Trauma At Its Finest (Lip Gallagher X Male Reader)

Ch 56. Trauma Of The Past

With the pressure of finding a job, Y/N spends the day wandering all over Chicago. Unfortunately, discovering that 'fun' jobs don't usually hire people without degrees or experience turns out to be a harsh reality check. Still, with confidence in his talents, the Russian is sure he'll land something eventually.

Today, he's sitting in a sleek, high-end clothing store, being interviewed by a sharply dressed man with a perfectly trimmed beard and a tone that could slice glass. The manager looks over Y/N's sparse résumé, then glances up at him.

"Sweetie." The typical gay man starts, eyebrow arched. "Nowhere on here does it say you have any experience in fashion."

"I know." Y/N replies flatly.

"Then why are you here?"

"To get a job."

The man stares at him for a long second, then gestures vaguely at Y/N's outfit. "You think you can get a job dressed like that?"

Y/N looks down at himself — plain black khaki pants, a simple black shirt, and his jacket draped over the chair. "It's called clothing. You put it on when you don't want to flash everyone."

"I know what clothing is!" The manager snaps, flicking his wrist dramatically. He exhales, loud and theatrical. "Maybe we can put you in the sportswear section. At least that buff body is making up for something."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

The man glares, then sighs. "Congrats. You're hired — purely for your looks."

"Bet you wish you could say the same." Y/N mutters under his breath.

The manager blinks. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

-

While changing the diapers of the four babies, Lip feels like he's finally getting the hang of being a stay-at-home dad. Having learned his lesson, he's following the schedule his fiancé gave him to the letter — and for once, things seem almost peaceful.

"And that's baby number two." He mutters, sliding Kate aside and picking up Lyn. "Now we move to baby number three. You know, I should really start using your names. Maybe you wanna be Baby Number Three, huh, Lyn?"

"Da-da."

Lip freezes mid-wipe. "What—did you just...?" He stares at her in disbelief, then grins. "You're what, six, seven months? You're gonna be the smart one."

Lyn giggles, clearly proud of herself.

That's when Carl steps into the living room. "Hey, I think your son's suicidal."

Lip looks up, alarmed. "What!?"

He bolts into the kitchen — and sure enough, Mikhail's on the floor with a fork, trying to jab it into an electrical outlet. Lip swoops in, grabs the fork away, and sighs.

"I told you, Mik — no forks or you die."

Mikhail laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. "You put fork."

"Did you just tell me I should kill myself?" Lip squints. "You're not even my biological kid, and you still sound like a Gallagher."

"Hell." Mikhail chirps with a grin.

"...I really gotta start watching my mouth." Lip picks him up and carries him back into the living room, where Carl's sitting by the playpen, playing with Alyosha.