#i'm absolutely the moron who'd make a fool out of myself by asking for craft beer btw

[gallavictorious]

Given the growing gentrification of the South Side, sooner or later someone – a magaine, website, whatever – will probably want to write a LGTB+ guide to the neighborhood; what's good, where it might be unsafe to be out and proud, etc. So, a small bunch of brave twenty-somethings hop on the L and starts hitting up the local pubs and bars, and soon enough they find themselves in The Alibi Room.

It's afternoon, probably, so the place isn't packed, but there's a few regulars lounging in their usual spots, having their usual beverages. None of the intrepid explorers are Cole levels of eye-catching, more's the pity, but they've all made efforts to be obviously gay – they're here to gauge how well that is received, after all. A little pride pin, maybe, stuff like that. Please understand that I don't actually know enough about the US and the South Side to determine if this type of excursion would ever happen and whether it'd be suicidally stupid or maybe just classist and condescending if so. Either way, and for the purposes of this meta ficlet, a small group of LGTB+ peeps walk into a bar –

Tommy and Kermit stare a little, probably, but likely no more than they'd stare at any outside intruders. Kev says, ”hey, guys, what can I get you,” and the group starts to relax a little because while the place seems to be a proper shithole, homophobic aggression doesn't seem to be amongst its many questionable qualities. So they order drinks and don't make fools out of themselves by asking for anything fancy and it's all pretty chill. One of them braves the bathroom, and instantly regrets it. Kev is his usual friendly self and asks if they live around here and, when he learns that they do not, what brought them? They're happen enough to tell him and he gets all enthusiastic both about being gay in general (blowjobs! sandwiches! oh, kev... ) and about being gay in his bar (we love gays here, we have a strict policy against harrassement of gays, and of women, we're not even the rapiest bar in Chicago anymore) and he's kinda clueless, but it's oddly sweet, you know?

Enter Mickey, who does a little thing with his face when he sees the group: ”Jesus. This a fucking Pride parade?”

He's not actually being that nasty about it, just a little curious and probably suspicious of what looks like fucking hipsters, but it's Mickey so to anyone who doesn't know him it sounds nasty as fuck. Also, has has a certain presence, you know, and those tattoos, and our group of gay explorers are starting to think that maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

”Hey, Mickey,” Kev calls quite happily as he immediately moves to pour a beer for his one-time business partner. ”This is Jacob and his friends, they have this websited called Out and about, and they're writing this article about gay friendly bars on the South Side.”

Uh-huh. Mickey knew it. Fucking hipster bullshit. He snorts into his beer. ”Yeah? The fuck they're doing here then?”

Kevin looks appropriately hurt. ”We're gay friendly.”

”Fuck you being gay friendly. I almost got killed coming out in this shithole.”

”That's – ” Kevin throws a panicked look at our gay explorers, who are sitting there staring at Mickey, wide-eyed and confused and desperately trying to parse what they'd just heard. This rough-looking, foul-mouthed South Side thug is gay? ”It was his dad,” Kev tries to explain. ”It was a family thing, nothing to do with the bar. Terry doesn't even come here anymore.”

That much is true. He hasn't, not since just after the wedding, when he walked in alone only to spot Ian and Mickey having a quiet date night in one of the booths and the whole place fell into deep silence as Mickey and Terry locked eyes. Ian's hand found Mickey's arm, grounding him, holding him back. Seconds were added to seconds and you could have heard a pin drop. Then, a good number of the patrons climbed to their feet and stood just facing Terry, and Kev said ”sorry, man, looks like the place is full right now. Come back another night, maybe?” and Terry's glare could have killed but he just said ”I don't drink where they let in fucking faggots” and left. Maybe the Alibi Room is gay friendly, or maybe it's just ready to – once in a great while – step up for one of their own.

The gay explorers never get to hear this story. (What business is it of theirs anyway?) Ian walks in, and he smiles a little curiously when he sees the pin-adorned strangers, but doesn't say anything as he takes the seat next to Mickey and leans in for a quick peck: ”Hey.”

”Hey,” Mickey says, perfectly content to completely forget about any and all gays that aren't his husband. ”How's work?”

But before Ian has the chance to reply, one of the group speaks up, a little shyly, a little awestruck. ”Uh. I'm sorry. Are you... are you gay Jesus?”

Ian starts, unsure how to respond to that, but Mickey has no such qualms. ”No, he fucking ain't your gay Jesus,” he snaps, standing and grabbing Ian by the hand. ”C'mon, Gallagher, let's get out of here. Smell of rainbows and fucking soy lattes making me sick.”

This doesn't strike Ian as a horrible idea so he doesn't protest, even as he shoots our gay explorers a vaguely apologetic look. They exit, pursued by neither bear nor cub.

Kev turns to the somewhat stunned group, plastering a wide smile on his face: ”So. Another round?”