#I am now collecting coffee ground and I hope it will stink the cat away

[yurionice-secretsanta]

To  @cadencekismet From @vilchan

Purrhaps Not Today

Yuri kicks open the door of the animal shelter and stomps off the snow stuck under the soles of his leopard print vans. An elderly couple and the girl behind the counter stare at him, pen held motionless in the air over a form of some sorts. Yuri lifts his chin and raises an eyebrow, squinting in that way Mila once described as ‘a delinquent waiting in line to pay for a carton of milk’.

The elderly couple startle a little and are quick to huddle closer together, mumbling under their breath. The girl behind the counter—who can’t be older than twenty—raises an unimpressed eyebrow in return, holding his stare for a moment before she turns back to the couple and points her pen on the next clause to explain.

The wall behind her is covered by posters of cats in the arms of smiling children and dogs leaping after frisbees or tennis balls, with titles like ‘Become someone’s forever home now’ and ‘Make a difference today’. She doesn’t quite fit in with the vibrantly coloured backgrounds and photoshopped faces—on the contrary her messy bun is lopsided and coming apart at the seams, her t-shirt wrinkled and covered in dog hair from the looks of it, and there are not one, but three coffee mugs next to a computer who looks as if it’s been running since before he was born. If it weren’t for the customer friendly smile and the easy flow of her speech as she informs the couple about the different options they have, Yuri would’ve easily mistaken her for one of the many stressed college students he sees in front of him in line at the 24-hour open supermarket, arms full of comfort food, painkillers and coffee grains.

Two waiting chairs and a table take up most of the space in the small room. Yuri ignores them and leans against the wall, skimming the pamphlets spread out on the table briefly before his attention wilts and his fingertips start itching. Hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, he twists a tiger shaped keychain around his pinky.

The elderly couple give him a wide berth on their way out, and the pleasant smile from the girl slips once the door shuts. She looks him up and down, dark eyebrows pinched together—Yuri is long used to stink eyes, it comes with the territory of being a child prodigy who also spent his teens being a total asshole, but an animal shelter wasn’t the place he expected to meet one.

«Can I help you?»

He plants his elbows on the counter, chews thoughtfully on his chewing gum as he skims the mess of papers and loose documents strewn across the desk and observes her idly as the girl’s lips purses themselves into a frown as she waits. Her name tag reads ‘Natalya’.

«I wanna volunteer,» he says, tilting his head slightly to the side so his hair falls away from his eyes. 

Not what she was expecting, he could tell. A moment passes in which she just stares at him, stone faced with a disbelieving tilt to her mouth. Her eyes narrow and she looks him up and down again, this time with none of the welcoming hospitality she showed the couple from before. Yuri clenches his jaw, considering for just a moment to leave if she won’t take him seriously—but back home is an empty apartment and the looming threat of a phone call from his grandpa where he’ll again have to make his uneventful days sound healthy and engaging.

«Do you have any prior experience volunteering?»

«No.»

«Any experience handling animals?»

«I had a cat,» he replies, fingers twisting and untwisting around the keychain.

Natalya rummages through a drawer, curses quietly when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for and pulls out another. Eventually she slides a form over to him, the paper slightly crinkled and with what looks like coffee stains in the corner.

«You don’t get a lot of volunteers, do you?» He asks, mostly out of curiosity, but also to see that annoyed twitch in her expression.

She makes the kind of face Yuri over the years has learned to recognize as a warning; she pulls the form back over the counter and Yuri has to yank it back, banging his hand against the polished wood in the process. A mutual glare is shared before Yuri snatches a dog face-printed pen from a cup next to his elbow and stalks back to the chairs. He can feel the force of her glowering as he discards the top and lets it fall to the ground.

He takes his time reading through the document, paying extra attention to the clause in which they promise not to divulge personal information like his phone number or email; Yakov had at least taught him that much. He scrawls down his name, address and contact information. He writes down his date of birth and age, and for once it doesn’t make him feel old to write down 24 years old.

He ticks off ‘walk dogs’, ‘shelter care’ and ‘cat attendant’ when they ask what types of volunteer work he’s interested in, and after a moment of hesitation he ticks off the box next to ‘other’ as well, for good measure.

