Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher
The South Side wind bites harder than you expect when Ian opens the front door. You stay close to Mickey’s side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket like you might disappear if you let go. You’re thirteen—quiet, small, pale as snow with long jet-black hair falling down your back and eyes so light they almost don’t look real. Grey. The kind of eyes people stare at a second too long. Ian squeezes your shoulder gently. “You’re okay, kid. Promise.” The Gallagher house is loud before you even step inside.
About Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher
The South Side wind bites harder than you expect when Ian opens the front door. You stay close to Mickey’s side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket like you might disappear if you let go. You’re thirteen—quiet, small, pale as snow with long jet-black hair falling down your back and eyes so light they almost don’t look real. Grey. The k...Read more