mandy throw up the sand in the air with her small hands. Across from him, Ian watched Mickey put on his hat, and realised he’d left it. Turning on his heel, Ian tried to walk back over to Mickey, to ask for his hat back. Definitely not to ask if he wanted to play in the park. ‘Cause that would be dumb…But anyway. (Was it weird how obsessed he was with this dirty boy, only after conversing about 5 words to eachother, including Mickey punching him in the face?…yeah, probably.) Fiona stopped him, and he tried to argue, but seeing the dark circles under his older sisters eyes, he gave in. Fiona needed them all home at the same time. She got too worried over them, because they're dad definitely wasn’t. Ian’s mom hadn’t come, which was a shame, because his mom made everything cool. He held onto Fiona’s hand, his ears getting colder, and his heart warmer.

Mickey had watched Ian argue with the older girl, and assumed he wanted to come back and get his hat. Too bad, its warm and its Mickey’s now! It smelled like the soap at the laundromat, probably the cleanest thing he owned. He signalled over to Mandy, who caught his eye, and walked over, sitting up on the bench, her converse shoes lifting above the ground. She curled in on herself, Her and Mickey mirroring eachother on either side of the bench. They usually waited until it was dark. It was safe then.

Normally, kids were afraid of the dark, but not the Milkovich kids. They practically lived in it. It was the only time of day (or maybe night) that they could safely move around, without mutters following them, and insults spewed at them from their father.

Mickey liked his dad. But he loved his mom. And he loved Mandy. Even though she was annoying as shit, he loved his little sister. She still went to him when scared, and Mickey reluctantly patted her on the head, which wasn’t much, but enough. Mickey narrowed his eyes as it got darker, the chilly air dropping in degrees. He wrapped his coat around himself tighter, and pulled down the hat further.

As the stars started to twinkle in the sky, Mickey knew it was time to get back. He nudged Mandy slightly, nodding his head towards the path they had carved from their house to the park from years of walking over here. She got up, yawning. She walked wonky. (kinda like Colin, his older brother, after going to a ‘friends house’.) Mandy’s face also looked extremely tired. Watching this tragicness unfold was depressing, so he groaned, and told her to get on his back. She squealed excitedly. She had always wanted a piggyback ride. She hopped on, and Mickeys extremely strong muscles (which weren’t really muscles, but developing ones) carried the weight well. They walked back in silence, but comfortably.

The twigs snapped underneath Mickey’s feet, and he smirked slightly as Mandy gave up the fight of staying awake, and dropped her head onto his neck. Once they arrived home, the house was quiet. Good. The TV was playing quietly (who knew Mandy could fix TVs?) and his dad was passed out on the couch. His mom was sitting on the stairs, probably high as a kite. She looked up as they entered, chirping a “good morning, моя любов!” Mickey smiled, even though the sky outside was pitch black, he knew his mom, yet again, was vastly unaware of the time. “Good night, ma.” He said, clambering up the stairs, and walking over to Mandy’s door, which had a brand new hole punched through the side. He opened it slowly, and dropped Mandy onto her bed, pulling the covers over her. He didn’t stay long, only making sure she was still breathing.

He walked out his sisters room, coming face to face with Iggy. “The fuck were you?” His older brother asked, smoking a cigarette. Shutting Mandy’s door, Mickey rolled his eyes. “Mars. Where the hell do you think?” Iggy knew Mickey and Mandy only went to one place: the park. Iggy didn’t move, but Mickey felt his eyes on him as he walked into his own room. “Terry wanted to talk to you about something.” Mickey paused, turning around. “Dad? Why?” Iggy breathed out, smoke flowing around him. “Welcome to the family business, little brother.” Would he finally figure out why basically neither of his siblings weren’t home whenever his dad was? Mickey raised an eyebrow. Iggy didn’t continue on the subject though, only scoffing at his hair.

“The fuck is that pansy-ass thing on your head?”

Mickey looked up, realising he was still wearing Gallaghers dumb hat. “Nothing.” He took it off, throwing it into his room behind him. Iggy grunted, ruffling his hair, as Mickey swatted his arm away. “Night, моя любов!” He mocked his mom, and Mickey kicked his leg as he walked past, sticking his middle finger up. He closed the door as he walked into his bedroom, immediately rolling onto his bed.

