Pairing: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 20,087 (total: 203,074)
Summary: In the summer of 1975, Mickey Milkovich is released from Beckman Correctional in California after a seven year prison sentence. Along with his cousin, Sandy - he’s set to make the long road trip from Los Angeles back to this hometown of Chicago. On the way though, the pair pick up a hitchhiker who teaches Mickey that life on the outside has changed and the road home is never easy.
click here to read chapter 22 or click here to start at the beginning
The amount of effort ficwriter does in order to write a fic. "nah the story doesn't need to be that accurate it's just a fic I'm not getting any money out of it" and then as they keep writing and posting their browse history is something like "moon calendar in 1981"
Chapter Summary: Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
Summary: Paroled to a small town in Iowa, Mickey Milkovich is lost, lonely, and under the watchful eye of his parole officer who arranges to employ him as a house painter. His first big job? A small, decrepit Catholic Church.
Length: 5.2k
Rating: Explicit (eventually)
read here from the beginning
thank you to my lovely beta @gallawitchxx for helping me out with this one!
okay so it's the morning after their first night. mickey’s tooling around in the kitchen making pancakes when lil mickey wanders in, groggy and grumpy but undeniably less tense after a night to shut off and reset his brain.
“where’s ian.”
mickey flips a pancake. “which one.”
“mine.”
when mickey glances up, he can see how the word choice is landing in his younger self - that he's hearing what he just said. the implications of it. but, “sleepin’ still.” because he's not gonna risk bringing any more attention to it.
lil mickey nods. glances around the kitchen. is probably continuing to take it all in with a doubtful eye. the contrast of their childhood homes and this fucking place. then, "yours?"
mickey's surprised by the continuation. but, "out on a run."
it seems to spark a little hint of recognition in his younger self, his gaze flicking away as he rubs at his eyebrow. "still does that, huh..." it's fond.
mickey flips a pancake. steps away to grab a mug from the cupboard - passing over the hand-painted one from franny for discrepancy purposes. he fills it and sets it in front of one of the stools on the other side of the island, hoping his younger self will take the fucking hint. that he'll stop hovering and being awkward because it's literally just him. and like, yeah he and ian talked about not fucking with the past, but maybe he can kickstart his energy-drink-to-coffee transition a little earlier in life.
lil mickey does get the hint and does transfer his weirdness to the stool in front of the stove. and eventually the floorboards are creaking and lil ian is appearing, shuffling sleepily into the kitchen and jesus christ that bedhead. he plops into the seat next to lil mickey. reaches out blindly for the mug that gets set in front of him (time traveling must take a lot out of a guy). and the only thing that gets him to open his eyes is older mickey tsking - his mumbled "christ, red" as he uses the momentum to mess his fingers through all that bedhead until it starts to resemble something decent again because jesus...opie taylor-lookin' ass.
it's the first time older mickey really truly feels the disconnect. the impact of ten years. because by now, fixing his husband's ridiculous hair is second nature, but on the other side of the island baby ian is having a fucking MOMENT. like...visibly. like...freezing up, those big green eyes wide with shock as they flick up to lock onto mickey, his cheeks reddening by the second.
and... okay yeah. mickey gets it. even as an accident, that was an insane amount of affection compared to the nonexistent amount his younger self gives ian now, so. oops?
and of course, it's at this moment that older ian decides to show up, stepping through the front door in all his sweaty, heavy-breathed, post-run glory, apparently too caught up in his endorphin high to feel the two sets of milkovich eyes snapping onto him - how one stays just glued the fuck on, his husband's turning away to fish his water bottle out of the fridge for him because mickey can already see how baby ian is plopping down off the stool and immediately making a B-line to his older self with a hushed and still blushy "i need to talk to you." like his whole little world has been rocked by something as normal as fingers through his hair and-
big ian pulls that wary, confused glance back and forth between his younger self and his husband as he grabs the water bottle from him, but he knows better than to question it. probably picks up on the redness in those cheeks and clocks it immediately from his teenage years and holy shit, the way baby mickey is just staring in the background, mouth open a little as he follows the ians' quick movement toward the back room, even turning in his stool to soak in the last of it - like he can't tear his eyes away from older ian's post-run body...
the door slams. baby mickey turns. looks up at older mickey without a word, because no words are fucking needed, frankly.
older mickey knows exactly what's running through his brain right now. "Uh huh." just a little confirmation.
I think that was part of the appeal of the clothes in the film; they all looked lived-in and authentic. If they hadn’t it just wouldn’t have worked as well as it did. – Rachael Fleming, Trainspotting costume designer
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
izzy806
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
