A dimly lit bedroom, cluttered but lived-in. Mickey sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, looking conflicted. Ian is pacing, agitated, muttering to himself. Mickey’s voice cuts through the tension.

Mickey: “Look, Gallagher, I know I ain’t exactly great at this… feelings crap, but you gotta hear me. I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re a pain in the ass, yeah, but you’re my pain in the ass. Bipolar or not, I’m stickin’ by you. So yell, throw crap, whatever you gotta do. Just don’t shut me out. ‘Cause no matter how much you push, I’ll still be here. Always.”

Mickey’s tough exterior cracks just enough to reveal the love and devotion he can’t quite say outright. Ian hesitates, his pacing slows, and for a moment, the chaos settles.