He thought about Ian Gallagher. The stupid hat. His pussy-ass actually retorting against Mickey. Maybe Mickey was the Pussy. He shook his head, and closed his eyes, not wanting to wake up to hear whatever his dad wanted to talk to with him. Fucking family business.

Chapter Text

Mickey awoke the next morning determined. He swept his short-ish legs out of bed, standing up and stretching slightly. The small mirror in the corner of his room was smashed, so one of his blue eyes looked significantly bigger than the other. Whatever. The cool tone of the wooly hat was in his jean pocket, and he was ready. Walking into the bathroom, he picked up the cold bar of soap, rubbing it under his armpits, pulling the waistband of his jeans, and looking down…

Mickey rubbed soap down there awkwardly, splashing water on his face and hair. His hair, in a weird state, was sticking up everywhere, so Mickey patted it down, then gave up once it boinged back up like he was in some sort of cartoon. Swapping t-shirts with (probably?) a clean one, he rushed downstairs. He put on his coat, forcefully not putting on the hat. It was bitter outside, being only about 11am, but he had to do this. 

There was no fucking way he was keeping Ian’s gay ass hat. That pussy probably had lice, or maybe something equally as bad, because Mickey had taken a liking to the hat. And anything Mickey liked, must have something fucked up about it. So he was giving it back. Slight issue, he didn’t stalk Gallagher, therefore didn’t know what time exactly he would come to the park, if he even did. Sitting here awkwardly like the youngest kind of pedophile at a children’s park whilst still being a child yourself was embarrassing: Mickey decided. 

So instead, he waited for the sign of a familiar homeless-looking man. 

-

There! It had been an hour or so, Mickey throwing sand in the air or making fake pies out of layers of sand, but Frank Gallagher was wandering in the distance. He smirked. Dad would thank him for this-

“Hey, sir.” Mickey greeted Frank curtly, as if he was someone to be treated with respect. Frank’s drunk eyes looked down at him slowly, squinting. His greasy blonde hair was tied back, his gross beard mangled. “Who-…you aren’t mine?” Frank brought up his dirty hand, rubbing his red eyes, before groaning.

“No. I think you know who my dad is though.” Frank looked blank, a confused, sad man. It was honestly depressing that Mickey had to witness such tragedy right in front of him. To be fair to him, It wasn’t that unusual that he couldn’t work out the fact that him and Terry Milkovich were related, they didn’t exactly look like twins, but most people recognised him based on the tattoo on his knuckles. F U C K  U - U P. Frank was staring at the tattoos so Mickey raised his fists, proudly showed them off. 

“You-…Terry Milkovich…Fucking racist-ass bastard.” Frank offered rudely, and Mickey narrowed his eyes. Who the fuck did this joker think he was? “Fuck you. Where’s your kid?” Mickey spat as Frank put his hands in his pockets.

“Which one? I don’ know if good-ol’ Terry told you, but I have a lot.” 

“The fuckin’ ginger one.”

“Who? Ian? Not even mine. Doesn’t look a thing like me…not- not even anything like me.” Mickey snorted.

“That a bad thing?” He chuckled, the mirth in his eyes quickly gone after Frank looked away but didn’t offer a response.

“Where is he.” Mickey challenged, his dirty tank top showing off his half-buff arms. He was almost 11 in about a month, he wasn’t afraid of shit anymore.

“Dunno. Probably off collecting gold or some shit. Why- why am I talking to you?” He asked, more to himself. “Fucking Mikhailo Milkovich, int’ that your name?” He said, walking away, pulling out a beer. Mickey followed.

“Shut up. I need an answer.” Mickey said, swiping the beer. Frank whirled around, desperately trying to grab his booze. “I dunno! Uh…Back at the house? Now give it back, you lil’ shit!” Frank leaned for it, it slipping out of his fingertips by inches as Mickey walked away. “Thanks. For the shit drink, not anything else. Also, by the way, my Dad says you owe him 30 bucks!” He yelled the end, already running back.

Frank stood there, confused, before walking further into the park, muttering about weird fucking kids.

