As soon as he'd heard "what the hell!" Mickey knew it was Mandy even though he kept his eyes shut tight for a moment longer than they needed to be - he couldn't bring himself to look at her or Ian for that matter. When he felt the bed dip and Ian stand, he sat up and held his head in his hands, like covering his face would hide him from what had happened, what was going to happen. He heard Ian leave after Mandy and he felt like locking the door, locking Ian and everybody else the fuck out so he could just be.

He punched his wall and for a few seconds his mind concentrated on the pain that rushed through his knuckles; for a second he forgot that his sister had walked in on him and Ian fucking cuddling as they slept. Laughter spilled from him because of course she'd catch them like that, couldn't catch them fucking which, as weird as Mickey thought this was, would actually be better, be easier to explain. If she had caught them fucking Ian coud be out there telling her that it was just about sex, that they were only fucking. That was it. End of. Instead he'd be telling her that they were together or something faggy like that, and worst of all Mickey wouldn't be able to deny that, at least not honestly. He and Ian were together; they were something. Though something felt suspiciously like a relationship to Mickey and that annoyed him because that meant being somebody's boyfriend, like he was owned or some shit. Nobody fucking owned him. He really fucking hoped nobody owned him.

He walked out into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, looking around, he didn't know why, but he did. What the fuck else could he do? There was no way he was about to run out after Ian and try to talk to Mandy and besides, he knew she'd walk off eventually because that was what Milkovichs did when they were in a situation that was difficult or that they wanted out of; they simply walked away. Mickey had walked away before, just like he knew he would now.

Fuck Ian and his damn face and his hands and his eyes and his everything. Fuck Ian for making him into the kind of dick that had a heart somewhere deep inside that occasionally spoke louder than his mind and told him to kiss his lips gently or push his hand through his hair. Fuck Ian and fuck Kiera. Fuck Kiera because she had told him he deserved happiness and that he didn't need to be scared anymore. Fuck Kiera because she had managed to drill that into Mickey's mind so much that he believed it. Fuck Kiera for meddling and sticking her fucking nose into his buisness when she had no right to. Fuck Kiera for making him hope. Because hoping was for idiots and Mickey was never crazy bright, but he wasn't an idiot and he had never been stupid enough to hope before. So fuck her.

Ian walked back in looking so calm and unfazed that Mickey wanted to scream at him until his lungs gave in.

"Mickey, sh-"

"Get out," he barked, staring at Ian hard, daring him to fucking defy him, wanting him to even, just so he could shout and curse and lose it because he felt like he was going to throw up or collapse or some shit and the room felt like it was caving in around him and he needed to vent. His rage threatened to explode from beneath his skin as Ian began to walk up to him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, like he was simply stating a fact. "She just needs time to process it."

"Get the fuck out!" his voice ws teetering on the edge of yelling as he took a step closer to him. He hated that Ian looked fearless, totally unafraid of Mickey as he stood there completely still. Mickey got right up in his face. "Get the FUCK out!"

"Or what? You'll hit me?"

Mickey clenched his fists and jaw then pushed Ian against the front door with such force that his back hit it with a loud bang and Ian grunted, his face screwing up in pain. He pinned him there with the hand that now held a fistful of his grey t-shirt. He fucking hated that he knew he wouldn't hit Ian, not in this way. When they messed around their hits weren't meant to do any real damage and when they argued they pushed and shoved but never hit. Mickey wasn't going to start now. "Don't fucking make me say it again," he warned.

Ian sighed deeply. "Mandy isn't gonna do anything," he whispered, his voice too soft, too calm for the current situation. It contrasted horribly with Mickey's.

"How the fuck would you know, huh? Oh. What, 'cause your family don't give a shit that you're a fag?" he laughed wickedly, a nasty smile flickering over his face for no more than a second. "Fucking spare me. You're Gallaghers! You could go all fucking Ted Bundy and they'd still stand by you!" He smiled sarcastically. "'Cause that's what you Gallaghers do," he said, mocking the guy whos' shirt he was still gripping. His face dropped again. "You got a fucking sack of shit, alcoholic dad who doesn't do a single fucking thing for you that you let crash on your floor whenever he wants. Your batshit, psycho mom, who abandoned you, rolls into town and you let her fucking set up camp in your house like nothing's wrong." He was saying too much, but he couldn't stop, he couldn't shut himself just like he couldn't drag his eyes away from Ian's. "You wanna know what Milkovichs do? Milkovichs fuck up their lives and when they're done, they fuck up other peoples' lives. It don't matter who they are! We don't care! And we don't love with hugs, but fists and we're no fucking good!" His chest hurt, his eyes hurt but it wasn't the kind of pain that could distract him.

