Chapter Text
Mickey’s never really given much thought to flirting.
Never really had a use for it in the first place; there’s no point to it in juvie, and with every person he’s ever fucked, there has always been a mutually agreed upon decision to get their rocks off and then go on their merry way, no need to woo anybody, whatever the fuck that means.
Milkovich’s don’t woo, they take. They demand. They make their needs known then get them fulfilled. Mission accomplished.
There's still a tiny, niggling part of him that wonders about it, though. What it would be like to flirt with someone just because you like them and want to be near them.
Not that he's ever really had that much experience with it, or had anyone particularly interested in having anything to do with him or his personality.
And he's fine with that, absolutely a ok with just being in it for the fucking, no cute comments or pillow talk necessary. If anything, it all sounds a little too gay if you ask him.
The first time he genuinely wonders about it, he’s sitting in the back of algebra on one of the rare days he’s actually shown up to class, carving his initials into the desk and watching some girl in the front row shamelessly flirt with the steroid riddled jock behind her.
She seems to be pulling out all the stops, playing with her hair and giggling, thrusting her breasts out and doing some weird eye thing that contains a lot of fluttering and batting of her eyelashes, touching the dude’s arm a lot when she talks to him.
The guy leans forward and makes some joke that gets her laughing, pointing at her necklace which makes her blush and reach her hand up to play with it.
It all looks very dumb and cheesy and straight out of one of those dumbass romcoms that Mandy’s always watching.
Mickey tries picturing himself doing any of those things and it makes him want to literally shove a shotgun down his throat.
He knows what flirting is, he’s not an idiot. He sees people doing it all the time to get laid and get in a girl’s pants, telling them how pretty they are, giving them all sorts of dumb, nice compliments that make them do that giggly girly thing that grates on his ears.
The guys he see all seem to do the same dumb shit to get their attention, lifting chicks up to show off their strength, doing pull ups in doorways, muscles flexing (So fuckin’ lame, who even does that?).
Once you’ve gotten them to give it up, he thinks, what’s the point of flirting when you’ve already gotten laid? Why bother with the niceties?
Besides, even if he wanted to it’s not like he has any idea where to start with all this flirting bullshit.
----
The answer comes on a random Tuesday afternoon in July amid Linda’s blaring over the store intercom about cheese sandwiches and criticisms of Mickey’s obviously stellar security guard skills.
Lip has come and gone with all the stuff they need for the ice cream truck, Frank having slinked off to fuck knows where after forking over his $20.
Whatever. Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.
They’re at their normal spots in the store, Ian behind the counter manning the register, Mickey standing guard by the front door waiting for some non existent crime that needs to be stopped, or for Ian to head to the back room with a wink and a nod.
He’s casually perusing the magazine rack when a headline on one of the chick mags catches his eye.
There’s a picture of some blonde celebrity on the front who’s name he couldn’t give a fuck about, but in the top right corner in big pink bold letters it says Ultimate Guide to Flirting With Your Crush! Ten Fool Proof Ways to Get the Guy! Page 52.
Mickey glances back over to the register to see Ian helping a customer pick out cigarettes on the back wall.
For as long as he lives, Mickey swears what happens next is an out of body experience possibly explained away by being delirious from the summer heat (it's barely 85 degrees) and maybe on the fact that he hasn't had lunch yet (he's not even hungry).
He uses the distraction of Ian ringing up the customer to pull the magazine off the rack and head for the back corner, pretending to be preoccupied with grabbing a drink from the refrigerator as he quickly flips to the correct page.
He scans it to make sure it’s got the right headline, looks back towards the front to make sure Ian’s still preoccupied, and lets out a comically loud cough as he rips the page out, eyes glancing forward again to make sure no one's noticed.
Depositing the magazine on the shelf next to him, he hastily folds the article in half and shoves it into his back pocket, nervous sweat dripping down his back. Fuck.
He feels like such a pussy for this but he's also trying not to think too hard about his decision. Doesn't mean I'm gonna actually read it, just nice to have options, probably a bunch of bullshit I can laugh at.
Way easier to think things like that than to actively think about why he's taken the article in the first place.
Those types of thoughts can stay nice and deep and buried where they belong, hogtied in the back of his brain when he's not currently hyper aware of the super girly article burning a hole in his back pocket.
If someone finds it I’ll just say it’s for Mandy ‘cause she’s a whore and can't flirt to save her life.
That calms his nerves a bit as he smooths his hands down his vest, then berates himself for being such a little bitch as he heads back to the front.
—-
Mandy’s getting ready for a date when he gets home that night, the light on in her room and music spilling out of her doorway.
He’s heading for his own room, 40 oz in hand, fingers itching to get the incriminating piece of evidence off his body and in a safe place, when she yells out his name.
“Mickey! Fuckhead, I know you stole my cigarettes, give them back.”
“Fuck off!” he yells back before heading into his bedroom, quickly pulling out a gun magazine by the side of his bed and shoving the article in.
Mandy appears in the doorway and a brief flair of panic shoots up his spine as he tosses the magazine on the bed, attempting to school his features into a bored expression before turning to look at her.
She glares at him, hand out for the cigarette pack.
“Hand it over, I know you have it.”
He smiles sarcastically at her as he tosses it her way before chuckling when she flails trying to catch it. She flips him off as she heads back to her own room.
Mickey glances at the magazine before following after her, stealing a cigarette from her pack and throwing himself onto her bed.
Mandy rolls her eyes at his presence while he takes a long pull from his beer and watches her as she goes back to rummaging around in her dresser.
She’s got the shortest skirt he’s ever seen on and her tits are practically falling out of her shirt while she fixes her hair in the mirror, although he can’t really tell how she’s improving it in any way.
