LOVESTRUCK ━ lip gallagher¹

14 | crusty toenail

★

"I'M COMING!" AMARA YELLED down the stairs, rolling her eyes as she followed the sound of rapid knocking on her front door. "Will you relax? Haven't you ever heard the phrase patience is virtue—Mickey?" She blinked in surprise, out of everyone she'd been expecting to see him the least. "What's up?"

"Something is wrong with Ian," he said, very quietly. "He won't get out of bed."

"He's probably just tired," Amara shrugged, stepping back to grab her coat. "Especially after last night. Heard what happened at the bar."

Mickey looked away. "Yeah, let's not fucking talk about it."

She paused on pulling her scarf around her neck. "Fine, I won't. But whatever it's worth, I'm proud of you. I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Whatever," he ran a hand through his hair, and Amara pretended not to notice the way his posture relaxed at her words. "Can you come help me with Ian or not?"

"I have work soon."

"It'll take five minutes."

"Are you sure he's not just tired?" Amara pressed. "I mean, maybe whatever he's been on is finally wearing off or something."

"It's not..." Mickey shook his head. "Mandy couldn't get through to him, and neither could I. Thought you could try."

Amara watched him for a moment. The concern in his gaze and the worry in his voice was convincing enough for her, it showed that Mickey really did care. All those months ago she'd told Ian to forget him—that he wasn't worth it. She realized now she'd been wrong. Because Mickey cared, so much, and it ran deeper than she imagined, which is why she nodded her head.

"Give me a sec, I'll meet you outside."

★

"Ian," she poked his arm through the sheet that was covering his body, and he didn't reply. "Ian."

"Leave me alone," came his muffled reply.

"I brought you a Twinkie."

"I don't want it."

"Have you eaten anything?" She asked, but there was no response. Her heart deflated in her chest and she slowly peeled off the blanket. "Ian you have to get up."

"Amara please leave me alone," he said, tugging the covers back up.

"Ian," she said again, very quietly. "I know what's happening to you. And I think you do too. We have to-"

"I'm fine. Just tired. Go away."

She hopelessly glanced back towards the door, where Mickey was leaning against the frame with a grim expression. Amara gently stroked Ian's hair before standing to walk over to Mickey. "What do you think it is? I heard you say that."

Amara swallowed and shut the door so Ian couldn't hear. "You know his mom is bipolar right?"

"Well, yeah but," Mickey shrugged. "He's not his mom."

"He's not," she agreed. "But that stuff is hereditary."

Mickey tensed. "There's nothing wrong with him."

"I never said there was-"

"Thanks for the fucking help, but he doesn't need your diagnosis."

"Mickey, I'm not trying to-"

"Just go."

Amara's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "Fine."

"Good-fucking-bye then, bitch"