New York is where good things are supposed to happen for you. Get a good job, meet your soul mate, start a family. A city where over a million people was born and raised, itching to leave and explore more of what the world has to offer. It's a city where people runaway too, who crave the busy streets, delicious foods and of course the opportunity that the city has to offer. New York is a make or break. Either you succeed or you fail. Mickey Milkovich ran away from the Southside hoping to succeed.

Living on the Southside always broke you. There was no opportunity, no freedom, nothing. All it brought was drunks and assholes. One including Terry Milkovich. He drove Mickey away. After 'that' night, Mickey packed his bags and never looked back. His sister Mandy; the only person who ever really gave a shit about him, begged and begged him to stay and he offered for her to come but she ''couldn't leave dad." He scoffed at her and got on a Greyhound and decided he would never regret the decision to leave his own personal hell.

"Fuck U-Up"

Mickey heard a voice and he looked up from the coffee he was drinking to find a tall Red Headed boy standing in front of his table staring down at Mickey. The Milkovich looked down at his tattooed knuckles and fisted his hands, placing them on his lap to hide his hands under the table.

"Uh." Mickey said awkwardly. The Redhead was wearing an apron around his waist so he figured the kid must have worked at the small café Mickey was currently hiding in. "Yeah."

"What's it supposed to mean?" The stranger asked wiping his hands on a towel and throwing it over his shoulder. Mickey looked at him confused. Wasn't it obvious? "Tattoos are always supposed to have a 'deep meaning' to them, don't they? What's yours?" The waiter finished his sentence.

"I'll uh- fuck u- up." Mickey said slowly. The tattoo was a drunken mistake with his siblings. When Mickey was fourteen and Terry was released from jail, the Milkovich's celebrated by going to the Alibi Room and getting wasted. When Terry finally passed out in an ally way, the kids went to a tattoo parlor and all got different tattoos. Mickey decided he wanted to make a statement.

"Deep." The Redheaded chuckled. "We're closing in like…twenty minutes." He stated and ran the towel around the table was sitting at.

Mickey looked around confused and noticed that he was the only one left sitting in the café. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Ten minutes to one." Mickey blinked at the boy. He lost track of time. Not that he had anywhere to be, but Mickey was sitting there for probably over four hours.

"Right. Sorry, I'll go." Mickey started to stand up but Ian shook his head.

"Nah, man. Officially I gotta close up at one, but stick around if you need too. You've been here for a while. Take your time. I'll get you another coffee before I clean up." Ian smiled at him and started to walk away. The dude must have thought Mickey was homeless or something and felt bad for him.

"Jesus, I have a home you know!" Mickey called after him. "I'm not a bum!"

Ian waved him off and went to get the pot of coffee and topping the mug off with a fresh pot of coffee. "You're not from here, are you?"

"That obvious huh?" Mickey wrapped his hands around the mug to keep himself warm. The boy just smiled. "I'm from Chicago. Not too far, but just far enough." Mickey spoke into his cup then blew into the steam to cool down his drink faster. He was never a fan of hot drinks, but coffee did amazing things to a man when he was feeling down. "You from here?" Mickey looked up.

The Redhead sat down at the table and nodded. "Born and raised." He grinned proud.

"Is it as life changing as it says it is?"

"Naw man, it's just like anywhere else. Just – busier." He laughed. He stood up and walked towards the front door and locked it, turning the "open" sign to "closed". He then walked over to Mickey. "How long have you been in the city for?" He sat back down.

"About a week." Mickey shrugged.

"How's it workin' out for ya?"

Mickey shrugged then sipped his coffee. "I aint dead yet, so that must be a good sign."

The boy chuckled. "Are you here for work? School? Adventure?" he wiggled his eyebrows and Mickey rolled his eyes.

"Adventure, I guess."

"I like that." Ian grinned. I'm getting the 'Nobody tells you what to do" vibe from you."

Mickey's lips tugged into the smile which made the other boy beam with excitement. It took a lot for a person to make Mickey smile. He must be exhausted.

"Right."

"I'm Ian by the way."

"Okay." Mickey stood up and reached into his pockets, putting down a five dollar bill onto the table. "See ya."

"What's your name?" He followed close behind.

"None of your damn business."

He laughed and Mickey rolled his eyes again.

"Don't be a pussy. Just tell me your name."

Mickey turned around and glared at him. "Mickey. Now thank you for the coffee, but I'm going to go now."

"I'll be seeing you around, Mickey." Ian said with his arms crossed over his chest. He had a smug look on his face like he was planning something in his head. Mickey made a face and shook his head.

"Uh-yeah."

Sleeping had always been a difficult task for Mickey. In his house, people hardly ever got a good night's sleep because Terry would always wake them up while he was drunk, asking for something, or bitching about someone. He was loud and a burden to pretty much everyone around him.

He learned to become a light sleeper in case his father came busting into his room with a bat threatening to kill him. It had happened before. More than once. And living in the city, loud and busy as it is, made it impossible for Mickey to fall asleep. He got a couple hours in one night, almost six hours another, but none the night before Thanksgiving. He tossed and turned for hours and finally gave up. He then decided fuck it and go to a bar. Might as well drink till he passes out.

He walked around for a bit and settled with a place called The Eagle. The name made his insides cringe, but he was only there for a drink. He showed the bouncer his ID and he let him in. The music was loud and there was lights flashing all around and it took Mickey less than thirty seconds for him to realize that he had gone into a gay club. Typical.

