Chapter 17: Lip — "No Way I'm Not Working!"
Upstairs — Gallagher Brothers' Room
The room was cramped and messy — three beds, one window, zero privacy.
Ian lay flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his legs trembling uncontrollably.
Can't really blame him.
In the South Side, when a Milkovich threatens to skin you alive, your legs tend to shake on instinct.
Ever since the "Mandy incident," Mickey Milkovich and his two cousins had been scouring the neighborhood looking for Ian — convinced that the redhead had taken advantage of Mickey's little sister.
Whether that was just an excuse for Mickey's rage or a genuine act of brotherly vengeance, no one could say for sure.
"Hey, Ian," came a calm voice from the doorway.
Ian turned his head and saw William leaning against the frame.
"Hey, man," he replied, forcing a smile.
"You look like hell," William said, patting his shoulder — and in that same moment, quietly activated Disease Transference.
A faint pulse of energy rippled through his fingertips.
Just as he suspected — Bipolar Disorder had successfully been drawn out of Ian's system.
Ian didn't feel a thing yet. The illness hadn't formally awakened.
William withdrew his hand smoothly, pretending nothing had happened.
Ian exhaled. "It's nothing…"
But teenagers were terrible at keeping secrets.
Give them a few seconds and they'd start talking.
"You remember that girl from yesterday?"
"Mandy?" William asked automatically.
Ian blinked. "Wait, you know her?"
"Sort of."
In truth, he was improvising — at this point, lying had become second nature.
"Well, you know how she's… into me," Ian continued awkwardly, scratching his neck.
"So we kinda… you know." He made a vague hand gesture.
"And now her psycho brother thinks I forced her or something — they're hunting me down like I killed a puppy."
He sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration.
In the original timeline, this whole mess only resolved after Ian confessed to Mickey that he was gay —
a disaster that somehow led to one of the strangest love stories in South Side history.
William wasn't planning to interfere.
Some stories needed to burn a little before they could warm.
"Bro," William said, patting his shoulder again, "just explain it to Mandy. She'll figure it out."
With that, he left Ian and headed for Lip's room.
After checking on the software progress and offering a few words of encouragement, William slipped out of the house.
Truth be told, the whole "software development" project had nothing to do with code.
He just wanted Lip too busy — and too distractedly impotent — to mess up his own life.
---
Bianca's Apartment — North Side
"Mmh—! Mmmh—! Ahhhh!!!"
Bianca bit down on her hand, trying not to scream, but the pleasure was too much.
Her muffled moans echoed off the small apartment walls, and William nearly lost his focus.
"Sweetheart," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "could you maybe keep it down next time?
If your neighbors complain, I'll have to explain this somehow."
Bianca giggled through her heavy breathing.
"Sorry, darling~ I couldn't help it. My bad."
Her voice was dripping with satisfaction.
William stretched, his lower back protesting.
"Damn," he muttered. "Massaging you is harder than a gym session."
He grabbed a towel, wiped his hands, and stood.
"I've got something to take care of later. I should get going."
Bianca, completely unconcerned with her nakedness, turned toward him with a playful grin.
"Coming back tonight? Because I really like your 'technique.'"
The invitation was obvious.
If he stayed, the night would turn into a marathon — a five-thousand-round battle, as the saying went.
But tonight was not the night.
He had a better prize waiting:
the stash of ten thousand dollars and a handgun hidden somewhere in the Gallagher house.
The family would all be gone today — the perfect window.
William smiled faintly and kissed her cheek.
"Not tonight. I've got to go home. I'll see you in a few days, love."
He left her apartment and took the subway back toward the South Side.
It had been several days since he'd transferred the impotence condition to Lip.
He was curious how the "side effects" were manifesting.
---
South Side High — Boys' Bathroom
Inside a locked stall, Lip Gallagher sat slumped on the toilet seat,
a girl crouched between his legs.
Suddenly, her muffled voice broke through the silence.
"What the fuck, Lip? What's going on?"
Lip looked just as confused as she was.
"I— I don't know! I swear this never happens!"
"Try again!" she said, frowning. "There's no way—"
Twenty minutes later, frustration replaced disbelief.
"What the hell, Lip!? Did you catch something? Or are you just— broken?"
Lip ran a hand through his hair, panicked.
"This is insane! Maybe it's— maybe it's Ian's fault. His weird magazines!"
"Magazines?" the girl repeated, glaring at him.
"N-nothing," Lip muttered, eyes darting away.
The humiliation hit him like a punch.
The South Side's resident sex god — the kid who never missed — suddenly couldn't perform.
He could already feel his reputation crumbling.
"Goddammit!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the stall wall.
William, meanwhile, was stepping off the subway, a small smirk playing at his lips.
Somewhere in the South Side, balance was being restored —
one inconvenient dysfunction at a time.
Stumbling out of the bathroom stall, Lip Gallagher rushed to the sink,
splashing his face with handful after handful of cold water.
Behind him, the girl watched through the cracked mirror —
his reflection flushed, trembling, humiliated.
Her lip curled in disgust.
Without a word, she adjusted her skirt and walked out of the men's room,
leaving Lip alone with the echo of her contempt.
"Fuck!" he roared, slamming his fist straight into the mirror.
CRASH!
The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the sink and the floor.
Tiny cuts opened across his knuckles, bleeding instantly.
He shoved his hands under the running water,
hissing between his teeth as blood mixed with the cold stream.
His mind flashed with unwanted images —
pages from Ian's hidden magazines,
faces, poses, shameful thoughts he'd never dared to acknowledge.
"No. No. No way! That's not me!"
Lip shouted at his own reflection — or what was left of it —
like a madman trying to out-scream reality.
He stormed out of the restroom, slamming the door open so hard it echoed down the hall.
Outside, Karen Jackson happened to be walking past,
hugging her backpack, minding her own business —
until Lip barreled straight into her.
"Ah!" Karen yelped as her books and papers spilled across the floor.
But Lip didn't even stop.
He spun around, red-faced and furious.
"Watch where the fuck you're going, Karen!" he snapped,
his voice cracking with more frustration than rage.
Then he turned and ran —
bolting down the hallway like he was trying to outrun his own humiliation.
Karen stared after him, speechless,
then muttered, "The hell's wrong with him?"
and crouched to pick up her things.
---
The Subway — Heading South
The train rattled through the underground tunnels,
the fluorescent lights flickering in rhythm with the city's heartbeat.
By the time it reached the last North Side stop,
most of the passengers had already disembarked.
Only William remained —
along with a handful of tired Black and Latino men heading home from late shifts.
When the train rolled into the first South Side station,
the passenger mix flipped completely:
faces hardened by the neighborhood,
eyes sharp, wary, or dazed.
A few white passengers boarded too —
thin, jittery, the kind that looked like they hadn't eaten or slept in days.
The kind you avoided eye contact with.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
William's phone vibrated in his pocket.
He checked the caller ID — an unfamiliar number.
He frowned, but swiped to answer.
"Hello? Who's this?"
"It's me. Lip."
The voice on the other end was low, tense — full of panic and bruised pride.
William's brows drew together immediately.
He was on his way to retrieve Frank's stash — cash and a gun —
and the last thing he needed was one of the Gallaghers dragging him into another crisis.
"Lip?" he said, voice flat. "What's going on?"
There was a pause on the line — heavy breathing, like someone trying to hold it together.
Then Lip's voice came back, strained, trembling:
"Man… we need to talk."