Ian shook his head. "That's bullshit and you know it. Do you think Mandy's off to tell your dad and brothers? Seriously Mickey?" Their faces were so close that Mickey could feel Ian's hot breath on his lips as he spoke and he didn't want to think about why he didn't want that to stop.

"I don't fucking know! And neither do you so stop acting like you know me and you know Mandy because you don't know shit, alright!" The tension between them was palpable and their chests heaved in time together. Mickey pulled Ian away from the door then opened it. "Get. Out," he demanded and he really wasn't fucking around.

Ian began to laugh but it wasn't nice laughter and it made Mickey wary because he didn't think he'd ever seen him look so angry. "I thought you'd actually changed," he said, smiling then letting his face fall, walking slowly towards the door, "I thought you'd grown a pair and stopped being such a fucking pussy," he snarled quietly once he was close to Mickey.

Gripping the door, Mickey scoffed sarcastically. "Well, guess you were wrong, so why don't you run the fuck along, deal with your family and their million problems and I'll deal with mine," and with that he shoved Ian out the door and slammed it shut. He punched his fists against it over and over until they started turning red and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't want to turn around; he didn't want to see her face.

"Stop," Kiera whispered in a way Mickey didn't understand; in a way that actually got him to stop then face her. She was half naked, just like always, her petite body as pale as Mickey's and sometimes he thought that was wall they had in common. After a few seconds of staring, she cupped his cheek but he didn't want to be touched, didn't want to be calmed down. What he did want was to get one of the bottle of vodka they had, down it and then go out and get into a fight because he needed to forget for a while and the only way he knew how was to feel pain. Even when he was younger and his family were stressing him out and after his mum died and after the first time his dad hit him hard enough to bruise, he'd either go into his room and attack his wall or go out and purposely annoy someone so that all he could feel were fists hitting against his body, bones breaking beneath his own, because he always hit back harder, and all he could feel was adrenaline pumping through him.

He jerked his head away and made for the kitchen and in that moment the sound of little feet following him was the worst thing he'd ever heard. Just as he opened the cupboard where they kept their liquor, it was closed shut and when he went to open it again, Kiera kept her hand gripped tightly around the handle so that he couldn't. She was strong, too strong for such a small person, Mickey thought and whenever she showed her physical strength, it creeped him out. "Get out the fucking way," he said with a huff because he was really fucking tired of her already.

"Why did you do that?"

Sarcastically, he smiled at her then rubbed his face. "What? Get out a glass?"

"Don't make jokes. Why did you do that?" she repeated, her voice calm, casual like it always fucking was.

Mickey could feel his anger builind up again. "Fuck off and move," he said, his teeth gritted and his hold on the glass tightening.

Of course she didn't, Mickey knew she wouldn't and laughed for a half a second for even telling her to in the first place. She was stubborn like that. The reasoning behind why he wasn't moving, why he stayed and stared back at her was a mystery to him.

Ever so slightly, she moved closer to him. "After all you've been through, this is how you react to Mandy, your own sister, finding out? You don't need to do this, you don't need to run from this and you don't need to be scared"

"What the fuck would you know about it?" he yelled as he threw the glass down onto the kitchen floor behind him, shattering it. "How the fuck would you know what I need to do?" He shouted in her face.

Kiera didn't flinch, she didn't even blink or react in any way and Mickey frowned at her. "I know because I spent months and months talking to you about it and I saw how fucking angry and sad you were about the whole situation because you didn't think you could make it right. I know because I look at you now and can see how different you are to when I first met you. I know because I see you and Ian together and you fit and he makes you smile and you make him smile in return and what's more, you want to make him smile." Her eyes never once left his and she spoke with such conviction that Mickey didn't think he could question what she was saying.

