In full-blown panic mode, Mickey pulled off Ian's dick and scrambled backward without bothering to look to see who had interrupted them. He fell backward on his ass, exposing himself completely, and quickly grabbed Ian's coat to cover his naked lower half.

"Hello, boys."

Mickey's head whipped around to find Frank Gallagher standing at the opening of the van, looking rough around the edges, and appearing amused at what he was witnessing as he leaned in to peer inside.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Frank asked with a smirk.

Ian and Mickey stared back at Frank, their faces stark white, neither of them knowing what to say or how to react to the situation.

"I guess it's true what they say, Jack Daniels and orange juice mix better than most people think," Frank grumbled before casually following with, "Get out, this is my van."

"Jesus, Frank! Knock next time, maybe?" Ian spat, finally finding his voice as he grabbed his jeans and struggled to get them on as quickly as he could in the cramped space.

"I don't have to knock, you ungrateful little shit," Frank ranted. "This is my van!"

Mickey's entire body was trembling as father and son argued, his entire world crashing down around him. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he hastily got dressed, wanting to get as far away from that van and Frank Gallagher as he could.

"Mickey," Ian called out as Mickey barreled past Frank and jumped out of the van without a second glance back. "Fuck!" he swore as he hopped out of the van after him, forgetting his coat and shoes in the process. He vaguely heard Frank shout something obscene before sliding the van door shut.

Their safe place was ruined.

"Mick, wait!" Ian called out before swearing when he stepped on a rock. "Fuck… Mickey!"

Mickey stubbornly kept walking, his face feeling hot, and his eyes stinging with bitter tears. When Ian caught up to him and grabbed his elbow, he tore his arm from Ian's grasp and spun to face him. "Don't fuckin' touch me, Gallagher!"

Ian recoiled and pulled his hand back, his eyes conveying his raw emotions. "Look, Mickey. Frank findin' out about us, it's not a big deal, alright?" he stammered, trying desperately to put Mickey's mind at ease, even though he was so unsure of everything himself. "It's not."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me right now?" Mickey snapped.

"Mickey, look at me…"

"Frank's on my dad's shitlist, and now Frank has this shit on me to hold over my dad's head because everyone knows Terry Milkovich would rather slit his own throat than have everyone in town know he's got a faggot for a son!"

"Frank's not that smart," Ian rushed, his words tumbling out desperately. "He has a lousy short-term memory. He'll prob'ly pass out drunk and forget about it in the morning."

"We can't chance that."

"Mickey-"

"No, we're done," Mickey spat. "This, you and me," he said, waving a hand back and forth between them, "is done."

"Frank's walked in on Fiona and all of her boyfriends, Lip and all his girls," Ian said, his voice heavy with emotion. "We got nothin' to be ashamed of!"

"What fuckin' world do you live in!" Mickey exclaimed, hating that Ian jumped at his tone, but he knew better than to reach out and comfort him. "My dad will kill me if he finds out about this, do you not fuckin' get that? This ain't some typical fag melodrama, Gallagher. My family ain't like yours! It's not gonna lead up to some anti-climatic scene where I come out to my dad, we cry it out, and move on. That's not how my fuckin' life works!"

"He won't find out, Mickey. He won't. I'll talk to Frank. I'll get him to keep his mouth shut." Ian stepped forward, but Mickey immediately stopped him with a firm hand to the chest.

"You don't get it, Gallagher," Mickey said, his voice shaking with emotion. "It was never s'posed to be like this in the first place. I shoulda walked away from this, away from you, a long time ago. You and me, it ain't happening. There's no fuckin' way."

"So, that's it then?" Ian asked, his voice quivering. "We're over, just like that? Everything we've been through, everything we did, meant nothing?"

"How many ways do you want me to spell it out for you!" Mickey exclaimed.

