gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Characters: Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher, Terry Milkovich (Mentioned), Mandy Milkovich (Mentioned), Iggy Milkovich (Mentioned) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Past Child Abuse, Pets Series: Part 16 of Fics for Pride, 2025! 🌈 Summary:

There was nothing but a pair of dumpsters in the alley between the store and the restaurant next to it.  He looked behind the first one and there it was, a kitten no bigger than his hand, staring at him with one green eye, the other swollen shut.  It was skinny and had fur missing in a couple places, and Mickey could see the fleas on it even in the shadow of the dumpster.  It meow-squeaked at him again before wobbling on spindly legs over to Mickey.

Mickey finds a kitten. Ian wants to keep it; Mickey’s not so sure. @gallavichthings​

[gallavichthings]

The final day of Gallavich Week! Thank you, @gallavichthings

Ian+Mickey Chapter 7: Peace this Morning With it Brings Prompt: Free

Well, did it work? Will their marriage pave a path to unity or widen the gap for good?

Read chapter 7 here

[gallavichthings]

Day 7: Free with @hellcat1980 for @gallavichthings Gallavich Week 2025 is up. This has been one wild week. But thank you for reading. It’s been a blast. 

#gallavichweek #whiskeyglassconversations #IanLovesMickey #OurBoysAreFree

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Characters: Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher, Original Gallagher-Milkovich Child(ren) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Nightmares, Late Night Conversations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Therapy, Arguing, Foster Care, Drinking & Talking Series: Part 7 of Gallavich Week 2025 w/Gallabratt Summary:

When Mickey and Ian decide to become foster parents, it leads to more than just childproofing the house. Nightmares resurface from the change and Mickey is forced to face his past.ay 7

[gallavichthings]

Last day of my first GW! 🥹 @gallavichthings

Day 7 : Free

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋆.˚✮ Fillings ✮˚.⋆

By : cammonaghanluvr (BirdieBoo_22 on Ao3)

Cw! : Swearing, Dentist/Dental work

Mickey was nervous. Really nervous. His hands shook as he tried to calm his nerves. But nothing helped. Ian had his hand on the man’s thigh and could feel the nervous quivers run through it. “We should just go home. I’m fine.” Mickey said.

“No, Mick. We need to get this tooth fixed.”

“Mikhailo Milkovich?” A hygenist called his name. Mickey stood and his husband followed. “Are you joining us?” The woman asked Ian.

“Yes. This is my husband.” Ian says with a soft smile, his hand on Mickey’s back. The woman nods and leads them down a corridor. It was sterile and had fluorescent lights on the ceiling with some private exam rooms lining the side.

“We’re gonna snap some X-rays first.” She turned into a room with a computer, a chair, a few cabinets, and a big X-ray camera. “Take a seat in the chair for me.” Mickey sat. Ian stood just outside the room watching as the woman laid a heavy led apron on his husband. She grabbed a bite wing from a drawer and covered a sensor in some plastic. She arranged all of that in Mickey’s mouth and brought the camera to his cheek. She stepped out of the room next to Ian and clicked a button. “All done!” She re-entered the room and removed everything from Mickey’s mouth, and hung the apron back on the wall. She then led the couple into a secluded exam room and had Mickey lay down in the chair. The chair. Everyone knew that chair. The squishy pleather that smelled of chemicals and dead dreams. “Dr. Banks will be right with you.” The woman left the room.

“I’m gonna puke.” Mickey said, nervously looking over to his husband who stood next to him. Ian leaned down and kissed the raven-haired man’s forehead.

“It’s ok. I know you’re nervous. Just try to take deep breaths ok? And you know Dr. Banks is always sweet. You’ll be ok, my love.” Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and squeezed it tight. He sat in a chair off to the side and nodded reassuringly as Dr. Banks walked in.

“Hey! It’s my two favorite patients.” She smiled softly and pulled on some gloves. “How are we?”

“Great. Thanks Doc.” Ian smiled softly. She looked at Mickey who still hadn’t responded.