-

It turns out, Ian was at his house. Mickey had found their house easily, living in the same neighbourhood, he was bound to know where The All-High-And-Mighty Gallagher’s lived. 2119 North Wallace. Yet as he arrived, Mickey didn’t really know what to do, shifting on the heels of his combat boots awkwardly. In the end, he decided to knock on the front door. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. He knocked slowly. Since there were so many Gallaghers, it would be a pain in the ass if the one he was looking for didn’t answer.

“Comin’!” Yelled a female voice from inside. The girl. Felicity? Fuck. It was something with an F. Great, now he has to deal with a pretty girl. Shit. Shit. He had heard his brothers talk about this girl and how pretty or ‘smokin’ hot’ she was. Apparently, shit like that made people nervous. Mickey was sweating. He wasn’t nervous, which made him nervous. Was he doing it wrong?

“It’s fine, Fi, I’ll get it!” Yelled back a male voice. Uhh…who? Oh, shit. It’s probably Ian. Or Phillip. If it’s Phillip he might commit suicide. That asshole was such a smartass. He didn’t like Ian either, but anyone was better than that bitch.

The front door swung open, and he was face to face with Phillip Gallagher. Fuck him. Phillip smiled, in amusement, his surprise evident. “The fuck are you doing knocking on my door? Come over for tea?” He mocked. “Yeah, your sister invited me. She says im bad, and she likes it.” Mickey retorted, glaring at him.

“Bad as in utter shit?”

“Bad as in im fucking her in the vagina.” Lip curled his face in disgust. He almost slammed the door, but Mickey held out his arm.

“What do you want, Milkovich?” Lip groaned, his attitude smart-assy. 

“Where’s Ian?” Lip raised his eyebrows.

“Ian?…uh, he’s-“ Lip paused, looking Mickey up and down, suspicious. “Why?”

God he didn’t have time for this.

“Relax. Im not gonna hurt him. Probably.” He whispered the last bit. Lip didn’t respond, knowing it was driving Mickey insane.

“Okay, I don’t believe you.”  He answered finally and God was he protective. And ass-y. And annoying. And fucking ugly.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, where is-“ Just behind Lip’s shoulder, he saw a mop of ginger hair coming down the stairs. Now he was in the kitchen. Now he was putting on his coat. Yes. Finally. A way out of this conversation.

“Actually, never mind.” Lip stared at him, even more confused.

“What do you mean never mind? Actually, I don’t care. Good luck finding my little brother, I’ll just go find your little sister.” Before Mickey could even begin to reprimand Lip, he slammed the door, and Mickey counted his losses. Whatever.

He had eyes on the target. Maybe he shouldn’t say that, it was creepy. Mickey stuffed the hat into his jean pocket even further, watching as Ian’s small frame walked around the side of his house, not even seeing Mickey standing on his landing.

He was headed to the park. Fuck yeah! Mickey followed willingly, trailing slightly behind, so it didn’t appear as if he was following him. He would pretend to have just noticed Gallagher in the park, give the fucker his hat back, and be on with his way (maybe kill Phillip on the way). Arriving about 5 minutes later, he watched as Ian immediately ran over to Mickey’s bench yet again! Is this what he does when he thinks Mickey isn’t here? Well, at least before he had the excuse of not knowing it was Mickey’s bench, but now! Thin fuckin’ ice.

“Ey! The fuck have I told you about sitting on my bench?” Ian swerved around, his face triumphant.

“Ha! Knew you were following me, you little weirdo!” Ian pointed a skinny finger at him, smiling. Oh well.

“I wasn’t-…fine maybe I was. But it wasn’t for anything weird, so don’t get the wrong idea!” Mickey crossed his arms. Thank Christ Ian wasn’t like the rest of his family. 

“Why were you then?” Ian tilted his freckled face to the side in curiosity. Mickey didn’t respond, but instead groped in his jean pocket.

“Searching for gold?” Ian remarked, a smirk across his face. 

“You can talk..” Mickey mumbled, thinking back to what Frank said earlier. Ian waited patiently, in his overly-big coat, his ginger hair reaching over his forehead but not in his eyes quite yet. Mickey finally pulled out the hat, which was significantly dirtier than when he had stolen it the night before. That little shit better not say anything. Mickey was trying to get control over how dirty he was.

