Chapter Text
Ian Gallagher sat in the chair across from the principal, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his usual cocky manner. With his brow arched, he waited for the woman to finish her phone call.
Ms. Henderson eventually hung up the phone and fixed Ian with her most disapproving stare, steepling her fingers on the desk before her. “Mr. Gallagher.”
“Ms. Henderson,” Ian quipped.
Even though Theresa Henderson had seen her fair share of Ian Gallagher in her office over the last three years, she had a soft spot for the kid, knowing about his neglectful and impoverished home life. She sighed before getting on with it. “You promised me I wouldn’t see you back here this semester. It’s the third time I’ve called you into my office in the past two months.”
Ian sat forward in his chair with a resigned sigh and scratched the nape of his neck, his bravado slipping.
“Coach Miller has brought it to my attention that he caught you smoking marijuana in the boys’ locker room again.”
“Now, to be fair,” Ian said, fixing her with his most charming smile. “It was a cigarette laced with marijuana.”
Ms. Henderson resumed talking as if she hadn’t heard him. “Upon speaking with your guidance counselor, they also brought it to my attention that you’re failing a few of your classes. Trigonometry in particular, which is a biggie, Mr. Gallagher.”
The smile slipped from Ian’s face. “I thought I was here to talk about the weed, not my grades.”
“Mr. Gallagher… Ian. You’re in trouble here. Real trouble. Smoking marijuana on school premises alone is enough to suspend you, maybe even expel you, since this is your third offense.” When Ian opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off. “Now, expelling you wouldn’t solve anything. I’m here to help you, not hinder you. Your grades are the far more important issue here.”
Ian sighed and rubbed his eye as the principal flipped through his file, which appeared surprisingly thick.
“I understand you’re enrolled in the JROTC program here.”
“Yeah,” Ian answered, his heart rate quickening. ROTC was the only thing in his lousy, meager life that he gave a shit about, and he’d be fucked if someone took that away from him.
“You understand that you need to maintain a B average to stay in that program, right?” she asked. “You’re currently holding a 2.2 GPA. That’s barely a C average, Ian.”
Ian leaned forward in his seat again, his eyebrows furrowed. “What exactly are you sayin’ here?” His usual cool, calm, and cocky demeanor was long gone.
“I’m saying that, along with your guidance counselor, Mr. Mitchell, I strongly advise you to get a tutor. In fact, I’m insisting upon it. We have a fantastic tutoring program here. They meet in the library every day after school. We have a lot of bright kids, fellow students of yours, who help and-”
“I don’t have time for a fuckin’ tutor,” Ian retorted. “I have a life. I have a job and a family I have to help support, and I have ROTC-”
Ms. Henderson sighed. “Mr. Gallagher, I’m not sure you understand me here. If you don’t get a tutor or get your grades up, you won’t have ROTC anymore.”
“This is bullshit.” Ian sat back in his seat and ran his hands over his face, feeling defeated. “Fine, whatever,” he mumbled before standing, grabbing his backpack from the floor, and heading towards the door.
“Oh, and Ian?”
Ian stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to regard her disdainfully.
“You know I still have to give you morning detention for the rest of the week, right?” Ms. Henderson said. “Smoking on school grounds is strictly prohibited.”
Ian rolled his eyes and left the office, his day fucked.
*
The next morning, Ian walked into the school library where they held morning detention. He felt as if he was living in some fucked-up version of The Breakfast Club.
He glanced around at the other students and sighed, not recognizing anyone. Of course, his friends would pick that week to not fuck up and be in detention with him.
He walked to an empty table towards the back and sat down, not bothering to pull his hood off. He slumped in his chair and pulled out his iPod after seeing that the teacher chaperoning the whole shitshow was sitting at a table off to the side, flipping through a magazine and looking as if she couldn’t care less about anything.
He put his earbuds in and scrolled through his music. He settled on a Five Finger Death Punch song and glanced around again to survey his fellow inmates.
