Lip headed towards the bedroom, eager to take advantage of having the room all to himself for once to get some much-needed reading done, but stopped in his tracks when he caught movement in the bathroom from the corner of his eye. He backtracked a couple of steps and watched as Ian stood in front of the mirror, gelling his hair and sculpting it into a fucking pompadour.

"Where are you going at ten o'clock on a Thursday night?" Lip asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe to regard his little brother warily. "Don't you have school in the morning?"

"Don't worry about where I'm going," Ian said flatly as he checked his reflection.

Lip sighed and shook his head. "How long is it gonna be like this with us?"

"When you stop being an asshole, so never," Ian said, glaring pointedly at his brother in the reflection.

Lip scoffed and rolled his eyes upwards at his brother's juvenile remark. "You are aware that you turned seventeen a few weeks ago, right?"

"Yeah, which is why I don't have to tell you shit about where I'm going," Ian spat before brushing past Lip and leaving the bathroom.

"Are you wearing fucking cologne?" Lip asked incredulously as he followed Ian into the bedroom. "Don't tell me you're going out to see Milkovich. I thought that shit was over." Lip watched as Ian froze before he quickly recovered.

"I told you, don't fucking worry about where I'm going."

Lip watched as Ian sat on the bed to put on his shoes. "You know I'm just looking out for you, right? You went through something pretty fucking traumatic, Ian, and you haven't been the same since you got back. I know you're dealing with some heavy shit, and you need someone to talk to about it before it fucks you up in the head and—"

"You know why I haven't been the fucking same, Lip?" Ian spat as he stood up. "Not because I was kidnapped, or held at gunpoint, or because I've been damaged beyond repair. It's because I fucking fell in love with the worst possible person I could have fallen in love with, and I got my heart ripped out of my goddamn chest in the process. That's what's fucking wrong with me. Now tell me you still give a shit."

Lip stood in stunned silence as Ian brushed past him and left the room.

After finally getting past the burly bouncer (who had hassled him to see a proper ID, but had eventually backed off as soon as Ian explained exactly why he was there), he walked into the smoky, flashy club, feeling extremely out of place in his jeans and bulky winter coat, considering everyone else seemed to be half-naked or on their way to being naked.

As he walked through the club and towards the small office tucked in the back, he watched as random guys made out heavily in booths and danced on each other, some of them even throwing suggestive looks Ian's way, silently inviting him to come join them.

Ian swallowed and forced himself to look away, even though a secret part of him was tempted to just get lost in someone else's kisses for the night.

He finally made his way through the sweaty, rowdy crowd to the small office and reluctantly knocked on the door, wondering for the hundredth time if it was such a good idea. Working as a go-go dancer in a gay nightclub called the Fairy Tail wasn't exactly something he'd ever envisioned himself doing, especially at seventeen, but, right then, it seemed like his only good option.

The money, he knew, would be the biggest benefit. The manager, Marcus, had explained that he could make a couple hundred dollars in one night, at least. Then again, Ian didn't really know how much he could trust his new manager, considering the guy hadn't even asked how old Ian was before hastily making a decision to hire him on the spot before Ian had even finished his pitch.

The other major benefit of it all was the fact that he'd have one more thing to distract his mind from Mickey, and if that meant having a bunch of guys ogling and fawning all over him at the same time, well, Ian guessed maybe that could be considered a benefit as well. He needed all the distractions he could get.

Ian knocked and waited for the gruff, 'come in', before pushing his way into the office.

Marcus was sitting behind the desk, puffing on a cigar. Just as he had the first time Ian entered his office, Marcus looked Ian over from head to toe, and he smiled appreciatively. "Jesus, kid, you look that good in street clothes, I can only imagine what you'll look like in our little getup."

Ian shuffled nervously under the lecherous scrutiny, hating the way the guy was looking at him, but he supposed he'd have to get used to it. He had a feeling he would have a lot of creepy, older pervs checking him out and touching him from there on out.

"I don't know if I should have mentioned it before, but, uh… I'm only seventeen," Ian found himself saying before completely thinking it through. Maybe a small part of him was hoping the guy would turn him away and not hire him.