He felt instantly uncomfortable and started to turn away but realized that he wasn't at home anymore. He knew nobody and nobody would recognize him here. After having a mini fight with himself in his head, Mickey walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. He sat down on the stool and cradled the neck of the bottle in his hands. He looked around and tried not to stare at the half naked dancers standing on stages, rolling their hips to the music, or to the guys making out with each other on the dance floor. He finished his beer and asked for another.

"I told ya you'd be seeing me again."

Mickey turned around and saw Ian, shirtless with only silver booty shorts on, standing behind him. He had eyeliner smudged around his green eyes and glitter all over his pale chest. It took Mickey a minute to realize who it was then it finally clicked.

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" Mickey had to hold back a laugh. Ian looked ridiculous.

"25 bucks gets you a dance." Ian grinned at the dark haired boy, rolling his hips as he stepped closer to Mickey.

"25 bucks for your lame ass huh?"

"That's the friend's discount."

"We're friends now, huh?" Mickey crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the Redhead amused. He decided he wasn't that bad after all.

"Hoping" Ian sat down next to Mickey and nudged his shoulder with his. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing. Seriously, man, you look fuckin' stupid."

Ian rolled his eyes playfully like he's heard it before. "I asked you first."

"I couldn't sleep, needed a drink." Mickey shrugged. "Your turn – go."

"I need more money, the coffee shop pays shit and I got bills to pay." Ian shrugged next.

"Why bother with the coffee shop then? Why not get a better job?"

A smile crept on Ian's lips as he eyed Mickey. The dark haired boy just rolled his eyes, mostly to hide the fact that he was probably blushing. "Is this you wanting to get to know me? Perhaps we are friends."

"Don't read into it, asshole. It was just a fuckin' question."

Ian stood up and looked back at the stage where he had to be dancing. "Stick around for another 45 minutes, you can ask all the fuckin' questions you want. But right now I gotta go back to work. So, enjoy your time here at The Eagle." Ian gave a quick wink to Mickey before he turned around in the direction of his stage.

He watched Ian climb up and wave down to a few of the guys around him and started dancing to the beat. He moved his hips and swayed his arms. Mickey couldn't help but stare. He was a good dancer and everyone seemed to like him too. He sure stood out more than the rest of the dancers because of his fire red hair. Ian glanced to Mickey and saw that he had been staring. Ian licked his lips and started dancing, for Mickey and only for Mickey.

His cheeks got hot and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He quickly turned around and knew that Ian must be laughing to himself. He sipped his beer slowly and prayed that the next 45 minutes would go by fast because he just wanted to leave.

"Haven't seen you around here before?" A tall blonde sat down next to Mickey.

"Aren't you fuckin' Sherlock Holmes." Mickey spat back. He might have had one too many drinks in the hour he waited for Ian.

"Easy tiger." The blonde laughed. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Mickey held up his half empty glass of rum and coke and raised an eyebrow. "Got one, thanks."

"Are you always this difficult to pick up?"

"Where does it say that I want to be picked up?"

The blonde looked around. "Dude, you're in a gay bar?"

"Are you calling me gay?" Mickey stood up, towering over the man sitting down. "Wanna say that –"

He was cut off by someone pulling him away. It was Ian. "Hey, tough guy. Let's get going." Ian tugged Mickey alongside and Mickey just glared at the blonde who looked like he had almost shit himself. Ian laughed once they were finally out of the club. He had changed into regular clothes and took off the stupid eyeliner.

Mickey was stumbling beside him. "Have a little too much to drink there?" He slung an arm around Mickey's waist to help him walk properly. Mickey instantly tensed up but didn't reject the help. He needed it.

"I was waiting for your stupid fuckin' ass." Mickey slurred.

"You could have left some drinks for the other people in the club." Ian laughed again and it just reminded Mickey that he liked his laugh.

"You said 45 minutes. That was - …that was…" Mickey thought for a minute, calculating in his head.

"It was 45 minutes."

"Fuck." Mickey laughed.

"Where do you live, Mickey? I'll take you home."

Mickey looked around and blinked confused. He had no idea. "Fuck." Mickey laughed louder. "Shit I have no fuckin' clue."

Ian sighed and shook his head. "Is it alright then if I take you to my house?"

"Smooth, Firecrotch."

"To sober you up, dickhead."

"Whatever."

"So you give lapdances for a living and don't even feel weird about it?"

Mickey had his feet kicked up on the coffee table, staring at the Ginger who sat across from him in a big chair, a blanket wrapped around his body.

"Hell yeah. How do you feel guilty for making over 500 a night? Jesus. Pays my rent."

"I need a job." Mickey sighed and rubbed his face, reality starting to kick in.

"I can- "

"No fucking way am I going to be dancing in your stupid fucking club." He shook his head.

"I was going to say…I can get you a job at the coffee shop." Ian half smiled at Mickey.

"I thought you said the pay is shit."

"It is – but the employees aren't."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Right."

Ian shifted in his seat, studying Mickey. "What are you running away from?"

"What?" Mickey raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"You're running away, yeah? What from? Or who?"

"None of your business." Mickey mumbled and started to stand up. He grabbed his coat. "Thanks for uh – the company."

"Just stay the night man. It's late. You can take my bed, I"ll crash on the couch." Ian insisted, pushing Mickey towards Ians bedroom. The bed was big and it looked inviting. Much better than the shit box spring he called a bed in his tiny apartment above a small convenience store.

Mickey didn't protest. Instead, he nodded and half smiled at the ginger. "Thanks."