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It started out as a way to pass the time while his brothers went out on runs with their dad. Mickey used music as an escape from his fucked up life, and in return, it kept him out trouble. He bought his first guitar from the Salvation Army for less than twenty bucks and he would sit in his room for hours, coming up with songs and scribbling notes for melodies, lyrics and the emotions they invoked into his journal.
Mickey never bothered with sheet music. He taught himself how to play by on his own, and on rare occasions, using tabs he printed from the internet. It was only after years of hearing him playing alone that his sister decided he had too much talent to waste it playing in his empty room. Mandy brought home a flyer she’d seen on some message board, about some kid looking to start a band. She even went with him to the guy’s house.
That kid was named Billy, and he played the drums like nobody’s business. Billy told the Milkoviches that he was looking to make some new friends, and joked that becoming a rockstar was his ticket to popularity. He said he had a cousin named Damon who could sing and be their front-man, but they still needed to find a bassist. Mickey joked that it wouldn’t be too hard to find one; that any idiot with basic sense of rhythm could do it… so he suggested Mandy try. The bruise she left on his arm after his jibe stayed purple for over a week, but it was worth it. With Damon doing vocals, Mandy playing bass, Mickey playing the guitar and Billy on drums, South Side Summer was born.
In the beginning, they only played covers of popular songs at local bars, always on open mic nights. They picked up a fanbase and eventually performed some original songs that Mickey and Billy wrote together. It really didn’t take long for Mandy to learn how to play the bass guitar, and before long, she was contributing by adding her own solos to their music. Their fanbase grew to the point where they were asked to play as the opening act for some of the more popular bands in the area. Word got around fast: South Side Summer was on the rise.
Before they knew it, people were asking them where they could get their hands on S3’s music. The four of them pooled their savings together and paid for some studio time so that they could record a few tracks for their first EP. Everything was going great for the band… until it wasn’t.
One night, Billy was late to practice for the first time. Mickey went to his apartment to check up on him, since it was weird for the guy who would ream them for being even two minutes late to rehearsals to not show up, and that was when he found him. He called 911 and the paramedics arrived shortly afterwards. The police and the medical examiner later ruled it as a suicide, leaving everyone stunned.
Billy didn’t leave a note, and no one could claim to have seen it coming. Things fell apart for the next month or so, Mickey taking Billy’s death the hardest out of all of them, but somehow Mandy convinced him and Damon to hold auditions for a new drummer. She reasoned that S3 was doing so well, that they were on the cusp of greatness, and that it would be a shame to give up when they were so close to making it big.
At least twenty kids from around the neighborhood showed up, but it was clear that Ian Gallagher stood out as the best drummer of the bunch. He had raw talent that Mickey had never seen the likes of before. The redhead was eager to be in the band, but just because they all agreed to have him join South Side Summer didn’t mean he belonged there. No one could ever replace Billy.
Mickey wasn’t an idiot. He could see the way his sister practically threw herself at their new drummer. She took any opportunity to flirt with him during band practice, and her skirts got shorter and sluttier with each passing day. To Mickey’s surprise, Ian learned all of their songs within a week (even with Mandy’s distracting antics), and the band was ready to perform again.
They got on the line-up for a battle of the bands show at one of the venues in town. Mickey was nervous because it was their first live show since Ian had joined them, and the other bands who had performed so far had all been great.
The curtain had been drawn and the other band was breaking down their equipment, giving them about ten minutes to set up before their turn. Mickey stared at the redhead while he put his drumset together at the back center of the stage, wondering how he could he stay so calm when Mickey was freaking out. It also didn’t help that the younger boy would constantly look up at him and smile whenever he had a chance. It made Mickey feel extremely awkward.
Mandy jumped in front of him without warning, blocking his view of Ian and almost making him drop his guitar.
“What the hell, Mandy?” he muttered at her with a scowl.
“I have some good news,” she told him, ignoring his foul mood. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.
“You know the band Devil Said Play? The ones who were just up?” she asked. Mickey nodded. “Well, I was talking to their lead singer, Roger. He’s so hot. Anyway, he told me that he heard a rumor that there’s an agent from a record company here tonight,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement.
Mickey felt his stomach drop.
“Are you serious?” Ian asked, walking up behind them.
“Yep!” she beamed. “Apparently whoever wins tonight gets a meeting with his label in addition to the prize money.”
Ian matched her grin with one of his own. “That’s awesome! We should tell Damon to kick it up a notch tonight,” he suggested.
“Already on it,” Mandy said, running off to pull their front-man away from the group of girls who were eagerly chatting with him at the edge of the stage.
“We’re gonna kill it tonight,” Ian told him with nothing but confidence in his voice. He patted Mickey on the shoulder reassuringly before going back to finish setting up his drums.
Despite his nerves, their performance was excellent. Not only did the girls go crazy when Damon took his shirt off, but the crowd also loved every single song on their set list. At the end of the night, they had the most votes out of all the other bands there. South Side Summer was announced as the winner and they were given their five hundred dollar winnings.