A question about when he’ll be available comes up, just to estimate the amount of time he’ll be able to devote. He checks off the box saying ‘at least five hours a week’, but beneath it he scrawls ‘anytime’.

Natalya looks up from her paperwork as he slides the form back to her, their gazes locked in a steely staring contest as they both hold onto the form. 

«We’ll be in touch,» she says briskly and goes back to her paperwork, apparently done with him. Yuri bites the inside of his cheek and wonders for a brief moment if this is how Yakov felt all those years. Maybe he should send him a gift basket for his birthday.

He turns on his heel and marches out, making sure to slam the door just as hard on his way out as he did on his way in. 

***

“Yurotchka. It’s been too long since your last call.”

Yuri looks down briefly and his grip around the phone tightens; beneath the chiding gruffness is worry, and he hates it when his grandpa worries.

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. How’s your back? The weather must still be cold in Moscow.”

His grandpa barks out a laugh at that. “My back is fine—it’s you I worry about. Are you eating well?”

“Of course. …Actually, I’m thinking about volunteering at a shelter. Just part time, but it’ll get me out of the apartment at least.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end and Yuri has his lip held between his teeth, holding his breath because this is another kind of nervous than what he’s used to. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” his grandpa says, calm and collected where he is not, and Yuri can finally breathe again.

***

A week later he’s called in for a basic introduction on how the shelter operates. It’s not Natalya who shows him around, but an older man with greying hair, big glasses and worn leather shoes who introduces himself as Josef. Yuri pays rapt attention as he’s given a tour of the shelter, informed about the different procedures and what volunteering entails. When he asks how many other volunteers they have, Jakob rubs his neck and chuckles awkwardly.

“There haven’t been many volunteers except Talya, lately. I’m the owner and deal with most of the paperwork, while she handles the animals and reception along with some college students who drop by once a week or so.”

Jakob looks at Yuri through those comically big glasses, and for a moment it’s like being fifteen again with one skate on the ice and Yakov’s steady hand on his shoulder just before a competition, both to ground him and to give him that extra push. Yuri recognizes very well that hopeful, expectant expression.

“I guess that means I’ll have plenty to do, then,” he says and turns on his heel. Once he stepped out on the ice he never looked back at Yakov, and he doesn’t look back at Josef either. Eyes forward. “The cages are next, right?”

Deep in his pocket, the keychain is wound tightly around his pinkie.

***

 «I wasn’t sure you were gonna show up,» Natalya says as the door slams shut behind him. She doesn’t sound happily surprised.

Yuri holds back an eye roll and twists his hair up into a ponytail. She watches stoically from the counter with only one coffee cup this time—still steaming. Hopefully she isn’t one of those people who get grouchier with more caffeine.

«Well, here I am,» he says, «What do you need me to do?»

She waves him along to the door behind the counter which he already knows will lead to the back rooms with the animals.

The first back room is for the dogs, and they all perk up when they enter, barking and panting for attention like a certain poodle he’s glad is currently on another continent. Natalya tries to shush some of the barking and leads him quickly past the cages—stopping only to ruffle the ears of a moping golden retriever who wags weakly with his tail in response.

“I’ve already cleaned the dog cages, so you take the cat ones. Someone set up an adoption meeting in—” She glances briefly at her locked phone screen, “—thirty minutes, so I’ll do one cage for you to see before you’re on your own.»

The cat room has thirty cages lining the walls and within are cats of all colors and shapes. Some stay curled up on their bedding and will barely turn an ear in their direction, while others get up on their hind legs and wail like sirens for attention. 

A siberian with long, smokey grey fur pushes their face close to the bars and blinks up at him. Yuri reaches out to let them sniff his hand—

«I wouldn’t do that if I were you,» Natalya comments drily from behind his shoulder. «She likes to act all innocent, but that one’s got some claws on her.»

Yuri has half a mind to ignore her, but the cat’s tiny paws are indeed armed with a set of sharp claws she methodically digs in and out of the bedding with her blue eyes firmly fixed on him. Better let scheming cats lie.

«What’s her name?» He asks. The finger he moves from side to side in front of her cage must either smell like dead mice or look suspiciously like a red dot, because her eyes follow it with searing focus.

