Mickey had mail. Mickey never got mail except that dumb as fuck Christmas card Mandy had sent him and that had been months ago.

After he went to pick the letter up he went straight back to his bed and lay down on his front. As soon as he had seen the envelope he recognised Mandy's scribbly handwriting and began to panic slightly because he didn't know why she'd send him a letter instead of visiting him. Regardless, he ripped it open and pulled out the shitty piece of paper Mandy had written her letter on.

Assface
Dads in jail twenty to life he killed two people and the cops found out
The house is paid for and everything and dad didnt know that I know where his drug money is theres like $5000
Dont worry about me as if you even will I have a new boyfriend who sometimes stays the night and he is actually nice so dont you fucking dare hurt him when you get out! And Ian said if I ever felt too alone or whatever he would sleep on the couch so its fine
I hope everythings good even if you are a dick
Mandy x

Mickey must have read the letter five times to make sure he was reading it right. His dad was in jail? His dad was in jail and would most likely live the rest of his shitty life in a cell? A laugh left his mouth and he didn't know if it was because he was relieved, happy or because it amused him how Mandy seemed to refuse to use any punctuation except exclamation marks - Mickey was no genius but even he knew the point of commas and full stops and semi colons or some shit.

When he worked out later on in the day Mickey thought back to what Dr. Harris had said to him, how winding up in jail didn't have to be his life. He wasn't sure why he randomly remembered that, but he did and it made him wonder if maybe she was right. All his life he'd been told by his shit excuse of a dad that there was nothing wrong with jail, that it was part of the Milkovich life and it was in their blood. It was drilled into his mind to fight and steal and vandalise and threaten and try his best not to get caught but if he did it meant he'd done something worth getting caught over, like that was a good thing, like he should aspire to become a thug. Mickey had never given it much thought, didn't dare to because his dad would beat the shit out of him if he so much as suggested that they didn't have to be complete criminals; everyone in their neighborhood broke the law in some way but that was how they survived and Mickey didn't see anything wrong with that, didn't question that. But breaking the law just for the sake of it, just to avoid a beating, just because that's all he had ever really known, well Mickey was beginning to question that. It wasn't like he'd stop fighting or stealing the occasional thing because Mickey enjoyed that too much to stop completely, but he thought that maybe he didn't have to cause mayhem just because he could and because he thought that that would make his dad proud. Fuck it, his dad was a bigger fuck up than he was; a junkie with no friends and nobody who even remotely gave a shit. He should have been trying to make Mickey proud.

That night Mickey felt eerily calm and at peace. He dreamt of Ian but it wasn't like the other times, he didn't dream about them fucking like mad and he didn't wake up with a hard on. Instead he dreamt that the two of them were laying on his bed, not really doing anything, fully clothed and barely touching. The sun peaked through his curtains, highlighting them until the rest of the room dissappeared and it was just the two of them. He and Gallagher.

The next morning he felt odd and confused and sort of wondered if he'd fallen asleep during the afternoon and had dreamt about the letter. He reached a hand under his matress and felt the envelope there; he hadn't been dreaming at all.

Kiera was sat hanging out the window when Mickey strolled into the anger management class and he ignored the stares from this new guy Jason who either had a staring problem or was as straight as Mickey was.

"My dad's in jail," he breathed out as he sat down and took the cigarette Kiera had lit up for him.

"Oh. That's good for you," she said breathing out smoke. "Life?"

Mickey nodded and couldn't help smiling a little at the thought of never having to see his dad again.

She cupped his cheek. "It's good for Ian, too."

Mickey leaned his head back out of her hold and looked outside. He didn't really want to talk about Ian. Correction: he didn wan't to talk about how the fact that his dad was now locked up would affect his and Ian's... thing.

Just as Mickey was about to take a drag of his cigarette, Kiera ficked it out from between his fingers and it landed on the ground outside along with the dozens of cigarette butts they were responsible for.

"The fuck?" he asked, frowning.

Her face was serious now and she looked at him all over for a little while then her eyes met his. "You cannot ignore the situation. It will only make it worse," she told him, tucking her ever growing hair behind her ear. "You don't have to be so scared anymore."