“I take it someone’s nervous?” She spoke softly, tiring down on her rolling stool as she put her mask up and clicked around on the computer.

“Yeah. Quite a bit.” Mickey managed.

“No need to be. I looked at your X-rays, and it’s just a cavity. Pretty small, no big deal. All I’m gonna do is numb you up, clean out the affected area, and fill the hole.”

“Question Doc.” Ian spoke, his tone sounding like he had a plan. “What’s that loopy gas stuff you put on the little kids when they won’t calm down?”

“Nitrous? God I remember putting Carl on that one too many times when you guys were young.” She chuckled. “What about it?”

“Could you give some of that to Mick? Maybe it’ll help calm his nerves.” Ian said, glancing at Mickey.

“Wait what? You want her to get me high off some goofy bubblegum gas so I’m dazed out and she can rip my fuckin’ teeth out?”

“Mick, no. It’ll just calm you down a little.” Ian said, trying to calm his husband.

“We could try it. And I don’t actually have bubblegum flavor, I hate to break it.” Dr. Banks smiled.

“Fine…” Mickey said, tone similar to a reluctant adolescent. Dr. Banks then began the process of filling Mickey’s cavity. She hooked him up to the nitrous and began prepping her tray. She inserted the drill bit into her hand piece, prepped the composite gun, and the bonding material. Ian held Mickey’s hand, but watched intently and she locked into her work.

“Open wide Mickey…” Dr. Banks’ voice was soft and relaxed. She’d done this tons of times before. She gently administered the novocaine through a needle into the gums near Mickey’s tooth. She removed the nitrous mask from his face and placed a pair of sunglasses on Mickey’s eyes before waving on her light. She slipped her loops over her eyes and turned on her drill. She slowly started to drill away the affected area of the tooth while shooting water into Mickey’s mouth with her air water device. She had the suction hanging on the edge of his cheek sucking up water and bits of decayed tooth. She worked precisely and quickly, her movements practiced and perfect. She set her drill down and rinsed the hole. She dried it with air, and suctioned any extra moisture away. She then laid bonding and filled the hole, curing with blue light after.

“Is it done…?” Ian asked softly.

“All done Dr. Banks said with a nod. Mickey had fallen asleep in the chair.

[gallavichthings]

Gallavich Week 2025 - Day 7, Free

My final entry for Gallavich Week 2025 - took advantage of the Free space to finish a little College Roommates AU (aka, an excuse for them to bang) Thanks as always for putting the event together @gallavichthings!

And They Were Roommates (8990 words) by My_Brain_Melted Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Roommates, Shotgunning, Accidental Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Boys In Love, Idiots in Love, Gallavich Week, Gallavich Week 2025 Summary: Mickey and Ian have been roommates for a while now. Why does everyone in their dorm think they're dating?

[gallavichthings]

This one's for @michellemisfit... Free was too free, so she requested some S11+ Gallavich arguing about chores, or them dealing with it being too hot. I said "why not both?" because I hate myself.

I hope you like it. 😆💜

Thank you again to @gallavichthings for another wonderful event. I may have completely winged it, but I've had a great time with these daily writing challenges.

Gallavich Week Day Seven: Free

What You and I Have (to Complain About)

Ian's barefoot. It's probably the only reason he feels the crunch of chip crumbs beneath his feet as he walks to the sofa, where his husband is sprawled out, sheened with sweat and looking at the ceiling like that will fix their air con. It's definitely the reason it pisses him off so much.

"Weren't you supposed to hoover?" Ian grumbles as he slouches down next to his husband.

"It's 90 fuckin' degrees, man. I ain't fuckin' hoovering."

Ian tries to keep his voice level. He really tries.

"I know, but you were supposed to do it last week, when it wasn't too hot. Now I'm walking over fucking daggers." 

"Well maybe if you didn't drop every other chip, the floor wouldn't be covered in crumbs." Mickey reaches forward and grabs his beer, taking a swig before discovering that it's warmed to room temperature. He grimaces and drops it back on the coffee table.