«Belle.» Her tone is clipped and dismissive and if she had pigtails Yuri would have to fight back the impulsive need to tug on them. But, he reminds himself, she does not have pigtails and therefore he should not tug on them. That would be immature and petty.

Natalya gives him a quick rundown; pull out, shake, laundry basket, fold and repeat. A dry ‘good luck’ later and he’s on his own.

Cleaning cages is—unexpectedly—a shitty job. It’s smelly, moist, tedious and it’ll take forever to get through just one row. At the pace he’s holding it’ll take at least another hour before he’s anywhere close to finished, but the thing is…

Yuri kinda likes it. 

Except for the smell and the symphony of thirty cats crying out for food, Yuri really doesn’t mind the task. Every cage comes with a new furry face, and it feels good to use his body for physical work again; his height is for once an advantage instead of a pain and saves him the effort of pulling out the ladder Natalya pointed out for him earlier.

Around the time he reaches the halfway point, Natalya pokes her head in to check on him. 

«Things alright in here?» She asks, sounding remarkably, almost friendly. Just a tad less grouchy and he might even give her credit for trying. «I’m gonna go for a walk with the dogs. You good to stay here for another hour?»

Yuri nods, doing his best to keep his expression from screaming ‘my schedule is a black void of nothingness with the exception of the weekly calls to my grandpa’. Every now and then he gets a text from Yakov reminding him to eat a minimum of two meals a day and get something between eight to ten hours of sleep, but other than that his time is his to do with as he pleases. 

«If someone rings the bell, just tell them to come back some other time.»

Yuri raises an eyebrow. «And if I can actually help them?»

She looks him dead in the eye. «Don’t. Most likely they want more info about the adoption process or they want to schedule an adoption meeting—you’ve been trained for neither. Just tell them to come back. If they’re serious, they will.»

Her semi-friendly tone is all but gone as she observes him. The way her gaze lingers on his leopard printed vans and the bold print of his hoodie reminds him of Lilia when he first met her—but unlike Lilia who always fought to bring out the potential she saw in him, Natalya looks more like she’d like to see him reduced to dirt than anything else. 

She stares at him and some old, stubborn part of him wants to bite back, call her a hag and stomp off somewhere to stew until she comes creeping back. But that tactic never really worked with Mila or Lilia or Victor, and imagining the faces of his grandpa or Yuuko if they saw him behave like a literal fifteen-year old just… doesn’t appeal to him.

«Fine,» he says, «But chasing them away doesn’t sound as the best tactic if you want them to come back.»

And in true fifteen-year old fashion, Natalya glares at him with the power of a thousand burning suns and slams the door—or, well, more like shuts it firmly to not scare the animals, but the intent is there.

A drawn out, raspy meow from Belle reminds him of the dirty bedding he’s holding and what he should be doing with it.

«Yuuko better be feeling fucking proud right now,» he grumbles and whips it once, twice; successfully transferring a ton of cat hairs from the bedding onto his newly washed, black jeans. 

***

Natalya is, in fact, not back within an hour. Yuri finishes up with the cages, and since he’s not allowed to help any clients if they happened to stop by anyways, he waits in the back, mostly out of spite. But fifteen minutes passes, the cats are pacing in their cages and complaining, and she’s still not back, so he refills all of their water bowls and then—after a quick glance at the feeding schedule taped to the wall—he refills their food bowls too.

Josef is the one who finds him thirty minutes later on the ground making funny faces at a dozing tabby who really couldn’t care less. The cats all perk up at the sound of someone entering the room; even Yuri’s lazy tabby meows for attention.

«Ah… I see you’re having fun?» Josef says, absently pressing his knuckles against one of the cages to let one of the cats sniff them. «Have they’ve been out already?»

«What? No. Natalya told me to clean the cages, but they’ve been acting weird ever since I finished.»

«Wow, she sure isn’t going easy on you, giving you the crappiest job first,» he says, and Yuri has to physically ease his hold on the keychain he’s been fiddling with to avoid breaking the chain. In the beginning it could be accounted to a bad mood, but now it’s really starting to look as if she doesn’t want him here. Either Josef doesn’t notice the tight set of his jaw or he chalks it up to the fact that he’s just spent two hours cleaning cages; there’s nothing but a curious tilt to his voice as he continues:

«She didn’t tell you about the socialising? We usually let them out of their cages after cleaning for some playtime. If they were to adopted by a family with kids, for an example, we want them to be fairly used to humans. So we take them out in batches of ten to play.»

