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

"Where are you goin' at ten 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 intoned as he checked his reflection.

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

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

Lip scoffed and rolled his eyes at his brother's juvenile remark. "You know 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 wearin' cologne?" Lip asked incredulously as he followed him into the bedroom. "Don't tell me you're going out to see Milkovich? I thought that shit was over." He watched as Ian froze before he quickly recovered.

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

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

"You know why I haven't been the same, Lip?" Ian said as he stood up. "Not because I was kidnapped or held at gunpoint. It's because I fell for the worst person in the fuckin' world I could have fallen for, and I got my heart ripped outta my goddamn chest because of it. That's what's wrong with me." He took a moment to study Lip's befuddled expression. "Now tell me you still give a shit."

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

After getting past the burly bouncer (who had hassled Ian to see a proper ID but eventually backed off as soon as Ian explained why he was there), he walked into the flashy club, feeling extremely out of place in his jeans and bulky winter coat, considering everyone else seemed to be half-naked or well 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 glances his way, silently inviting him to join them. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, even though a part of him felt tempted to get lost in someone else's kisses for the night.

After being randomly groped and jostled around, he finally made his way through the boisterous crowd to the small office. He hesitated, wondering for the hundredth time if any of it was a good idea. Working as a go-go dancer in a gay nightclub called the Fairy Tail wasn't exactly something he'd envisioned himself doing, especially at seventeen, but it seemed like his only good option.

The money would be the biggest benefit. The club's manager, Marcus, had explained that he could make a few hundred dollars on a good night, at least. Then again, he didn't know how much he could trust his new manager, considering the guy hadn't asked how old Ian was before hastily deciding 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. If that meant having a bunch of guys ogling and fawning all over him at the same time, well, he guessed maybe that could be considered a benefit as well. He needed all the distractions he could get.

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

Marcus was sitting behind a desk, puffing on a cigar. Just as he had the first time Ian entered his office, he looked Ian over from head to toe and 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 dunno if I shoulda mentioned it before, but, uh… I'm only seventeen," he blurted before fully 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 the desk as smoke billowed from his cigar. "That's a small technicality, isn't it? No one needs to know that, now do they?"

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

"So, what's gonna 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 upfront for lap dances, and we only allow the guys to touch you if you let them. We'll have bouncers all over the place, 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'd heard stories about what happened in the backrooms at clubs like this. He decided not to ask about that. He had no intention 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 and watched as his father grabbed the poor man roughly by his hair, bending his head back at an awkward angle.

"I want my money by next week, Charlie. All of it," Terry said through gritted teeth before glancing up at Mickey. "Or my boy over there is gonna pay you a visit and blow a fuckin' 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 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," Terry said before punching the guy hard in the gut. "I'm glad we have an understanding."

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 ordered 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 looked into his pleading eyes. Guilt coursed through him, and he glanced away. He then stiffened the fuck up and punched the man as hard as he could in the face, breaking his nose.

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 in the morning, he drowsily headed straight for the bathroom to wash the glitter and lingering stench of gross old guys off his skin.

His first night at the Fairy Tail had been interesting. He felt as if he'd been pulled in all different directions by the men eager to get some time with the new, hot, redheaded twink. He'd only been on shift for three hours and had made almost two hundred bucks. He figured the embarrassment and disgust he'd felt while 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. Maybe he'd even be able to pick up some groceries after school.

After showering, he headed into the bedroom, eager to get some sleep considering he had to be up in four hours.

As he was crawling into bed, Lip spoke, causing him to jump a bit. "Where were you?"

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

"Where the fuck is out?"

"Since when do I have to answer to you?"

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

"Well, don't be," Ian snapped before turning on his side and pulling the blanket over his head. "I don't need anyone worryin' about me. I can take care of myself. Go to sleep."

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

The man whose lap he was straddling was well into his sixties, and he was 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 his bare thighs. He rolled his eyes but kept going along with it, figuring the man had about thirty seconds left; he might as well give the old geezer a 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 muttered as he continued gyrating on the man's lap, keeping his eyes focused on something over the man's left shoulder.

"Anything I can do to get you to make an exception?" the man asked, his hands sliding around to grab Ian's ass through his flimsy shorts.

Ian's jaw flexed, but he kept his cool. Ten more seconds. "Nope."

"What about for a little extra cash?"

"I'm not a fuckin' whore," Ian snapped before climbing off the guy's lap. "Time's up." Before the man could protest, he turned and walked away, bristling with irritation. As he was walking, a hand tugged at his arm. 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 in the prerequisite tone, thinking the guy was a pleasant change of pace. He seemed normal. He also wasn't bad to look at.

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

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

"Party favor?" the man asked, holding a small white pill 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. Still, for a reason that he couldn't comprehend, and maybe because he was still irritated by his previous customer, he opened his mouth like a baby bird and accepted 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. That night, he didn't come home until after three in the morning, disappearing into the bathroom to shower, then passing straight out once his head hit the 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 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 shrugged and shook his head. She looked at Ian sadly for a beat before asking, "So, uh, Ian? How're things goin' with you?"