Her voice, her words, were too much and he couldn't hold onto the slither of self control he had left. Without thinking it through, he pushed her against the fridge and raised his fist, his eyes wide and crazed. Again, she didn't flinch at all and Mickey thought that was weird, even for her, because even he flinched slightly when a fist was aimed at him if he wasn't ready for it. But that was just it: she seemed ready, like she was used to having people raise their fists at her, comfortable with it.

Mickey looked her hard in the eyes and saw no fear in them. He dropped his hand by his side and took a step back. How could he hit her? He'd never hit her and it had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't hit girls.

A fist connected with his cheek, startling him completely, and before he had a chance to react he was spun around and pinned up against the fridge, Kiera's forearm pressing against his chest with strength, that even now after being slapped and punched crazy hard by her, surprised him. "If you ever raise your fist at me again, you'd better knock me out." Her tone was calm and steady and her face expressionless, somehow making her threat all the more intense. She let go and slowly walked away, saying something about giving Ian his stuff back.

His cheek hurt, like really fucking hurt. He hadn't been punched that hard in a long time and he'd have been impressed if he wasn't still so angry. Angry at everything and really nothing at all. The glass on the floor had shattered so hard that there were tons of tiny pieces of it scattered around and that was how Mickey was. There were parts of him, miniscule parts of him scattered around every place he'd ever been to, every street he'd walked down and every house he'd stepped inside. Some of them were hidden in cracks on the pavement, under tables and in the corners of rooms where they would never be found. They would stay there, untouched and unknown forever. Other parts were right in front of him or took a couple of days, months, years to find, but he found them. He would never be whole, he'd always be missing fragments of himself because he couldn't bare to look for what was hidden; he couldn't bare to know himself wholly for fear of what he'd find out.

"Fuck," he sighed, finally taking the time to think about what he'd done. He tiptoed out of the kitchen, careful not to stand on any glass, then went out back. He sat down on the grass and didn't think he'd ever actually done that before. When he was younger, the garden was always a mess: the grass overgrown, random bits of pipe and parts of car engines littering it along with empty beer bottles. Now that Kiera had moved in and the people mainly responsible for the mess had moved out, it was kept nice and tidy and Mickey quite liked it. He layed back with his arms behind his head and looked up at the clear sky getting lost in it. He got lost in thoughts about Ian and his face and how his skin felt to touch and how his nose scrunched up when he smiled sometimes. He got lost in Ian and he didn't know it, but Mickey would never find his way out.

Mickey didn't know how long he had been out there, switching between keeping his eyes closed shut and staring up at the sky, but when Kiera sat down beside him, two cigarettes in hand, the sun was beginning to set. She handed him one as she lay beside him.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

Mickey looked over at her for a second and scoffed. "Yeah, it fuckin' hurts," he mumbled, blowing out smoke into the air kind of wishing that she'd brought out a joint with her.

"Good."

He looked at her again and she looked back, smiling and it reminded him of the times they had in that damn anger management class. The world was moving, people were living and talking all around them, yet it only seemed like it was the two of them there. It was oddly comforting.

"I'm not sorry," she said bluntly. "You needed someone to hit you. Oh. I also meant what I said about raising your fist at me."

Mickey knew that and so he didn't say anything back, just watched her watch him. He nodded before taking another drag on his cigarette and blowing it in her face playfully because Mickey didn't do apologies, not properly, but he hoped that'd be enough. Not that she seemed mad at him anyway but he knew he had crossed a line.

She did the same back to him and smiled wide then lifted his arm and put it around her neck, holding his hand. He hated his hand being held because it made him think of his mom. He didn't tell her that and he didn't free his hand from hers because maybe if he held on long enough, holding hands could start to remind him of Kiera. They stayed there for a long time, the silence weighing heavy between them until Kiera broke it. "Do you regret it?" she asked, speaking in a hushed tone, like it was a secret.

There was no need for her to be specific about what, Mickey knew she wasn't talking about the days' events. "No," he sighed out, hating that answer, wishing it was a 'yes'.

She nodded against him. "Then you'll do it again. You will find a way to get him back to you again."

No, he thought, not this time. "He's not dumb to forgive me for the fuckin' second time."