“My hat?” Ian asked, reaching over to grab it from Mickey. His face was…weird. He almost seemed touched. The hell?

“Thanks for…making sure it wasn’t taken.” Ian said, dimples in his cheeks. Mickey kicked the dirt on the floor, not looking at Ian as he took it from him.

“Not a big deal, don’t be such a girl.” Ian narrowed his eyes, but he wasn’t annoyed. 

Ian patted the seat next to him as he had done the night before, except this time Mickey sat next to him. Ian happily leaned against the back of the bench, looking to the side at Mickey. 

“Why don’t you ever go to school?” He asked, temporarily stunning Mickey by this question. “I know you’re in the same grade as me; the teachers read your name out on the register, but you aren’t ever in.”

Mickey looked at him.

“Dunno. Don’t wanna.” He said bluntly. Ian wasn’t happy with this answer, so he pursued.

“But why don’t you wanna?” He really seemed his age then, his face down-trodden and whining. Mickey had mostly forgot he was only 8.

“You know, you’re whiny for an 8 year-old.” Mickey smiled at his own comment.

“9.” Ian whispered.

“Huh?”

“Im 9. Today.” Uh, okay?

“Oh. Uh. Happy birthday.” Mickey responded awkwardly. Ian smiled slightly.

“When’s yours? You know..since we’re on the subject.” Mickey swinged his legs forward and backward. He felt vulnerable. He didn’t like feeling like that. His dad would never ever be vulnerable.

“We aren’t friends.” Mickey said, not looking at him. Ian looked away, his face straight.

“Oh, yeah of course. I know. Sorry.”

A pause.

“But when is it?” Is this kid dumb?

“I meant it, Gallagher. We aren’t friends. Only friends would tell each other their birthday.”

“I told you mine.”

“That’s different! I didn’t ask.”

“And now im asking.”

Fuck sake! Maybe he was like the rest of his stupid, annoying family.

“Just shut up!” He said angrily, crossing his arms in rage.

Ian shut up after that. He seemed to really want to know about Mickey’s birthday for some reason. It wasn’t fucking special. It’s a birthday! Which was in a month, not that any of his family knew or cared.

“Do you remember little league?” Ian broke the 3 minute silence, looking up at him hopefully. This 8- sorry, 9 year old was particularly chatty. Mickey didn’t remember ever being that chatty at his age.

“Little league?” He asked, exasperated. 

“Yeah. I played second base. You were there.” Shit. Yeah. He was. He vaguely remembered getting kicked off the team for-

“Pissing on first base.” He mumbled to himself, Ian nodded eagerly. His freckled face was creased with smile lines.

“That coach was unfair anyway.” Ian said, chuckling. Mickey made a grunting noise, like his father, but he smiled, unlike his father.

“God. That was only about-…4…5…years ago?” He finished unsurely, and Ian replied slowly.

“Yeah? 2000…I was 4…you would’ve been 5.” He said, assured.

Mickey looked up suddenly, to realise it was almost fucking dark. How? Just how? He didn’t even like this stupid asshole. How could he have spent about..3..2? Hours with this jackass!

“What’s the time?” He asked to a still laughing Ian. Ian looked over to him, confused, then looked up, gasping and muttering.

“Shit..shit! Oh no! It’s like..4pm!” So, only 2 hours then. That had only felt about 10 minutes! Why was he getting so upset anyway? He’s been told he was a little shit, by Ian’s own father (contrary to Frank’s belief), but it can’t have been that unbearable to have spent 2 hours of his life with Mickey.

“The fuck are you so jumpy for? Find out that potatoes farms close at 3?” Ian stared blankly at him. “You know? Cause potatoes are Irish?..fucking whatever. Answer the question.” Ian put a hand through his curly hair, tangling it up further.

“I was meant to be back an hour ago!” Mickey made a humming noise at this. Timing was important. He remembered being slapped silly by his dad for being 20 minutes late to the football game once. Wasn’t even a good game. Stupid school had made him late, fucking detention. That’s why he never really went.

“Well. Go.” Mickey said plainly. Ian tilted his small head, squinting his eyes.

“Glad to know you’ll miss me.”

“I really won’t.”

Ian smiled slightly, confusing Mickey. 