At his blank look, Josef waves him up. «I’ll show you.»

Three batches of ten for thirty minutes each; they carry them one by one into a playdate room with boxes of cat toys, water bowls and a cat tree stationed in the corner. Belle scratches him in thanks before she darts out of his grip, tail lifted high and haughty like she owns the place. Even though she’s small in size, Yuri doesn’t miss that some of the other cats shy away from her, so that might very well be the case.

When every cat is safely moved and the exit properly barricaded, Josef gives him a few safety instructions and tells him to yell out if he needs him. Something about paperwork or responsibility or whatever, Yuri had two cats in his lap and tried to secure a third one climbing from his shoulder to his head at the time, and multitasking was never a specialty of his to begin with.

The lazy tabby who didn’t appreciate Yuri’s funny faces earlier is apparently called Rolf. Josef carried him in earlier, and the second he had all paws back on earth he headed for the cat tree, probably to continue his day-long nap with a higher vantage point. A single narrow eyed look and a flick of Belle’s tail as Rolf nears is all it takes to dissuade him from that idea.

Instead he curls up at Yuri’s side and keeps a watchful eye on Belle, tail curled around himself. Yuri’s hand finds its way into his fur almost on its own, and after a tense second in which Rolf contemplates wether protection is worth the ear scritches, he softens and closes his eyes to doze.

«Hmph, coward,» he says, carding his fingers through the soft fur of his neck. «Letting her boss you around like that, where’s your pride?»

Rolf rumbles with a deep, vibrating sound and offers no other response except the lazy curl of a paw.

The cats look happy to do their own thing; dozing on the different levels of the cat tree, sniffing around the water bowls in search of food, snuggling up to him for some attention or just to be petted for a while.

One of the boxes next to the door is filled with cat toys, and especially the younger, more playful cats seem to enjoy chasing after jingling balls and swatting at stuffed mouse toys. Yuri manages to lure some of the lazier cats in the cat tree down by using a plastic fishing rod with a feather at the end of the line, tickling their noses and pulling away when they try to bat at it until they’re leaping from one spot to another with their claws out to catch and kill.

When the first half hour is up, most of the cats aren’t all that happy to be picked up again and placed back in their cages. A new set of scratch marks join their comrades on his arms, courtesy of two worked up cats whom he doesn’t know the names of.

Cute little bastards.

Natalya is having her own playtime with some of the dogs in the other room, wrestling them for a chewy toy and scolding them lightly when they get overeager and jump up on her. 

She hasn’t noticed him yet, so he leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms as he observes. A moment later he realizes that he looks like a moody teenager and plants his arms back at his sides, shuffling his feet a little to rearrange himself.

«I thought you said you’d be back in an hour.»

Her smile slips for a moment and one of the dogs bark triumphantly as he finally manages to steal the chewy toy from her lax grip. Immediately, two of his smaller cage mates leap on him, yipping and shoving their noses beneath him to snatch the toy away for themselves.

Natalya fixes him with a sour look. «I took a longer route and came back twenty minutes ago. What about it?»

«Oh, I don’t know, you could’ve told me?» He says and crosses his arms. «Or you could’ve explained that I was supposed to do the socialising thing after I was finished, instead of leaving me waiting for you to toss me a crumble.»

She snorts, and Yuri scowls. «What, is that too much to ask? I’m here to help, but it doesn’t really look as if you want me to.»

«Yeah, sure, you’re here to help,» she snorts. «Believe it or not, but I’m not gonna waste my time training someone seriously when you’re obviously not taking it seriously.»

«Where is that even coming from? I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me—you’re the one who’s not taking me seriously!»

«Oh, for fucks sake, you’re an olympic champion and my brother has your posters plastered on his walls! You show up here in your flashy clothes with no experience volunteering, and I’m supposed to what? Act as if it’s not a publicity stunt? Sure, you can clean cages and cuddle with cats as much as you want, but at the end of the day you’re gonna make your dramatic return to figure skating next season with a better reputation than Jesus himself. I want nothing to do with it,» she says, looking slightly redder in the face than before. 