"Mickey." And that made him freeze where he was because she had never said his name before, at least not to him. It sounded so strange coming out of her mouth and he didn't like it. He didn't want her to ever say his name again. It felt like she was saying more than just that, she was saying too much with that one word. "Hold on," she whispered, letting go of his hand and stroking his cheek.

Fuck, this is intense, he thought whilst he looked down at his feet and hoped the conversation was nearing it's end.

Suddenly, she stood up and looked down at him with raised brows. She bent down and put her hands on her knees. "I'll cook you something, darling" she said, sweetly, smiling wide.

Mickey stood and shook his head at her. "Damn basket case," he muttered under his breath, walking past her. It earned him a slap on the ass which hurt even more down to the fact that Mickey was still only in his boxers.

Kiera cooked them some pasta dish that Mickey didn't know the name of even thought she had told him about five times whenever he moaned "Jesus, this is good, what is it?". They watched one of the The Lord Of The Rings films because Kiera wanted to and he had to admit that the films were pretty good and, like she always did, Kiera mouthed her favourite lines as they were spoken. She fell asleep beside him and he carried her to her bedroom. He smiled at the ceiling like he always did because he found it funny that it was covered in posters instead of the walls, then gently dropped her onto the bed and put a blanket over her.

It was late now, but he was still up, sat on his bed with his back against the wall and he didn't think it was for any particular reason but then he heard the front door open and someone walk in he knew exactly why he was still up. He was waiting for her.

Mandy walked straight into his room, no knock or anything. Standing there infront of his door she stared at him. "I'm not mad that you're gay," she finally said, "I'm mad that you didn't tell me."

Mickey looked at her and hated how she looked; it brought back a lot of memories he'd much rather forget. "Why the fuck would I?" he asked, and he didn't mean for it to sound so harsh. It wasn't like he was asking why the fuck he'd tell her specifically because she's his sister, but why the fuck he'd tell her because she's a person he knows.

She shrugged, looking down at her feet. "I don't know, we kinda tell each other stuff. Like I tell you when I get with guys and if they were hot or dumb or whatever." It was true, Mandy did tell him a lot of shit about guys, most of which he didn't want to hear at all, but he listened anyway because she'd want him to and seemed to like telling him stuff. Plus it meant he knew who to fuck up if he found her crying. "So is Ian the first guy you been with?" she asked, taking a step closer to the bed.

"Jesus, I'm not answering that." Mickey shifted uncomfortably where he sat.

"It's only fair," she sat down at the end of his bed. "You kept this from me all this time you dick, so we're gonna talk."

"No," he snapped, crossing his legs.

"Is that you saying no to talking or no to the question?"

Mickey exhaled loudly and looked at her wishing, not for the first time in his life, that his sister was a little brighter. "No to the fuckin' question," he ground out. He wanted her to get the fuck out and he felt like telling her to, but he knew he couldn't because she deserved better than that and Mickey wasn't much, but he'd always been a good brother to her and he didn't feel like stopping anytime soon.

Her eyes were wide and she had a hint of a smile on her face when she moved up the bed so that she was beside him. "Shit, really?" she laughed out. "So you're like gay gay?"

"Fuck me," he muttered to himself, chewing on his thumb nail.

"He a good fuck?" she asked with a cheeky smile, seeming to be enjoying the conversation far more than Mickey was.

"Fuck off," he said, shaking his head a little. He looked at her whilst she laughed and couldn't help smiling at the site of her. They looked at each other for a moment then he lifted his arm up and she got under it, hugging him.

"I wouldn't have ever told dad or anyone, y'know?" she whispered.

He did know that. He'd known that for years. "Yeah, I know."

"You actually looked pretty cute together."

"Mandy?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up." There was no cruelty in his voice and Mandy laughed against him, hugging him tighter. Silence descended around them and Mickey leaned his head against hers. It reminded him of the times when they were younger and their parents would be drunkenly arguing, so Mandy'd tiptoe into Mickey's room where he'd be up, sat against the wall waiting for her - like he had been doing before she walked in. She would cuddle up to him and he'd hold her close just like he was doing then.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Love you, too," he whispered back and those words would stay in the room forever.