Marcus leaned forward against his desk as smoke billowed from his cigar. "That's just a small technicality, isn't it? No one really needs to know that, now do they?"

Ian swallowed nervously. "No, uh, I guess not."

"So, what's going to happen is this; you'll come in, you'll dance. You'll dance onstage, you'll dance on laps. You'll work the room and never stay in one spot for too long. You get the cash up front for lap dances, and the guys are only allowed to touch you if you let them. We'll have bouncers all over, so if something goes wrong, it'll be taken care of immediately. You're safe here, Curtis."

Ian nodded, thinking none of that sounded too bad. Although, he had heard stories about what happened in the backrooms at clubs like this, but he decided not to ask about that, not wanting to offend the guy. Besides, he had no intentions of doing anything to anyone in any backroom.

"Good," Marcus said with a smarmy smile. "Now, let's get you into your costume and see what you got underneath that coat."

Mickey stood back awkwardly and watched as his father grabbed the poor man roughly by his hair, bending his head back at an awkward, painful angle.

"I want my money by next week, Charlie," Terry said through gritted teeth. He then looked up and eyed Mickey, "Or my boy over there is going to pay you a visit and blow a fucking bullet through your goddamn skull, you got it?"

The man nodded his head vigorously, his eyes wide as he stared back at Mickey in blatant fear.

Mickey shuffled uncomfortably even as he held his gun out and cocked it, knowing that's what his father would want him to do. He had to play the part.

He didn't want to be there. Being there, helping his dad with one of his jobs, was the last place he wanted to be. The entire time, all he could picture was Ian's face, all he could hear was Ian's sweet voice telling him that it was wrong, that he was better than that. Each time, he pushed those thoughts away and remained steadfast at the task at hand, not wanting to displease his father.

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding," Terry said before punching the guy hard in the gut.

The man doubled over as much as he could in the chair he was tied to and gasped for air as he groaned miserably in pain.

"Son, get your hit in and let's go," Terry said gruffly as he headed towards the door.

Mickey swallowed hard and knew better than to go against what he was told. He walked to the guy and briefly looked into his pleading eyes. He then stiffened the fuck up and punched the man as hard as he could in the face, breaking his nose in the process.

He didn't turn to see the satisfied smirk on Terry's lips, but he knew it was there all the same.

When Ian got home that night a little after two a.m, he drowsily headed straight for the bathroom to wash off the glitter and stink of gross old men that was still lingering on his skin.

His first night at the Fairy Tail had been interesting, to say the least. He felt like he had been pulled in all different directions by the men eager to get some time with the new, hot, redheaded twink. He had only been on shift for three hours and had made almost two hundred dollars. He figured the embarrassment and slight disgust he had felt giving lap dances all night had been well worth it in the end. He could get used to it, especially since the squirrel fund was no longer lacking and they'd be able to pay their heat bill for the month.

He quickly showered, and then walked into his bedroom, eager to get some sleep considering he had to be up for school in four hours.

Just as he was crawling into bed, Lip spoke. "Where were you?"

Ian sighed into the darkness, not in the mood for Lip's shit. "Out."

"Where the fuck is out?"

"Since when are you my keeper?"

Lip was quiet for a while before saying, "I'm just worried about you, Ian. We all are."

"Well, don't be," Ian said stubbornly, before turning on his side and pulling the blankets over his head. "Now go the fuck to sleep, Jesus."

Ian was four nights into his new job, and he was finding that he was no longer embarrassed while giving lap dances. He was quickly learning to just go with it, to close his eyes and think about something else. Two minutes of dancing on someone's lap for twenty-five bucks a pop? He couldn't really complain.

The man whose lap he was currently straddling was well into his fifties, and he was fucking handsy as all hell. Even though Ian warned him at least twice not to touch him, the man's hands somehow seemed to keep finding their way onto Ian's bare thighs. Ian rolled his eyes but kept going along with it, figuring the man only had about thirty seconds left, might as well give the old geezer a little bit of an extra thrill.

"What are you doing after your shift?" the man asked, his eyes taking Ian in, looking as if he wanted to eat him.

