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Broken glass littered the dinghy linoleum floor of the Gallagher kitchen. Blood painted the faded refrigerator with droplets of deep red. Carl kicked his shoe through the jagged shards of glass, smiling when they crackled beneath his feet.
The door creaked open and he turned to find Mickey Milkovich staring at the mess splayed across the room. “What the fuck happened in here?” he cursed.
“Frank was trying to jack money off of Debbie again. Ian flipped out and they got into it,” Carl shrugged, kicking a particularly large piece of glass towards Mickey.
“Whose blood is everywhere?” Mickey asked anxiously. He tilted his head, trying to get a better look around the room, his eyes seeking out the familiar flash of red he had come to love.
“It’s mostly Ian’s. Frank head-butted him again, he always goes for the head-butt,” Debbie announced, hurrying into the room with a broom in her hands. Mickey bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting.
“I don’t know why Ian didn’t just karate chop him,” Carl said, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. If he knew how to karate chop someone the way that Ian did, he’d whip that shit out all the time.
“I was standing right next to him holding Liam. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt one of us,” Debbie explained, pushing Carl aside.
“But Ian always rolls over for Frank, and he could totally take him. He always beats the shit out of Lip when they fight,” he mentioned, looking ridiculously frustrated. Because in Carl’s mind, you fought back. It didn’t matter who was coming at you or how big they were, you fought back.
Shoving a rag into his hands, Debbie glared at the younger boy. “Lip said to clean the blood off of the refrigerator,” she snapped, looking entirely fed up with the situation. Fiona was working at some club for the night and that meant that Debbie would have to deal with the cleaning situation herself. It’s not like any of the boys were going to volunteer.
“Where is he right now?” Mickey asked. “Ian,” he clarified.
“Upstairs with Lip,” Carl said, studying the cloth in his hands critically. After a moment he shrugged and began to wipe away the hardening blood, smearing it into a pinkish hue.
Mickey dodged as much of the glass as he could as he made his way towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. When his footsteps faded the kitchen was quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of Debbie sweeping.
“How come Frank only ever hits Ian?” Carl wondered quietly, his voice sounding loud as it pierced the through the heavy silence.
“I don’t know. Maybe because he knows that Ian isn’t his biological son,” Debbie answered.
“But he used to pick on him and stuff before we found that out. I’ve never seen him treat Lip that way, even when Lip talks back,” he noted.
Debbie paused for a moment, considering her brother’s words. “I guess he just doesn’t like Ian,” she bit her lip hesitantly. “He’s Frank. Fiona says we’re not supposed to try and make sense of anything he does,” she added more confidently.
“Doesn’t seem fair,” he muttered, moving the cloth back and forth half-heartedly.
“It’s not,” she whispered back. She looked down at the ground, willing herself to think of what Fiona would say or do. “There’s some bleach underneath the sink upstairs. Go get it and mix it with some water. It’ll work better on the blood,” she finally said.
“Whatever,” he sighed.
Dropping the rag right onto the floor, Carl jogged towards the stairs. As he trudged up the steps he could hear music coming from Lip’s room. When he reached the hallway he saw that door to the room he shared with Ian was slightly opened.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him!” Mickey yelled. Carl quietly shuffled towards the muffled voices and peered inside of the room.
Ian was sitting on his bed wearing no shirt and holding a frozen package of vegetables against his face. There was dried blood crusted near his nose and against the knuckles of his right hand. Mickey was standing in front of him, rocking on the heels of his feet and clenching his fists angrily.
“Mick, come on. Don’t worry about Frank right now,” Ian sighed, reaching out and grabbing the hem of his shirt. He pulled him forward, parting his legs so that Mickey could stand between them.
“I’m going to kill him,” Mickey repeated, his voice low and serious.
Carl had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from shrieking when Mickey brushed his fingers through Ian’s hair. The gesture was affectionate and tender, and everything that Mickey Milkovich was not. He stroked the red locks gently, tugging at them until Ian tilted his head back to look up.
They shared an intense gaze that made Carl’s skin craw uncomfortably, because he knew this was the kind of moment no one else was meant to see. “Just stay with me for right now, okay?” Ian breathed.
“Fine, but the next time I see that piece of shit, I’m gonna break his fucking face,” he relented. He moved his hand carefully, stroking his thumb down the side of Ian’s face.
“I’m okay,” Ian said, answering Mickey’s unasked question. Leaning down, the older boy pressed a kiss to the side of his head.
Carl felt his resolve fade away and the reflexive need to say exactly what was on his mind rose in his throat like bile. “Does this mean you are gay?” Carl asked, opening the door fully and revealing himself.
