Ian realized after a few weeks that other than Ella, most of his friends had really been Chris' friends, and he lost them in the breakup. Mickey reminded him that he'd make all kinds of friends when he started school in a few weeks, which seemed to cheer him up, but he could tell Ian was still a little depressed watching Mickey get ready to go out on trivia night.

"Why don't you come with me?" Mickey asked.

Mickey had gone to a gay pub one night just after getting out of prison, not knowing it was trivia night, to try to get off. He had been pulled onto a trivia team that hadn't let him go, even now, months later. He actually liked the guys. Two, Marcus and Troy, were married to each other and queenish-enough to make Mickey raise his eyebrows about every forty seconds. Bobby was older, probably well-off, and had a disturbing tendency to run his hands along Mickey's forearms, but he meant well. Lucas was an IT guy who'd sworn off love and went on and on about how he was such a geek no one would ever want him. Mickey didn't think he was so bad, and had even considered asking him out, but he was glad he hadn't, now.

Ian was so shy and awkward when he met the guys that Mickey realized he was nervous about fitting in with Mickey's friends. It wasn't until that moment that Mickey actually realized the guys did mean something to him.

Trust Ian to know Mickey actually liked his friends before Mickey did himself.

Mickey smiled at them and asked, "Is it okay if my boyfriend tries out for the team?"

They were happy to have him join and looked at Ian with the kind of dazed, flattered look that lots of gay guys got when Ian talked to them, like he was royalty or a celebrity and was honoring them by noticing they were there at all. Some gay guys cared way too much about looks—well, maybe that was just guys in general.

Ian wasn't very good at trivia, but none of them really were. They had fun even though they never won. Mickey and Ian didn't drink much anymore, but the other guys drank more than normal that night and they were one of the loudest tables in the joint.

When Ian got up to go to the washroom, Bobby took Mickey aside as they were waiting for their drinks at the bar. "I remember your friend from Fairytale. You know he was a dancer, right? He was a real party-boy back then. He seems different now."

Mickey shrugged. "We got no secrets about our pasts, if that's what you're trying to imply. I've known Ian a long time, and nothing about that kid scares me except the thought of losing him again."

"I'm glad to hear it. I…He seems very sincere. I wish someone had ever looked at me the way he looks at you, actually. I just didn't want to think you were being led down the garden path by someone who didn't take relationships as seriously as you do," Bobby said.

"No one takes our relationship as seriously as Ian," Mickey said, rolling his eyes a little, thinking about Ian's tendency to be melodramatic when discussing their relationship. "It's the real thing, you know?"

"I'm very happy for you, then. I hope you'll accept my apology for overstepping," Bobby said.

Mickey looked at Bobby. He was old and fey and a bit grabby, but Mickey knew Bobby actually cared about him. He smiled slightly. "Yeah, you don't have to apologize. I don't think anyone has ever worried about someone taking advantage of me before. Kind of nice to know someone cares," he said.

"It's just, you were always staunchly single and suddenly there's this beautiful boy who you look at like he created blow-jobs, and I happen to remember he used to trick downtown," Bobby said. He sighed and raised his hands as if in surrender. "I'm not judging, I swear."

"We kind of went from zero to sixty pretty fast this time, but believe me. The first time around it took us years to get it right."

"I think you broke Lucas' heart. He really liked you," Bobby said.

"I almost asked him out, too. But you know what? He's way too nice for me. I like 'em tough," Mickey said.

Ian had been back from the washroom for a while, and he'd sat down at the table to give Mickey and his friend the privacy to talk. When Mickey came back from the bar, Ian asked, "He remembers me from Fairytale, right?"

"Please tell me he wasn't someone you fucked," Mickey said.

"No, actually, I just thought someone like him would have gone there."

"That bother you?"

"Guys recognizing me? No. Not really. Does it bother you?"

"What do you think?" Mickey asked. "I did more crazy things before I was fifteen than you did your whole life. And I didn't have any kind of excuse. And thinking of you in those sexy shorts gets me kinda hard."

Ian smiled. "Oh yeah?"

