Ian was feeling himself descending into the deep, dark depression that Monica often went through. He had no medication. Didn't want to admit he needed it.

He couldn't tell you. At least he felt like he couldn't. He didn't want you to leave him because on top of being a fucked-up Gallagher, he was more fucked up than before.

He had been laying in bed for days. He felt your body beside him. "Hi, baby." His voice was quiet.