Looking back, Ian had always been around as long as Mickey could remember; that dorky little wide-eyed red-head down the street. Summers burned hot with blurry asphalt and patches of rough brown grass on the South Side lawns. Mickey remembered the summer that he turned 8 vividly as the one when his father first lost his job at the factory, began to take and sell too much coke, and his mother started to cry quietly whenever she was alone in the kitchen and thought no one was listening.
All the kids gathered in the street, sharing the few toys they had, but mostly, imagining themselves in other worlds using only their scrawny, underfed bodies. The Gallaghers and the Milkovichs in particular had an ongoing war; war in the sense of finger-shaped guns, kidnapping tied with ratty jump ropes, and wrestling bodies to the ground as they snuck around corners. Ian became the Milkovich's first hostage in that difficult summer. It was an important moment in their history and yet, Mickey had never mentioned it to Ian again and he wasn't sure the boy even remembered.
Mickey and his cousins huddled behind the corner of their house discussing their brilliant plan. "Alright, you get the babies and I'll get the redhead." Mickey directed them confidently, always the leader.
Iggy shook his head. "What about the other one?" He meant Lip.
Mickey scoffed and shook his head. "Once he's alone we'll jump him a lot easier numb nuts," He chided, already aware that they couldn't quite keep up with him. His cousins nodded in earnest, certain that he was right.
Debbie and Carl were easy targets, sitting in a wagon on the sidewalk and playing with a bouncy ball, all toddler giggles and innocence. Still, Ian guarded them closely and Lip was nowhere to be seen; strategy Mickey was sure. He walked up to Ian inconspicuously, innocuously and waved. "Hey Gallaher," he mumbled, both hands tucked in his pockets.
The red-head gave him a suspicious glare that didn't quite fit his pudgy cherubic face. Mickey had to hold back a laugh. "Milkovich," was all he said in response. Ian had always played the tough guy, an act that amused Mickey to no end since he was so… cute. There really was no other word for it even though he had never told Ian that he thought so, just another in a long list of regrets.
Mickey pulled something out of his pocket and for a second Ian's eyes widened in fear. Mickey smirked confidently and moved in closer to the red-head. He brushed up against him and opened his clenched palm. "Hey, look what I got," he announced in a whisper. Ian leaned away and captured Mickey's eyes, a red spark of curiosity burning behind the brown, a look that would give Mickey the good kind of stomach ache as they got older. "Cherry bomb," he explained conspiratorially. The little red knot of explosives sat sacred in his hand and Ian leaned back in eagerly. Mickey grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him away from the sidewalk.
"I—I can't I'm watching—" Ian started like the goodie-goodie he was deep down, before all his crazy shit.
Mickey rolled his eyes and gave Ian a serious look. "Come on don't be pussy," he said. Maybe that was the moment he realized that Ian was different somehow but it didn't bother him. He just pulled the boy more tightly to his side and led him around the corner of the Gallagher home.
Ian set his face in a determined nod and followed without even a glance back at his siblings. Mickey heard the not so subtle clunk of wagon wheels and smiled widely to himself. "What?" Ian asked with an innocent tone and wide-eyes.
"Nothing, this is just gonna be sick," he said with a grin. Ian's eyes widened and he nodded in hesitant agreement. Mickey pulled out the lighter he'd nicked from his dad's chair and held out the bomb reverently. "Ready?" He asked and the awe on Ian's face filled him with something sweet and he forgot all about the distraction, the plan, and the game for a brief second. Ian had already made the world fall away and this was their first secret. His snaggly smile (he'd lost at least 2 of his front teeth that summer; somehow that stood out to him) lit up with the spark and he threw the small bomb roughly in the direction of his neighbor's yard. It let off a terrible crack and a cat screeched. Ian and Mickey stared at each other in fear and Mickey grabbed Ian's hand as he stood frozen. "Shit," he muttered. "Run!" He shouted, tugging on the redhead's small hand.
It was one of the last times that Ian was smaller than him. Mickey had stopped growing early, a short stocky kid from the start. Ian stayed so small for so long before he shot up into the tightly muscled, broad shouldered man that Mickey loved. As Mickey tackled him to the ground playfully, he let out a yelp. They laughed for a while. "You think Ms. Phillip's cat's alright?" Ian asked as their breathing calmed. Mickey felt a spike of terror. If he'd killed that cat, he was in for a beating.
"Fuck," he murmured, still thrilled by the sound of the forbidden word that would come to comprise a large majority of his vocabulary.
Ian stared at the fence like a dragon lived tucked away in the garden. He stood and walked semi-casually towards the sidewalk. Mickey followed him when he heard the boy let out a scream. Oh shit. He had almost forgotten about the game! Phase one was complete and the little red wagon was nowhere to be seen. "Where could they be?" he panicked and chattered running up to Mickey who held back a domineering smile.
"Surprise," he said with a sneer. Ian's eyes flashed in confusion as Mickey deftly pinned him to the ground. He let out a triumphant laugh and wrestled the boy into a headlock, dragging him towards their house. Ian's eyes bulged from his head and he pressed his feet desperately against the ground trying to find the traction to push Mickey off him but he was just a few inches too tall. Mickey smiled maniacally as Ian gave in and let Mickey drag him into the cramped living room filled with kids.
