He was done seeing his fucking jello getting stolen.
It was a goddamn cup with his goddamn name written on it in goddamn sharpie in the back of the goddamn refrigerator behind his goddamn beer. And yet, whenever he checked, it seemed to have vanished.
His jello didn’t have fucking legs, either. It could not escape from the fucking fridge if it ripped off its own top, melted and attempted to leak through the door. It couldn’t escape. You know why? Because it was fucking jello.
More than that, it was Mickey Milkovich’s fucking jello.
Since his father consumed nothing but alcohol and the dreams of small children, Mickey was certainly positive he was not the culprit. Tony didn’t read so good, but he only ate things that came from animals. Meat and shit.
Iggy had been out of town for a few weeks; a good alias.
That left Mandy.
Fucking jello stealer.
“Mandy!” He shouted, hovering over the open refrigerator door. He could see, standing back, the clear gap where someone had pushed aside his beer and plucked the blue raspberry jello cup from its rightful place. It infuriated him. “Mandy, get the fuck out here!” He called again, despite being able to hear her coming toward the kitchen.
Firecrotch was behind her, but Mickey didn’t pay him any mind. Too much going on to spare the Gallagher boy a glance. He had jello to locate. He fucking wanted his fucking jello.
Eyes freshly lined and nose pointedly pierced, Mandy Milkovich halted two feet away from him. “What the fuck, Mick?” She asked, propping her hands on her hips, seemingly unaware of the problem. Scheming wench.
Gesturing the refrigerator, Mickey plastered a fake smile onto his face, and said in the softest, kindest of voices, “Where the fuck is my fucking jello?”
Mandy stared for a moment.
Mickey stared back.
She didn’t say a word.
Neither did he.
So it was to be like this, was it? Mickey sighed, slamming the fridge door shut. “Don’t make me shave off your eyebrows, sis. Just return my fucking jello.”
Mandy, confident bitch she was, looked away from him. She was fucking smiling when she peered back at Ian. Is this some kind of joke to you? he thought crudely, shaking his head. “Mandy.”
“What if I already ate it?” She asked, clearly containing laughter. It was both offensive and belittling. As if the issue wasn’t serious enough as it was, to be mocked? Mickey wouldn’t stand for such things. Pulling out the Swiss Army Knife from his back pocket, he lunged, catching Mandy by the hair. There was a small struggle, but he got the knife under the dark mass of her hair and said, “Talk, or I cut.”
Feisty as ever, Mandy punched him valiantly in the kidney, but it was all for naught. The pain was bearable, so long as he got the information he needed.
Looking up, Mickey got another look at Firecrotch. He was standing in the doorway, caught between laughing and moving forward to help Mandy. One hand was up, the universally accepted signal for caution, and the other hand was at his side.
It took a moment, but through a haze of red, Mickey spotted it.
The jello cup.
The empty jello cup.
In Ian Gallagher’s goddamn hand.
“Sis, I need you to go back to your room. Now.” Mickey said, straight-faced. There would be blood. Much blood.
With a nod from Ian, Mandy pulled away from Mickey, cradling her hair and sniffing, as if she had been the victim of this crime. She paused in the doorway, likely murmuring her last goodbyes. Wise choice.
When it was just the two of them, Mickey allowed silence to reign. There would be no swift end to this torture.
And Firecrotch— being the absolute firecrotch that he was— just grinned, dipped his finger into that little plastic cup, and pulled out what little jello remained. He stuck it in his mouth, and then laughed.
Mickey was ready to murder for that jello.
Without warning, he took off, closing the distance between them all too quickly. Lips closed on lips, tongues entered mouths and the two were lost, pressed up against the kitchen doorjamb.
After a moment, Mickey pulled away and wiped his mouth.
“Don’t fucking touch my jello. Ever.” He said fiercely.
They would live to eat another day.