"Me?" Ian replies, voice creeping up. It is 90 degrees, after all. And even he only has so much patience. "Half of this is your fucking Pringle dust. But it doesn't matter... It was your turn to hoover!"

"Yeah, well, I had to do extra dishes this week because you were out eye-fucking that asshole in 2B."

"Eye-fu... 2B? Mick, I was helping his wife find their escaped hamster!"

"In a no fuckin' pets apartment," Mickey mutters.

"It's a fucking hamster, Mickey. Are you gonna snitch?"

"No, but that don't change the fact that I had to do extra dishes, so maybe you shoulda done the hooverin'."

There's no way he's being this much of a bitch about hoovering, but then Ian isn't exactly doing much to de-escalate. 

"I switched dishes with you the night after, remember? When you were being a dick about the uniform! And there's no way dishes equals hoovering."

If it wasn't so hot the argument might not have got to this stage. Or maybe if they hadn't been sweaty puddles, it would have been quicker to escalate, because they'd have had more energy to move.

Hard to tell.

Whichever, it was this point where Mickey sits up and squares up.

"That uniform is too fuckin' hot for this weather!"

"We can't go from full army surplus gear to shorts... It looks fucking unprofessional."

"I'll give you unprofessional..."

And Mickey lunges.

It's unclear what he intends when he moves, but Ian catches him... Sweaty arm in sweaty hand, and when he sees the anger in his husband's eyes, he remembers a different fight. Remembers Vee talking to them in the Alibi, in possibly the best marital advice they've ever received.

No winner, no loser. Just partners.

So he swallows, lifting his free hand in surrender.

"Hey, Hey..." he says. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't be yelling about this."

Mickey's snarl holds for a moment longer, but then he relaxes a fraction. Thinks about it. He pulls back.

And it's not the first fight they've had descend into mutual handjobs on the couch, and it won't be the last. 

It doesn't resolve the underlying issue, but it does resolve some of the tension. 

Until Ian gets up from the sofa and treads straight on a razor sharp shard of Dorito. 

"Motherfucker!"

[gallavichthings]

Last day of Gallavich Week and here's my chapter entitled "Free". I've added a bonus chapter, an epilogue. Thanks to @gallavichthings for organising, it was a pleasure to participate. X

[gallavichthings]

touch me,,,im sick

day seven - free choice....90s grunge @gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

It's the last day of Gallavich Week, and today the theme is Free.

Yes, that means both as in freedom and whatever you want to write. Let your imagination loose, and don't forget to @ me in the body of the post.

[gallavichthings]

Day 6 of my Gallavich Week story. @gallavichthings

Ian+Mickey Chapter 6: Hie to High Fortune Prompt: Rainbow

Ian and Mickey need to figure out what to do now. Preferably something not involving death…

Read chapter 6 here

[gallavichthings]

Day 6: Rainbow with @hellcat1980 for @gallavichthings for Gallavich Week 2025

#gallavichweek2025 #rainbow #IanGallagherLovesMickeyMilkovich

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Gallavich Week, Oral Sex, Gay Pride, Sweet Mickey Milkovich, Sappy Ian Gallagher, Husbands in love, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Rainbows are important, I’m Not Gay But My Husband Is Series: Part 6 of Gallavich Week 2025 w/Gallabratt Summary:

Mickey and Ian go to Pride.

[gallavichthings]

A little ficlet for Gallavich Week 2025 - for the Rainbow prompt 💕 Thank you @gallavichthings!

Preview above the cut, and the rest is below... full story on AO3.

Mickey is flat on his back - and not in the way he likes. 

Their anniversary weekend, so Ian insisted on another one of his moonlight picnics in the old dugouts. As always, he’d come prepared with a soft blanket, dinner in to-go boxes, and of course, a six-pack of Old Style in his backpack. Because you can’t fuck with tradition.  

His husband actually wanted to look for shooting stars. The sap. 

Ian’s warm hand finds its way into his. And as they lay there, watching the sky (and likely due to the top-tier edibles they enjoyed for dessert), Mickey thinks about color.

How, from the day Ian burst into his life, his world had exploded in it. He closes his eyes as memories take over….

