Disclaimer: all characters belong to their rightful creators. Title from Into the Darkness by Will and the Indians because what's a gallavich fic without a gallavich song to kick it off, amirite? :D
Anyway, I'm losing my fucking mind in the lockdown, so this happened. Just so you know, tho, this fic's working titles throughout the process were respectively "Mickey Strikes Down Upon Ian's Exes Like God's Last Judgement" and "The 5 Times Ian's Exes Met Mickey Milkovich And Lived(?) To Tell The Tale" and it should tell you enough of what exactly is this. I mean c'mon. Okay. This is basically 10k of Mickey flaunting his husband in people's faces, but like. IS IT, BITCH?
Because I eternally love their formatting options better, read on AO3 here: ao3/works/23738446/
Cole
Cole would've never thought he'd take a liking to that dingy South Side bar one of his Grindr dates took him to, yet here he is, once again babysitting some pissy beer in the corner of the Alibi Room.
The surprising thing is: he genuinely likes the pace. Maybe it is devoid of the glam and the spark and the overall cleanliness of the places he usually prefers, but there is something about this shithole that keeps him from never coming back.
Cole knows he doesn't exactly fit into this place, what with his impeccable fashion sense, his cheeky attitude and his actually working taste buds, but the roughness of the Alibi appeals to him in a somewhat mysterious way he can't quite shake off.
So he comes back.
Every once in a while he puts on his most run-down clothes (that are still light years away better than anything the usual folk are wearing around here, thank you very much), steps down his highlight game a notch and enters the world of the unhinged. It's exciting.
It's one of those slower nights tonight with no disputes at risk of turning physical and only half of the sits taken, and Cole's completely relaxed as he lazily scans the room for any potential prey to make his evening worth the hassle — and really, who would've guessed the crude thug type that's so easy to spot around here can turn so sweet when treated with, ah, the right hand.
Cole's just about to call for his next round of questionably edible beverage the bartender claims to be beer when the sudden movement around the door catches his attention. There's a man fighting with the door, trying to get in, stumbling under the weight of about a hundred shopping bags he carries in both hands and even one between his teeth. Cole would be impressed by the sheer fortitude of the fine specimen — because honey, he sure is fine as hell — but as a certified veteran of shopping rallies and master of the fine art of handling the loot, he has to admit his technique is somewhat lacking.
Doesn't mean he'd let the poor soul struggle like that on his own, oh no. That would be… a shame.
He gets up from his chair in the far end of the bar and before the man can so much as trip through the threshold — because he sure as hell cannot see anything — Cole's there to grab the bag hanging from his mouth and a couple from his hand.
"Thanks, man," the stranger spits, wiping his lips with a sleeve. And then he freezes.
"You. What the fuck are you doin' here?"
Well. That's unexpected.
"Excuse you, I just helped you out there, bitch. Show some gratitude." Cole may be delicate looking, but he's far from being a pushover. Generally, the faster people learn this, the better for their health.
"Like hell I will. Get the fuck outta my bar!"
To say it's his first encounter with an angry Southsider would be an understatement of the year, so Cole just blinks at the man, completely unfazed, trying to connect his face somehow, since they've clearly met before. No such luck, though, so he tilts his head slightly to the right and just asks.
"Do I know you?"
The man blinks at him back, his agitation clearly dying down already and he scoffs a little, making a move to sidestep Cole into the bar.
"Think you might. Punched you in the face, twinkles. Guess that's not a regular for your fairy ass."
"Though maybe not," he adds as he makes his way to the counter, eyebrows raised to all heavens.
And it clicks.
His date with a hot redhead that first brought him here, that ended in a brawl, a proposal and a broken nose. God, Cole will be telling stories about that night for years! He's also not gonna let the man just get away now.
"You stole my date," he says by way of peace offering and trails after his offender to deposit his luggage behind the bar, apparently.
The man gives him an evil eye while he makes sure his bags, carefully tetrised next to the liquor keg, won't fall crashing down, but he does dignify Cole with an answer.
"You know you were only there because he tried to make me jealous, right."
It's not a question and Cole laughs because of course he gathered that much. Rather immediately, in fact, if their hot make-out session in the middle of the carnage was any clue.
"I'm Cole," he offers instead, reaching out for a handshake.
"I know," the man smirks and doesn't reciprocate.
"Oh, come one, bitch, don't leave me hanging."
And it's a testament to how much must've changed in the months since that proposal night because the man just rolls his eyes and doesn't even flip him off.
"Mickey," he says and saunters off to talk to the bartender.
By now Cole has become well accustomed with the way Kevin handles his bar and he knows for a fact that if you're allowed behind the counter, you're either a friend or he owes you big money. By the way they're laughing and play-punching each other it doesn't seem like the latter, so Cole has no qualms about throwing his two cents in between.
He leans deep over the counter as close to the talking pair as he physically can and doesn't even bother trying to listen to their conversation.
"So. Did you guys get married or what?"
Yes, that definitely earns him a pause. Mickey's looking at him again, all evil and disbelieving judgement, doing that eyebrow gymnastics in a way that maybe would've been intimidating if it weren't so hilariously cute. Cole starts to suspect that The Look must be Mickey's default response to bullshit, which, fair enough.
"Hell yeah they did!" Kevin's voice booms through the noise as he jovially pats Mickey on the back. "Had a proper wedding and everything!"
That seems to finally do it for Mickey, because he shrugs away from the bigger man and promptly flips him off. Kevin seems to immediately take the hint, though, as he brings his hands up in a universal surrender gesture and winks at Cole.
"Alright, I'll leave you kids to it."
"Tell me all about it," Cole demands then, immediately, because proper wedding and the grouchy man in from of him somehow don't mix in his mind at all. Exasperated 'fuck off' is what he gets in return, but that's alright. He cracked tougher nuts before.
"Or I won't believe you, man. Big, tough guy like you walking down the aisle? Doesn't really compute, you know what I'm saying?"
"You ain't gonna live me the fuck alone, are you?"
Oh, Cole's gonna be smug about this. He's so earned the right to be smug about this.
"Nuh-uh"
"Alright. Just don't… don't go all faggy and shit on my ass or something," Mickey sneers, but there is no real bite behind it. Maybe he's a little smug to gush about his husband, too. Cole totally would've been; it's a hot piece of ass he's married to, after all.
"Shut up, bitch, it won't take all night!" he slurs, playing on his vowels like a finest virtuoso as he grabs Mickey by the arm and manhandles him to his corner table. He doesn't care about the stuttering, vulgar protests that are falling from Mickey's mouth like a Niagara Falls of filth, he just laughs and orders another beer form equally amused Kev, watching them from afar.
Maybe it won't take all night. Maybe he'll get bored real fast (unlikely), and maybe Mickey will punch him in the face again (potentially viable) but Cole decides that he rather likes this scruffy, prickly man, so it actually just might.
A/N: I love Cole, ok. I aspire to achieve that level of fabulous like a fucking enlightenment and I would die happy if they brought him back in season 11, even if just for a scene. All in all, tho, I think he and Mickey would make absolutely fantastic friends. Like, imagine the CHAOS.
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