"Definitely," Mickey said.

He leaned over and kissed Ian, and then they were making out at their table like teenagers to the wolf-whistles of Mickey's trivia team.

All-in-all, Mickey's friends warmed up to Ian a lot faster than Ian's eventual group of college friends warmed up to Mickey, not that Mickey found that surprising. Ian was a shit-ton more likable than Mickey, and Mickey didn't usually make much of an effort with people.

It was months later, February, when Ian begged Mickey to take him to a Valentines' Day dance he and his friends had put together at the college as a fundraiser for something. Mickey had agreed, thinking Valentines was not something he should even attempt to weasel his way out of considering his shitty record of letting Ian down in those romantic relationship milestones that seemed to mean so much to him.

Something about the way Ian kept on squeezing Mickey's hand and letting go and holding it again reminded him of that night at trivia, and so Mickey tried his best to be friendly. Ian had wanted Mickey's weirdo trivia team to like him for Mickey's sake, so Mickey should make the effort with Ian's odd-ball mature-student study group to make his boyfriend happy.

Mickey had sat and listened to them jaw about their inside jokes and their teachers and all the shit they were learning, trying to keep his face friendly and not scowl at being excluded (and to not scowl because it was kind of his face's default setting, either). Ian realized after a while that neither Mickey, nor any of the study groups' other partners, had said much for the entire night because the people in the group who knew each other had been too busy talking to each other.

He pulled Mickey out of his chair and said, "Dance with me."

Mickey felt like a fucking loser, but if history had taught him anything, it was that Ian could convince him to do absolutely anything. He sighed and followed his boyfriend out onto the dancefloor.

"You ever go to any school dances?" Ian asked.

"What do you think?"

"Imagine if we'd hooked up like in middle school? If we'd danced behind the bleachers and fallen in love as kids?"

"I was a dick in middle school. You were better off not being in love with me back then," Mickey said.

"I always thought you were so cool. You know I always wanted to be around you? Have you notice me? I never thought about you like—like you'd ever like me. It wasn't like I was into you. But I had these fantasies where you'd stand up to bullies for me and then we'd smoke by the dumpsters. I wanted to be your friend."

"Back then I was the bully. I would have been a bad friend to you, although I probably needed a friend more than anything."

Ian gave him a quick hug. "I can't believe I got to be your friend. I can't believe you agreed to come to a Valentines dance with me. I can't believe you love me, even after I fucked everything up. How'd I get so lucky?"

"You make it worth my while," Mickey said, looking at Ian coyly.

When they got back to the table, a little Asian girl whose name Mickey couldn't remember grabbed Ian and pulled him onto the dancefloor where they danced to some club song together. A couple of the others (Mickey had learned a total of zero names) got up to go check out the snack table, and Mickey was left alone with a Latino woman who was in her forties who was attending college because she wanted to start a business or something.

"We love Ian," she said. Her voice was defensive, and Mickey smirked slightly. He was about to get the 'you hurt him and we hurt you' speech from a bunch of people who'd only known Ian for a few months when he'd pretty much appointed himself Ian's chief protector years ago.

"Everybody loves Ian," Mickey said.

"He's got friends, you know. People who look out for him," she said. "We know that even though he's tall and strong he's…vulnerable. We won't let him get hurt."

"I won't let him get hurt either," Mickey said. "Besides, he's not as vulnerable as you seem to think. He's been through a lot. He may look adorable, but he's actually really tough."

"We don't know what to think of you. Some of the things Ian says…I know he's got this crazy family who doesn't know any better than to let him spend time with someone like you, but he's got people to look out for him now."

Mickey fought down his instinctive reaction to lash out at someone who was coming at him, and actually smiled a little. As much as he wanted to fuck up this presumptuous bitch, he remembered Ian telling him all sorts of stories about the woman. How she brought Ian cookies, and had offered to teach Ian how to cook. They'd had tea together, for Christ sake, and Mickey knew Ian saw her as a kind of mother-figure, something that was lacking in both their lives.

