Ian and Mickey went to the gay-friendly meeting Ian had found online, and Ian had found someone he felt a connection with to talk about being bipolar. Mickey had been convinced it was going to be some sexy old daddy, but actually the person Ian felt closest to was a hilarious goth-girl with platinum-blond hair named Carol. She wasn't really a girl, although there was certainly something girlish about her; she was approaching forty and worked as a dental hygienist.

Ian had been out with her for virgin margaritas a couple of times, and been to several weeks' worth of support meetings before she finally broached the subject of medication over herbal tea. "So what's the big problem with taking medication? Now that you've done your research and talked to everyone about it you have to know that although meds are only part of what makes someone manage this thing successfully, almost everyone has to take something for it. So what's the holdup?"

Ian shrugged. "I guess I see you and the others doing so well and I don't want to fail. I don't want to disappoint my family or Mickey."

"But do you want to want to try, knowing what you know now?"

"Yeah. I want to try. I wish I could do it someplace else. I feel a lot of pressure from my family."

"What about Mickey?"

"We're taking things really slow right now. I don't want to hurt him any more than I already have."

"Have you thought about moving out? What about living on your own?"

Ian gave Carol a hard look. "You remember the part where I'm poor, right? Besides, I don't exactly trust myself on my own these days."

She shrugged. "You could stay with me for a while. I'd even sew you a costume so you could LARP with me."

"Are you serious?"

"Honestly I'm hardly ever home. I don't have to time to do the dishes let alone vacuum. Keep the place clean and you can live there rent free. I have a big house and it's felt pretty empty since the divorce."

"So what, I just hang out at your place as your personal maid until my med regiment starts to work?" he asked.

"Not necessarily. You don't have to leave once you feel better, unless you're like, the worst roommate ever. You stay there until you don't want to stay anymore."

"Can I have people over?"

"Like who?"

"I don't want to have a party. Just my brothers and sisters and Mickey, probably."

"So all the people you can't stand to be around?"

Ian shrugged.

"Ian, I'm talking about us being roommates. That doesn't mean you're some kind of indentured servant. You can have whoever you want over."

They talked it over a couple of more times, and then it became a real plan. Mickey was as much of a cheerleader about it as was possible for him. He liked Carol and probably any plan that involved Ian working towards getting better. Carol was one of the people in the group who argued that people with bipolar could go into remission with a combination of lifestyle changes and medications, and Ian was curious to see if what worked for her would work for him. His family took some convincing, because they thought he had gravitated to her because she argued for doing exercise and meditation and taking lower doses of lithium, and they thought medication was the only answer, but he finally managed to make them reasonably sure he wasn't moving away just so that he could avoid getting better.

Ian had been busy with all this, but he was increasingly concerned that Mickey had been kind of evasive about what he was doing with his time. They saw each other a couple of times a week to hang out or fuck around, and Mickey been kind of cagey. Ian was a little concerned about leaving him alone.

He wasn't worried about Mickey cheating on him; he was entitled, considering how Ian had fucked around on him, besides, although they were together, they hadn't really gotten back to the place where they were expecting exclusivity from each other yet. Mickey said he didn't want anyone else, but that he understood if Ian was too young to settle down with one guy. Ian hadn't slept with anyone but Mickey since they'd broken up and gotten back together again (he wasn't manic so it wasn't that hard to stay faithful), but Ian didn't have enough faith in himself these days to make any promises.

What Ian was really worried about was that Mickey was doing something illegal. He was almost always doing something illegal, but he'd never been reluctant to discuss whatever illegal thing he was into with Ian before, so how much worse would this be?

"You heard anything about what Mickey's up to these days?" Ian asked Lip. His brother had come down for the weekend to help him move some things over to Carol's place.

Lip was rolling a joint. He looked up vaguely. "Mickey and I aren't really in the same social circles, Ian. I don't even live here anymore. Anyway, I thought you were back together. Can't you just ask him?"

"I just worry about him. I worry that he's doing something stupid," Ian said.

Lip rolled his eyes. "It's Mickey. Everything he does is either stupid or mean."

"Seriously?" Ian asked.

"Mickey? He seems like such a sweetheart," Carol said.

Lip rolled the joint and lit it, handing it off to Carol. She took it and inhaled, although she'd lectured Ian about the potential dangers of pot to people with bipolar before. Apparently it helped some people regulate their moods and made other people's mood fluctuations a lot worse. Ian sometimes used a little pot to help him get over the nausea from the meds. Lip coughed a little and asked Carol, "How well do you know Mickey? I mean, did he actually open his mouth? Cause that's how people usually find out he's a psycho. Or he beats the shit out of them."

"Well, he didn't say much at the meeting. But he looked at Ian like he thought Ian hung the moon," Carol said.

