Chapter Text
Holy fuck.
Mickey sighed quietly to himself as he observed the much too familiar stone building towering in front of him. Old and prestigious. Stained glass windows. Weird-ass gargoyles staring back down at him like they were about to swoop down and eat him any fucking second. Sometimes, he really wished they would.
South River Boys Academy.
The letters hung heavy above the huge main doors. A welcome, Mickey supposed. Felt like a fucking warning. Escape. Run. Get the fuck out. There was no point, however. He was stuck. They were all stuck. Him and all the other boys who were currently moving around outside the building, going in various directions. Stuck to carry the burden of legacy, tradition, and honor and whatever the fuck else the staff blabbered about any chance they got.
God, what Mickey would do for a fucking smoke right about now.
“Look alive, kid,” Terry commanded, stomping out his cigar on the gravel beneath their feet. The man’s expression was hard and cold as always. He didn’t bother saying anything else before he walked over to another familiar man across the parking lot.
“Straighten up, would you?” Laura hissed and plucked imaginary dust off Mickey’s already pristine uniform blazer. Her black hair was so tightly slicked back into a bun that Mickey imagined it cut of circulation to her brain. “At least attempt to look presentable.”
Mickey had learned to tune her out and bite his tongue at his mother’s insanity over his eighteen years. Instead, he focused back on his home for the next year.
South River Boys Academy was in the middle of who-the-fuck knows where. There was a singular post office with the only phone booth in town and the rest were only vast stretches of flat, green fields. In one area, the field was disturbed by a coiling snake which was a river that ran through town, separating the Academy from the rest of the suburbia of outskirts Illinois. Twenty minute bike ride? You’d have seen it all.
“Unload your bags,” Laura commanded, snapping Mickey’s attention back to the present. She was eyeing her husband pointedly up and down as Terry spoke animatedly to the headmaster, Mr. Philips. A goddamn grin was on Terry’s face; a rare fucking sight. She lit a cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke, shaking her head. “I swear, sometimes…” Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t deem worthy enough to say out loud
Mickey couldn’t be fucked to question his mother, having learned a long time ago that direct answers were real fucking difficult for them. Their favorite response to uncomfortable issues or their own private thoughts were to wave them away without a single word. To them, ignorance truly was bliss. So, Mickey unloaded his bags out of the car, secretly envying his mother’s cigarette.
The Academy was not a cruel place. No, it was goddamn heaven for academics. If you had the money, then you wanted a spot. Sell an arm, sell a leg; you wanted to be here. Being an alumnus from South River Boys Academy held a certain status and reputation in the world. If you hadn’t been considered for a job in your chosen field before, then the stamp of the Academy’s approval more or less guaranteed success. The double-edged sword, though, was the strict amount of discipline, hard work, and what was deemed as appropriate behavior. Stepping out of line was never truly an option.
Another car came up the long winding driveway to the Academy’s main building. Expensive; just like every other car in sight. Several other families dropping off their boys turned to look at it, but the interest was rather directed at the people stepping out.
If there was one thing Mickey Milkovich had a talent for, it was words. Mostly nasty ones, but he could shapeshift into the perfect student when he wanted to. He could string them together in perfect harmony, make them lovely like wildflowers in the summer or hurt like a jagged knife to the heart, and he could even make them up if he felt the need. Words were always at the tip of his tongue, at the tips of his fingers. Words had never failed him.
Until then.
As his eyes fell upon the new boy, Mickey’s mind became a tangled snare of nonsensical and meaningless words. It was as if all the words he knew couldn’t even come close in describing the sight in front of him. Nothing felt remotely appropriate enough to do the boy justice; a justice that Mickey found he very much wanted to give him.
Red hair; the goddamn sun reached from the top of the boy’s head and stopped down his neck, parted ever so slightly off center. The features of his face were strong, yet soft. Strong and tall cheekbones, as well as a strong jaw. The softness was around the edges and his eyes. He carried himself proudly, as if he knew who he was and expected others to know as well. However, there was shadow of timidness by the way his eyes never settled while he observed at the Academy’s main building.
The headmaster, Mr. Philips, had excused himself and went to greet the newcomer accompanied by his family. The boy’s parents were standing equally as tall and proud with a self-assured confidence, which the boy appeared to lack the arrogance of. They smiled down their noses at the headmaster who shook their hands and gestured towards the school with pride. The boy smiled and nodded politely along with his mother’s hand attached to his shoulder. Matters were made worse for Mickey when the group moved towards the Milkovich family.
Fuck.
“Mr. Milkovich, may I present to you Ian Gallagher,” Mr. Philips announced with a poised smile. “Mr. Gallagher, this is Mickey Milkovich, a carrier of legacy amongst the Academy’s extensive history, as well as one of our top students and, I might add, our resident writer. I extend my congratulations on your piece in The Times, Mr. Milkovich. Quite thought provoking.”