It’s Yuri’s turn to snort, and he doesn’t bother to hide the sceptic look on his face. «Who the hell shot your Santa Claus? First off, I’m not going back to skating. Long story short, my injury from the Grand Prix was just the feather to tip the scale; my body’s so busted the doctors won’t allow me to even look at a rink, so that’s a big no. Second, I get three worried phone calls a week from people who want me to get out of my apartment, so I thought doing something nice for the society would be a good start. And also: cats. I really like cats.»

He looks down his nose at her and raises a sharp, blond eyebrow. «Are we done here?»

***

The next morning, Yuri wakes up feeling like piece of shit gone through the drier. His shoulders are sore from leaning into cages all day yesterday, aching in ways he’s grown unaccustomed to after so long away from the ice and the training regime following it. He twinges as he reaches up into the cupboard to retrieve a mug, but he sucks it up; feeling like a piece of shit after coffee is usually better than feeling like a piece of shit prior. Maybe it’s time to pick up a membership at a gym or something. 

The thirty minute long bus ride to the shelter sounds about as tempting as eating the leftover kibble in the dogs’ feeding bowls, but being a no-show after yesterday’s shitshow is absolutely out of the question. Natalya and her entitled opinion can go die in a hole for all he cares, but hell if he’s gonna let her think she’s right about him.

His closet has been forty percent workout clothes and fifty percent tiger stripes and band logos since he turned fourteen, but he fishes out a plain, black hoodie and a pair of white sneakers he’s used maybe two times in his life. Not that the chance of being recognised out on the street was very high to begin with here, but he knows his absence has made the atmosphere among his fans more… turbulent than usual. 

He leaves his apartment with the hood pulled down low and arrives at his bus stop five minutes early. He keeps his earbuds in and his nose buried in his phone for most of the ride, and for once he doesn’t make a ruckus on his way in, instead shutting the door gently behind him.

Natalya looks up, for once not with a frown. Her hair is pulled away from her face with a bandana, and it takes him back to an onsen in a has-been town with nothing to speak off except their broken ace and the people who love him. But unlike Mari, Natalya has none of that easygoing confidence. She looks at him with weariness in her eyes, pen halting in the air and stumbling in its steadfast ‘taptaptap’ against the counter. She looks ready to say something, but makes no move to do so.

«Where do you need me?» He asks, tilting his head to the side in a manner his grandpa would scoff at. It’s a bad habit he hasn’t quite managed to shake since his teens, and an annoying coworker isn’t what’s gonna inspire him to get rid of it. It’ll take a heartfelt apology and a bag of newly baked piroshki to even consider, and Natalya hasn’t even made it halfway.

«Uhm, dogs,» she says, blinking a little to compose herself. «I’ve finished most of their morning walks, but Yoda, Dany and Eloise haven’t been out yet. Take them to—you know that park two blocks from the mall? The one with the little pond and oak trees, right by the dentist office? Take them there.»

Unlike the cats, the dogs’ cages are all marked with their names and are thus easy to find. Yoda is apparently the shi tzu who always greets him with a hoarse ‘bork’ when he passes by his cage. He and Dany, a standard poodle and are two of the older residents well-used to the routine. He fastens leashes to their collars and leads them down the hall to the last cage. Unlike her buddies, Eloise is a bundle of endless energy, constantly pulling at her leash to run ahead and very insistent in where she wants to go.

Except for the occasional jogger and elderly person passing by with sneakily hidden bags of bird seeds, the park is theirs to rule. They keep a leisurely pace so that everyone will have the time to stop and sniff at lampposts, flecks of grass or a bush of interest. Natalya gave him the ok to let Dany loose without a leash if it wasn’t crowded, and she trots diligently a few steps behind him, sometimes slacking off a bit or taking the lead as it suits her.

Yuri’s experience with poodles is limited to Makkachin, and seeing Dany leaping ahead does bring back memories of the countless times Victor had him dog-sit for the weekend whenever he planned to whisk his husband away. But Dany doesn’t jump onto him or bulldoze him down with wet kisses and snouts pressed under his chin like Makkachin. It’s been a while since he though about her, actually. Maybe he should give those two idiots a call later.  