Mickey was actually happy that Ian had people who were looking out for him. For a really long time Mickey had been the only one who seemed to be interested in looking out for the kid. And Ian had never made it easy for anyone to protect him, although he'd calmed down a lot. Mickey would use all the help he could get. Ian did seem to have a weird instinct to do the wrong thing whenever possible. Mickey thought that was more of a Gallagher thing than a bipolar thing. "I'm glad. I never worry about Ian making friends—he makes friends wherever he goes. But I worry sometimes that his friends are gonna take advantage of him. People have before. He can be naïve, you know?"

She looked a bit unsure. "I heard you were in jail. What was that about?"

"Someone hurt him, so I hurt her," Mickey said, his voice hard. "So you don't got to worry about me hurting Ian. I can. I'm not saying me hurting Ian is impossible because I've done it before. I've probably hurt him more than anyone, when we were kids and I was a fucking idiot. But I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making up for it."

"You've known each other a long time?"

Mickey smiled, glancing over at the hotness that was Ian dancing. "He's the boy next door."

"You should come out with us. We go out to pubs sometimes after class."

"Sure," Mickey said.

It was something he and Ian had talked about. It had been tragic and beautiful when it had just been the two of them against the world, but it had been hard. And tragic. They needed help sometimes. Everyone did. They had to have a bunch of people keeping the both of them honest. Making them each remember that the straight life—medicated and in therapy in Ian's case, level-headed and free of criminal activity in Mickey's—was worth it. There were simple pleasures in life. Mickey really liked doing Ian's laundry. Ian loved cooking for Mickey and Yevgeny. They had to fill their life up with people who would be healthy for them.

Because they were both better together than either one of them were apart. And they couldn't be together if Mickey was in jail, or Ian was off somewhere being manic.

Though their spokesperson had softened significantly that first night after talking with Mickey, it took a while for the group to realize that Mickey was actually good for Ian. They'd warned Ian that even if Mickey meant well, some relationships were just toxic. Ian had told them all to fuck off and ranted to Mickey about how it wasn't any of their fucking business, and Mickey and argued that Ian should be happy he had friends who cared.

In the end, they had gotten along, although since Mickey wasn't a fellow student, he'd never really got the inside jokes.

Mickey got the idea that they thought he was rough—specifically, rough with Ian. Like, borderline physically and mentally abusive. Mickey was always afraid he was going to be like that—like his dad had been. One of the best parts about being gay, though, was that Ian wasn't some delicate little thing. When Ian was cut and strong (and he'd been working out, much to Mickey's secret delight, and was getting back into shape), he was pretty well perfectly matched with Mickey in a fight. Not that punching a lover wasn't completely dysfunctional even if they could (and would) punch you back just as hard, but it reassured Mickey that he'd never turn into a complete bully.

They all realized that Ian was a tough Southside kid himself one night when Mickey had agreed to join them in a pub despite being tired and worried that Ian's meds were messing up. Actually, it was his worry that Ian's meds weren't doing their thing that had made him agree to go despite looking and feeling like shit after a long run of tough but lucrative jobs that week.

Ian greeted Mickey as though he was some kind of hero for showing up, which was his first clue something weird was going on. Ian was always happy to see him, but he was just a little too happy. His eyes were a bit wide, too.

"You been drinkin'?" he asked.

"No Mick," Ian said, grinning and shaking his head.

Ian's friends all said a restrained hello, and Mickey wondered what was up. They were probably just judging Mickey for policing Ian's drinking, but he wasn't sure.

He got his answer when a sketchy-looking guy sat down at the vacant chair, putting a beer in front of Ian. "There you go, honey. That'll put hair on your chest."

It was more Ian's friends' reaction than the words or the beer or even Ian's wince that let Mickey know what was going on. This guy—this gross freak who wasn't even hot—was coming on to Ian and Ian had been into it. Knowing Ian when he was under-medicated, he might have actually fooled around with the guy. He could even be dating him. No wonder his college friends looked uncomfortable.