He recognized the goth girl at one of the front tables. She was one of those people he’d seen around here and there since kindergarten but didn’t know her name. He recognized the guy sitting at another table, some meathead jock from the football team. Usually, Ian was into jocks (he definitely fucked his fair share of the basketball and football team), but this guy wasn’t his type; he was too burly and dumb-looking. Ian would have to have a few Jager bombs in his system before he’d consider hitting that.
He glanced toward the table next to him. The guy was another one of those people Ian had seen everywhere but didn’t know. All Ian knew about him was that he was the slacker/stoner type who didn’t have many friends and kept to himself. He wore the same dark and grungy clothes for days in a row, and he had tattoos on his knuckles and a perpetual scowl on his face, and Ian knew enough to stay away from him.
“The fuck’re you lookin’ at?”
It took Ian a few moments to realize the guy had caught him staring and was speaking to him. He looked up into piercing blue eyes and quickly glanced away. He sank into his seat and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt farther down his forehead. The rest of the hour-long detention dragged on after that. Finally, when the chaperone released them, Ian shot out of there like a bat out of hell.
*
The next morning, Ian walked into detention and claimed his spot at the same table from the morning before. He glanced over to see that the mean-looking loner guy was also sitting in the same spot.
He pulled out his iPod and scrolled through his music, occasionally sneaking glances at him. He noticed the guy was sketching something in a notebook. Ian couldn’t tell what exactly he was drawing. Whatever it was, the guy seemed to be focused, even chewing on the end of his pencil at times or poking his tongue out in concentration.
Ian smiled, finding the guy’s general grumpiness oddly charming. Plus, he wasn’t bad to look at.
“You wanna take a fuckin’ picture?” the guy snapped, never taking his eyes away from his notebook.
Ian looked away and reached into his backpack to pull out a book to look busy. When he glanced at the guy again a few minutes later, it surprised Ian that he was being watched.
The guy quickly looked away before dropping his head and digging a tattooed hand in his hair. Even from seven feet away, Ian could see the guy was silently chastising himself and cursing under his breath.
Ian grinned, thinking maybe the guy wasn’t so scary.
*
Ian entered detention the next day and took his usual seat. Like the past two mornings, the guy sat at the next table, appearing tired and grumpy.
Instead of putting in his earbuds, Ian removed his hoodie and grabbed his backpack. He withdrew a brown paper bag and pulled out the contents. He didn’t have to look to know the guy was watching him from the corner of his eye.
Ian glanced at him. “You want some?” he asked, pointing at his breakfast. “I have Pop-Tarts, a banana, and-” He paused dramatically to hold up a small baggie, “-some dry cereal. Froot Loops.”
“You’re a fuckin’ fruit loop,” the guy muttered, returning to his drawing.
“Suit yourself,” Ian said, shrugging and munching on his cereal. “What are you drawin’ over there, anyway?”
“None of your fuckin’ business; that’s what I’m drawing.”
“Alright,” Ian said. “You don’t like to share. Got it. Can I get your name, at least?”
“Nope,” the guy said, grumpily erasing a line he’d drawn.
“Why not?”
“Do you mind? I’m tryna fuckin’ concentrate here, and I can’t do that with you yammerin’ in my ear.”
“You’re the only seventeen-year-old I know that uses the word yammering.”
“Fuck off.”
Ian watched him with narrowed eyes and loosely shook the cereal in his hand. “Well, I’m Ian. In case you were wondering.”
“Wasn’t.”
“Are you in-”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” the guy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I tell you my name, will you leave me the fuck alone?”
“Maybe,” Ian said, smiling when the guy locked eyes with him.
The guy sighed and chewed on his bottom lip before answering, “Mickey. Now, leave me the fuck alone.”
“Nice to meet you, Mickey,” Ian said, unpeeling his banana. “What are you in for?”
“Huh?” Mickey asked in annoyance.