Mickey pounds his fist into his baseball mitt and wonders for the 100th time why his dad all of a sudden cared about them having “afterschool activities.” Not like they were some normal TV family. Mickey’d been in charge of himself since he learned how to walk.

The only reason he got roped into this Little League shit was to fuel Terry’s ego, that much he knew.

It’s bad enough getting into this dumbass uniform, but he has to listen to Coach drone on about “team work”. And getting yelled at when he doesn’t perfectly follow the rules. 

“Milkovich, get back on base or consider yourself benched for the rest of the game!” comes the booming voice, and Mickey just about loses it then. He doesn’t need this, he gets yelled at enough at home.

So he does the next best thing to raising his middle finger in Coach’s face. He unzips his fly and pisses right on the base. He’d never felt more free in his short life.

He looks around the field, smirking at Coach’s fury, the stunned, laughing faces of his teammates - and catches sight of this one kid, absolutely losing his shit on the next base over.

He’s laughing so hard, he’s doubled over, tears streaming down his little freckled face. He swipes the baseball hat off his head … to reveal the brightest red hair Mickey has ever seen. 

Mesmerized, he barely remembers zipping his pants back up, before Coach storms over and leads him off the field. 

Mickey knows he’ll be in trouble with his dad after pulling that stunt… but seeing that kid made it all fuckin’ worth it. 

====

Every memory of their life together after that is in technicolor.

His ratty green scarf, and the blue Gatorade at the Kash & Grab. The red comforter on Mickey’s old bed. The orange glow of the cigarette they shared in the dugouts right after he got out of juvie that first time. Telling Ian he was “fucked for life” and actually believing it.

The hot yellow sun beating down on them as he watched Ian run around the obstacle course, training for the Army. Ian’d green camo pants, how much shit Mickey gave him for looking like such a dork, but loving the way they looked anyway.

The pulsating lights in the Fairy Tale after he’d finally found him there. How they lit up his face when they were standing on that stage together, Ian’s eyes full of challenge. Make your move on me. And so he did. He still remembers how it felt to kiss him in that moment, bathed in blues and indigos. 

And all the moments after that – the orange and pink flowers on that dress he wore at the border. That green tank top Ian wore when he was really sick. Those heinous yellow prison jumpsuits. The orange juice on the Gallagher’s kitchen table. The rainbow Fruit Loops always on tap during Covid. 

The bright blue of the Stargazer Lillies at their wedding. The green of Ian’s tomato garden on their patio, in their home.

Mickey looks up at the violet sky, minutes from turning pitch black. The stars are almost visible.

He turns his head and looks at Ian. Their eyes meet, and he can’t help thinking what a beautiful life they’ve had together. And wonder what vibrant moments lie ahead.

[gallavichthings]

Gallavich Week Day 5 - Rainbow

My last entry for Gallavich Week and the story I have the softest spot for of the three I posted this year 🥰 Hope you enjoy! cc: @gallavichthings

Word Count: 1.1k

Rating: G

Summary: "The guards outside the throne room nod curtly as he approaches and immediately step aside. He thinks he hears one of them snicker under his breath, but when he snaps his head to the left, he's as still as a statue.

He frowns. First Datko, now this… And then he enters and immediately freezes on the spot.

The All-father isn't here yet. But he is. Which means they're both royally fucked. Again.

---

OR: What happens when the God of Sun and the God of Rain hate each other and the mortals have to suffer for it? If the carrot doesn't work, the stick might do the trick.

---

[gallavichthings]

I don't know what happened with this one but it did so here you go 😆.

Gallavich Week Day Six: Rainbow

The Colours of Us

Red is for blood. 

Not the skinned knees of childhood. No... For you it's split lips, bloody noses, broken teeth. Grazed knuckles. 

It's fighting tooth and nail. Against each other. Against the world. Because anything worth having is worth fighting for. Because anything worth feeling is worth fighting against. 

But when you've fought against it too long you begin to realise the truth. 

Orange is for his hair.

