Reckless Harmony

You Take Them, Alright?

Ian takes a moment to sift through the snapshots he'd captured the night before. Brick walls adorned with worn-out posters, bathed in the glow of the big, bright lights illuminating the performers. He'd attempted to photograph Mickey, but luck wasn't on his side. Each shot was foiled by a jumping fan or one of Mickey's bandmates taking center stage. The only decent shot he managed was one of Mickey's hands obscuring his face. Ian looks at the tattooed hands that had traced feverish paths across the sheets the night before. He stares at the neck, now covered in hickeys and bitemarks from yours truly. Despite the short span since they last met, Ian itches to see Mickey again.

Ian sighs, standing on his porch, camera in hand, capturing birds perched on an unsightly wire.

Click.

No good.

He adjusts his stance. Click.

Ian examines a decent shot of a bird grooming itself under its wing. It's pretty. Glancing back at the Gallagher house, he hesitates. He doesn't want to go inside. The night after Ian had almost been abducted he'd come home to a worried Fiona, Lip, Debbie, V, and Kev. They'd all tried to come in contact with him because he wasn't answering his phone and Ian had to explain everything surrounding the abduction attempt. Fiona forced Ian to quit his job after that which ended in a big argument between him and his big sister. She offered him a job at Patsy's Pies, where she's working as the manager. Ian's not thrilled about that.

Swinging the Gallagher door open, the typical chaos hits him. Siblings scatter around the kitchen table, engaged in some dispute. He sneaks in, ninja-like, kicking off his shoes, aiming for a stealthy ascent to his room, hoping to go unnoticed. But, luck, as always, eludes him.

Just as he hits the bed, Lip materializes at the doorway, looking like the overprotective older brother he is. He leans against the bunk bed, crossing his arms in that 'I'm about to interrogate you' stance. Classic Lip.

"Hey, where've you been? You've been gone all night," Lip fires off, all serious and concerned. Ian can practically see the invisible clipboard in his head marking off the 'Worry About Ian' checklist.

"Went to a concert," Ian mutters, attempting nonchalance.

"What concert?"

"Just a gig with a bunch of bands."

"And they played all night or?"

Ian rolls his eyes, "I hate this, Lip."

Lip furrows his eyebrows, "Hate what?"

"You're treating me like a kid," Ian sighs. "I'm your brother."

A pause hangs in the air. Lip's got that processing look, a classic move when his brain's working overtime. He walks over to the desk, casually plopping down and reaching for the drawer. The boy's room carries that familiar whiff of smoked-out memories. Lip digs in the Malboro's carton, trying to fish out the last two cigarettes.

"Were you with someone?"

Ian keeps quiet; rolling his eyes as he reaches out to grab the cig Lip is generously offering. He pulls out the lighter from his backpack and lights it with a flick. Turning around briefly to open the window so it doesn't stink.

Lip grins understandingly. "What's his name?"

"Fuck off, I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

Ian pauses. He can't think of why, "Alright, you remember that concert we went to a few months back where the frontman stage dove and accidentally hit you in the face with his foot?"

"Why wouldn't I remember?" He smiles, thinking back to the day when he walked out of the rock concert with a big bruise on his cheek. He takes a puff of the cig. "You hooked up with the frontman of that grunge band?"

"Not the frontman. The drummer."

Lip thinks back quietly. "The black-haired boy that looked like he's never smiled in his life?"

"Yup. His name's Mickey."

"Mickey, huh?" He smiles, "What's that short for? Mouse?"

Ian and Lip crack up, and Ian playfully punches Lip on the arm. The sounds of their laughter fill the space but die down slowly until they both sit in silence, smoking the cigs and enjoying each other's company, lost in their own thoughts. Ian is feeling pretty good right now. He knows that these moments are rare because of all the chaos always surrounding them. Lip's the steady rock, the good brother who's always had Ian's back, no matter what, never letting his little brother down.

The mood takes a turn as Lip's tone shifts a bit more serious. "You know I'm always here if you, uhh... Need to talk or something. Whatever."

Ian meets his big brother's gaze, nodding in acknowledgment. "I know."

Lip pulls out Ian's pill bottles, "You gonna take the meds?"

Ian's eyes avoid Lip's gaze as the topic of medication comes up. The pill bottles in Lip's hand bring a mix of discomfort and memories flooding back. It's been a struggle keeping up with the meds, especially since that job incident. The pressure in the bathroom, the rail forced upon him—it's etched in his mind. He knows it's for the best, not just for himself but for everyone around him. The fear of ending up back in a mental facility looms large, a haunting possibility he desperately wants to avoid. And Mickey. If he becomes manic, Mickey might freak out. With a deep breath, he slowly nods, acknowledging the importance of taking control of his well-being.

Lip extends them to Ian. "You take them, alright?"

"Yeah," Ian replies quietly. He reaches for the water bottle on his bedside table, drops three pills in his mouth, and washes them down. Lip smiles and holds the back of Ian's head in his hand.

"Love you, little brother."