Zip Hoodie
"Feel better now?"
Of all the things he could have said, he just had to be a prick and mimic exactly what Ian had said to him. It'd been almost a week since he drunkenly beat the crap out of Ian, but even realizing he was drunk at the time didn't excuse what had been done. Mickey knew full-well the line he was crossing. He knew Gallagher was going to come and try to dissuade him from going through with the marriage as soon as Mandy blabbed about it. He knew it was his one chance to let Ian go and put the kid on the right path rather than following him into oblivion.
For a while Mickey had deluded himself into believing that he and Ian might actually work, whatever "they" were, but that all came to a screeching halt when Terry had caught them. Growing up, the only person Mickey had ever been protective of was Mandy, because she gave marginally more of a shit about him than Terry and his older brothers. As such, it was shocking to him that when Terry went after Ian, his first instinct was protection.
"No dad, no!...GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM!"
There was no hesitation, no question of whether he cared about getting hurt; he jumped in the line of fire to protect Ian. From the moment the Russian walked in the door, Mickey knew it was over, he knew that he wouldn't be able to protect Ian any more, he knew he had to push him away.
Fist connected with temple and Gallagher was lying prone on the ground. It killed him, it absolutely killed him. He turned away from Ian, and wiped the tears from his eyes while mumbling "fuck" under his breath, the alcohol and the fear took over, Ian continued to fight with words, biting into Mickey by calling him out on fag bashing, calling him out on being a coward and he shut himself off and let the alcohol and rage do the talking.
Going through the disheveled drawers of balled up T-shirts and clothes in his room, Mickey stumbled upon something. It was hoodie. Very plain, worn out, zip up hoodie, but it broke him. After side-eyeing his door and listening for the sound of Terry snoring obnoxiously on the couch, Mickey walked over to his bed with the hoodie in hand and plopped down onto the mattress. He looked at it very intently before bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. Beyond the omnipresent stench of ball sweat and booze that characterized all of his clothing, Mickey could still smell the dollar store Old Spice. The scent and sight were all it took to bring Mickey to tears. He'd seen Ian in this countless times before and the ginger had left it in Mickey's drawer during their sleepover the night before Terry had caught them, the night before everything changed.
"The fuck have I done?" he muttered through the quiet sobbing, "Fuck…fuck" He punched the termite eaten bedpost next to him. The scene replayed endlessly in his head. All Ian did was tell the truth, that Mickey was gay and that he loved him, but that was too much for someone drowning his sorrow in Jameson and Jack Daniels.
He felt dirty touching the hoodie, like he was doing something completely taboo. He'd lost the privilege to care about Ian after what he'd done. He didn't have the right. Grabbing the hoodie and stuffing it into a tattered backpack, he slipped through the disheveled living room littered with empty bottles and cans, down the porch stairs.
"Where are you going, assface?" It was Mandy, sitting on the banister smoking. "Usually when you're moving that quickly it's to go beat the shit out of someone for trying to swindle you out of some meth."
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before turning back to her. "For once in your fucking life, could you not comment on everything I do? I'm in no fucking mood."
"Jeez, someone shit in your Lucky Charms this morning, sunshine?" She laughed and took a drag from her cigarette.
"Fuck off," he said as he walked away flipping her off until he rounded the corner.
He made his way to the ramshackle Gallagher household in a few minutes, taking the least seedy streets to avoid running into anyone who might have grudge, which being Mickey Milkovich, included a lot of fucking people. It was during school hours so he knew Ian wouldn't be home.
He rapped twice on the door before he heard Fiona yelling from upstairs, "Give me a second, I'll be right there!" Footsteps raced down the kitchen stairs, causing the aged wood to creak and the door swung open. "Hey how…" she said before turning and noticing it was Mickey, "Milkovich?" She sighed and put a hand on her hip, "Look if you're trying to kill Frank again, he's not here, try the Alibi and tell Kev you have my permission to off him." The door began to close but Mickey stuck his foot in the opening before the latch could shut fully. He smirked from Fiona assuming that the only reason he'd come by was to kill Frank. In all honesty, it was pretty good assumption considering how Frank was. Mickey figured he was only one of many that had wanted Frank dead at one time or another. She spun back around, "Okay, if you're not here for Frank, why the hell are you on my porch?"