"Sorry, I don't go home with people," Ian said as he continued gyrating on the man's lap.

"Anything I can do to get you to make an exception?"

"Nope."

"What about for a little extra cash?"

"I'm not a fucking whore," Ian snapped before climbing off the guy's lap. "Time's up." Before the man could protest, Ian turned and walked away, smarting with irritation. As he was walking, he felt a hand on his arm, and he looked to find a man in his thirties standing before him.

"Can I snatch you up?"

"Twenty-five dollars gets you a dance," Ian recited, thinking that the guy was a nice change of pace. He actually seemed normal. He also wasn't bad to look at.

The man nodded his head towards an empty booth and Ian followed him.

After the man tucked the money into the waistband of Ian's tiny shorts, Ian straddled the guy and began dancing against him.

"Party favor?" the man asked, holding a small, white pill up over Ian's head.

Ian stared up at the pill, knowing without a doubt that he should say no. He'd never fucked with drugs before outside of marijuana, and he'd never intended on fucking with drugs before. Still, for some reason he couldn't really comprehend, he found himself opening his mouth like a baby bird and accepting the pill.

The man grinned, placed his hands on Ian's hips, and sat back to enjoy the show.

For the fourth night in a row, Lip waited up for Ian. For the fourth night in a row, Ian didn't come home until after two in the morning, disappearing into the bathroom to shower, and then passing straight out once his head hit his pillow.

Lip didn't know what the fuck was going on with his brother, but he knew it was nothing good.

The next morning, Lip eyed Ian warily over the kitchen table as they ate their pancakes. He took in the sight of Ian's pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the fact that his brother looked like absolute and total shit. Ian also hadn't said one word since sitting down, even though everyone else chatted animatedly around him.

Fiona placed another plateful of pancakes on the table, sneaking a worried look in Ian's direction before glancing at Lip, who could only shrug helplessly and shake his head. "So, uh, Ian… how're things with you?"

"Fine," Ian droned dully as he chewed on his pancakes.

"How's school going?" Fiona pressed.

"Good."

"You getting caught up on all your schoolwork?"

"Yep."

"And ROTC?" Fiona asked. "How's that going?"

"Going fine."

"Did you get your test back from—"

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck's with the third degree all of a sudden?" Ian snapped, slapping his hand down on the table, startling his siblings into stunned silence. He sighed and scraped his chair back before standing up. "I wish everyone would get the fuck off my back!" He stalked over to the door, grabbed his coat, and was out the door before anyone could protest.

"The hell is wrong with him?" Fiona asked with wide eyes.

"He's going mental," Carl piped in.

"Shut up, idiot, no he's not," Debbie said, kicking at Carl's shin under the table.

"I don't know what's going on with him," Lip said, "but we need to find out where the fuck he's been going the past few nights."

As everyone slowly went back to their routine, Lip's eyes dropped to the table, knowing and hating the fact that, right then, there was probably only one person who'd be able to get through to Ian.

Mickey was standing on his porch, idly staring off into the distance as he brought the whiskey bottle up to his lips to take a sip. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Lip Gallagher standing on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his expression grim.

"Well, if it isn't Phillip fucking Gallagher," Mickey said snidely. "The fuck're you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about Ian."

Mickey looked away, refusing to allow Lip to see that he had any reaction to hearing Ian's name, even though his heart quickened in his chest. "I thought we already had this conversation, Phillip."

"I think he's in trouble," Lip retorted, sounding perturbed by Mickey's sour attitude. "Something's going on with him."

Mickey took in Lip's words and waited to answer, making sure his tone was steady. "And that's my fucking problem, how?"

"You're such an asshole. I shoulda known you'd be useless. I don't know why I even fucking bothered," Lip spat, shaking his head and turning to walk away.

Before Mickey could even think about what he was doing, he called out, "What kinda trouble?"

Lip stopped and turned back around. He slowly shrugged. "I don't know. We were kinda hoping you would."

"I haven't talked to the guy," Mickey retorted. "How the fuck am I supposed to know what's going on with him?"

"Fuck," Lip muttered, looking off into the distance as a train rattled overhead.

