Ian wasn't the only guy from the South Side in the class. He knew about Mickey long before he started, he went to school with his little sister Mandy; hell, he was even part of the reason why Mickey had even come to study Art here in the first place. Not that he could tell him that.

When Mandy first asked him to help with the application, he thought it was probably just because she didn't know anyone else who was interested in art (based on the fact that he was always doodling on his notebooks in class, by the way). For some reason, she thought that would basically make him the best candidate to help with the essay.

It took him a while to realise why Mandy was doing this for her asshole brother at all. It wasn't really helped by the fact that any time he asked she just gave him another bullshit reason:

He smells awful, or,

He's so fucking annoying I just want him gone, or

His room is bigger than mine, or

There are too many fucking guys in our house.

Really though, once he got to know Mandy, saw the softness she hid below the edgy exterior, it was clear. She loves him, same as Ian does all of his siblings. She saw he had a talent and she wanted him to fucking do something with it. And since all guys are dumb assholes, she was the one who had to take action.

Realistically all that they had were a bunch of his drawings, half of them crumpled from being tossed into the trash, and an essay Ian and her had poured over. It wasn't much and the application for the scholarship was taxing as fuck. Mickey didn't have the grades, heck he'd dropped out of school (or been kicked out? Ian was never sure what was rumour and what was truth), hadn't done shit really. No legal work experience. No evidence he did anything at all. So, neither of them really expected the acceptance letter, but apparently the SAIC admissions office ate up that tortured artist ghetto kid bullshit. Or maybe they had a quota of charity cases to fill, either way - Mickey was in. Who would be stupid enough to turn down a free ride out of South Side anyway? Not even Mickey could pass it up, much as he protested it at first - sort of to Mandy's delight. Anything to wind up her pissy big brother.

( The fuck did you apply for fucking college for me? Wait. What do you mean they said yes ? )

Ian was under no illusions that the same trick would work twice, so instead he worked twice as hard to build a good portfolio and write a decent essay and get the grades he needed. He knew it was still a long shot, because he obviously couldn't afford tuition no matter how much money he saved, but he applied to every school he could anyway, just on the off-shot that someone was dumb enough to think he was a decent candidate. Honestly, the only explanation he can come up with is that SAIC has a soft spot for the troubled youth of South Side, why else would they keep taking in their strays? Not that he was complaining. Obviously. The opposite really, because he pretty much couldn't wipe the grin off of his face for about two weeks after he got his letter, which is saying something when you have to deal with people like Frank Gallagher on a fairly regular basis.

He didn't expect Mickey to remember him when he started, didn't even know how much he'd see him around when he was in the year above. He thought their schedules would be too different to catch more than a few glances of each other, but as it turned out the studio space was shared between every year-group. The room was lined with rows of tables divided up by boards, decorated by whichever student had claimed them first. A huge room off the back was dedicated to screen-printing and presses; a fancy as fuck Mac lab and still space left over for people working on bigger paintings or sculptures.

It was overwhelming when they were first brought in. The studio was buzzing with conversation, and a mixture of paint smells and things he couldn't even place yet - nothing unpleasant, though. Nothing like the places he walked into back home, the stagnant smell of sweat and hormones at his high school, or the shame and alcohol in the bars, or the old food smell of the Kash and Grab. This was fresh and new and exciting. He couldn't help but glance around to catch sight of that familiar black scruff though, if only because he already felt immensely out of place and just wanted something to ground him, and show him that they could thrive here among the snobby and the pretentious. Well, what he expected to be snobby and pretentious. He was more surprised to find a lot of the people in his class dressed like Dr Seuss had vomited on them, with a myriad of hair colours and pretty tattoos and piercings, a lot of chinos on the guys and hair strategically styled to look unstyled, round glasses and stubble. Though there were just as many people who looked surprisingly plain too, long brown hair and forgettable outfits and generic names. He decided there and then, there were people who lived their art and people who let the art speak for them.

He was caught in this thought while they were being given a tour of the studio, and his eyes latched onto a familiar form. Back turned, but he'd seen enough of him while he was lifting in Kash's shop to recognise it. Smoke rising from his lips, hair no longer a spiky mess but now slicked back with an undercut. Music thrummed around him as he hunched over his desk, drawing intensely. It was only after he walked farther on with the group he was able to see the stubble and the… vape ? Seriously? Shit. What's the world come to when even Mickey Milkovich is a fucking hipster vape bitch?

He still grinned to himself though, and kept walking, trying to take everything in.

"Okay, who's next?"

They sat on every available table and chair around the professors, and still a bunch had to stand. Apparently they were one of the biggest year-groups that'd come through the college, 38 in total - but they'd been warned that it was likely at least a quarter of them would drop out in the next two years at least. He was dedicated enough already that he knew he wouldn't be one of them. Thought the threat of being some useless drunken criminal like his father was enough to keep him here, supposed Mickey probably felt the same way. He absently turned his head to get a look at him as he considered that.

He slid through the crowd of his peers to come up to the front, hated the introduction thing, but he'll deal with it. He couldn't help the army stance he fell into, arms crossed behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart, chin level as he looked at the sea of expectant eyes, including some of the older students gathered to see the new fish.

"Hey, I'm Ian, I'm from here in Chicago," he paused briefly wondering whether to specify before he thinks fuck it , just as likely he could be from Beverly as Back of the Yards, so he adds, "South Side." He saw Mickey's head tilt up from where he was sitting as he said that, didn't think his voice would carry over that buzz of metal music but apparently so. He tried to press his lips together to hide the smile as he looked down briefly, "I ah, I'm in the ROTC, wanted to go to Westpoint, but you know, Camo wasn't really my colour, so I came here instead." He shrugged off the awkward joke when it didn't get a great reception and glanced at his professor to see if he could sit down yet.

"Great to have you, Ian, go ahead." He stretched a smile into place before he headed back. That experience did literally nothing to alleviate the sense that he didn't belong here. Thanks for that.

He glanced over towards Mickey's desk again on his way to his seat, but he was back to drawing. Really hoped he didn't hear that shitty joke, now.