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If anyone asked, Mickey was just really fucking curious.
He didn't have a clue what he was doing. He didn't have to chase Gallagher down anymore. The kid didn't even need to be on his radar. And yet, there he was, sat outside the god damn Kash 'n Grab, freezing his bollocks off.
He couldn't get the redhead out his mind, which was real fucking inconvenient, especially with his dad being let out soon. It's not that it was a gay thing, this occupation he had with following Gallagher, but he knew his dad still wouldn't like it. There was no money in it, and therefore, no point. And, honestly, that made it look a little gay, didn't it?
Ordinarily, to get rid of the itch burning away beneath his skin, Mickey would have just stormed into the store or followed Gallagher into an alleyway, and probably beaten the shit out of him. It'd make him feel better, dispel the tension in his muscles, let him relax and stop being so damn restless and edgy. But this time, he couldn't even do that.
It was safe to say he'd been a little confused when Mandy called off the hunt a couple weeks ago, especially when she'd revealed her almost-rapist was now her boyfriend. Mickey still wanted to pummel the kid with his fists, maybe break a bone or two, and he'd been planning on taking his brothers and doing just that, boyfriend or not. The kid had still tried to hurt Mandy, take advantage of her, and he couldn't have anyone in the neighbourhood think he'd let Gallagher get away with that. It'd make them a target. Clients would stop paying. Kids would stop being afraid. But then Mandy had told him the truth. She told him how Gallagher had never tried to hurt her, that it was just a big misunderstanding, that they were dating now or whatever.
That would have been fine. It really would have, if they didn't live on the fucking South Side and Mandy wasn't a Milkovich.
Mandy had never had boyfriends. She'd had plenty of fuck-buddies that she didn't give two shits about, but that was it. She didn't hang out with them. She didn't talk to them. She didn't even know their names more often than not. But Gallagher was different. She actually liked the guy. And now, Mickey couldn't get him out his fucking head and it was driving him up the fucking walls.
He let a lungful of smoke roll from his lips, his eyes closed and his face turned heavenward. He was waiting, like he did most days, for Linda the Nazi-wife to leave the store, so he could make his move. He tapped the ash from the cigarette held limply in one hand, the other lifting so he could bite at his nails. He was feeling a little impatient, and honestly, kinda hungry. Kash was his new favourite person to terrorise, since that day him and his brothers had gone after Gallagher. He could just as easily steal from any other shitty convenience store, but the fear towel-head radiated gave him a fucking awesome high. The faggot didn't even open his mouth anymore. He just kept his head down, his eyes low, and pretended it wasn't happening. Mickey was hoping one of these days he'd be able to get a reaction outta the guy. But then again, Mickey was also aware of how Kash had tried that with Terry, and he could imagine how that would have gone down.
Mickey looked up at the sound of the store door swinging open, the bell ringing dimly from across the street. Linda strode out determinedly behind her sons, her arms heavy with bags, her phone pressed awkwardly to her ear. It should have been a common sight, a mother struggling and rushing around, but it wasn't one Mickey could say he was familiar with. His mom was almost never around, and when she was, she was usually too far gone to even leave her room, let alone do a fucking school run. Besides, Mandy was the only one still left in school. The rest of them had dropped out long ago.
Mickey got to his feet and strode across the road, tossing the end of the cigarette behind him and letting out a plume of smoke. He glanced briefly at Kash when he entered the store, but the guy was just as nervous as usual and slowly continued whatever the fuck it was he was doing. Mickey walked down the aisle and to the freezer round the back, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade, and then turning to snatch up some sour cream and onion Pringles and a box of Ring Dings. He went back to the counter, emptied the box of Trident gum, and dumped all his junk food inside it, tossing in a couple candy bars when he caught sight of them out the corner of his eye. He was just picking the box up and turning to leave when he decided to chitchat a little.
"Oh, heads up, man. You're out of barbecue Pringles." He said amicably, pointing over to the snack section, before actually leaving the store.
He got half way across the street when he realised he'd forgotten the dip for the Pringles. Which, obviously, was a fucking disaster.
He swung the door wide open, trying his best to tamper down the smirk he could feel tugging at his mouth when he noticed the redhead leaning over the counter and glancing as he walked past. The kid was actually giving him the fucking evil eye, like they were fucking ten and still in Little League.
"I forgot the dip." He said, holding it up as he strolled back out.
"Hey, Mickey, why don't you steal from a neighborhood you don't live in?" He heard Gallagher call behind him, the fucking bell ringing for the millionth time.