They call it red, or ginger. But it's orange. 

Sometimes burnished and bright like fresh bronze. Catching sunlight and stealing breath. Sometimes deep and dark, almost true red, in the window light as a teenager wields a tyre iron. Sometimes bright in the sun, shining in the filtered light through the bleachers.

A constant. A draw for the eye. A realisation that this is what you want. That no matter where you go, or what you do, or who you screw, the orange of his hair will always catch your eye. Just like he caught the rest of you.

No matter what happened back then, no matter what never healed, you'll still want him and only him. 

Yellow is for faded bruises. 

Wounds so deep only the very surface is visible, like an iceberg that pierced the body. And everyone else thinks that when the yellow fades to skin it'll all be gone. 

You know different. You know the bruises are still there. Still ready to hurt when pressed the wrong way.

Green is for his eyes. 

Those eyes that catch the light, like his hair. Luminous. Penetrating. He sees everything even when you don't want him to. He sees the bruises you haven't let heal. He sees the festering wounds that sit in your heart. 

Or he should. He sees those wounds and says it's not rot. He says it's just hurt. He kisses that centre and says it'll get better. That it can be better. 

He says it so you almost believe it. 

Blue is for the sky. 

The skies you've seen together over Chicago in the summertime. Skies that faded to inky black when you whiled away hours lost in each other. Skies that shone down on you while you ran and laughed. While you kissed. 

Skies over Mexico. The skies where he was with you and the skies where he left you. The skies where you were alone but free. 

Dusted with fluffy white clouds, or threatening at the grey skies of winter. 

But in summer, when you were together, it felt like you could face anything. 

Violet. 

Violet is for the future. Because it doesn't remind you of the past. 

There's nothing rich or luxurious about your past. The closest to purple you got was the darkest bruises, and even those were more indigo. 

Now you can have flowers. Lavender and lilac and violets. Now you can have plush cushions and warm blankets. And why not have them in purple?

Purple completes the pride flag that he displays on the dashboard of the ambulance. It completes the rainbow of your life so far. So why shouldn't the future be violet?

After all, you're together. So it can only be better than the past.

And as for ultraviolet? Well... The things that light shows are between you and your husband.

--------

@gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

The Light Behind The Lights

The ladder is wobbling even before the gangly redhead is on it. Mickey thinks his entire process is ridiculous— he’s bound to fall down and break his neck at this rate. And it is such a process. For every light the kid hangs, they not only have to move the ladder but also the bench that its back legs sit precariously on. Mickey’s primary task at lighting crew is essentially to help Gallagher move the ladder from each spot he needs to hang an instrument, but his secondary role of steadying the back of the ladder so that the guy doesn’t fall down and crack his skull open on one of the seats or the cheap nylon carpeted-floor. 

Mickey watches the ginger kid’s ass with intent disinterest as he bends over to to hook a steel safety wire onto the old bell-shaped par can. The adjustable crescent wrench tucked into the back pocket of his snug work jeans must spend a lot of time in there. The material is frayed and threatening to give up the ghost completely in almost a perfect outline of the crescent. And the knurl is already poking through. No, he isn’t scoping out Gallagher’s ass. It’s just so noticeable on those tall, spindly legs of his.  

Gallagher turns around and he is practically beaming. Mickey cannot for the life of him figure out how this guy grew up, managed to get all the way to adulthood, in his old neighborhood walking around with a smile that lights up a room like a ray of sunshine without getting his ass whooped on the regular. Sure, his smile is crooked but other than that, it’s like Gallagher was born to draw the eye.  

Coppery red hair that reminds Mickey of the way a brand-new penny catches the light, green eyes that evoke a verdant forest canopy. Pretty little dimples and constellations of light brown freckles that contrast against his fair, almost pale complexion. With the exception of that crooked smile of his, everything is perfectly symmetrical. Christ, it’s like a sculptor chiseled him out of marble for the express goal of beautifying the area around him. How did the rough and tumble life of the Back of the Yards let him get all the way to age twenty without a cracked tooth or even a broken nose for his troubles? 

