Meeting of the trio
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the city, Harry heard the ruckus next door reach a crescendo. The sound of shattering glass was followed by a string of expletives, and suddenly the front door of the Gallagher household swung open, revealing Mickey Milkovich, a young man with a mischievous glint in his eye and a smirk that suggested he knew more than he let on. Harry had seen him around the neighborhood before, often with the fiery redhead, but they had never exchanged more than a nod.
Mickey stumbled out into the night, a bottle of beer in hand, and spotted Harry through the fence. His gaze lingered for a moment before a knowing grin spread across his face. "You're the new guy," he called out, his voice a bit too loud for the quiet street. "Thought you might be interesting."
Harry, caught off guard, stepped out of the shadows of his porch. "I'm Harry," he said, trying to keep his tone casual.
Mickey sauntered over, the fence doing little to contain his boundless energy. "Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, extending a hand that was calloused and warm to the touch. "I'm Mickey, and that's my place," he nodded back towards the house. "You got a thing for hiding in the dark or is that just your British charm?"
Ian, the fiery redhead Harry had noticed, appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" he called out, his voice carrying a protective edge.
Mickey didn't miss a beat. "Just saying hello to our neighbor, Harry. He's from England, can you believe it?"
Ian's gaze softened as he stepped outside, his eyes scanning Harry from head to toe. "Yeah, I've seen you around," he said, his voice a smoother, calmer version of Mickey's. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
The three of them stood awkwardly for a moment before Mickey spoke up again. "You know, Harry, we've got a bit of a situation here," he said, gesturing back at the house with his bottle. "Ian's got this thing about family, and I've got this thing about... well, not giving a damn."
Ian rolled his eyes, but there was affection in his tone when he said, "Mickey's not wrong. We've got more drama than a soap opera over there."
The tension between the two was palpable, a silent dance of push and pull that Harry found both fascinating and familiar. He had grown up with his own share of family drama, after all. "Sounds... interesting," Harry replied, trying to keep his own secrets hidden.
Mickey took a swig from his bottle, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "You have no idea," he said, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "But you look like you've seen some things. What brings you to our little slice of heaven?"
Harry hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "I'm just looking for a change of pace," he said finally, the truth wrapped in a lie. "Thought Chicago might be interesting."
Mickey's smirk grew. "It's definitely got that going for it. But hey, if you ever need anything, you know where to find us." He took a step closer, his eyes searching Harry's. "Especially if it involves getting into a bit of trouble."
Ian stepped forward, a hand on Mickey's arm. "What he means is, we're here if you need help. Or if you just want to hang out and forget about the world for a bit." His gaze was intense, a silent question hanging in the air.
"Thanks," Harry said, feeling the beginnings of a genuine smile tug at his lips. "I might take you up on that." He hadn't meant to confide in them, but something about their openness made it easy to let his guard down.