Mickey pushed the sinking feeling of having to go through all of this shit again away and just thought about Ian. Ian was the last person who wanted to cheat, and he was happy with Mickey. There was time to fucking sob about this shit later. He pushed the beer away. "Ian doesn't drink," he said.

"Oh, I know Ian pretty well," the jerk said, his look knowing.

"Mickey knows me better. He's my boyfriend," Ian said.

Mickey almost laughed at the panicked look in his boyfriend's eyes, and the particular emphasis he'd given his words, like he was trying to tell gross-guy to fucking cool it and pretend nothing had happened between them.

But it wasn't really funny.

Gross guy looked bizarrely betrayed. "You never told me you had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have—"

It was at that point Ian head-butted the guy. He was sketchy enough that he bounced back from it pretty quick and took a few swings at Ian, but there was no contest. Pretty soon Ian was punching the guy way too hard for a simple bar-brawl, and Mickey knew he had to step in. He stepped between them, shouting, grabbing a hold of Ian and pushing him backwards until Ian's back hit the back of the bar.

"Stop it, Ian! Fuck," Mickey said.

Ian strained against him, still in attack mode, and Mickey pushed him back against the bar harder. Mickey looked back at Gross-Guy and said, "Get the fuck out of here, man!"

The other guy shook his head and said to Ian, "Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking psycho," and left the bar.

The bartender told them to get out, and Mickey followed Ian outside. Thankfully fuckhead hadn't stuck around. Ian was pacing around and Mickey wanted to grab him and fucking shake him but he knew that wasn't the right approach. He let Ian pace for a little bit, planning what he was going to say. He always said the wrong thing—maybe today he wouldn't.

Of fucking course at that moment Ian's stupidly big group of friends came out of the pub. They all sort of stood, awkwardly, looking at each other and avoiding Mickey's eyes. Finally Mickey took pity on them and said, "If he starts acting like that again, call me, okay?"

"Oh, what, you're my fucking keeper now?" Ian said. His voice was cruel, and Mickey hated that now they were all going to think Mickey was the one being abused.

"Come the fuck on, Ian. Take a minute. Take a deep breath. For me," Mickey said.

He was still pacing, and Mickey took his arm and pulled Ian closer, rubbing his arm. Ian looked at him for what seemed like the first time all night. "It wasn't that bad, Mick. Just flirting. And we made out a little. I swear. Nothing else."

Mickey tried to ignore the shot of pain in his chest at the thought of Ian kissing someone else. "His number in your phone?"

Ian took his phone out of his pocket and threw it on the ground and stepped on it like an angry kidnapper from a movie. It surprised an indignant laugh out of Mickey. "This is why we can't have nice things, Gallagher. Jesus, calm the fuck down."

"Yeah, 'cause telling people to calm down always works," Ian ground out through clenched teeth.

"I hope I have your doctor's phone number in my phone, because you are definitely getting your appointment moved up," Mickey said.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it," Ian said.

"Relax. I mean, take some deep breaths. Meditate or whatever. I gotta get an Uber, you know, since you just crushed your phone," Mickey said.

"I'll get one," one of Ian's friend's said.

"Thanks," Mickey said.

Whatever Ian said to them later to excuse his behaviour, they all seemed closer after that night, and they were always happy to see Mickey. Somehow they respected him after that—though he wasn't really sure why. He supposed they would have expected him to beat the shit out of Ian for kind of sort of cheating, but he hadn't even really remarked on it. It made Mickey feel like a pussy, but Ian gave him so many apology blowjobs in the following weeks he got over it.

The medication thing wasn't as bad as Mickey and Ian were worried it was going to be. Ian's doctor had been trying to phase out a medication with some annoying side effects, and this was a clear indication that if it was going to go, something would have to replace it. Ian was disappointed, but he relied on his medication to keep him from acting in ways that would ruin the life he wanted—the life he'd built with Mickey. He really wanted to be the kind of person he'd been before he'd gone off the rails…reliable, steady, someone the people he loved could count on.

Mickey had always counted on him, and even after all the crazy shit they'd been through, he couldn't ever really bring himself to regret it.