“I gotta go then.” But Ian didn’t make a move.

“Well, aren’t you gonna move then?” Mickey pointed out, confused.

Ian reached for his coat pocket, pulling out a light-blue wooly hat. Mickey was still confused. What was he doing.

“Take it.” Ian motioned towards the hat, his slim fingers wrapped tightly around it.

“What? No. I don’t want your lame-ass hat.” Ian made a ‘seriously?’ face at him.

“Yeah you do. It’s fine, I don’t need it.” Ian explained, but he still didn’t take it.

“The whole reason I came here was to give it back to your lazy ass.” Mickey said, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yeah well, the only reason I came here was to se-..” Ian trailed off. 

“See?…” Mickey looked around, confused why he had broken off.

“Whatever, take the hat.”

“No! You take the dumb hat, dumbie.”

“Im not a dumbie! You’re stupid!”

“Yeah well I’m older than you so you’re stupider!”

“Are you joking! You’re in the same grade as me!”

Mickey was surprised by this, so didn’t immediately bounce back.

“Yeah well!-…you smell like dish soap!”

“You smell like cigarettes and shit!” Fuck you, asshole, Mickey thought internally.

“Your dad stinks like alcohol!” Mickey said, now smiling at this back-and-forth.

Ian didn’t smile. In fact, he retracted.

“What? He does…” Shit, he must’ve said something. Whatever. His pussy-ass was too much of a baby anyway.

“Don’t talk about my dad!” Ian bursted out.

“Fine! Jesus..” Mickey responded immediately.

Ian got up silently, throwing the hat at Mickey.

“I don’t want!-“ Ian covered Mickey’s mouth with his own small hand.

“I don’t care! Just…please promise me something!..” Mickey didn’t move, looking Ian up and down.

“No.” He said, his voice muffled by Ian’s hand. Ian rolled his eyes.

“Just- come into school tomorrow.” Mickey scoffed.

“Yeah, right.” He said sarcastically, his voice still muffled. Ian took away his hand from his mouth, wiping it on his coat. Rude.

“Just, please. It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask!”

“I doubt that-“

“Please, Mickey.”

Mickey sighed deeply. He hadn’t gone into school since the start of semester in August, it was now nearing November! Why would he go into school because some whiny, ginger prick had asked him too? But still, Ian’s face. It reminded him of Mandy, asking her older brother to play stupid dolls with her. But it was less annoying. And his face was better than Mandy’s. So, he responded just how he had when his sister had asked him something.

“Maybe.” Ian smiled, walking away, yelling.

“You sit next to me in English!”

“Are you serious!?”

“Serious as a heart attack!”

“You know, heart attacks aren’t that serious!”

“In what univer-…okay, sure Mickey!” Ian shouted, running into the woods.

Mickey was in serious shit now.

-

Ian awoke the next morning excited. He practically jumped out of bed, at 7:05, 10 minutes earlier than usual. He felt Lip’s eyes on him as he practically threw his clothes on the floor, chucking on new clothes so fast it almost looked comical.

Of course he was excited, Mickey was coming into school.

For someone who only started to properly talk to the older boy 2 days prior, he was attached. Mickey was so cool, with his tattoos, his hair, his clothes! Let’s be real, he had an attitude and had serious hygiene problems, but that could be fixed. Probably. The attitude might stick.

He had heard of Mickey before, of course he had, he shared a class with the guy, but had never met him until then. His voice was nice too. He was annoyingly good at getting under Ian’s skin, but not in a bad way (mostly). He made Ian feel weird. For example: Mickey sat next to him on the bench yesterday, that made his heart skip a beat. Oh god, why did he think that? that was so fucking cringy. Another thing: he swore. Ian had actually never swore before (well before Mickey) now he was using it in casual conversation!

Walking out his bedroom, he flipped on the switch in the bathroom, looking in the mirror and his t-shirt was back to front. ohhh! thats why you shouldn’t get dressed in the dark…stupid!

After successfully switching around his t-shirt he grabbed a purple toothbrush. He brushed his teeth for about 1 minute before panicking about the time and throwing it into the open toilet bowl. How lovely.