"What's he been doing?" Mickey asked once the train passed, trying not to sound too eager to know what was wrong.

"He's been staying out until two, three o'clock in the morning. He's been moody as all hell, tired as hell, he won't talk to anyone. I think he might be on something," Lip explained, his voice wavering slightly. "Look, man, I know it's a lot to ask, but could you maybe just fucking try to talk to him? For some reason, I think you might be the only person he'd talk to right about now." He waited a beat before saying, "I wouldn't come to you if I thought I had any other choice."

"Yeah, I don't think he'll talk to me," Mickey snapped, staring down at his boots, his mind still trying to wrap around the fact that Ian was staying out until the middle of the night. He didn't even want to think about what that meant. The very thought of Ian fucking around with someone else made his stomach sick.

"Just try, okay?" Lip said. "If he means anything to you at all, just try. Make sure he's alright and not doing anything stupid, yeah?"

"I'm not fuckin' promising you anything," Mickey said bitterly, bringing his bottle back to his lips, essentially ending the conversation.

Lip simply nodded and turned to walk away, not noticing the way Mickey's shoulders slumped once he was alone.

Ian was making his way across the school grounds towards the football field for ROTC training. All day, he'd been dragging himself between periods and forcing himself to stay awake through class. He had contemplated skipping ROTC altogether but had decided against it in the end. He didn't want to have to admit to himself that it was all becoming too much to handle.

He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Mickey casually leaning against a tree up ahead, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips and his eyes squinting against the sun.

Ian stiffened his jaw and hung his head as he trudged forward, intent on walking right past Mickey without a word.

"Ay!" Mickey called out as he quickly followed after Ian.

"Leave me alone, Mickey," Ian snapped. "I don't have time for your bullshit right now."

Mickey grabbed Ian's arm. "Ay, man, talk to me for a second." Before he knew what was happening, Ian spun around and pushed Mickey roughly against a nearby fence, knocking the wind out of him.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Mickey stared back at Ian, completely dumbfounded. He shook himself from his shock and pushed Ian back just as hard. "Fuck you!"

Ian scoffed as he balanced himself, and then he shook his head before snatching his fallen backpack from the ground and continuing on his way.

"Ian, what the fuck!" Mickey called from behind. "What the hell's your problem?"

Ian turned around and glared at him with fake amusement. "Are you fuckin' kidding me right now? You're asking me what my problem is? You ignore me for days, you tell my brother you don't give a shit about me—"

"You know shit's complicated, Ian," Mickey bellowed. "I didn't ask for this any more than you did! You know why I did what I did!"

Ian just shook his head and looked down at his boots, refusing to look Mickey in the face.

"Christ, look at you," Mickey said softly after a tense pause. "You look like shit."

"Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No, smart-ass, that's not all," Mickey snapped. "Look, everyone is worried about you. Lip said you've been staying out all hours of the night, says you're tired all the time. Says you been—"

"Lip's a fucking asshole who doesn't know shit," Ian interrupted, "and he had no right going to you about anything."

Mickey sighed heavily as his eyes searched Ian's. "Will you just tell me what the fuck you've been up to?"

"It's none of your goddamn business. It's not anyone's business what the fuck I do, Jesus fucking Christ!" Ian snapped.

Mickey reached up and thumbed at the tip of his nose, trying to calm his nerves and reason with Ian. "Look," he continued calmly. "Everyone is just… they're worried, alright? Fuck, Ian, I'm worried about yo—"

"Are we about done here?" Ian interrupted. "I have to go or they're gonna make me do twenty laps if I'm late."

"Just tell me what the fuck you've been—"

"I've been working at the Fairy Tail in Boystown, alright!" Ian blurted, spreading his arms wide open. "You fuckin' happy now? I've been dancing half-naked on guys' laps, grinding on cocks for money! That's what I've been doing."

Mickey suddenly felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, and he looked like it too. "What the fuck, Ian," he finally said, although his tone was more hurt than angry.

Ian's resolve seemed to soften when he realized Mickey was hurt. He then toughened up in the next instant, refusing to let Mickey know he was hurting, too. "I have to go, I really don't feel like running fucking laps."