Once everyone has found a spot worthy of their droppings, they head back. On their way in, Yuri holds the door open for a father and his daughter. Between them is a carrier, tightly shut and with a familiar, furry face hiding behind the bars.

“—can’t wait to introduce Ketchup to Billy; do you think they’ll get along? I hope so since…”

Is all he hears of their conversation, even as he turns to watch them leave with Rolf; or Ketchup, as it seems he’ll be known as from now on. Good for him.

Yuri leads the dogs back to their pens and hangs the leashes back on their hooks. He refills their water bowls and spends some time showering a long faced mixed breed with affection.

While he’s been out, Natalya and Josef got started on cleaning the cat cages and are almost finished by the time he pokes his head through the door.

«Ah, there you are, Yura. Could you just get started on the socialising while we finish up here?» Josef asks.

Natalya has her back to him, shoulders tense and hunched. Josef hands her some clean bedding, and their gazes meet for a split second across her shoulder before she breaks it off.

***

They meet in the playroom with the eyes of ten cats on them. Belle has finally accepted his existence and even lets he pet her; the first touch to her furry, little head is hesitant and careful, ready to pull away at any sign of hostility. She stares at him as he pets in slow, light movements, and then her head sinks back to the floor and her eyes close slowly.

Yuri holds his breath, almost moved to tears at the display of tolerance trust.

Natalya joins him on the floor with her back to the wall, and she is immediately surrounded. One cat comes out victorious and settles on her lap, purring loud enough for him to hear six feet away. Two others settle down on each side of her thighs, pressed close to steal some of her warmth.

They sit in silence for a while. Yuri has no need to break it; he’s not the one who should be apologising right now, so if Natalya wants to stew, he’ll let her stew.

“I’m not really sorry. I mean— My thoughts, not the way I treated you. The way I treated you was pretty shitty, to be honest, but I don’t think it’s weird for me to be suspicious when an Olympic champion stumbles in and wants to volunteer at an understaffed shelter. But I guess it wasn’t very fair to you, and we need more volunteers, so, y’know, you’re welcome to stay.»

It’s a pretty crappy apology in his opinion; no eye contact, no bag of piroshki, and he never actually heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ in there. But well, he’s probably delivered much worse apologies himself when he was her age—not that that’s a high bar to reach.

«I could show you how to work the computer system later, if you want,» she offers.

«Sure.»

He can’t waste time on grudges when there are cats to pet and cages to clean.

Thank you for reading! This was a gift for cadencekismet! I had some trouble coming up with something for your prompts, but I hope you liked it :)

#cadencekismet #vilchan #gifts19 #YOIsanta19 #fanfic #Yuri Plisetsky #Yuri!!! on Ice #submission

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Future Set Free - Trigger warning.

This is something I have been mulling over all day. I don't actually know why all of this Gallavich stuff is pouring out of me at the moment, I've written thousands of words in three days, but I can't concentrate on writing anything else so I am going with it and thank you to everyone who is travelling this with me and encouraging me along the way.

This piece follows Mickey from age 4 to 18. It is grim because I think Mickey's childhood was probably grim. But there is hope within it and if Gallavich teaches us anything it is that where there is hope, love can spring eternal.

Trigger warning - this piece contains allusions to child abuse and although it is nothing that the show doesn't prepare us for, I am aware that seeing it written can be very difficult.   

He’s four years old, his bedsheets are cold and wet and he can hear the TV in his father’s room which means Terry is awake and if he is awake then Mickey can’t get to the laundry shoot and dump his wet clothes and bedding because he might get caught and getting caught is more terrifying than the dream which caused the accident. He slips out of his pants and stuffs them as far under the bed as he can and tugs off his t-shirt, using it to try and soak up as much of the pee as he can. He’s trying not to cry, trying not to make a single sound. The TV shuts off and he freezes, his heart pounding so loud in his ears that he is convinced the whole house will hear. The hallway light shuts off and he is plunged into darkness, his arms trembling as he listens to his Dad cough, light a cigarette, cough again and finally, mercifully, kick his bedroom door shut.

