You should’ve known Lip Gallagher was up to something the second he grinned at you in class.

“Alright, everyone,” Lip announced, passing out papers. “For your ‘Local History’ project, you’re working in pairs. And…” He paused dramatically. “Y/N — you’re with Mickey Milkovich.”

The entire room reacted exactly how you expected: groans, snorts, someone muttering “good luck.”

Mickey just leaned back in his chair, chewing gum like he couldn’t care less.

You turned to Lip, whispering, “You’re kidding, right?”

Lip smirked. “Nope. Think of it as… character-building.”

Great.

You find Mickey after class, leaning against the lockers.

“So,” you begin carefully, “we should probably pick a topic.”

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“It’s due in two weeks.”

“Still don’t care.”

You press your lips together. “Lip said it’s worth half our grade.”

“And I said—” He taps your forehead lightly with two fingers. “—I don’t f***in’ care.”

You let out a frustrated noise. “Mickey—”

“What? You expect me to sit around writin’ essays about some dead guys who built a pottery factory?”

You blink. “…Pottery?”

“See? Already boring,” he deadpans.

You eventually convince him (read: annoy him until he caves) to at least meet at the Alibi to brainstorm.

You sit at a table with your notebook. Mickey sits across from you, tearing napkins into shreds.

“Okay,” you say patiently. “Let’s pick something simple. The South Side has tons of history—”

“Most of it illegal,” Mickey interrupts flatly.

“That still counts!”

He squints at you. “…You’re serious.”

You nod.

He sighs, deep and dramatic. “Fine. Let’s talk about… I dunno… the time Kev’s cousin tried to run a goat-fighting ring in the basement.”

“Mickey, that is not—”

“It happened,” he says, shrugging. “Local history.”

You rub your eyes. “I hate Lip so much.”

Mickey smirks. “Yeah, he’s a real prick sometimes."

After an hour of Mickey giving you nothing but sarcastic answers (“Write about the time I stole a cop car when I was twelve,” “History of the Milkovich front yard fights,” “South Side tradition: don’t snitch”), he finally sighs and slouches deeper into the booth.

“Look,” he mutters, “I don’t do school crap. Never have. Never will.”