Lip shrugged. "Yeah, he does that. I didn't get it at first, but Mickey does really love you, Ian. I hope you're not just stringing him along."

"Now you're going to protect him from me? You just called him a psycho."

"I know what it's like to go out with a Milkovich. They seem like they're the toughest people you'll ever meet, and sometimes even like monsters, but they're just as vulnerable as anyone. Probably more vulnerable."

"I don't need you to tell me about that family. Mickey would kill or die for me. Literally. I know that. I feel bad enough about how I treated him without getting lectured by you on how to treat someone who loves me. Jesus, Lip. You treat your girlfriends like total shit. Like you'd even know how to treat someone right."

"Just make sure you don't stay with him out of obligation because you think you have to make up for things you did when you were manic. He won't thank you for it in the long run," Carol said.

Ian considered this for a moment and then discounted the idea. Loving Mickey had nothing to do with his bipolar. Yeah, he and Mickey were dysfunctional, but not like that. But it was Lip who answered. "Nah, they're like gay Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Julio or some shit. Destiny brought them together."

Ian took a toke and giggled. "Mickey's shoplifting brought us together," he said.

"Yeah, but of all the convenience stores in all the world, why'd he steal from the one you were working at?"

Ian laughed. "Fate, I guess."

"Have you started any meds yet?"

"I'm going to start tomorrow morning. I refused to take the antipsychotic. The rest of the group said that that was probably the one that was making me feel the worst."

"What did the doctor think about that?" Lip asked.

"She didn't say. But I don't have to take anything I don't want to take. That's part of advocating for my own health. I'm not in a psychotic episode right now, and I might never be again, so I'm going to hold off on that stuff until I'm sure I need it."

"Okay, cool," Lip said.

Ian found out what Mickey had been up to completely by accident a couple of weeks later. He was over at the Milkovich house in Mickey's room when he stumbled over a pile of crap on the floor.

"Is this a book?" he asked.

Mickey walked out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. "I can read," he said.

Ian reached down. It was GED for Dummies. Ian was about to get pissed at Mickey for pressuring him to go back to school before he was ready when he played back what Mickey had just said in his head. "Wait, are you getting your GED?"

Mickey looked bashful. "Actually, I already did."

"Seriously? That's so great! Congratulations," Ian said. He went over and gave Mickey a tight hug. "What made you do it now?"

Mickey shrugged. "Been reading about bipolar. Apparently being around chaotic stuff like crime and stress and shit ain't good for you. I know you didn't like it when I tried to change things about your life before like telling you not to drink coffee or booze and whatever. I know you're taking the steps you need to take and I won't bug you or judge you. But I thought I could change things about my life that might help you. I mean, if you don't mind me not being the Southside thug you fell for anymore."

"Don't you think it's wrong to change who you are for me?"

"Ian, being with you has already changed practically everything about me. But it's not entirely for you. It's not like my life dream has always been to live in a fucking ghetto all my life, Ian. Before you I thought I'd just get killed in a fight or die of a drug overdose or drink myself to death because I hated myself or dad would figure out I was a fag and kill me himself. You made me realize I could be whoever I wanted, even the guy I really am. I don't have to be afraid of anyone anymore. If I can fight off Terry Milkovich I can handle any other fag-bashers in the neighborhood. Besides, I don't want you to get all healthy and realize that I'm the only thing holding you back from the fucking good life. I know when you get all your shit worked out you're going places. I want to be able to go places with you," Mickey said.

Ian felt a stirring of excitement that he hadn't felt since before he'd let his dreams of Westpoint go. Somehow the fact that Mickey—someone who'd never thought he could do anything with his life—had hope for the future, made him have hope for himself, too. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know yet," Mickey said. "I was thinking private security, paramedics…fireman. You know, something as exciting as crime but like, legal."

"Why don't you just become a cop?" Ian joked.

Mickey rolled his eyes and didn't answer. It was kind of obvious why he didn't want to be a cop. "Any ideas what you want to do?"

Ian shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it since the Army got taken off the table. Fireman sounds good. It sounds close to the Army. But it probably wouldn't be the best thing. I mean, it's probably not the best environment for someone like me."

"Apparently shift work is not the best. Stress either," Mickey agreed.

"There's not many jobs with no stress."

"You got to think in terms of manageable stress. I mean, your job at Fairytale was probably one of the worst things you could be doing. Working at night and sleeping during the day so you screw up your circadian rhythms, constantly meeting new people who might do unexpected things, taking drugs and drinking…almost anything would be better. And Ian, if you want to have some low stress job like working at a book store or selling clothes at the Gap, I'm with you all the way. But you don't have to limit yourself. You learned all that engineering shit for the Army. Maybe you could do building or drafting or something. I mean, I'm not exactly a brain trust over here, but you could do anything you want to do."