Mickey turned to face him, his brows furrowed. Honestly, he was kinda impressed the kid had the balls to call him out on it.
"Have some civic pride, huh?"
Gallagher looked good. His red hair falling into his eyes, his pale skin a striking contrast to the black shirt he was wearing beneath the plaid. He was lanky, but in a way that was somehow attractive, and Mickey hated him for it. So, naturally, Mickey did what he did best, and hurled the dip at his face.
"Hey, hey..." Ian muttered, as if he anticipated the jerk-move Mickey was about to make.
It was only mildly satisfying when the two of them leapt apart in opposite directions, ducking down and trying to dodge the plastic tub.
"Jesus! Fuck." Gallagher said, his eyes intent on Mickey's turning body.
"You know where I live if you have a problem." He called over his shoulder, sucking the small bit of dip that had smeared onto his finger, as he headed towards the L.
"Yo, Iggy!" Mickey called as he entered the house. "I got those Ring Dings you wanted."
"Bro, you're just in time." Iggy replied from his position on the floor.
"You been diggin' round in my room again?" Mickey asked as he sat beside him, dumping the box of groceries on the coffee table beside the bong and bag of marijuana.
"No man. This kid wanted to buy some and he was a fuckin' moron, so I gave him about three-quarters of what he paid for and kept the rest."
Mickey snorted. "Ay, that ain't half bad. Maybe you do got something up there after all." He said, knocking his knuckles lightly on his brother's skull.
Iggy, being fucking Iggy, just grinned back as if he'd been given the biggest fucking compliment.
"You wanna light it up? Take the first hit?" Iggy asked him, the bong held out towards Mickey in offering.
"Sure." He said, placing it on the coffee table in front of him and pulling the lighter from his pocket.
He smiled at the sound of the lighter catching and he placed his lips over the top of the glass chamber. He touched the flickering flame to the grass in the bowl and inhaled, slow and deep and fucking perfect. The chamber filled almost immediately with the beautiful, tell-tale white smoke that sent pleasant shivers running up his spine. He lifted the slide, the bubbling sound quickly reaching his ears, and sucked the smoke down. He passed the bong over to Iggy, holding the smoke in his lungs as he leant back against the couch, not exhaling until he'd closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
"Man that's good." He muttered, his voice breaking off slightly at the end as a tickle pricked at the back of his throat. He didn't cough though. Iggy would have taken the shit out of him.
"You fucking bet it is." Iggy sighed in reply.
Mickey was starting to feel floaty, the edges of his vision blurred, his head soft and a little cottony.
"Juvie food was shit, man." Iggy muttered beside him, reaching over for the box and digging out the Ring Dings.
Mickey turned to look at his brother, affection swelling in his chest.
"Missed havin' you around." He said quietly, reaching forward and taking another hit. "Been fuckin' dull as shit round here."
Iggy grunted, a groan falling from his lips when he bit into the cake. "You should try Juvie then, man. There's even fucking less to do there. It's a shithole."
"You fuck anyone?" Mickey asked, his eyebrows wiggling.
"Hell no. I ain't into stickin' it in any assholes, and I certainly ain't gonna be the one takin' it either."
Mickey laughed throatily. "Hey man, I hear you."
It went quiet for a moment, the two of them lost in the high, both content to just enjoy the stillness surrounding them. But then, Mickey couldn't help it. He found it hard enough to control his thoughts when he was sober, but it was fucking impossible when he was high and happy and loose like he was then.
"How'd mom seem?" He whispered.
Iggy sighed, pulling two beers from the six-pack beside him and passing one to Mickey. "Fuckin' tiny, man. I mean, she's always been small, ain't she? Like short and skinny and whatever. But, she looked like a little kid. And she was all weird and twitchy and smiley, but then like crying every couple minutes too?"
Mickey nodded, swallowing thickly. He'd seen her like that before. A few times actually.
His mom was only fourteen when she'd had Jamie, so she wasn't even fucking forty yet. Mickey seriously doubted she'd make it that far.
"So what? She signed the paperwork, sat on the L, and then fucking disappeared back into crack-whore land?"
"I guess." Iggy shrugged. "She makes me feel weird. I was happy when she fucked off."
Mickey took a long swig of his beer. "She makes everyone feel weird. She's a fucking psycho."
"Plus, she looks exactly like Mandy and you, with the pale skin and dark hair and weird-ass bright blue yes, and that shit's scary."
"Yeah, well... at least we don't look like fucking dad."
"You actually kinda do though, man."
"Fuck off." Mickey grumbled, flipping his brother the bird and reaching for the bong again.