Gallavich Things

He kept sneaking glances over at Ian's profile, where he sat in the passenger side as Mickey drove them closer to the state line. The low murmur of the staticky old radio and the rush of passing traffic had been the soundtrack to their trip so far. But the silence between them felt comfortable, earned.

Not long ago Mickey had been sure he'd never truly find peace with himself and with what he wanted. His desires had always felt like a death sentence, an adrenaline charged dalliance that was somehow so much more irresistible because it was dangerous. 

But there was no real threat here, just the two of them and the open road, in the same van where everything changed. Ian wasn't exactly happy about Mickey doing a drug run when he was still on probation, but he'd zipped it pretty quick when Mickey had asked him to come with.

Though neither of them would say the words, they were both acutely aware they'd take any opportunity to be together. They were so few and far between.

Mickey tapped his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel as he shot another glance at Ian in his peripheral. The tiniest smile had been playing at the edges of the younger boy's lip practically from the second he'd gotten into the van.

It felt like an escape. 

It was merely a twenty-four-hour drug run out of state and back. Mickey was delivering some meth that Terry owed an old gang contact. Relatively low stakes considering what Mickey had grown up around. So in its own sad, twisted way, it kinda felt like a vacation. 

Maybe if Mickey let his mind wander just enough he could pretend he was just taking the boy he liked for a night out of town. He could pretend they were some kind of couple who were allowed simple pleasures and peaceful mundanity.

Yet despite the wistful path his thoughts had taken, there was a part of Mickey that was excited about the job. He'd never say anything about it to Ian, because Ian wouldn't approve and he certainly wouldn't get it. But when Terry’s probation officer had had to rearrange a meeting and so he’d asked Mickey to do the job in his stead, Mickey had felt proud.

He could've asked Colin, or Iggy, or Jamie, or Joey, maybe even Uncle Ronnie. Hell, he could’ve rearranged the job altogether. But he'd told Mickey to do it. Like it was a foregone conclusion, like it should be obvious that Mickey was the one to be trusted with it.

Before Ian, Mickey would have been bursting with pride. He wouldn't have let his brothers hear the end of it. He would have taken it as some proof that his father could maybe see something in him worth keeping around. God knows Mickey had emulated the man long enough.

But, because Mickey had Ian now, even if in only the loosest meaning of the word, the pride tasted bittersweet. Ian served as a reminder that Terry would never really be proud of Mickey. His father would never love him if he ever really knew him at all. Sometimes that was still hard to take.

Mickey had known for a long time that Terry was a heartless but powerful man. And Mickey had strived to make him proud, because he knew it was the closest he'd ever get to affection. It was a hard mentality to shake.

But Ian looked at Mickey like he was worth something. Ian told him he could want things for himself, do what he wanted, and not just what his father wanted of him. It was a nice thought, even if it still felt more like a naive fantasy.

When they were alone together though, Mickey was finding it easier and easier to let himself dream.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” he asked, before his thoughts spiralled further.

“Y’know I’ve never been outside Chicago,” Ian shared. He didn't turn to meet Mickey’s eyes, but his hand slid across the centre console to rest atop Mickey’s knee.

His breath stuttered slightly. His instinct was to tense, to shake him off. But there was nobody here to call them on it, no one around to make Mickey feel bad for the things that made him feel good. 

“Not like we're gonna be doin’ any sightseeing.” He shrugged, and was hyperaware of the heat of Ian’s hand on his thigh.

It all felt so achingly domestic.

“Okay, Mick,” Ian murmured.

It was that same tone of voice he always used. The words were almost dismissive, but the delivery was fond, mildly amused, maybe exasperated. It was like he was telling Mickey that he could see right through him.

Nobody had ever really seen Mickey before Ian.

The job was simple. Ian stayed in the van. Mickey made the drop-off. And they spent the night banging in the back of the van they'd parked up outside a McDonald’s. 

Because despite all the warm, messy feelings Mickey had inside, he didn't know the first thing about romance. And even if deep down he knew he wanted to try, he didn't want to get Ian's hopes up. Ian was a gold-hearted boy who deserved more than Mickey could give him. He deserved someone who was free to be with him in a way that mattered. And no matter how much Mickey often wished he could be that someone, just like everything else Mickey had ever wanted, it just wasn't in the cards for them.

But Ian didn't seem to mind. Despite the lavish gifts and swanky hotel rooms that Mickey knew Ian had received from other suitors, Ian’s smile was bright and real as they snuggled down together on a makeshift bed of blankets in the back of the van. 

Ian had always shown Mickey more care than he knew what to do with. He'd hold his hand. He'd kiss his neck. He'd make eye contact. He'd smile in a way that felt like it was a secret shared between them. And sometimes, before he could stop himself, Mickey would find himself smiling back.

And despite Mickey breaking his own rule by planting one on Ian during their botched burglary attempt, Ian still respected his boundaries enough to not initiate more kisses. They fucked face to face, their breaths heated their air between them. Ian’s sweat slick skin was dusted in constellation freckles, his eyes were murky green like a forest on a rainy night.

He was beautiful. And Mickey wanted to kiss him.

It shouldn't have still felt like a big deal. He’d done it before after all. But it did. And so he didn't.

But Mickey’s heart stopped in his chest, and his eyes stung with tears. Because when they were done, and Ian was wrapped around his back to sleep, Mickey felt truly safe with another person for the first time in his entire life. Just the two of them in this place where no one knew them, far away from those who wished them harm.

Mickey tangled their fingers together over his own chest. And as Ian was drifting off to slumber, not fully cognisant of what he was saying, he murmured “love you”, like it wasn't even a revelation.

Mickey didn't sleep a wink.

When morning came the blaring sound of traffic startled Ian awake. Mickey disentangled himself from Ian’s embrace, and once they were both dressed he pushed open the double doors of the van.

The McDonald’s was starting to get busy, no doubt full of commuters desperate for cheap coffees and McMuffins. They sat on the edge of the van and shared a cigarette as the world passed them by. So many people were going about the hustle and bustle of their own lives, and none of them paid them so much as a glance.

And perhaps it was that realization that made him brave. Maybe it was the knowledge that they were far away from anyone who knew them. Maybe he was emboldened by Ian’s words that he wasn't even sure Ian knew he'd said. But with one last drag he stubbed out the cigarette, and grabbed Ian’s face in both hands.

And then he kissed him. Just a short thing, chaste, barely a peck. But it was in front of God, and Ronald McDonald, and at least half a dozen business men in their well-pressed suits.

“Breakfast’s on me,” he said with more bravado than he felt. 

His cheeks reddened and he scratched at the back of his neck. Ian merely gaped at him, but his eyes danced with joy.

Maybe there was another version of his life where Mickey could have the things he wanted. But for now, he would take what he could get. And maybe next time he brought Ian out on a run, they'd get a hotel room. They'd order room service.