And he’s just so... so chipper all the damn time. Nothing seems to faze him. Mickey swears it’s as though the happy-go-lucky little ginger kid he remembers from little league just had his brain transplanted into an adult body.  

Gallagher’s utterly “can-do” attitude would be less frustrating if he recognized Mickey at all. Okay, granted it was over ten years ago, and they were only nine and eleven back then. And Mickey certainly doesn’t remember the other boys’ names or faces. But he was the only kid on the team that seemed to like him that Summer. Ian was the only one who showed him any kindness on the worst day of his life.  

But then again, it must have been another summer day for Gallagher.   

“Okay, ready to go,” announces the sophomore as he holds the lighting instrument up in one hand, gripping the yoke as though he were holding a kettlebell at the gym.  

Mickey does a last-minute adjustment to make sure the ladder is a centered as possible on the wooden bench and braces it carefully as he watches Gallagher ascend. 

Looking up at Gallagher as he works his side hustle, he tries not to think of certain things. He is definitely not trying to picture thick bare thighs with a dusting of orange red hair. Most definitely not imagining those strong arms do anything except grip the iron-wrought gridwork of pipes as he wrenches the C-Clamp of the instrument into place. Like hell if he wants to know if that snake in his Levi’s is real. He isn’t even curious about the texture of the guy’s hair or whether he has soft lips. He isn’t thinking about any of that. No fucking way. 

“You okay down there?” 

“Huh?” 

“I haven’t heard you trash talk anyone in five minutes. I thought you might’ve died down there while I wasn’t looking.” Mickey can practically hear the smile, even though right now Gallagher is looking up and Mickey can really only see his square chin.  

“Fuck you, I’m not always shit-talking.” 

“You sure have Robin fooled. And Quinn.” 

“Yeah? Well, Quinn’s a cunt.” 

Ian laughs. “Can’t disagree with you there.” 

“And Robin’s got that whole suburban liberal white lady thing going for her. Can’t take her seriously.” 

“Yeah? But she means well. And aren’t you from Pittsburgh? What are you doing knocking suburban white ladies?” 

Mickey can’t help but retaliate. Just a little. He rattles the ladder just enough to make Ian nervous. 

“Hey! Watch it!” 

“Pittsburgh’s a city, dumbass. And I just ended up living with family out there. I’m Chicago born and bred, same as you. Dick.” 

“Seriously?” he sounds relieved. “Thank fuck, I thought I was going crazy. Your accent sounds so familiar. You South Side?” 

Yes, dumbass.  

“None of your business, Gallagher.” 

Do you seriously not recognize me? Or even the name Milkovich? Then again, maybe the Milkovich name doesn’t evoke the same dread it used to with Terry holed up for life.  

“Hey, sorry. My bad for trying to make small talk.” 

“Why do you do this, anyway? You’re an acting major, right? And Lysander ain’t exactly a bit part. This has gotta be time consuming.” 

“It’s no big deal. I still got plenty of time to run lines.”   

“Yeah, but I mean—this isn’t what you plan to do, right?”  

“I could ask the same about you, piano man?” 

“I’m here because the odds of a music teacher being asked to put together Christmas concerts and spring plays is almost guaranteed.”  

Mickey cannot help but notice Ian locking eyes with him as he comes down  the rungs of the ladder. “You think I’m just going to be guaranteed roles when I get out of here, Milkovich? I got to be realistic here. Not everyone makes it. I want to have option so I don’t end up waiting tables at my sister’s diner while I wait for an opportunity that may never come. Besides, Fiona’s already on my case. She thinks I’m wasting my full ride on a joke major. At least I can pull my weight the next time they need the wiring fixed.” 

“Why lights?” Mickey asks. “Why not building sets or painting or costumes. Something where there’s less chance of falling off a ladder or accidentally electrocuting yourself?” 

Ian seems to think about this, sitting on the tiered steps that lead from the back of the House to the lip of the stage. “Let’s just say when you come from a big family, you learn the importance of making sure everyone gets their time in the spotlight.” 