Ian's arms fell limply at his sides as his head swam. He pried his wet eyes away from Mickey's and stared blankly down the alleyway, feeling as if he was trapped in a bad nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

"Stay away from me," Mickey finished sharply, his voice filled with emotion even though he spoke with finality. "It's over." He turned around then, knowing if he stood there and looked at Ian much longer he would break; breaking was something he couldn't afford to do.

He had to go home and think of a plan to keep Frank Gallagher's mouth shut.

Mickey entered the Milkovich house and slammed the door shut, causing the windows to rattle. He immediately began pacing.

Iggy and Mandy looked up from the kitchen table where they were playing Gin Rummy and tossing back a few beers.

"The hell's up with you?" Mandy asked as soon as she saw her brother's distraught expression.

Mickey ignored her, focusing his attention on Iggy as he rubbed his bottom lip. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm playin' a game here," Iggy snapped, placing a card down and nodding at Mandy to signal that it was her turn. "Can it fuckin' wait?"

"Now, asshole!"

Iggy fully looked at his brother, knowing with one look that Mickey meant business. He tossed his cards down with a suck of his teeth and stood to follow Mickey into his bedroom.

"Who's gettin' their ass kicked now?" Mandy called out. "Don't you assholes ever take a break? Why does everything have to resort to violence with you idiots?"

"Don't fuckin' worry about it," Mickey spat as he closed the door.

"The fuck crawled up your ass?" Iggy asked as he sat down on Mickey's unmade bed. He watched as his brother paced back and forth in front of him, rubbing nervously at his bottom lip.

"I need to kill Frank Gallagher." Mickey halted and faced his brother. "Tonight."

Iggy chortled. "You wanna kill Frank Gallagher? Who the fuck doesn't?"

"No, I mean I need him gone," Mickey went on desperately. "Like, he needs to not be fuckin' breathing anymore, gone."

"Alright, bro, chill the fuck out for a minute," Iggy said, finally becoming serious. "What the fuck did the guy do?"

"I'm not gettin' into that. It doesn't fuckin' matter what he did, I need him dead." Mickey regarded his brother with raised brows. "You in or not?"

Iggy was quiet for a beat before asking, "Does it have somethin' to do with the Gallagher kid?"

"Fuck, no, I told you I'm not gettin' into it! Look, are you in or out?" Mickey snapped, his patience wearing thin. "If not, I can do it myself."

"I'll do whatever you need me to do," Iggy answered without hesitation.

Mickey nodded and ran a hand nervously over his mouth.

Just then, there was a knock. "Hey, dipshit," Mandy called through the bedroom door. "You have company."

Mickey flung the door open, intent on telling his sister to fuck off, but he was immediately shell-shocked when he found Ian standing next to her, his hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets, and his posture stiff. For a split second, he felt frozen under the pained scrutiny of those sad green eyes.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"I need to talk to you," Ian said, his voice unsteady, but he seemed to keep it together under the watchful eyes of Mickey's siblings.

"Now's not a good time," Mickey spat.

"You two mind tellin' me what the hell's going on?" Mandy asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded the two of them. "Is Ian the guy whose ass you're gonna kick? You really had to ask for Iggy's help with that, asshole?"

"What did I tell you about mindin' your goddamn business?" Mickey snapped.

Iggy stood up from the bed but remained silent as he assessed the situation.

Mickey continued glaring at Ian, wondering what nerve he had to show up there. "Leave us alone for a minute," he said through gritted teeth.

"But—"

"Now, both of you!" Mickey ordered. "Jesus Christ, does no one fuckin' listen around here?"

Iggy brushed past them and left the room without another word.

"Fine," Mandy said, throwing her hands up in the air, "But if you kick his ass, I'm kickin' yours," she warned her brother with a hard poke to the chest. "I'm not cool with the whole fag-bashing thing. That would be low, even for you."

"Get the fuck out," Mickey exclaimed, his eyes still glued on Ian's.

"Calm the fuck down, shithead, I'm going," Mandy said before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Once they were alone, Mickey turned away from Ian and paced to the other side of the room. "The fuck are you doin' here?"

"I needed to see you."