Fishing out the toothbrush only took 10 seconds (that he’ll never get back). He should probably never use that again. Just then, his little sister sauntered into the bathroom, making grabby hands at him. 

“Not now, Debs, why don’t you play with the duckie? You like the duckie, don’t you.” He grabbed the rubber duck on the corner of the bathtub, giving it to her and Debbie giggled, muttering about Ducks.

After escaping out of the bathroom he doubled back into the door frame as Fiona rushed past him, Carl in her arms, when she saw Ian and promptly asked him to take Carl. Nodding, she handed him over. Carl cried slightly before getting used to Ian’s arms whilst he rushed downstairs to grab a banana for the  journey.

He rocked Carl in one arm, attempting to make his own lunch. After a third failed attempt of putting the bread over the ham with one hand, he gave up. He’s got bags of time now, if only he had bags of arms…yeah maybe not that sounds strange.

-

Arriving into school, Ian immediately went to his locker, opening it and ticking a list. ‘HOMEWORK: Math ☑️, Art  , English ☑️. He ticked the art homework, stuffing his painting of a tree into his bag, slamming the locker door closed. The bell rung as he still attempted to shove the painting into his bag, key word being attempted. 

People rushed past him and Ian somehow managed to spin around at one point, sort of like a ballerina. Out of the corner of his eye, the female version of Mickey (Mandy!) laughed at his expense; that didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him was that his own brother, Lip, putting his arm around Mandy’s shoulder, attempting to put her out of view before Ian saw. Too late, buddy.

He smirked slyly to himself. Oh, This was good. Mickey would just love this. 

With more of a spring in his step now he knew what to talk about with Mickey, he set off to English.

He walked though the door, slightly surprised that yet again Mickey’s chair was empty. Huh. Late? Yeah, probably. He routinely sat down at the back, rocking on his chair, pinning his eyes at the door, waiting for Mickey to claim the seat nearest the wall.

Roll-call begun, and since Mickey’s name was in the middle of the register, he suspected Mickey might arrive before then. 

“Tommy?”

“Here.”

“Ian?” Ian brought his eyes off the door, staring at the teacher.

“Here.”

“Alex?..”

Ian waited. Looking at the chipped desk below him, he scraped off some gum with his pencil. Gross.

“…Mickey?” The teacher called, ready to move on immediately. After 5 seconds of silence, she moved on. Ian didn’t look up, disappointed.

“Uh, present?” A voice called out as the teacher pronounced the first letter of the girl’s name.

silence.

Everyone looked towards the door, where Mickey fucking Milkovich had just stepped through. Ian smiled, as everyone looked at Mickey in wonder.

“The hell are you losers looking at?” The teacher frowned, tilting her head in disapproval.

“Mr. Milkovich, please refrain from your first impression here being rude.”

“..sorry, uh, ma’am.” He said sheepishly.

“Mrs. Strewart.” The teacher corrected.

“Okay?” Mickey said, confused as to why she told him this.

Ian chuckled into his hands, trying to be silent. Mickey stared directly at him, narrowing his eyes. Ian raised his eyebrows, nodding towards the chair next to him.

Mickey slowly walked over to the back, swinging his backpack off his shoulders next to his chair, sitting down ever so slowly. “Slow and steady wins the race?” Ian dragged.

“Shut up.” Mickey said, raising his middle finger slightly.

Ian smiled, looking towards his work, waiting for Mickey to do the same. Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey shuffled awkwardly; waiting.

“You do know that in class you need to work?”

“I don’t have a book. Or pen. Or even an eraser. Shit, I don’t have a fancy-ass pencil case..”

“Here, use mine. Give it back at the end though.” He handed Mickey his blue pen, staring into his equally blue eyes. He knew he was never seeing that pen again in his lifetime. Honestly, he didn’t mind.

As chatter started up in the class again, Ian leaned over to Mickey, whispering.

“Lip put his arm around your sister.”

“Mandy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That motherfu-“ Mrs. Stewart glared.

“Mother…fun guy!” Mickey smiled weirdly, as the teacher lowered her head.

“Seriously, your brother is done.” He whispered into Ian’s ear, angry.

Ian didn’t particularly want his brother to get beat up, so he whispered back hurriedly.

“What? No, he probably just wanted to make sure she didn’t get stampeded in those stupid hallways.” Ian left out the ‘like I did’.