“Detention,” Ian clarified. “What are you in for?”
Mickey sighed, pinching his nose again, “None of your business.”
Ian nodded and bit his banana before obnoxiously talking around his mushy food. “I got caught smokin’ weed in the locker room.”
“Good for you,” Mickey snapped. “You feel like a badass now?”
Ian laughed and shook his head before dropping his gaze to Mickey’s paper. “So, what’re you drawing?”
“I’m gonna be drawin’ blood from your lip in about two seconds if you don’t leave me alone.”
Ian nodded and slumped in his seat, deciding not to push his luck.
*
On his fourth day of detention, Ian walked into the library and felt disappointed that Mickey wasn’t there. He took his usual seat before glancing at a girl sitting at the table beside him.
“Psst! Hey, do you know Mickey?”
The girl gave Ian a disgusted look over her shoulder. “The greasy kid who always has his face glued to his sketchbook?”
“Yeah, that’d be him.”
“Yeah, I know him. I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Why?”
“Is he in detention a lot?”
“Every day, as far as I know,” she said. “I heard he comes here because he doesn’t like being at home. It’s kind of sad, actually.”
Ian frowned. “What d’you mean he doesn’t like being at home?”
The girl appeared annoyed and shrugged before returning to her book.
Ian sat back in his seat and glanced at Mickey’s chair, suddenly even more intrigued by the guy.
Ten minutes later, someone entered through the heavy door. Ian smiled when he glanced up and saw Mickey walking in, his head down as he made his way to his usual seat.
Once Mickey was sitting, he looked at Ian. “Can I help you?”
“Thought you weren’t gonna be here today.”
“The fuck’s it to you?” Mickey asked, retrieving his trusty sketchbook from his beat-up bookbag.
Ian bent down to grab his backpack and withdrew a brown paper bag. He pulled out his pack of Pop-Tarts, a banana, and, that time, two baggies of cereal. Saying nothing, he tossed the extra baggie of cereal onto Mickey’s table.
Mickey stared at the proffered snack and looked up at Ian with arched eyebrows. “The fuck is this?”
“Those, my good man, are Oreo O’s,” Ian explained. “The fact that I’m even sharing my Oreo O’s with you, those delicious morsels of absolute perfection, you should be fuckin’ grateful.”
To Ian’s delight, the corner of Mickey’s lip twitched upwards. “Oh, yeah? Is that right?”
“Mmhm.”
After some hesitation, Mickey grabbed the baggie. “You’re fuckin’ weird. You know that?”
Ian grinned and tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. He watched as Mickey returned to his drawing, munching on his cereal as he did so.
Ian felt it was a good step forward.
*
Ian’s fifth and final day of detention was bittersweet. He hated getting up an hour early and the boredom of it all, but he was starting to look forward to seeing Mickey every day. Ian had little to look forward to in his bleak and mediocre life, so it felt nice.
Mickey was in his usual spot, and Ian took a chance and sat in the chair beside him.
When Mickey looked at him, brows raised in warning, Ian smiled and shrugged. “This is our last day together, you know?” He watched Mickey cover up whatever he was drawing with both hands.
Ian opened his backpack, pulled out the usual brown bag, and handed Mickey his own baggie of cereal just like the day before. “So, you still aren’t gonna let me see what you’re drawing?”
“No.”
Ian sighed. “Come on, Mick! I thought we were becomin’ friends here,” he teased, bumping his shoulder against Mickey’s.
“Yeah, well, you thought wrong, Opie.”
Ian smiled at Mickey cheekily as he pulled out his trigonometry book and notepad, deciding he might as well try to get some of his math homework done. He still hadn’t gone to the tutoring sessions after school. The true procrastinator that he was, he was putting it off for as long as he could. He opened his book, buried his forehead in his hand, and tried to get lost in it. Nothing made any fucking sense to him. After a few minutes, he threw his pencil down and cursed.
“The fuck’s your problem?”