*

He is seven years old. He’s been crying because he brought a cat home to be his pet, but it ran away as soon as the back door got opened. His older brother sees his eyes are red and pushes him against the wall, Mickey’s head hits the corner of his Dad’s liquor cabinet and for a moment the world seems to tilt and then there is a burst of blinding pain and he is crying again. His Dad comes out of the bedroom with a woman Mickey doesn’t recognise and asks him if he wants to shut up or get something to really cry about? The woman tells Terry that Mickey is cute and sways towards him, her lips a painted bright pink and she smells like the burger shop he walks past on his way to school. Mickey wipes his eyes and tries to stop hiccuping, his head is bleeding and the woman cups his face in her hands telling him he’s going to grow up so handsome, she tells him she’ll fuck him one day and behind her Terry laughs and tells Mickey to feel her tit. Mickey does as he is told and both adults laugh. His Dad gives him a dollar and tells him to get himself a pop or something and stay out of the fucking house.

*

He’s nine, it’s his birthday, he doesn’t have a cake or balloons but he has his first pack of smokes and his first beer and he feels sick and light headed before he finishes either. The beer is bitter and he pulls a face. His Dad slaps his left cheek, a warning slap. It stings but it doesn’t even knock him out of the chair. Mickey is careful not to pull any more faces, he is grateful and he finishes the beer. Mandy has drawn him a picture and he wants to tell her it’s good but his brother tells her it’s dumb and Mickey agrees. His Dad nods in approval and tells Mandy to go find something she’s good at. Mandy doesn’t cry, she’s already better than Mickey at controlling that.

*

He’s eleven and he’s outside the principles office. He’s been there since first period. It’s nearly three. This is his fifth fight of the week and it’s only Tuesday. The kid he beat up was collected by his Mom ages ago. As they walked past him, she scolded Mickey and said that he needs his behind spanked and Mickey sneered at her with contempt. If that is worst thing she can think of then it is no wonder her son is a fucking pussy. He doesn’t say that though, he just spits at her. She isn’t worth more energy than that. The principle has told him that his father has been called and Mickey is to sit there until he shows up. Mickey knows he’ll spend the day on that chair, he knows he’ll sit there until the principle realises what Mickey has known all along, Terry isn’t coming. No one asks what caused the fight and that is just as well because Mickey would never tell them that the boy he beat up made Mickey’s chest feel tight, that the way the sun caught his red hair and made it look aflame made Mickey’s fingertips tingle with the urge to touch it. He wouldn’t have been able to articulate how badly he wanted to kiss the boy’s mouth and how terrifying that was to Mickey, there isn’t much worse in this world than being a fag, Terry has told him this and Mickey believes it. When he gets home Terry doesn’t look up from the TV, just tells Mickey to bring him a beer. “Did you kick his ass?” He grunts as Mickey hands it to him “Yeah Dad.” “Good. Bag is on the side.” Mickey takes the bag and goes out to run his errands, tucking the gun his father has given him into the back of his pants. He comes back a while later and hands his father the cash. It is exactly right. Mickey took ten dollars once. Terry made sure that Mickey only did it once. Mickey’s nose twitches and his left eye blinks almost uncontrollably as Terry counts the money and he feels sick even though he already knows the money is exact. Mickey thinks of this feeling as ‘home’ he doesn’t recognise it as fear.

*

The Milkovich’s aren’t Jewish but Mickey is thirteen which means he is a man now. He gets his first tattoo. He smokes his first joint. He smokes regular tobacco daily now but the joint is a revelation. His father buys him his first fuck. Mickey feels kind of repulsed by the woman Terry picks, she looks young but her skin is flaccid and so is Mickey’s cock. She keeps going though and finally he manages something which satisfies her and she lets him go back out to his fathers and brothers. Mickey is aware that they are cheering, laughing, teasing him and slapping his back but it all seems really far away and Mickey is glad about that. He pushes what he is feeling down as far as it will go and forces himself to smile at his family. Later that night he is flicking through a magazine and an advert for male underwear catches his eye. Next to it is a female perfume add. Both of them have scantily clad models and Mickey takes it into the bathroom. He tries to keep his eyes on the perfume model, but they keep straying to the underwear model. He tries to focus on her long legs and parted lips, but he is drawn to the wide shoulders and narrow hips of the man. He throws the magazine at the wall and closes his eyes to finish but even behind his closed eyelids he sees the flat sculpted chest and chiselled jaw tasked with selling Calvin Klein.

