Mickey didn't go to see Ian's departure. That'd be to stupid and cheesy and faggy to do, which meant no chance he would do it. And there was no fucking way he was going to write letters, either.

Yet he lied there in bed, flat on his stomach, thinking about that tall boy with red hair and freckles that seemed to fade away more and more as he grew older. As if the muscles were replacing them. Sure, he could threaten all he wanted, and deny everything, but what he'd refuse to show in the recent times was that he's scared. Mickey Milkovich is actually afraid of something other than his father. And that fear is of Ian Gallagher coming back home in a box.

There were nights when Mickey just stared at the ceiling, afraid to go to sleep and have another nightmare of seeing Ian in the desert, stepping on an unseen mine and blowing up, or getting shot to death. And then there was the fear of Terry, Mickey's father, finding out about him and Ian. That his father would kill them both. Mickey could be okay with dying. He was a Milkovich, so it'd happen eventually. But he wasn't going to let anyone fuck up his Gallagher.

It was while he pondered this that his bedroom door swung open.

Mickey was used to it. The only bathroom in the house was connected to his room, Mandy, Terry, and his brothers would always walk in without a courtesy knock. So Mickey didn't think much of it until he realized that whoever came in hadn't moved or used the bathroom at all. He rolled onto his back and sat up to see his father staring with wide eyes.

"What?" Mickey furrowed his brows, trying to understand what he did now for Terry to look at him like that. He noticed that the older Milkovich was focused on his hips. That's when he realized that his boxers were riding low enough on his hips that they revealed the deep bruises that were in the shape of fingers. He looked back up at his father with wide eyes, the fear easily seen on his face.

"Shit, dad, wait-!" He began, only to be cut off when Terry lunged at him and landed on top of Mickey, punching him in the jaw. Mickey felt the burst of pain, but for Milkovich's pain was good, it made you stronger.

Mickey managed to knee his father in the stomach, feeling Terry's weight lifting as he momentarily pulled back. The boy took advantage and rolled out from under him, falling to the ground. Before he had a chance to get up or even crawl away, Terry was on was back on top of him, knotting a hand into his hair and slamming his head into the floor. Mickey's vision started to blur, his head throbbing as the older man forced him onto his back, hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing, cutting off the air supply. Mickey's hands flew in an n attempt to hit him, an attempt to make the grip loosen so that he could gulp as much air as possible. He had managed to connect his fist with Terry's nose, hearing a satisfying crunch to confirm it was broken. But then his vision started to darken.

So this was how Mickey Milkovich would go. Strangled by his father over liking dick. No, not just anyone's dick, but Ian's.

He's going to die over being in love with Ian Clayton Gallagher. Mickey was okay with admitting it to himself now. If he was going to die, then he's going to be honest instead of remaining buried. Ever since that moment in the cooler of Kash and Grab, he knew. He knew both times he got shot for the red head, he knew when he let his fear tell Ian he was nothing but a warm mouth. And he knew that he was in love with Ian the moment he let his jealousy make him run back to that van and kiss Ian.

Fucking Firecrotch got him to feel more than hate and lust and anger. Mickey figured that he should be pissed about it still, but at this moment he can't. No, he wouldn't. All he can do is think about how Gallagher will come back from the Army to find that Mickey is dead. As long as his father never finds out who gave him these bruises, he supposed that this could count as dying happy.

As Mickey closed he eyes, he let a smile form on his face as a goodbye Ian will never see. But he knows the red head will figure out what happened.

"Sorry Firecrotch…" He whispered.

And just as he was ready to let go, Mickey heard a bang, the undeniable sound of a gun. Then suddenly, there weren't hands at his neck, the body on top of him gone.