He looked down, took off the backpack and opened it, pulling out the beaten-on hoodie. With all the machismo and look of indifference he could muster, he mumbled, "Give this to Ian. I was going through the piles of shit in my house and I found it. I'm guessing it's from a while back or whatever."
Fiona almost laughed, here was big tough Mickey Milkovich, dubbed by V as the dirtiest white boy in America, on her porch bringing over Ian's laundry. When she looked more closely though, she noticed it was one of Ian's more recent Salvation Army finds. "Uhhh, sure? Why exactly was this over at Casa de Milkovich?"
Mickey just stared at her blankly before tossing the hoodie to her and turning tail. "Later."
Fiona was puzzled over the whole encounter and carried the hoodie inside. She smelled it to see if Mickey had at least washed it, "Holy shit, what did he do? Roll it in ball sweat, Old Spice, and dog shit?" , and tossed it onto the kitchen table for later when the rest of the brood got back for laundry day.
As Ian, Debby and Carl burst through the door, Fiona asked them each how their day was and checked to make sure Carl hadn't set anyone on fire. After the rest of them had dispersed to the far corners of the house, Ian was standing in the kitchen, staring at the hoodie on the table. Fiona noticed from behind the counter and laughed, "Courtesy of Mickey Milkovich laundry delivery service." Ian didn't laugh though. "Sheesh, tough crowd." Ian grabbed the dirty hoodie and ran upstairs.
Fiona finished the dishes, washed off her hands and leapt up the stairs after him. She peeked into each of the rooms looking for him. Debby was busy with homework; Carl was drowning toy soldiers with Liam in the toilet, both normal Gallagher fare. However, when she reached the boy's room, she saw Ian sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the hoodie. Something was up.
He didn't notice her standing in the doorway and a tear dropped onto the hoodie. "You gonna tell me what's up or do I have to force it out of you?" Her voice caught him off guard and he quickly wiped his eyes before looking up at her. They were red and puffy.
"Nothing Fi."
She raised her eyebrow skeptically, "If that's nothing, it's a hell of a lot of nothing." She walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. "You know the other time it was nothing, you ended up in the ER getting a tetanus booster shot the next morning."
He smirked slightly, still avoiding eye contact and running his thumbs over the cheap, cottony cloth of the hoodie. They sat in silence for about a minute before he finally spoke. "Why the sudden interest? You didn't seem to notice I wasn't there for the party with all the gifts Frank got from the gays of Chicago."
She grabbed his arm, "….I thought you were working a night shift at the Kash & Grab."
"No. I wasn't. I snuck in the back. I was upstairs."
"Well why didn't you come down and celebrate then?"
He sighed and teared up slightly, his voice trembling a bit, "I really wasn't in the mood to celebrate anything having to do with being gay."
Fiona looked very concerned. She looked over behind them and noticed the thawed out bag of freezer peas by the pillow and leaned over to look at him directly. "Give me the names. Who hurt you? I'll grab the bat myself and go beat the shit out of them."
He was silent. "Ian tell me right now or so help me."
"Mickey…" he whispered.
Fiona got up and reached under Carl's bed to grab the maple slugger. As she was storming to the door, Ian got up and grabbed her from behind. "Don't." he said forcefully before breaking down, "Just don't"
She caught him in her arms and dropped the bat, walking back over to the bed. "You better have a fucking good explanation why I'm not allowed to go kick the shit out of Milkovich right now."
"Because I love him."
Fiona looked at him dumbfounded, "Excuse me?"
"I fucking love the bastard okay?"
"I got that much, but why on God's earth?"
"We've been together on and off since the first time he went to juvie."
"Together….? As in…?"
"Yes, he's gay." He explained everything to her, from the beginning, to Terry catching them, to Mickey kicking the shit out of him.
She smacked herself on her forehead and sighed deeply, "For fuck's sake Ian…"
Having slept on it, Ian marched over to Mickey's favorite haunt, the rooftop with the target. As soon as he turned the corner of Green Blvd. he saw Mickey's silhouette against the sky. Running up the stairs with the hoodie in hand, he burst through the doors.