*

He’s seventeen and his sister is crying because some punk has pissed her off, some little fuckwad called Ian Gallagher. He knows who the Gallagher’s are and he knows that this one works at the Kash and Grab. Mickey goes over with his brothers. He is still the shortest, still the one his Dad is likely to take a swipe at first but he’s not the one they pick on now. No way. Mickey has a reputation now, on the streets, in juvie, even amongst his brothers. He’s a South-Side thug, through and through. His knuckles say ‘FUCK U-UP” and they will. It is not an idle threat and everyone knows it. Mickey Milkovich is dangerous. Gallagher is fucked and the little bitch doesn’t even realise it.

*

Mickey is eighteen. He’s an adult now. No more juvie, no more running away. He’s a grown man and he is in love and he doesn’t even begin to know what to do with that. He can’t stop thinking about Ian. When he isn’t near him, he wants to be and when he is near him, his skin itches with the craving of his touch. Mickey doesn’t flinch when Ian grabs him, he doesn’t panic when Ian catches him looking at him. He wants the taste of Ian on his lips, wants his smell deep inside his nostrils and his arms wrapped tight around him at night. But Mickey is afraid. It is a fear that seems to have been ground into his bones, and it chafes his soul every waking minute. One of the worst things a man can be is a fag, that is what Mickey knows and he hates himself and he hates Ian for bringing this thing out in him, for making it harder to ignore. But even as he hates him, Mickey dreams of a small house with clean windows and brightly painted furniture and he imagines serving Ian coffee for breakfast in the morning and lighting his evening cigarette off the end of Mickey’s own at night. He hits Ian. He calls him names and tells him that he fucks other people. He tells Ian not to touch him, tells him not to look at him. He runs away and hides.

*

He wakes in the night and his bed sheets are cold and wet with sweat and lust that Mickey can’t shed when he is awake. He can hear the TV in his Dad’s room and he tries not to be seen as he walks into the hall and dumps his laundry down the chute.

He cries when no one is home and when he gets caught with red rimmed eyes he beats the shit out of his brother and then fucks one of the three women Terry brought home. Her lips are painted bright pink and she stinks of greasy meat and all the while he is thinking of Ian and pretending he is somewhere else.

He sits out on the porch desperately hoping Ian will walk by and praying that he won’t. He smokes a packet of cigarettes and drinks a six-pack of beer. Mandy shows him a new dress and he tells her it makes he look fat. There father grunts in approval and Mandy flips them both off as she walks away.

He runs out of beer and goes to buy more. A redheaded young man looks him up and down and Mickey feels his cock grow hard. He shoves the guy and when he falls over Mickey kicks him twice, three times. A woman walks past and screams at him that he’s an animal, she tells him he should be locked up. Mickey screams back at her. He tells her that she has no fucking idea what he needs and calls her foul names. He spits after her retreating back. He collects the debts his family is owed and takes the money home. Terry doesn’t count it. Mickey counts it. It’s all there. Every fucking dollar. Mickey doesn’t know why he doesn’t rip the old man off but even when he thinks about doing it, an alarm goes off in his head and he pushes the thought away.

He goes into the bathroom and picks up a magazine. He flips to the picture of a swimmer with red hair and a slim muscular build. He looks at the bulge in the speedos and bites his lip until his eyes squeeze shut and he tosses the magazine back in the rack.

He goes out into the street and stands opposite the Gallagher house wondering if Ian is there. He has a reputation and when the kids see him, they draw the curtains but they must have told Ian because the door opens and for Mickey, time stands still. Ian smiles at him, that goofy lopsided grin that Mickey would die just to get a glimpse. Mickey is fucked and he well and truly realises it.

*

“Hey.”

One word. Just one tiny word. History is doomed to repeat itself unless something dramatic happens to knock it from it’s axis, upset the plans and set the future free. Mickey feels his lip quirk upwards and raises his hand in greeting.

“Hey. You wanna hang out?”

History wobbles, it shakes, it trembles and it falls from it’s axis. The future bursts forth in a rush of possibility and Mickey Milkovich steps through the void and sets his feet on the path toward freedom.

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