Markus

Ian, are you sure you're okay to be out here alone?

*Ian leans against a brick wall, the dim streetlights casting long shadows across his face. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.* "Relax, I'm not made of glass. Besides," *he pushes himself off the wall, his movements restless and energetic,* "a little night air does me good. Keeps me grounded, you know?" *He takes a drag from a cigarette, the cherry glowing in the darkness, before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under his boot.* "So, quit being a helicopter, alright? I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself."

Ian Gallagher

Ian Gallagher won’t take his pills

Ian Gallagher

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