“Well, whatever he was doing, it stops now.” Mickey said, crossing his arms and leaning his chair back against the wall. Ian thought back to yesterday, when he leaned back against the bench, and remembered how Mickey had never answered his question.

“When’s your birthday?” He reckoned catching him off-guard might make him accidentally spew his information.

“None of your business.” Ugh! He was so annoying.

“Why though!”

“Cause it isn’t.”

Stupid idiot, loser…ass-..hole!

“Can I guess? If I get it right you have to say.” Ian begged as Mickey shrugged, “Shoot, Gallagher.”

“Uhh…July 4th?”

“Seriously?”

“Okay…Friday 13th?”

“How old are you?”

“May 5th?”

“Okay, you’re just saying famous days, you honestly don’t have a clue.” Mickey pointed out, rolling his lovely eyes.

“Ye- Yes I do!” Ian said weakly, Mickey smirking.

“When’s yours, since you wanna know when mine is so bad?” Mickey replied softly. Ian stared at him. This little shit. 

“Are you kidding?” Mickey squinted at him, confused.

“Alright, I just wanted to know..” He continued rather defensively.

“yesterday!” Ian practically yelled. The class fell silent, and Ian’s cheeks turned red from embarrassment. The teacher started back on her lecture (after giving Ian a sharp glare that read ‘buck up your ideas’) and everyone turned around again.

Ian didn’t even want to look at Mickey. Ian tried so hard to be friends with this asshole, yet he doesn’t even remember that Ian’s birthday was yesterday? 

Mickey noticed he had messed up, at least he had the decency to look slightly guilty.

“Oh. Yeah.”

Ian didn’t look at him, angry.

-

Mickey didn’t know what to do, it had been 10 minutes. On one hand the prick was finally not talking, on the other he had vital information about his brother and Mickey’s sister. Shit. What-fucking-ever.

“December 12th.”

Ian looked at him, his big green eyes lost.

“My birthday is December 12th.” He mumbled, playing with the table leg.

Ian immediately perked up, over the moon.

“Really? So it was a famous day! If you had given me about…5 more guesses, I would have got that!”

“Famous?”

“Y’know, 12 days of Christmas...”

“That is not a thing, man.”

“It is too!...there’s even a famous song about it.” Ian finished, smirking. Mickey chuckled.

They chatted for the rest of the lesson, Mickey feeling in a better mood than he had when he first arrived.

-

The end of the lesson rolled around though, Ian looked at him hopefully, waiting for him to say something.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” Ian hesitated, temporarily looking away before looking back.

“Okay, just tell me, what is it? They ran out of Irish history books?” He asked.

“Very funny. It’s just, you know how we live basically the same direction…You know...” He added unnecessarily. Mickey was still lost, but had a feeling he was gonna say something stupid.

“If it’s cool, or something, should we walk back together?” Ian added, his facade attempting nonchalant, but coming across as nervous. Mickey felt a grin coming up so he schooled his features into a poker face.

“…Fine.” He sighed, swinging his mostly empty backpack around his shoulder. Ian looked thrilled, but didn’t make a sound. Following him outside of the class, they left together, starting up a random conversation.

Despite Mickey’s best (worst) efforts, it didn’t only happen for one day.

Weeks went by, Mickey actually showed up at school, Ian actually tried a little harder in classes.

Weeks of walking home, together, not that Mickey would ever admit it. They already know. A voice in the back of his head said. Why are you so embarrassed? Whenever these thought came up, he pushed them further back into his head, knowing he didn’t really have an appropriate answer for any.

One dark evening, him and Ian were in the park, sitting on Mickey’s bench. This was not unusual for them lately.

“That is not even believable, in any universe!” Ian chuckled, throwing his head back. Mickey huffed back, staring at Ian’s face. They were having a conversation about stupid things they had believed as kids.

“Gallagher, I was 6. It seemed believable!...” He retorted, pulling out a cigarette.

Ian stared at the cigarette, shocked; Mickey noticed this out of the corner of his eye but pretended not to. He had stolen 2 cigarettes from his dad whilst he was busy talking about his next deal that Mickey had to do (That was another surprise that he was getting for his birthday, a whole bunch of deals.) After trying a cigarette a couple months ago, he had honestly kinda liked it.