“Trig is my fuckin’ problem,” Ian grumbled. He stiffened when Mickey leaned closer to look at his work, the fabric of his Black Sabbath tank brushing against Ian’s arm and sending a shiver down his spine.
“What are you havin’ trouble with?”
Ian mentally noted how incredible Mickey smelled. For someone who looked as if they hadn’t showered in two days, Mickey smelled fucking good. “Uh, everything,” he choked, his pulse quickening.
Mickey pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m kinda good at math. Maybe I can help you out.”
Before Ian could think about what he was doing, he laughed heartily. “Yeah, right.”
A venomous expression crossed Mickey’s face, and Ian knew in an instant that he’d fucked up.
“Fuck you.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ian said. “I just meant that… Well, you don’t exactly look like you’d be…”
“What?” Mickey retorted when Ian hesitated. “I look fuckin’ stupid to you?”
“No, I-” Ian said. “That’s not what I-”
“Fuck off,” Mickey snapped, his face reddening. “Because I’m dirty, and I’m always in detention, and I have tattoos, I can’t possibly be fuckin’ smart, right?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ian insisted, watching Mickey gather his things and stand up. “Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s detention. You can’t just leave.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not even s’posed to fuckin’ be here,” Mickey spat, throwing Ian’s baggie of cereal at him, hitting him in the chest. “Keep your stupid fuckin’ stale-ass cereal.”
Ian watched as Mickey left the library, the heavy door shutting noisily behind him.
*
Later that day, as Ian made his way toward his last-period class, he spotted Mickey in the hallway, took a chance, and walked up to him. He liked Mickey. He was cute and funny, especially when he didn’t mean to be. Ian wanted to know him. He certainly hadn’t meant to offend him.
“Mickey.”
Mickey turned around, his frown deepening when he saw Ian. “The fuck do you want, Gallagher?”
“I’m sorry, alright?” Ian said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just how I am; I say shit without thinkin’ most of the time. I’m a dumbass.”
“Fuckin’ right you are,” Mickey said, moving to walk past him.
Ian shot a hand out without thinking and stopped him.
Mickey glanced down at Ian’s hand on his arm and hesitated before shaking it off. He then lifted his gaze to meet Ian’s. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your hand.”
Ian stepped back. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was an asshole. I’d really like it if you would tutor me. I need it, and I’d rather you help me than some preppy douchebag I don’t know.”
“What do I get out of it?” Mickey asked as the bell rang.
Ian could think of a few things he would like to give Mickey in return for his services, but instead, he said, “I don’t know. Maybe I can pay you? It wouldn’t be much, but I can pay you something.”
Mickey ran his tongue over his bottom lip and glanced down the hall, thinking it over. “Fine, what-the-fuck-ever. We’ll come up with a payment agreement later.”
Ian nodded and wiped his palms on the front of his jeans, his heart racing. “Can we meet up tomorrow after school? I’m free.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” Mickey murmured. “Whatever.”
“Thanks, Mickey.”
“Seriously, don’t fuckin’ mention it,” Mickey said, brushing past Ian to continue down the hall.
Ian called out to him before Mickey could get far. “I never told you what my last name is.”
Mickey turned around to regard him warily. “Fuck’re you talkin’ about?”
“You called me Gallagher. I never told you what my last name is,” Ian said with a small smile. “Either you knew who I was already, or you did your homework on me.” It delighted him when he saw a blush rise on Mickey’s cheeks.
“Fuck off,” Mickey spat before turning and heading off.
Ian watched after Mickey with a smile until he rounded a corner and was out of sight.
He didn’t witness Mickey stopping after he rounded the corner, his stern demeanor melting away once he was out of Ian’s sight. He didn’t get to see Mickey clutching at the wall as dizziness and nausea overcame him. As always, Mickey waited for it to pass before brushing it off, straightening, and heading to his next class, while blinking back the tears that formed at the corners of his eyes.