Mickey just stood there, having no other choice but to watch him go.

Mickey walked into the Fairy Tail later that night and instantly felt completely and utterly out of place. He hung his head and avoided making eye contact with anyone. In his periphery, he could see guys blatantly making out and dancing on each other, and he did all he could to not flat out gawk.

Once he made it to the main floor, he took a chance and lifted his head, trying to spot Ian among the crowd of gyrating bodies. He looked around, his eyes scanning over the mass of people, and then, finally, he spotted Ian through a break in the crowd.

There Ian was, dressed only in a pair of black booty shorts, grinding on some fucking dude's lap like it was second nature to him. Mickey swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he watched; bristling with jealousy, hurt, and anger. He then watched with a sick stomach as Ian opened his mouth and accepted a pill that the stranger offered him, and that was enough to set Mickey into motion. He tore his way through the crowd until he was standing next to the pair.

"Alright, lovebirds, time's up," Mickey spat. When neither moved, he yelled, "Time's fuckin' up, it's my turn!"

Ian quickly shuffled off the guy's lap and stared at Mickey dumbly.

"I'll see you later, Curtis," the man drawled.

"Get outta here, grandpa. You ain't seein' no one later!" Mickey yelled, and then he looked at Ian with arched eyebrows. "Curtis? You goin' with that again? Christ, Ian!"

"Twenty-five bucks gets you a dance," Ian interrupted, looking perturbed.

"Excuse me?" Mickey snapped, his brows arching even higher.

"Don't wanna dance, gotta move on."

"Never had to pay for that shit before."

Ian sniffed and hung his head. He quickly reached up and wiped at the corner of his eye.

"What're you doing, Ian? Look at you," Mickey said, his tone softening. "You're fuckin' tweakin' like a little bitch."

"Sorry," Ian snapped, turning to walk away. "Lost your chance."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me? Ay!" Mickey exclaimed, grabbing Ian roughly by the arm and spinning him around. "Would you wait a minute, I need to talk to you! Can we go outside?"

Ian stood facing Mickey, his eyes downcast and his body trembling.

"Please," Mickey said, his voice soft and his eyes searching Ian's face as he loosened the grip on Ian's arm. "You don't gotta hang out with me. I just wanna talk, that's all."

Ian finally lifted his glistening eyes to Mickey's, the tension finally leaving his body.

"Is there a problem here?" a bouncer asked from beside them, glaring pointedly at Mickey.

Mickey watched Ian, waiting for his response with arched eyebrows.

"No, Roger," Ian finally mumbled. "There's no problem."

"Maybe wrap this up, there's a guy over there who looks like he wants a dance," Roger intoned.

"Okay, alright, thank you," Mickey spat irritably. "He's had enough gray pubes for one night."

Roger shot Mickey another warning look before stalking off.

"Ian," Mickey said, stepping forward and placing a hand against Ian's face, his thumb smoothing over his cheek. "Will you come with me?"

Ian nodded his head and allowed Mickey to lead him towards the back of the club by the restrooms, where the music wasn't so deafening.

Mickey looked Ian over, taking in what he was wearing and the grim expression on Ian's face and the obvious fact that he was tweaking. He was suddenly overcome with emotion, and he ran a hand down his face. "Christ, Ian," he murmured. "I did this to you, didn't I?" He grabbed Ian by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together. "What the fuck're you doing here?" he mumbled.

Ian closed his eyes and pressed into Mickey, letting out a shaky, watery sigh.

Mickey engulfed Ian's face in his hands and tilted Ian's head up so that their eyes met. "I'm sorry," he said as they locked eyes. "You hear me? I'm sorry."

Ian reached up and encircled his fingers around Mickey's wrists.

Mickey pressed a soft, lingering kiss on Ian's forehead. "I'm sorry." He then moved his lips and leaned in to kiss Ian gently. "We'll figure something out, alright? We'll figure it out. You don't have to do this shit anymore."

Ian nodded again, and then he allowed Mickey to lead him out of the club.

Ian's nights dancing at the Fairy Tail were over.