Schmaltzy motherfucker, ain't he? “Everyone deserves a time to shine, huh?” 

Ian shoots Mickey a grin that makes the pianist nervous and makes his stomach feel like it’s practicing for the Olympic gymnastics team. “Yeah, everyone. Even surly piano players.” 

“Hey, leave me out of this,” replies Mickey hotly, trying not to meet Ian’s gaze. “I want folks hearing my playing. I could give fuck all if they get a good look at my face. Maybe my hands. But just to show off the technique.” 

Ian takes a brazenly confident step into Mickey’s personal space. He wonders why his palms feel so damp all of the sudden and when the air started to feel so thin.  

“You know there’s nothing wrong with letting people see you, right?” 

“Yeah? Food for thought, huh?” coughs Mickey nervously, “Eh! So how many of these things do we have to hang?” 

They still have to hang enough instruments to light up an entire stage. But that’s nothing compared to what Mickey feels light up inside him when Gallagher locks eyes with him, when he gets in Mickey’s space and talks to him like he sees through Mickey’s bullshit. It makes everything around Mickey feel brighter. 

Written for Gallavich Week 2025. Day Two: Lights

@gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

Roy G. Biv

Mickey sighs as they descend the platform where the Red Line dropped them off in the East Loop. Mickey prayed for rain but Chicago's weather is being particularly generous to everybody but him today. But Ian wanted to make a family day of it and Mickey figures if Shim is cooperating, then it's Mickey's husbandly duty to make sure Ian gets what he wants.

Yevgeny takes Ollie out of the Baby Bjorn harnessed to Ian's chest so that he isn't struggling with a very squirmy toddler while he unfolds the baby's stroller. Ollie hates the stroller. He either wants to either be held or down on the floor, especially now that he's crawling. Mickey would volunteer to keeping Ollie in his Baby Bjorn. It would sure keep the little guy happy. But Ian would see right through it and call it out as a ploy to hang to the rear almost instantly.

They've been together for seventeen years and married for seven. Ian isn't going to sit idly by and allow Mickey to exclude himself from family events.

"Which way do we go, Uncle Mick?" asks Franky, who has become a permanent member of the household ever since their mother Debbie ran off with an old girlfriend. Truthfully, Mickey wouldn't ask Franky to call them Dad and Pops, but it's long past due for them to stop addressing them as "Uncle" all the time.

He looks around looking for poster-board signs that will direct them to their point of decoration, but there are none to be found. Of course, to the rest of Chicago, this is just any other Sunday in June. They probably won't see any signage until they're a block or so away.

"Not a fucking clue, little red. It's my first time here, too."

Yevgeny pushes the stroller to the front of their little contingent, his eyes narrowing in that cutting gesture that reminds Mickey of the boy's mother right before she would whip out a devastating retort. The boy licks the tip of his finger and holds it up theatrically as though he's checking the wind. It draws attention to the fresh coat of blue, pink, and purple nail polish he had touched up just for the occasion. As if the bi and non-binary flags the kids are wearing like superhero capes weren't obvious enough, Yevvy just needed that extra bit of flourish. His son might not be a melodramatic drama queen in the same way Mickey is, but Yevgeny most certainly fits the bill when he wants to.

Yevgeny closes his eyes like he is deep in thought for a moment, then he points to their right. "The crowd sounds louder in that direction."

And lo and behold, they find themselves following a steady trickle of Chicagoans dressed in their pride gear

“Follow the rainbow,” beams Ian.

Mickey tries to remember not to think of it like he's at some queer freak show. They're here to celebrate being true to themselves. Just like he wants Yev and Franky to be. Just like he wishes he could be. But he has a a profoundly wider Rubicon to cross. He's the son of a fag-bashing neo-nazi. As far as these people are concerned, he'd probably the freak if they knew. Or possibly the enemy. Hell, more than once, Terry used to take him around to participate when he was still just a kid. Mickey wonders if Terry suspected even then and wanted to scare Mickey out of even thinking of trying something with another dude. What he would have given back then for someone to take him by the shoulder and tell him things were going to work out just fine for him— that he’d have a happy life a loving husband, the house (minus the white picket fence), the two-point five kids.