Mickey turned around, his anger flaring. "You needed to see… Are you outta your mind? What the fuck were you thinkin' showin' up here, Gallagher? What if my dad was here? And what about Mandy? You know she's gonna ask a million fuckin' questions! What the hell am I s'posed to tell her?"

"I don't care," Ian said stubbornly, stepping closer and watching as Mickey took another step back. He heaved a sigh and continued, "I don't care about your dad or your sister. I care about you, and I'm not lettin' you go. We're not done."

Mickey sneered at that. "You're a daft motherfucker, aren't you?"

"Mickey, you can't spend your whole life livin' in fear of what other people will think of you."

"You think that's what this is?" Mickey scoffed. "That I'm afraid of what people will think of me?"

Ian swallowed visibly before asking, "Aren't you?"

Mickey laughed mirthlessly and turned away from him, thumbing his bottom lip. After a beat, he spoke, his voice uneven. "You know when I was six my dad broke my arm? I was runnin' around the house, chasin' one of my brothers, and I accidentally knocked into the table and spilled his beer. He snapped my arm without a second fuckin' thought."

Ian stared back at him, not knowing what to say.

"One time, he," Mickey continued, his voice wavering slightly. He cleared his throat. "One night, when I was about ten, I was cold, so I turned the furnace up. Big fuckin' mistake. You know what he did?" When Ian minutely shook his head, he continued, "He made me strip down to my underwear and stand in the middle of the yard in the dead of winter for almost half an hour until my brother had to beg him to let me back in." He looked at Ian glaringly. "What the fuck do you think he'd do to me if he finds out I'm a faggot who takes it up the ass?"

"Mickey," Ian said, taking a step forward and stopping when he saw Mickey recoil.

"Don't stand there and act like you know anything about this!" Mickey exclaimed, his tears betraying him. He angrily wiped at his cheeks, avoiding Ian's intense stare. He felt open and exposed, and he fucking hated it. "You need to get outta here."

"I can't."

"Leave!" Mickey yelled. He strode over to Ian, grabbed him by the biceps, and pushed him backward roughly.

Ian's back connected hard with the wall, the air whooshing from his lungs.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Mickey yelled, aggressively slapping the wall next to Ian's head.

"I can't, Mickey," Ian murmured, his eyes brimming with tears. "I can't."

Mickey moved closer until they were only inches apart. "I said get the fuck out of here," he said, his voice low.

"Mickey," Ian whispered before bravely reaching up and cupping his right hand over Mickey's cheek, sliding his thumb across to capture a tear that Mickey had never meant to let fall.

"Go," Mickey muttered before leaning in and pressing his forehead to Ian's.

Ian reached his other hand up and engulfed Mickey's face. He leaned in and pressed his soft lips against Mickey's tears.

Mickey pressed tighter against Ian, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried. He'd never cried in front of anyone, but right then he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. The feeling of Ian caressing his face and kissing his tears away was comforting in a way he'd never known before.

"I'm gonna talk to Frank," Ian whispered against Mickey's wet cheek. "I'll get him to keep his mouth shut."

"It's not that easy, Ian," Mickey said.

Ian pushed Mickey's face back a few inches and searched his wet eyes. "It's never gonna be easy, not for us, not here, but I'm willin' to fight if you are."

"You're a fuckin' dumbass, you know that?" Mickey mumbled. He froze when Ian leaned in and kissed him. He melted a little when Ian opened his mouth to him.

They kissed lazily, their lips soft, and their tongues tangling through the salty taste of Mickey's tears.

Mickey pressed closer against him, his palms still flat against the wall, caging Ian in.

Ian dropped his hands from Mickey's face and reached between them, going straight for Mickey's belt.

"Fuck, not here," Mickey breathed, though he didn't stop Ian when he reached inside his pants to stroke him. "We can't do this here."

"I can be quiet," Ian whispered before leaning in and capturing Mickey's lips with his own again.