Once they walked off the stage, the man from the record label was waiting for them. He gave them his card and told them to be at his office first thing Monday morning, and to bring plenty of copies of their EP.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” Damon said, arms around two of his many groupies. He had put his shirt back on but the buttons were undone, showing his sweaty body off to everyone. Mickey deliberately averted his eyes.
“Sounds like a great idea,” Mandy agreed. “You coming, Ian?” she asked the redhead, and the heart-eyes she flashed at him made Mickey want to hide from embarrassment. He didn’t think his sister could be any more desperate. He hated the idea of any guy messing around with her, let alone someone he had to see on a daily basis. He just hoped Mandy would know better than to let Ian take advantage of her.
“Umm, actually, I think I’m gonna pass,” Ian told her.
“Oh no,” she said, deflating a bit. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s been a long week. I’m just gonna head home early,” he apologized.
“You guys are such losers,” she said with a huff.
Ian whipped his head up to look at Mickey. “You’re not going?” he wondered, voice sounding more than a little surprised. He looked so eager to learn new information about Mickey.
“Mickey never goes out,” Mandy told Ian, not even giving Mickey a chance to reply. “Whatever, let’s go find a bar,” she said to Damon as they walked away.
“You, uh…” Ian began, “think you can help me get my stuff into the car?” he asked hesitantly. Mickey agreed with a shrug and helped take the many boxes to the back of the club.
“My brother Lip fixed it up for me so that I wouldn’t have to drag all of my shit around on the train,” Ian explained, unlocking the trunk of the small, red Astro van.
“I can give you a ride home,” he offered. “I know your amp’s kinda heavy…”
“It’s not that bad,” Mickey argued, but knew that it was a lie. He slid his guitar bag off his back and rested it against one of Ian’s cymbal boxes, then pushed the amp in between the two toms, then wordlessly sat in the passenger seat while Ian closed the trunk.
They drove home while the music from the radio played quietly in the background. Mickey was actually impressed that the radio even worked in a car so old.
They were at a red light about halfway home when Ian broke the strange, albeit music-filled silence. “So, I’ve been thinking about some new stuff that might work for South Side Summer,” he said. “I’ve only gotten a few beats down, and they still need melodies and lyrics, but‒”
“You write songs?” Mickey asked him, surprised. It was rare from drummers to write music, and that had been one of the things that had made Billy stand out as an exceptional musician in his eyes.
A deep sadness washed over Mickey again. Thinking about Billy was still hard. Mickey remembered how they would sit in his room for hours, dreaming about making it big, what their lives would be like once they got signed, and coming up with amazing songs together. He still couldn’t reconcile the friend he’d known with the boy who had decided to leave this world way too early.
Ian nodded, then narrowed his eyes at Mickey, concern on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah man,” Mickey told him, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.”
Ian stared at him for a beat before the light turned green and he had to continue driving.
They were only a few blocks from Mickey’s house. “Hey, why don’t you just go home,” he offered. “I’ll help you unload your stuff so you don’t have to wake up anyone. I live close enough that I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Ian told him. “I was just gonna leave it all in the van overnight.”
“What, you’re not worried about someone stealing it?” Mickey wondered. Their neighborhood wasn’t exactly the safest place to leave valuable shit just lying around.
“No one’s gonna steal it with me sleeping in it,” Ian explained. “I’ve got a lot of brothers and sisters. If the weather’s nice, I sleep outside. It’s actually a lot more comfortable than being inside my cramped room.”
Mickey couldn’t think of an appropriate comment. Space was a commodity in Canaryville; he knew that first-hand, having the only functioning bathroom in their house practically in his bedroom.
Ian pulled up in front of the Milkovich house. “Thanks for the ride,” he said as he pulled his things out of the trunk. “So, I’ll see you at practice on Sunday?”
“Well… Do you wanna come over tomorrow and listen to some of the stuff I came up with?” Ian wondered eagerly. “I’d rather you have a look at it first.”
“Sure...” Mickey shrugged.
“Great. I’ll text you my address,” Ian told him, then drove off.
Mickey went inside, walking past his dad who was passed out in the living room, and went into his room. It had been an amazing night: not only had they won the battle of the bands, but they had also gotten a foot into the door of a real label company. It was a lot to digest, and he processed it the only way he knew how: by writing his feelings into his journal in the form of lyrics.
The following morning, Mickey showed up at Ian’s house with his guitar just after breakfast. They went up to Ian’s room, and Mickey was able to understand why the redhead would prefer sleeping outside in a van over his tiny bedroom. There was even a crib crammed into the corner.
“Everyone already left to do their own things,” Ian told him, taking a seat on his bed and indicating that Mickey should follow suit. He reached for a stack of notes that Mickey assumed were the songs he’d mentioned. “We don’t have to worry about being quiet.”