“Mickey…how’d you get that?!” He said in awe. Ian reached out for the cigarette, and Mickey leaned away, grunting. “My Dad.” He answered smoothly.

Ian nodded, understanding. He stared as Mickey lit it with yet another (stolen) item. The lighter burned against the cigarette and Mickey almost made an embarrassing noise at how much he loved watching it do that. Ian stared longingly at the cigarette, Mickey putting it in his mouth and sucking.

“So…you get loads from your Dad or…” 

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher, take one.”

Ian excitedly grabbed one, unsure how to actually do it, yet too proud to let Mickey do it for him. He looked Mickey up and down, mirroring his movements.

Mickey watched Ian put it into his mouth, sucking confidently then immediately coughing. Mickey laughed at his expense, Ian spluttering everywhere.

“What the hell is in this!?” He coughed some more, smoke falling out of his mouth.

“Heaven.” Ian squinted his eyes at Mickey, slightly surprised by his response, smirking. “Heaven?”

“Heavennnn…” Mickey mumbled, feeling like he was on cloud nine. Ian looked different like this, his nice face lighting up in the soft glow of the moon. His small body was sideways, or maybe Mickey was lying weirdly. Probably the second one…

“Hey, Mick?” Mickey liked that nickname. Not that he would ever admit it. He always pretended to be exasperated with Ian whenever he said that.

“Mhm..” He hummed, lighting yet another cigarette.

“You know how your birthdays on December 12th?”

“I know.”

“That’s in a week.” Mickey widened his eyes. Jeez. He was old.

“Uh..yeah. I ‘spose it is.”

“That also means we’ve been friends for over 2 months..”

“See now that’s an anniversary.” He replied, sarcastically. Ian glared. “What? We aren’t friends.” He finished. Ian looked away.

-

Yeah, maybe on whatever fucked up planet Mickey was living on, but definitely not this one! Of course they were friends! Ian shook his head in disbelief, “You walk home with me every day. You came to school because of me, we hang out!” He stated, looking into Mickey’s confused eyes.

“But-…no.”

“You can’t just say no!?”

“Uh…no.”

Ian gave him a nasty look.

“Fine. We know each other.” Seriously!? 

“How sweet! Im so glad that I haven’t been talking to a stranger for the past 2 months.” Ian poked Mickey’s side, earning a soft hit from Mickey.

“Nah. Just because you look like a ghost, doesn’t mean you are.” Mickey replied cheekily. Ian raised his arm in warning, ready to whack him. Mickey smiled, kicking his hand away with his combat boot.

“Anyway, gotta go.”

“Well, aren’t you gonna go then?” Ian questioned, after Mickey stayed in the exact same spot.

“Mmm…no.”

“Stop saying no!” Ian half-yelled. Mickey laughed at his anger, like it was the funniest shit in the world.

“You’re so out of it.” He shook his head in disbelief, amused. Mickey covered his mouth, still laughing. Ian dragged Mickey’s arm up, feeling slightly warm as he felt quite muscled biceps. Mickey shook his hand off, walking off to his own home. God, he’ll probably fall into a tree or something. How the hell could he get so high over about 2 cigarettes? Maybe he had something before? Whatever. Ian knew that even though Mickey claimed they weren’t friends, they definitely were.

Because of that, he must get the perfect gift. Well, not perfect, because Mickey was flawed, so maybe it would be perfect if it was flawed but only for him?…ugh, too much words. He has an idea what Mickey’ll like. But he knew someone who knew Mickey a-lot better than him.

Mandy.

Since his own brother was like a human map for Mandy’s exact location, it wouldn’t be hard to find her. But maybe tomorrow. When he was more awake. Yawning, Ian finally arrived home, greeted by Fiona…and his dad. Ignoring Frank, he welcomed the late-dinner Fiona had made for him gratefully, suddenly so hungry he could eat a horse. 

Going to sleep that night, he thought of cigarettes, Mickey, birthdays and a certain park bench that had gotten him here.

Somewhere in the future, they would both be in Ian’s bed, recalling the very park bench that he was thinking about. But 9 year-old Ian wouldn’t know that.