"I'm not as smart as Lip," Ian said.

"Hardly anyone is," Mickey scoffed. "Don't mean you're not smarter than a lot of other people."

"How hard was the GED?"

"It was kind of hard, but I've got like a grade nine education. You almost finished school, Ian, and you actually paid attention in class. To me that means you'll kick that test right in the nuts."

"You think?" Ian asked.

"Well, if you don't, you can just get Lip to write it for you," Mickey said.

"I'm sorry I said that shit about only loving you because you were a thug. That wasn't true, obviously," Ian said.

Mickey threw the towel on the bed and took Ian's hand and then drew him down to sit with him. "I thought we pressed the reset button. That means none of our old dumb shit matters anymore."

"I told you I like our dumb shit," Ian said. He kissed Mickey lightly. "No one is ever going to love either one of us the way we love each other. We're too fucked up and we've been through too much fucked up shit together. I kind of love that about us."

"Can I ask about your meds?"

Ian nodded. "I haven't noticed anything too serious as far as side effects go so far, but it's only been a couple of weeks. The good news is I'm still taking them a couple of weeks in. Like, none of the side effects outweigh the benefits of taking the pills right now. I was already kind of in remission, not on a high or low, so I haven't noticed anything really different about my mood. And I refused to take the antipsychotics because they're the ones that made me a limp-dick."

Mickey pushed Ian down on the bed and straddled his hips. "Damn, Gallagher. And here I thought we could score some Viagra. I wouldn't mind you being hard for hours and hours at a time."

"Keep looking at me like that and I won't need Viagra," Ian replied, pulling Mickey's head down so he could kiss him thoroughly.

Much later they emerged from Mickey's bedroom to find Iggy passed out on the couch, beer bottles all around him.

"Yeah, I don't want this to be me in a few years," Mickey said. He kissed Ian softly. "Let me come visit you soon."

"Okay," Ian said. "Maybe I can get Carol to sew you a LARPing costume."

"What the fuck is LARPing? You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know. If it's something that requires a costume I'm fuckin' out."

Ian chuckled softly. "If you're going to go legit and stop drinking so much, you're going to have find other interests. I mean, if you don't like the idea of LARPing you'll have to go to art galleries and museums."

"I'd rather ride a fuckin' rollercoasters and or go to a movie. Or like, learn a martial art or join a boxing club or something."

"Have you actually thought about this stuff?"

Mickey walked toward Ian and Ian backed up until his back was against Mickey's front door. "You know I'll do anything I can to make sure you keep me around," Mickey said.

"Save it for your wedding vows, you fags," Iggy said from the couch. Neither Ian nor Mickey took offense—it was just Iggy teasing them in his rough way. They had both thought he was asleep.

Mickey picked up a shoe and whipped it at his brother, who grunted and whipped it back weakly, struggling to get to his feet. "Ian, grab his legs," Mickey said.

They ran to the couch and each grabbed an end of the struggling older Milkovich, depositing him in the shower. "Don't you fucking dare turn that on!" Iggy said.

"You promised not to call us fags," Mickey reminded him.

"Shit, Mickey, I'd say the same thing to anyone who was sitting around talking about how much they love each other right in front of me. Don't fucking turn the shower on, man," Iggy said. He was kicking and struggling but kind of laughing, too.

"I don't know. Should we show mercy, Ian?" Mickey asked.

"I don't know. I think maybe we should show your brother what happens when you mess with fags," Ian said.

"Fuckin' right," Mickey grunted, turning on the cold water. Iggy sputtered and threw shampoo bottles at them until they turned the cold water off and left him to have a proper shower.

They were still laughing when they got to the L stop closest to their street.

"You stop at Fiona's?" Mickey asked.

"She talks to me like I'm a little kid. When I'm around her I feel like a little kid and it makes me want to be rebellious. And I think I scare Debbie and Liam, like they always think I'm about to do something crazy. I just need a little distance. Would you stop by and tell them I'm doing okay? Tell Fiona I'm going to teach her to meditate. That should scare the shit out of her," Ian said.

"I'll do that. Ian, you look fucking fantastic. Keep it up," Mickey said.

Ian leaned down, resting his forehead against Mickey's. "Thanks for helping me so much, Mick. You've done more than you know."

Mickey smiled sadly. "It feels like all I've done is get you to move halfway across town."

"You encouraged me to find people who could help me take control of this, and then you let me take care of myself. I don't like being dependent, but you made me see that getting help isn't the same as being helpless," Ian said.

"What's next?"

"I'm going to get ripped again like I was when I was in the Army."

"You're already the best looking guy I've ever met in real life, Ian, but I ain't going to argue with you getting those hot-ass muscles again. I mean, damn."