“Where do you usually set your equipment up?” Mickey wondered as he sat down beside Ian on the mattress. Drumsets took up a lot of space, and it didn’t look like there was any of that in the Gallagher house.
“I used to keep everything in the basement, until my grandma turned it into a meth lab and blew it up. Now it’s easier to just leave it all boxed up. Safer that way.”
“But how do you practice?” Mickey pressed.
Ian gave him a quick shrug. “In my head, on tables… on whatever I can find, really.”
Mickey nodded in understanding. He’d had problems keeping his instruments safe from his dad in the past. Terry would get angry and reach for the first thing he could use as a weapon, regardless of how much that weapon happened to cost.
“Anyway,” Ian said cheerily, breaking Mickey away from his thoughts. “I’m glad you’re here. I have a feeling that Mandy will like whatever I suggest,” he said with a grimace, “even if it’s fucking garbage, so I hope you can give me some honest feedback.”
Mickey laughed at that. Mandy would like anything if it got her closer to riding Ian’s dick, and he thought it was hilarious that Ian had actually noticed it. The guys she had flirted with in the past had accepted the flattery as genuine.
“I have to hand it to you,” Mickey started, “you have a lot more control around her than most other guys.”
Ian frowned. “Well, she’s not exactly my type,” he said, biting his lip.
Now that was a first. Mickey may not have been into girls and he cringed at the thought of “rating” his sister, but he could admit that she was definitely most guys’ type.
“And what is your type?” he challenged in Mandy’s defense.
“Relax. It’s not like I don’t think Mandy’s pretty… It’s just… I mean, she doesn’t...” he said, floundering for the right words.
“What?” Mickey pushed.
Ian sighed, looking around the room as if he was trying to escape, then realizing there was nowhere to go. He fidgeted with the notes in his hands, rolling the edges. “You asked what my type is?” he finally said, looking at Mickey seriously. The brunet nodded.
“Well, I like dark hair and light skin,” Ian said, counting off the traits on his finger. “It’s a sexy combination. I also like someone with attitude, who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Someone who knows how to fight and take care of themselves, but who will also take care of their friends and family if they’re in danger. A love of music is a necessity,” he added. Mickey knit his eyebrows together as Ian went on with his list, because every single one of those things applied to his sister. “...and so is having a penis,” he said in conclusion, putting his hand down and watching Mickey for a reaction.
It might have taken Mickey a moment for Ian’s words to sink in, but once they did, he wished the drummer hadn’t said them. He’d never talked to anyone about his own sexuality, and was beyond uncomfortable talking about it with Ian, especially now that he had just practically admitted to Mickey being his “type”.
“So you’re…”
“Gay,” Ian said simply, not bothering to beat around the bush.
Mickey swallowed, hugging his legs closer to his chest. “And you…”
“Like you. Yeah.” He gave Mickey a small, tentative smile.
Mickey didn’t smile back. Instead, his lips twisted into a sneer. “And what makes you think I won’t kick you out of the band for being a faggot?” he demanded.
Ian didn’t seem put off by his harsh words. “I have faith in you,” he said, still smiling. “I don’t think you’d do that.” Mickey was all too aware of the sudden tension in the room and of how close they were sitting to each other on Ian’s bed.
“Look, Mickey. I really did ask you to come by so that we could go over some music,” Ian said, changing the subject in an obvious attempt to break the tension. “This doesn’t need to be weird or anything,” he said quickly. “You asked me what I like and I told you the truth, but if you’re not interested in me, that’s fine. Nothing has to change in terms of the band.”
“That’s not true,” Mickey said.
He looked up at Ian and saw that the redhead was frowning.
“You really don’t want me in the band anymore?” Ian asked, green eyes staring back at Mickey in shock.
“No, not that,” he grunted. “The other thing.”
“What?”
“I never said I wasn’t interested,” Mickey mumbled, staring at his knees, which he was still hugging against him.
“Oh,” Ian breathed, then, “oh,” he said again, still digesting it.
“If you breathe a word of this to Mandy, I’ll cut your fucking tongue outta your head,” Mickey threatened, realizing what he’d just confirmed.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ian promised, then started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Mickey questioned, glaring at Ian suspiciously.
The younger boy took a minute to get his amusement under control. “I think you’d like me better with a tongue, if you know what I mean,” he told him. Mickey felt his face burning with mortification at Ian’s lewd implication, which only made Ian laugh harder.
“You want a demonstration?” Ian suggested, flashing Mickey a lascivious grin.
Mickey did the only thing he could think of doing in that moment: he grabbed the pillow beside him and slammed it into Ian’s face, leaving the redhead momentarily stunned.
“Oh no you didn’t!” Ian shouted, jumping up from the mattress and grabbing another pillow off of one of his brothers’ beds so that he could fight back.
The small pile of paper with Ian’s notes went flying off the bed as the boys attacked each other, all thoughts of songwriting forgotten amidst their laughter.