Ian slings an arm around Mickey as they follow a few steps behind the tweens. He smirks at his giant redhead who beams right back at him fondly. Mickey didn’t even realize he was holding in his breath until the big palooka’s freckled hand grazes his bare shoulder and he sighs. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking. “

"Nervous?" he asks.

Mickey shrugs.

Ian has been sneaking off to Chicago's annual Pride Parade since he was eighteen or nineteen. Trevor, probably the only tolerable also-ran in Ian's dating history, got him into it. But Mickey has always been resistant. He always figured that just because he's married to a man and loves to get his back blown out, it doesn't mean he has to be all "rah rah sis boom bah!" about the in-your-face faggy shit.

But having kids changed his perspective-- especially having a bi son and a non-binary nephew under their roof. Mickey wants to give them the chance to be proud of who they are and not live with the shame that caused him and Ian to be okay with the short straw that was their youth. So, pushes away the discomfort he feels, pressing it down from where it is constricting his breathing and shoving it away until it is only barely nipping at his ankles.

“Uncle Ian! Uncle Mick! We’re here.”

Mickey looks up and half a block away they see the crowd lining the street as the parade marches by.

They join the crowd, which is pretty densely packed. Ian tries to hold their youngest up to see above the throng while Franky attempts to squeeze through the amorphous blob of heads and limbs for a better view. Yevgeny sticks by Mickey, though, squeezing his way under Mickey’s arm as the parade processes.

It starts with the Dykes on Bikes, as is only just and right. Mickey might not have ever been to Pride before, but he knows that you can’t start a parade without a consortium of leather-clad sapphics roaring their choppers. Then there are the floats representing most of Cook County’s queer watering holes, many represented by a drag queen wearing a sash and crown. Leather men, furries, and senior gays. There are multiple groups for trans women, followed by a few different ones for trans men. Yevgeny makes sure to wave at Trevor marching with them, shirtless and proudly flaunting his top surgery scar as a point of pride. Then come the radical fairies, the Sisterhood of Perpetual Indulgence, queer couples with kids like Ian and Mickey, queer couples that treat their French bulldogs like their kids, PFLAG parents. Even the Log Cabin Republicans (but, honestly… why?). All the colors and flavors queer culture strolling the streets of Chicago in their full regalia.

“There sure are a lot of us, huh, pop?”

“That’s right, kiddo. Way more than I realize sometimes.”

“Taste the rainbow, Yevvy.” chimes in Ian.

“Roy G. Biv,” mutters Yevgeny. “There’s just not enough.”

“Huh?”

“Roy G Biv. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. Those are the actual colors in a rainbow. And the Pride flag only uses six. We learned that at the Youth Center. But that’s not enough colors for all of us. No where near enough.”

“Maybe the rainbow’s just a starting point, bud,” muses Ian lowering Ollie down to give his shoulders a rest. “After all, Crayola has at least 120 colors to choose from. That might be enough.”

“Maybe.”

“Yevgeny! Come look!” Squeals Franky as they reappear and abruptly hoist the older child to the front of the crowd again. From what Mickey can tell, the kids are gushing over a dragon furry with practical scale wings that change color when the owner shifts the scales in one direction or another.

So many ways to find what makes you happy, Mickey thinks. And Terry tried to convince me the only thing I had to look forward to was misery.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asks Ian as he shifts the chubby little boy into his pop’s arms. Mickey almost automatically kisses the crown of the curly ginger head.

“I was just thinking,” Mickey repeats his answer from earlier. “It’s gonna be a good day, isn’t it?”

Ian leans in and kisses his husband’s soft chin. “I’m glad you finally came out with me, baby.”

The warm, rosy color that flushes across Mickey’s face has nothing to do with needing more sunblock.

Written for Gallavich Week 2025, Day 6: Rainbow @gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

Day 6 of GW2025 "Rainbow"

@gallavichthings

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66579604/chapters/172169152#workskin