Disclaimer: I don't own Shameless or any of the characters.

1. I don't know

It was one quiet night in the south side of Chicago, too quiet. The street was as dark as always, but something about that particular night sent shiver down his nerves. It was three days after he got out of juvie, the second time that was. He went in there because he needed a way out, a break from every shit that was driving him crazy at the time. A break from that fucking redhead with a shit-eating grin to be more accurate.

A hell lot was going on back then. It was his own decision to break it off. He was in too deep. What they had was going to get them fucking killed. Before the redhead, things were simple. He could live his carefree life, getting drunk and high, beating shit out of people, not caring about anyone but himself, well, maybe except for Mandy, but still, his life was simple.

Before the redhead, he was careful. He only fucked people he could threaten to keep their mouths shut after burying balls deep inside them. He never let anyone in his family know he was gay, anyone else either, except for those he had fucked of course. He even fucked girls just in case anyone had any suspicion, though he hated every second of it.

Before the redhead, he was happy, maybe he shouldn't have used the word because he'd never been happy, but it was close to happy, he guessed. He didn't let anybody in, that's the quickest way to get hurt. He didn't get his hopes up, they never came true, not for him, he was fucked for life anyway. He knew that the world had it in for him, and he'd accepted that as a fact for a long time.

The day the redhead came into his life, all those just flew out of the window. He hated that. He hated that the redhead did that to him, that he somehow had some effects on him, that he made him feel things he didn't understand, that he made him care, that he gave him some sort of hope he knew wouldn't ever come true, that he made him stupid and careless. For fuck's sake, he'd gone to juvie twice because of the redhead already.

And it wasn't just him who needed a break, the redhead needed it too. He hated that he actually gave a shit about the redhead at all, but he couldn't help thinking that it was probably for the best that he broke it off so that the redhead would have no distraction and go pursuing his dream of getting his ass shot or whatever it was he wanted.

The ex-con was sure that he had made the right decision. There were so many reasons behind it and they were all lucid, to him at least. No matter how he thought about it, he still thought he'd made the correct choice. But why? Why did it feel so wrong breaking things off? Why did those words still echo in his ears? Why did he still see that heartbroken look every time he closed his eyes? Why did he feel like there was a big hole that was consuming him from the inside bit by bit?

What happened that day still haunted him. As those words came out, the redhead became silent. The ex-con should have left right away, but he didn't. It was a mistake because that was when he saw the way the redhead was looking at him, the pain and sadness in his eyes that could burn through his soul with mere gaze. The redhead was silently broken, staring him with dull eyes stripped of their usual zeal and life. He hated that expression. He hated that he hated the way the redhead was looking at him, with those sad puppy-dog eyes so wide that made him feel like he would do anything so that the redhead wouldn't ever feel like that again. He hated that it hurt so much to hurt the redhead, that he somehow got under his skin. He hated that he wanted to kill those words for him. But it was too late, or maybe it wasn't, he just didn't know anything anymore.

Ever since he got home, he couldn't help but look at that particular crack in the wall of his bedroom. He hated that it reminded him of the redhead. He tried to cover it with like five layers of posters, but that didn't help. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake it out of his mind. He couldn't shake the redhead out of his mind. So that night after loads of joints and two packs of cheap beer did no good for him, he settled on a new strategy and decided that he would go get something stronger, some coke maybe, so that he wouldn't be capable of thinking any longer.

He got out of his house at almost midnight. But instead of heading to the nearest dealer, he found himself walking, though he didn't know exactly where he was going. He blamed the joints he took earlier that he ended up at the baseball field. That particular baseball field they fucked the first time he got out. He wandered in, didn't know why he was there nor what he was looking for. 'This is really fucking stupid,' he thought to himself. That was when he heard somebody yelling.

"Tell us where he is." A man's voice was coming from the dugout.

"I don't know," another guy replied. His voice was sounding so familiar. It belonged to the redhead. As soon as he heard that, the ex-con grabbed a two-by-four that was lying around and quickly rushed into the scene. The burn of anger flared up in his blood when he saw two grown men beating the redhead. His redhead. Without warning, he swung the two-by-four at one of them, aiming at his knee. The man screamed like a banshee before his face planted into the floor. The ex-con didn't bash his head because he still wanted the fuckhead to be able get away from the scene, not lying there unconscious beside the redhead.

Caught by surprise, the other man turned his head to face him. "Mickey Milkovich?" the man said as his face twisted in fear, looking pale like he just saw a ghost.

"What do you fucking low lives think you are doing?" Mickey snarled murderously, not looking at Gallagher who was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the wall.

"Frank owed us money and took off so we figured we should beat it out of his kid instead. Why the fuck would this concern you?" The man said all that in one breath.

"Usually, I don't give two shits about how you scumbags do your business, but the idiot lying there is my little sister's boyfriend. He belongs to a Milkovich and we Milkovichs take people messing with what's ours very seriously. So you two wanna get the fuck away or do you want your limbs shattered first?" said the ex-con with a sadistic grin and deep, narrow, deadly eyes.

Not a single word was said before one man helped the other now-crippled man up and started running away. Well, no so much running, more like limping. They were so focus on running away that they didn't even have time to leave the this-isn't-over speech, let alone looking back.

Mickey's eyes followed them until he was sure they were gone before he turned to look at Gallagher. He tried to assess how much damage was done. One of his leg seemed hurt judging by the way he unnaturally bent his knee, one of his hand was held to his gut so that must hurt too, his knuckles were covered with blood, which meant he fought back, his face was covered with bruises and he was panting heavily. Mickey flinched a little when he finally looked up and met his eyes. Gallagher was staring at him as if his eyes were locked. The ex-con nearly reeled from the sheer intensity of his stare. His expression was unreadable, but Mickey could tell it was kind of confusion and anger mixed with some sort of relief.

Mickey turned his back at the redhead and was about to leave as he didn't want to have any kind of confrontation with Gallagher at the moment. He wanted to leave, really wanted to, but there was no way the redhead could get home by himself in that condition. There was no way Mickey could leave him, not like that at least. Still blaming the joints he took not long before, he scanned the perimeter and when he was sure there was no one else, he turned around and crouched down in front of Gallagher.

Author's note: This is my first fan fiction ever. Reviews are appreciated.