Mickey scratched his eyebrow, if not only to stop himself from staring at the boy in front of him uninterrupted for too long. “Thank you, sir.”
“I will task you, Mr. Milkovich, in welcoming our new member and see to that he feels at home.”
Mickey wanted to protest, but he couldn’t get out a fucking word before the man continued yapping. However, Mr. Philips might as well not have said a word.
He tried hard not to seem too hypnotized by Ian Gallagher, to at least pretend to follow the conversation that was taking place around them. Yet, from the glances he allowed himself at the red-haired boy, all he could think about was the particular shade of the Ian’s eyes. Green, but not startling, yet not dull. Nothing about Ian Gallagher seemed dull. Not his eyes, not his hair, not his nose, nor his lips. Mickey wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the boy had been sculpted by ancient Romans. Soft, hard, edge, and curve. Humor in his eyes.
As Mickey had been trying his best not to stare, Ian Gallagher had been doing the complete fucking opposite. A normal individual would have looked away if they were caught looking for too long. Ian did not. His eyes wandered up and down from person to person as if nothing could ever hinder him in doing as he pleased. All the while, the faintest of smiles played upon his lips that told Elliot that he found it all amusing, if not interesting.
“And I will entrust your son in the hands of Mr. Milkovich. Despite them being a year apart, I am sure the guidance of the older Mr. Milkovich will do him well. He will make an excellent roommate during this first year.”
Mickey snapped out of his own thoughts. “But, sir, what about Colin Carter?”
A brief crack in Mr. Philips’ otherwise composed expression told Mickey everything he needed to know. As if to ensure no damage had been made by the mention, he turned to the parents. “Mr. Carter has decided to take a sabbatical. His father runs a profitable business and wished for his son to learn how to operate it. An admirable act on Mr. Carter’s part, such a sacrifice.”
“Indeed,” Mr Milkovich agreed with a thoughtful nod. Such a fucking act, Mickey thought to himself. Nobody knew his parents better than him.
Mr. Gallagher held out a hand to the headmaster. “I trust you to take care of our son, Mr. Philips, and to ensure further development for him to reach his full potential. His future holds a lot and he needs to be prepared for all it.”
“Of course, Mr. Gallagher,” Mr. Philips responded ardently. “The Academy always prepares the boys well.”
The two families separated again to say their own private goodbyes. While Mrs. Milkovich doted on her son, smoothing his black hair in an attempt for it to remain somewhat controlled, Mickey could not help himself to glance at the newcomer. Ian Gallagher was in the same position as himself, being brushed and straightened by his mother while his father watched with eyes that expected to be impressed.
Once the cars started to disappear back down the long driveway, everything began routinely as it always did on the first day. The prefects who were designated guides for the first years stood at the main building entrance with the registry in hand to yell out names. Those who returned to the Academy for another year did as Mickey did and hauled their bags to the dorms.
The dorm building was essentially rooms upon identical rooms stacked over four floors. There were two of everything: beds, desks, wardrobes, nightstands, and shelves. The only exceptions were the singular windows in the middle of the rooms. Most of them didn’t open anymore, though some could be coaxed with a knife and some oil taken from the kitchens. Mickey, who had developed the filthy habit of smoking, had learned from the older students the best ways to hide the smell. The key factor? A window that fucking opened.
A suitcase slammed against the floorboards and Ian Gallagher reviewed the room with his continuously amused look. “Lovely. They don’t splurge on the décor here, do they?”
Mickey turned back to his mission of getting the window to slide open. Normally, he would have replied with something witty or sarcastic. He could have even been polite just for the sake of it, but words were stuck in his throat. If that was the state he would be in for the next ten months, maybe it would be better to demand a new roommate already. However, Mickey knew he had no leg to stand on considering his hard-earned reputation of being reliable and Mr. Philips obvious confidence in him to impress the Gallaghers. There was also the pinch of jealousy accompanying the thought of Ian Gallagher staying anywhere else to take into account.
“Who is this Colin Carter that I have to thank for this bed?” The boy asked from the edge of the unclaimed bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey could see him slightly test out the springs of the mattress.
“My roommate,” Mickey forced himself to answer, but corrected himself. “Previous roommate.”
“What happened to him?”
“The fuck should I know? Sabbatical. Ain’t that what Mr. Philips said?”
Ian tilted his head with a knowing look. “You don’t believe that. Don’t deny it. I saw your reaction.”
Mickey stopped his attempt at forcing up the window for a brief moment. He cursed his fucking eyebrows. They couldn’t keep secrets for shit.
Ian Gallagher spoke again, coming to lean against the wall with narrowed eyes. “No need to tell me if you don’t want to, but maybe you could tell me why you’re assaulting the window with a letter opener?”
Mickey allowed himself to once over his new roommate and found himself just as startled as the first time. Hopefully, that was another side effect that would soon wear off. “You smoke?”
Ian shook his head.
“Then, trust me. This needs to fuckin’ open.”