Mickey pulled away moments later and searched Ian's eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to send Ian packing, to end things once and for all, but instead, he leaned over the couple of feet towards the door and turned the lock on the doorknob.

Ian let out a gasp when Mickey suddenly wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him away from the wall before they collapsed on the bed, Ian on the bottom.

"No fuckin' noises," Mickey warned. "You said you'd be quiet, asshole."

"Kiss me then," Ian murmured, clutching Mickey's shirt and tugging him down.

Mickey kissed him roughly, dispensing some of his pent-up frustration into the kiss.

Ian didn't protest, only kissed him back just as hard, his right hand gripping Mickey's hair, and his free hand grabbing Mickey's ass, pulling him down tighter.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian's neck as he began dry-humping him languidly, their erections rubbing together through their jeans.

Ian gasped before Mickey's hand went over his mouth. He opened his eyes to find Mickey staring down at him, his eyes dark with desire.

Mickey kept rutting against him, the friction of their dicks pressing together through their jeans, coupled with the fight serving as foreplay, was enough to make them both already close to coming. He kept his hand pressed against Ian's lips, stifling his groans, and he had to bite his lower lip to silence his own.

Ian shuddered and turned his head to the side when Mickey began mouthing at his neck. "Shit, not gonna last…"

Mickey hummed against Ian's neck before gently nipping at the skin there. "Me neither, fuck."

Ian trembled and let out a shaky exhale. "Mickey…"

Mickey pulled back from Ian's neck and locked eyes with him. He swallowed thickly and leaned down, intent on kissing Ian through his orgasm.

"Yo, numbnuts!" Iggy suddenly called through the door.

Mickey clambered off Ian in an instant, the color draining from his face. "Fuck! What?" he called out, his wild eyes glued to Ian's.

"You wanna go in on this pizza with us?"

"Yeah, sure, what the fuck ever!"

"Everything cool in there?" Iggy asked after a beat. "We heard yelling. Is Gallagher still alive?" He paused. "Should I get the tarp?"

Mickey's eyes involuntarily fell to the erection straining against the front of Ian's jeans. "Yeah, he's still fuckin' alive. Gimme a minute!"

Once they heard Iggy shuffling away, Ian looked at Mickey, the color drained from his own face.

"Get outta here," Mickey said, with much less conviction as he turned away from him. "That was fuckin' stupid of us."

"Mickey."

"Go!"

After a beat, Ian asked, "What about us?"

"There is no us right now," Mickey spat. "There fuckin' can't be."

Ian sniffed and nodded, realizing Mickey needed some space, that was all. There was no way it was over between them. He would back off for a few days, then things would be fine. "Okay," he eventually said. "I'll go."

Mickey lifted his wet eyes and watched Ian leave after closing the door behind him. "Fuck!" he exclaimed once he was alone. He swept his arm across the dresser and shoved everything off and to the floor in one sweep.

Meanwhile, Ian hung his head as he made his way through the living room and towards the front door.

"Hey, you okay?" Mandy called out. The only answer she received was the sound of the front door shutting. She sighed and turned to look at Iggy. "What the hell do you think that was about?"

"Fuck if I know." Iggy stared at nothing in particular as he mindlessly played with his stack of cards, the image of Ian Gallagher's tear-stained face etched in his mind. Iggy didn't know what the fuck was going on between his brother and the Gallagher kid, but he was damn sure going to find out.

Ian opened the back door to the Gallagher home and quietly entered the dimly lit kitchen, relieved to see that it was empty. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and collapsed onto it before burying his head in his hands, trying to compose himself and struggling to wrap his head around everything.

"Ian?" His head shot up to find Fiona standing at the bottom of the stairs, tying the belt to her robe and looking at him with the same apprehensive look she usually gave him those days. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Fiona walked farther into the kitchen and grabbed the teakettle. "I can't sleep. I thought I heard you come in," she said. "Want some hot cocoa with jumbo marshmallows like old times?"