"What the fuck is this?" he screamed, tossing the hoodie onto the ground, "Is this some sort of fucked up screw you to me? Because you made that loud and fucking clear when you kicked me in the jaw last fucking week."
Mickey was silently sitting on the stairs to the open part of the rooftop, looking down at what Ian had thrown on the ground.
"Was it not enough to fucking physically beat the shit out of me? Did you have to fucking do this too?" Ian's voice had began getting distorted by the buildup of tears.
Mickey stood up and walked over the discarded hoodie, picked it up, dusted it off and handed it to Ian before returning to his perch. He couldn't look at Ian when he said what he was going to say, he knew if he did, he'd burst into tears.
"I brought it back because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to keep anything from when we were together." He wiped his eye while looking down at the ground. "I don't deserve you, and you deserve way better than me."
Ian was still seething with rage and just listened silently.
Unable to disguise his tears anymore, Mickey's voice continued with a marked tremble, "After Terry caught us….I knew I couldn't keep you safe from him anymore. I had to drive you away. I didn't talk to you because I figured you'd get the picture and ditch for someone more stable, like whatever silver fox is the flavor of the week."
Ian leaned against the walled with crossed arms and listened with a straight face.
"When Terry told me that bitch was pregnant, I died a little inside, but I was happy because I thought that me getting married would finally keep you away…but it didn't."
Ian scoffed, "Yeah so you fag-bashed me."
Mickey held his head in his hands and few tears fell onto the cold concrete floor leaving little dark stains. "I was drunk, I didn't think you were going to come right then and there. I only wanted to scare you off, but I lost control, I let the alcohol and the fear and the stupidity win. I'm a fuckass."
Ian looked away, "No shit, Sherlock"
"You don't have to look at me, I don't expect you to considering what I've done to you. But just listen. That's all I'm asking."
"I'm listening."
"What you said that day, you were right. You're always right." Mickey looked up and his eyes were red and swollen with tears. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me, Ian. I've done too much shit to be forgiven. I just want you to know that you were and are right."
Ian looked at him and the façade of indifference seemed to crack for a moment.
Mickey made eye contact with him and wiped the tears from his eyes so that Ian could see everything he meant when he said this. He only had one chance and he didn't want to fuck it up.
"I … love you….and…..I'm gay." Mickey stood up and turned around, facing out to the balcony. "I just admitted it too late. I'm so sorry, Ian. Sorry don't cut it though, not for the shit I've done. That shit was beyond anything acceptable and even though I was drunk, it was still me." His cheeks were drenched in tears and as he sobbed he muttered, "I don't deserve you, I never did, just like I don't deserve to keep that hoodie. Now go find the grandpa. He treats you good. Gives you shit. You deserve someone like that." Mickey stepped out onto the balcony and fell to his knees.
Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mickey Milkovich had bared his soul to him, he'd cried in front of him, he'd said he was gay and in love with him. Ian walked over to Mickey's hunched over form slowly, knelt down behind him, and wrapped his arms around the crying heap. "I don't give a fuck if you deserve me or not. I love you."
Mickey shattered at the sound of the words; Ian Gallagher, the boy who he'd beaten the crap out of to drive him away, still loved him. A small smile crept across his face.
Ian moved in front of him on his knees, grabbed Mickey's face and kissed him. Not a hungry, needy kiss like those they had had during the sleepover sex, but a true kiss. It was slow, and their chapped lips barely grazed one another until Ian leaned into the kiss and their tongues met for a moment. He pulled back to see Mickey soaked in tears, smiling slightly, unable to make eye contact. Ian grabbed his face and looked into his eyes, smiling back. "Consider that step 1 of your 'I'm a fuckwad' rehabilitation."
Mickey smirked slightly, "Is this a 12 step program?"
"Try 24."
He leaned over to Ian and rested his head against the taller boy's shoulder. He could smell that same dollar store Old Spice on him. "I'm not ready for sex and I don't know when I will be."
Ian laughed lightly, "THAT'S what you're worried about? Good to know where the priorities are."
Mickey tapped him lightly on the leg, "Shut up."