Mickey found Debbie and Carl in the dog pen left over from the pit bull that his dad had shot in a drunken rage one night. He could still remember the pathetic yelp and sometimes he heard it in his dreams even now. His cousins gave him satisfied grins and helped him secure Ian to the chair, tying up his arms loosely in jump ropes that he could've slipped at any time. But this was just a game and they were just kids and the memory played wistfully in Mickey's chest. "We do good Mickey?" Iggy asked eagerly and he just nodded.
"Alright," he said. Ian's face had gone hard, just like it always did when his temper was building. "Now, do you think you two can handle Lip alone?" He asked seriously, his eye-brows raised somberly. Just one more Gallagher and the first battle of the summer would easily be theirs.
Iggy frowned. "Mickey why don't you do it? You're the big boy," he squeaked, suddenly nervous; spineless since the beginning.
Mickey raised his voice authoritatively and crossed his arms. "It's my plan!" He protested. Iggy's face lightened and he nodded in agreement. "Now go steal a beer for me before you," he paused dramatically, "take care of that Gallagher." Iggy groaned but did as he was told. Ian threw Mickey a glare; Mickey the bully, even to the people on his side. Iggy returned with the beer and he and the other cousins headed outside, none too subtly in a mess of screeches and laughs. Mickey let out an irritated sigh at their hopelessness. He popped open the beer and collapsed on the couch watching Ian closely.
"Why you gotta push them around too?" Ian asked after a long moment. Mickey barely noticed his lips moving as his face stayed frozen in that sullen, dead glare.
Mickey rolled his eyes and shrugged. "They're dumbasses. Besides, I'm the oldest, it's my job," He responded simply.
"Lip doesn't do that—" Ian began to protest.
"Yeah well Lip is a chicken," Mickey snapped back and took a swig of the bitter, cheap beer. He tried to hold back the disgust he felt at the heavy, flat taste, to keep his attitude hard like an army leader was supposed to.
Ian sighed and his face turned from hot-blooded anger to exasperation. Mickey would become intimately familiar with this gesture, a gesture that said I'm disappointed but I really couldn't expect more of you anyway. The thought that he had already cemented that trashy hood rat image in the head of 7 year old Ian twisted his chest in pain. "I hate this game. It's so boring," he began to whine.
Mickey wasn't sure if it was a distraction technique or just Ian being a sore loser. He sat up and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his legs which were slung lazily over the arm of the beat-up couch. "Yeah losing's a bitch," he teased with another sneer.
Ian rolled his eyes and looked away. After a long moment filled only with wordless chatter from the babies, Ian's eyes flickered closed lightly and Mickey groaned. He was getting bored too and he almost regretted his decision to send out his cousins instead of handling Lip himself. He hopped off the couch and poked Ian in the shoulder. "Hey. You really that bored?" He asked with a shared look of misery. Ian's eyes opened lazily and he tilted his head to the side out of curiosity. "We can play another game," he offered, suddenly remembering the game that Mr. Deakins had taught him to play with his sister one afternoon in his basement.
Ian's eyes lit up and he nodded with excitement. Looking back, a few things occurred to Mickey; Mr Deakins was a fucking pervert, he wished that he had understood what he was about to do, and without this incident he might never have ended up with Ian after all. The last realization made his breathing shallow and he tried to focus on the good parts that came in between that moment with Ian tied to the chair and the gut-wrenching heartbreak he felt now. On that summer afternoon, before Mickey even understood sex as anything beyond the glimpses of porn that he caught his dad watching late at night in the dark living room, Mickey Milkovich leaned forward and kissed Ian Gallagher softly on the lips. Just a short peck.
When he pulled back with an expectant look on his face (it was supposed to feel good or some shit, and looking back Mickey had felt… something unexplained pass between them), Ian sat there with his eyes frozen open in horror. Apparently Mickey wasn't playing right, or so he thought until he heard the booming voice of his father behind him. "Mickey!" He shouted. "What the FUCK are you doing? Who are these fucking shit kids?" The shout pierced right through him and although Mickey understood exactly what set Terry off now, all he'd felt in that moment was blind terror and confusion.
Ian had enough sense to break quickly from his ties and grab Carl and Debbie in one swift motion. Something told Mickey he'd made similar escapes in the past. He stared after the redhead wishing desperately that he could follow as his father lifted him easily by one arm and smacked him roughly across the face. Tears slid down Mickey's cheeks as his father landed a few more blows on him. "Dad! Dad!" He squealed helplessly as he wriggled against his grip. "We were just playing, just war with the Gallaghers," he shouted but he might as well have been a limp puppet in Terry's blind rage.
Mickey's stomach turned as he came back to the reality of the present. He could sit in this shitty little rat hole of an apartment drowning in his own vomit and regrets forever. No one would notice but he decided to at least clean up before he started on his next bender. As he worked over the apartment, properly mopping up the bile, thoughts of Ian refused to budge, like an itch he couldn't scratch.