Mickey crossed his arms tight across his chest and sighed heavily in frustration. "I'm not fuckin' scared."

"So I can assume you were going to kill Frank for shits and giggles?"

Mickey looked at her. "Probably would've been fun," he muttered, but he knew that that wasn't why he was planning on killing Frank all that time ago. "So fucking what if I was scared, you don't know my dad he's fucking batshit."

Kiera nodded like she actually did know his dad. "And he would have killed you if he found out, I know. This is not me trying to get you to wave a rainbow flag everywhere you go and get 'I love cock' tattooed onto your forehead. This is me telling you that you don't have to be so scared anymore and you don't have to lie about how you feel," she lightly kicked his ankle to get him to look at her. "You don't have to pretend that you don't care about Ian."

Mickey sighed and felt like pushing her out the window because she just didn't understand. She didn't understand that even if Mickey did have feelings for Ian and actually expressed them like some fag that wouldn't mean shit because as soon as he'd said "you're nothing but a warm mouth to me" he knew that that was it for him, for them. Ian could take his insults and empty threats and his no cuddling after sex rule, Ian could take all of that but when Mickey had put an end to it, he knew Ian wouldn't take his shit anymore, he could see it in his big fucking eyes.

"That don't even matter," he mumbled chewing on his thumb nail.

"Why not? I mean-"

"Because he won't fucking forgive me, alright!" Mickey yelled louder than he had done in a while; louder than he had actually intended. Kiera's eyes grew wide and her mouth made a little o-shape. The rest of the class all turned to face them and stared like they had never seem someone angry before. Ironic, seeing as they were in a fucking anger management class.

Richard walked over to them the sound of his fucking flip-flops deafening in the silence that had grown. "We okay over here?" he asked softly.

Mickey rubbed the back of his neck and put on a fake smile. "Oh just fucking dandy, Rich," he chirped then let his face fall so that he was glaring threateningly up at him.

He soon walked away and told the rest of the class to carry on with whatever bullshit they were doing and Mickey rubbed his face with both hands and growled a little.

"Will you just give me a fucking cigarette," he snapped, staring back at Kiera, daring her to defy him.

She smirked and shook her head. "Why do you think he won't forgive you?"

Mickey huffed out a nasty little laugh. "Just give me a fucking cigarette 'cause I am so close to fucking killing someone and I know you get out in three weeks and blah-fucking-blah so will you just..." he spoke so fast and thought he sounded like he was begging.

"Why?" she shouted but at the same time whispered and Mickey didn't think he'd ever heard someone talk like that. Hell, it was fucking freaky.

"Why the fuck would he?"

"Ever heard of apologising, making it up to someone?"

Mickey scoffed and without warning Kiera slapped his cheek really fucking hard, so hard that his head jerked to the side; hard enough that it made his eyes water and his whole face buzz. Now Mickey got how she could put a man in hospital if that was how she slapped.

"Jesus Christ," he grunted, "you fucking slapped me!" he said, stating the obvious.

Kiera shrugged lit up two cigarettes and gave him one. "It's rude to simply disregard what someone is saying when they're helping you," she said softly, like she wasn't talking to the person who's cheek she had only moments ago slapped into next year.

"I didn't ask for your da-"

"I know you didn't ask for my help but that's because you don't think you deserve help, not unless it's to kill someone. You don't think you deserve what Ian could potentially give to you, and not just a great blowjob, so you won't even try and get him to forgive you." She leaned across and cupped both of his cheeks, forcing him to look at her, and the smoke from her cigarette drifted into her eyes yet she didn't blink once. "You deserve happiness," she whispered slowly then rested her forehead on his and closed her eyes and so did Mickey because he couldn't bare to keep them open. Was she right? Did he? Mickey didn't know, he didn't know why a fucking useless prick like him could deserve happiness.

That night when he dreamt it wasn't about Ian or any of the average things; that night when Mickey dreamt he saw Kiera leaning over somebody, choking the life out them in a dimly lit prison cell. He dreamt that Kiera had killed his dad. He woke up and wished that it hadn't been a dream.