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

"How's school goin'?" she pressed, watching as Ian ignored Liam who was babbling in his direction, trying to get his attention.

"Good."

"You gettin' caught up on all your schoolwork?"

"Yep."

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

"Goin' fine."

"Did you get your test back from trig—"

"Jesus Christ! What the hell's with the third degree?" 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 left before anyone could protest.

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

"He's goin' mental," Carl piped in through a mouthful of bacon.

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

"I don't know what's goin' on with him," Lip said with a sigh, "but we need to find out where the hell 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 there was only one person who'd be able to get through to his brother.

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 with a grim expression, his hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets.

"Well, if it isn't Lip fuckin' Gallagher," Mickey sneered. "The fuck're you doin' here?"

Lip glanced away before looking back and saying, "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 said, 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. "That's my fuckin' problem, how?"

"You're such an asshole. I shoulda known you'd be useless," Lip spat, shaking his head before turning to walk away. "I dunno why I even bothered."

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

Lip stopped and turned back around, shrugging. "I dunno. We were kinda hopin' you would?"

"I haven't fuckin' talked to the guy," Mickey retorted. "How the hell am I s'posed to know what's goin' on with him?"

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

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

"He's been stayin' out until two, three o'clock in the morning. He's been moodier than usual, 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 try to talk to him? For some reason, I think you might be the only person he'd talk to right now." He hesitated a beat before saying, "Trust me, 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.

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

"I ain't promisin' you anything," Mickey intoned, bringing the bottle to his lips and ending the conversation.

Lip scoffed, 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. He'd been dragging himself between periods and forcing himself to stay awake through his classes all day. He'd contemplated skipping ROTC altogether but had ultimately decided against it. He didn't want 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. He flexed his jaw and hung his head as he trudged forward, intent on walking right past Mickey without a word.

"Ey!" Mickey called out as he pursued him.

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

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

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Ian warned.

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

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

"What the fuck, Gallagher!" 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 askin' me what my problem is? You ignore me for weeks, you tell my brother you don't give a shit about me—"

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

Ian pursed his lips, shook his head, and stared down at his boots, refusing to look Mickey in the eyes.

"Christ, look at you, Ian," Mickey murmured after a tense pause. "You look like shit."

Ian pursed his lips and nodded curtly. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No, smartass, that's not all I wanted to say," Mickey spat. "Look, everyone's worried about you. Lip said you've been stayin' out all hours of the night, says you're tired all the time. He says you've been—"

"Lip's an asshole who doesn't know shit," Ian interjected, finally lifting his head to look Mickey in the eyes. "He had no right goin' to you about anything."

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

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

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

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

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

"I've been workin' at the Fairy Tail in Boystown, alright!" Ian blurted, spreading his arms wide open as he began walking backward. "You happy? I've been dancin' half-naked on guys' laps, grinding on cocks for money! That's what I've been doing."

Mickey felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. "What the fuck, Ian," he said after a beat, although his tone was more devastated than angry.

Ian's resolve softened when he realized his admission hurt Mickey. He toughened up in the next instant, refusing to let him know he was hurting, too. "I have to go. I don't feel like runnin' laps."

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

Mickey walked into the Fairy Tail later that night and instantly felt out of place. He hung his head and avoided making direct 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 glanced around, his eyes scanning over the mass of people before he eventually spotted Ian through a break in the crowd.

There Ian was, dressed only in a pair of black booty shorts, grinding on some dude's lap like it was second nature to him. He 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 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 exclaimed before looking at Ian with arched brows. "Curtis? You goin' with that fuckin' name again?"

"Twenty-five bucks gets you a dance," Ian interrupted, avoiding Mickey's eyes.

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

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

Mickey smirked. "Never had to pay for that shit before."

Ian sniffed and hung his head before quickly reaching up and wiping the corner of his eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, wrap this up," Roger said. "There's a guy over by the bar who looks like he wants a dance."

"Okay, alright, thank you!" Mickey spat after catching sight of the man the bouncer was referring to. "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? You don't fuckin' belong in this shithole."

Ian nodded his head after a beat.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ian said. He allowed Mickey to take his hand and lead him towards the back of the club by the restrooms, where the music wasn't so deafening.

Mickey looked him over, taking in what he was wearing, the grim expression on his face, and the obvious fact that he was tweaking. He suddenly felt overcome with emotion. He ran a shaky hand down his face. "Christ, Ian," he murmured. He grabbed Ian by the nape of the neck and pressed their foreheads together. "What the fuck are you doin' here?"

Ian closed his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale.

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

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

Mickey pressed a lingering kiss to Ian's forehead. "I'm sorry. We'll figure something out, alright? We'll figure it out. You don't gotta do this shit anymore."

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

His nights dancing at the Fairy Tail were over.