“How do you even get these dudes to like you anyway? Flash your tits at them and call it a day?”
It’s the closest he’s ever come to asking about dating and even that offhanded question has his palms slightly sweating as he lights up his cigarette.
Mandy glares at him in the mirror, hands busy putting part of her hair into a ponytail on top of her head and brushing her bangs down.
“It’s called being nice to them, asshole. Probably why there’s no girls chasing after you since you’re always such a rude dick all the time.”
It’s Mickey’s turn to roll his eyes as he takes a drag from his cigarette and makes a poor attempt at blowing the smoke out her open window.
She wrinkles her nose at the smell and turns to look at him.
“Get your fucking dirty feet off my bed. And you’re getting cigarette ash all over my pillow, douchebag!”
He snorts, flicking ash at her face and earning a shriek and a hard punch to his shoulder, almost knocking over the beer can balanced on his knee before he grabs it.
“Ow, bitch! Jesus!”
“Get out and go bother someone else, I need to finish getting ready.”
After he’s unceremoniously shoved out of her room, the door slamming shut behind him, he heads to his own room, shoving clothes and random shit on the floor out of the way as he throws himself onto his own bed.
He chugs the rest of his beer, burping loudly and tossing the can in the direction of the trash can in the corner of his room, frowning slightly as it bounces off the rim and spins onto the floor. 0 for 1.
He lays there quietly smoking the rest of his cigarette as he listens to Mandy's dumb pop music filter down the hallway, interspersed with the sounds of her continuing to get ready.
Finally, he hears her heading out the front door, house now thankfully empty as he remembers that Terry and his brother’s had gone over to Uncle Ronnie’s for some welcome home from prison barbeque for one of Terry’s prison buddies.
Still, he gets up and locks his door for good measure before heading back to the gun magazine lying innocently at the foot of his bed.
He sends one more furtive glance towards his bedroom door before pulling out the article. His eyes scan it, lips grimacing as he begins reading.
Right under the headline it says:
Here’s your totally chill, non-embarrassing, easy-to-learn guide to flirting!
Mickey scoffs at that before continuing down to read the 10 tips listed underneath:
- Make eye contact and smile while you talk. These are two of the biggest rules of flirting. You communicate so much with your eyes and your lips, and they're some of your most flattering features. Use them to your advantage!
- Wave and say "hi" when they walk by. Shy girls, this move is for you! One second of putting yourself out there and you're done. They'll get the message.
- Remember what they tell you, then bring it up later. If you weren't interested in them, you wouldn't bother committing that detail about their family vacation to the Grand Canyon to memory. So when you bring it up two weeks later, it causes a lightbulb to go off in your crush's head. All of a sudden, they think, Wait, whoa, she remembered I told her that! Awesome.
- Ask your crush questions about their life. You want your crush to feel good about themselves, right? One easy way to do that is to keep the conversation (mainly) focused on them. Ask questions that can’t be answered with a simple yes or no, and avoid topics that are too heavy or might cause an argument. Be comfortable talking about yourself, but don't forget to ask them some basic, non-threatening questions that they can easily talk about.
- Make them laugh. Nothing’s more attractive than a sense of humor. Tell a joke or show them a funny picture to get them in a good mood and show them your laid back, fun side!
- Casually touch their arm when you're talking. This is a classic flirting tip for a reason: Even if your crush isn't great at picking up on signals, they'll def notice a tiny bit of physical contact. It's juuust bold enough to grab their attention. If you’re sitting close enough, rest your hand gently on theirs, if you feel comfortable doing so.
- Invite your crush to hang out as part of a group. If you're hosting a party or movie night, invite your crush along. The group setting is way less pressure than a one-on-one date, but the fact that you thought to include your crush at all lets them know they're on your mind.
- Give them something thoughtful. Like say their fave candy bar. You just, um, "happened" to see it at CVS and you knew they'd like it. It's fine to play it off really casually like you just randomly had an extra one in your bag.
- Tease them. It's just like your mom told you back in first grade when that meanie was making fun of you — that meanie secretly liked you. All these years later, the same logic holds true. Just remember — you want to be playful, not hurtful.
- Give them a sincere compliment. Go ahead, make them feel all glow-y and blush-y and smiley.
Well.
That.
Is a lot.
There’s a low key panic thrumming under his skin at all these tips listed out one after the other and it’s starting to make his skin itch.
He looks back down at the list, eyes scanning them all again and it fills him with annoyance and some other emotion he’s not sure how to name. Fuckin’ stupid.
He crumples the article into a ball, throwing it at his trash can angrily and watches as it hits the rim of the basket and bounces off. 0 for 2.
Sighing, he pats himself down for cigarettes before remembering he gave his pack back to Mandy, head thunking back on his pillow with a loud curse.
Besides, not like any of those tips would actually work. Dumb shit probably only works on lame ass chicks anyway. But then his mind is drifting to red hair and freckles like it does so often these days and he can’t help thinking about that smile he gets when Mickey tells a dumb joke, the way his eyes light up when he asks about his West Point shit, the little pink tinge on his cheeks when they talk sometimes once they’re done fucking.
Ok he supposes, maybe there’s something to all this flirting business.
Besides, what else is there to do during the summer? He’s got fuck all else happening, where’s the harm in a little dumb flirting behind closed doors?
He gets off the bed with the intention of rooting for cigarettes in the living room and hesitates by the trash can, eyes drawn to the crumpled ball lying forlornly on the ground.
He picks it back up, smoothing it out on his thigh and stares at it again. Fuckin’ Gallagher he thinks as he folds and tucks it back into his magazine before heading out the door, head buzzing with thoughts.