“Jesus Christ Carl!” Ian groaned. Mickey flinched away from the redhead, but still hovered close by. He looked at Carl with wide, uncertain eyes. “You can’t just spy on people,” Ian added.
“Jimmy told me you weren’t gay after that whole thing with his dad’s dick being in your mouth. But I knew that wasn’t a real saying!” he rambled.
Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered.
“Whoa, wait a second. When was someone else’s dick in your mouth Gallagher?” Mickey snapped, glaring accusingly.
“When Ned slept over,” Carl answered.
“When Ned slept over?” he repeated, looking dangerously close to breaking something.
“Would you calm the fuck down? It was months ago, okay? And we didn’t do anything, it was all a big misunderstanding,” Ian said, standing up and tossing the frozen peas onto his bed.
“Better have been,” he mumbled.
“You’ve sucked Mickey’s dick too, haven’t you?” Carl interjected.
“Shit. Look Carl, about this whole gay thing…” Ian began, looking unsure of how he could explain away the situation.
Mickey watched him struggle for words of denial or explanation and shook his head knowingly. “You tell anyone and I’ll rip your fingers off one by one and shove them down your throat until you choke to death, got it?” he threatened.
Carl sucked in a breath and grinned widely. “Cool,” he exhaled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I have a few questions though,” he continued.
“Fuck off. I’m not talking to you about gay sex. Go watch porn like a normal budding psychopath,” Ian rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And get outta here,” he added, pushing him towards the door.
“I’ve already done that! Now I have even more questions,” he complained as Ian shoved him into the hallway and closed the door.
“Your family is so fucking weird man,” Mickey snorted.
“Do you actually like the taste of dicks? What do they taste like?” he called through the door.
Ian huffed out a loud laugh, rolling his eyes. “You have no idea,” he told Mickey honestly.
Tapping his fingers against the hollow door, Carl continued to yell out question after question. He could hear Debbie yelling for him to get back downstairs and help clean, but honestly his mind was reeling. All of a sudden two people, who he had previously thought to be completely straight, were secretly fucking each other. It made him wonder if there were any other dirty little secrets lingering throughout his family. It also made him kind of hungry.
. . .
It’s late when Mickey finally nudges Ian into the bathroom, sidestepping Carl and his endless word vomit. Shutting the door, he pushes the redhead towards the sink until he rests his lower back against it, looking at Mickey expectantly.
“You did a pretty shit job of cleaning yourself off man,” he snorted, trapping Ian with his arms.
“Wasn’t really my priority,” he smirked.
Reaching across the sink, Mickey grabbed a cloth and wet it under the faucet. “What was your priority then, huh? Letting Frank smack you around?”
“Fuck you,” Ian snapped, pushing against him to try and move away.
“Hey, just wait, okay?” Mickey splayed a hand against his chest and pressed against him gently. “Why do you let him jerk you around?” he asked.
“Why do you let your date beat the shit out of you?” he countered.
“Because my dad can and will kill me. Frank’s a fucking weasel and you could take him easy.” He raised his eyebrows challengingly, daring Ian to argue.
“It’s not- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain,” he mumbled. “Whatever, I’m a wimp. I don’t care Mickey,” he said, looking away bitterly.
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. Christ, forgive me for not liking it when you get fucked up for no reason,” he explained, dabbing the cloth against Ian’s face.
“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like he does it often,” he shrugged.
Mickey wasn’t happy with that answer. Setting his jaw, he used his free hand to grip Ian’s chin and hold it in place. “Look at me,” he said seriously. “No more, you got that? No more letting him or anyone else hurt you. Fight back or I’m gonna have to start killing people, and we both know that aint gonna end well.”
“Afraid you’ll end up back in jail and have to do all the fucking again?” Ian teased, trying to ease the tension.
“Nah man, just don’t wanna have to look at you pathetic puppy eyes through bullet proof glass again,” he scoffed.
“Who says I’d visit you?” he grinned.
Swiping the cloth extra roughly across his face, Mickey smirked. “You’d fucking visit me asshole. If I kill for you, you better fucking visit me,” he said.
“Yeah, alright,” Ian laughed. He caught Mickey’s wrist in his hand and guided it to rest on the sink. Then, he leaned down and kissed his lips softly. Swiping his tongue along Ian’s bottom lip, Mickey urged him to deepen the kiss. They pushed and pulled against each other until they were both panting for breath.
“I would you know,” Mickey exhaled. “Kill for you…” he clarified, his voice low and raw.
Ian swallowed hard, locking eyes with the man in front of him. He drank in the blue of his eyes and the way he chewed at his lips anxiously. “I know,” he nodded.
They stared at each other for a moment longer before leaning in again. Their lips connected and the rest of the world faded away.