Reckless Harmony

A Bitter Taste

Mickey stares at the streetlight on the corner, its flickering glow casting dancing shadows around him. Where was he going? He's unsure, but he knows he needs to get away from Ian, to stop himself from doing something he'll regret later. His limbs feel heavy, his mind clouded by the alcohol coursing through his veins.

Suddenly, a van screeches to a halt beside him. Masked figures emerge and drag him inside before he can react.

"Get the fuck off me! Fuck you!" Mickey's protests fall on deaf ears as he's wrestled into a prone position, hands bound behind his back and a bag shoved over his head. The van lurches forward, eventually stopping at a familiar destination. The smell of the Milkovich house hits him, and dread settles in his stomach.

Is it Terry?

Oh, fuck.

Forced onto the couch, the bag is yanked off his head, revealing his father and uncles, their expressions dark with anger.

Terry takes a drag from his cigarette, his voice sharp with accusation. "So, you've been cozying up to that little redheaded twink, haven't you?"

Mickey stammers, "Fuck, it's not what you think."

Without warning, a pistol cracks against his skull, sending his vision spinning. "I saw what you did, you little cocksmoker!"

Blow after blow rains down upon him as Terry unleashes his fury. "This is what you've been up to while playing with that band of yours, huh?"

Mickey's voice is barely a whisper, strained from the pain. "N-no."

"You pole-smoking queer! You've brought shame onto this bloodline!" Each word is punctuated with another brutal punch. Mickey teeters on the edge of consciousness, his father's next words barely registering through the haze.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson, boy." Turning to Lou, he adds, "Send over the Russian."

***

"What the fuck happened to you?" A worried Fiona rushes over to Ian, her concern is evident in her voice as she guides him to the sofa. Ian doesn't answer, it's just fucking overwhelming. Fiona hurries to the kitchen to fetch the first aid kit, her movements brisk with worry. Ian can't process everything that just happened; he feels utterly hopeless, the ache in his heart spreading to his stomach and limbs, weighing him down.

"Seriously, Ian. What happened?" Fiona's voice breaks through his daze.

Ian sniffles from the cold. "...Mickey and I broke up."

Fiona's expression shifts from concern to sadness. "Fuck, Ian. I'm sorry."

She pulls him into a comforting hug which Ian can't resist. When she pulls away, she begins dabbing cold, wet cotton balls on the dried blood. Her touch is gentle against his bruised skin. The sting of the antiseptic makes Ian wince, but he welcomes the distraction from the emotional pain tearing him apart inside. Once she finishes, she sits beside him.

"So, you guys ended on a bad note?"

Ian looks down at the ground. They're done. He can't believe it. He and Mickey. The only thing that was saving Ian from spiraling again. The only comfort he knew, is now gone.

Fiona rubs his back supportingly, "Well, you're not alone. Had plenty of those." She smiles sadly.

Fuck, she's good at that. At being so bittersweet.

"I'm tired," Ian says, standing up from the couch.

Fiona nods understandingly. "Yeah, you could use some rest. I'm here if you need anything, okay?"

Ian manages a small nod. With a heavy heart, he makes his way to his room, each step feeling like a monumental effort. The weight of his shattered relationship with Mickey hangs heavily on his shoulders, threatening to crush him with its overwhelming presence. As he collapses onto his bed, exhaustion washes over him like a tidal fucking wave.