Mickey had always been soft as far as Terry remembers, not that he had paid all that much attention back in the day, when childcare had rightfully been a woman's job, but he had, on occasion, brought the kids home in the evening and and while he usually was proud to find Iggy and Joey fighting the other neighborhood kids, he distinctly remembers finding Mickey right among the bunch of no good Gallagher brats every. single. time.

Terry remembers how he'd been relieved when Mickey grew older, that he had toughened up, that he had chosen to be the brains to Iggy and Joey's brawns, that he had started claiming his place in the neighborhood, building a reputation as a true Milkovich by taking what he wants and brute force if necessary, or going after the red-headed Gallagher kid with a baseball bat to defend his sister's honor.

That's why it's the weirdest mixture of never-saw-this-coming and knew-all-along-there-was-something-wrong-with-this-kid when he finds them fucking, Mickey and the red-head, right in the middle of his living room, and the anger is sudden, the hate vicious when Terry pulls out his gun and starts to throw punches, not caring if he pistol-whips Mickey or his fag friend, he's determined to beat the gay out of 'em—

Little does he know it won't work and that a few years down the road they'll not just be sickenly in love but happily fucking married, too.