Ian smiled faintly, wanting to tell his sister he wanted to be alone, but he knew he'd been doing that far too often lately. She didn't deserve that. "Yeah, sure."

Once the kettle was on the stove, Fiona joined him at the table. "You wanna tell me the truth now?" she asked, giving him the patented Fiona smirk; the one that told him to cut the bullshit.

Ian ran a hand down his face as he contemplated what to say. "I've been goin' through some things lately."

"Things like what?"

"Stuff I can't talk about."

"Like hell, you can't," she retorted. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Not this."

"Christ, Ian," she exclaimed. "You need to talk to me. You were kidnapped, for fuck's sake!" She then dropped her voice when she remembered what time of night it was. "Whatever you're goin' through, I wanna be here for you. You can tell me anything."

Ian nodded his head and stared down at the table, his eyes glossy with tears.

"Hey," she said, reaching over to place her hand on his. "It's okay, tell me."

After a few beats, he blurted, "There's a guy, and it's really fuckin' complicated."

Fiona took in his admission and barked out a laugh. "A guy? That's what's gotten you so bent out of shape lately?" she asked before sighing in relief. "Christ, Ian! Here I thought you were goin' through some sorta PTSD shit! You're really spazzin' out over a guy?"

Ian stared at her blankly before chuckling. He reached up and rubbed at the corner of his eye. "Hey, fuck you, you're one to talk."

"Such a shithead." Fiona laughed as the kettle on the stove whistled. As she stood, she playfully ruffled his hair. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really," he said. "Not yet."

"Well, you know I'm here if you do."

Ian smiled. "Yeah, I know."

As Fiona went about making two mugs of hot cocoa, he couldn't help but think about Mickey, knowing and hating the fact that Mickey didn't have the same love and support at home. The thought made him feel even worse than he already did. It also made him appreciate his big sister even more.

When Fiona placed the mug in front of him, he glanced up at her and smiled gently. "Thanks, Fi," he said, thanking her for more than the cocoa.

She gave him a smile that made him think she understood.

Mickey pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and stared down at his collection of guns, ammunition, and other criminal paraphernalia he'd picked up over the years. He eyed the Ruger Iggy had replaced earlier, thinking it was as good a weapon as any to get the job done. After a few beats, he swore under his breath and slammed the drawer shut.

He wouldn't go through with it. As much as he wanted to kill Frank Gallagher, he couldn't. He knew, deep down, that for as much as Ian claimed to hate the guy, he didn't want Frank dead, and that was enough for Mickey to not go through with it.

"Fuck," he muttered again as he walked to his bed and flung himself back to stare up at the ceiling.

He didn't know what the fuck he was going to do. Frank Gallagher knew his deepest, darkest secret: a secret that, if revealed, could get him and Ian both killed. Maybe he could rip out the guy's tongue, so he wouldn't be able to talk. Maybe cut off his hands so he wouldn't be able to write. Cut off any part of Frank Gallagher that could communicate anything, so he'd have no other choice but to keep his fucking mouth shut.

The door to his room opened, and Mandy stuck her head inside. "Hey, pizza's here."

"Yeah, great, thanks."

"You alright?"

He felt too emotionally worn out to snap at her. "Yeah."

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"No."

"Things got a little intense in here earlier," she pressed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorframe. "Ian left lookin' as if someone killed his dog. Kinda thought maybe something went down that you'd wanna talk about?"

"Fuck off."

Mandy hesitated before asking, "Did he try comin' on to you or something?"

"Is he still fuckin' alive?" Mickey snapped, putting up a front, knowing his sister was borderline suspicious; he had to cut that off real quick.

Mandy nodded her head and ducked out of the room.

Mickey continued staring up at the ceiling, swallowing thickly and blinking back tears. He wanted nothing more than to leave that house to find Ian and tell him he meant nothing he'd said, that the last thing he wanted was for him to go, but he didn't; he couldn't. Now that Frank knew about them, and after the close calls with his brother and sister, he knew it had to be over for good that time.

He had to cut all ties with Ian completely.