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jonnnysuh · 3 years

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Never Not - Park Jinyoung

Pairing: idol!Jinyoung x gender neutral reader

Summary: Your bad day is turned around when your childhood best friend, Jinyoung, returns to your hometown and takes you on a tour of your favourite memories together.

Genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers

Warnings: suggested sexual experience

Word Count: 4.3k

Requested by: Anon

A/N: Hi guysssss. I took a small break from tumblr bc I got super busy with work. I haven’t written something like this in a while, but I actually loved how it turned out. I recommend listening to Never Not by Lauv to get into the mood <33

Effort was hard to make these days. Even the way you walked had an unmistakable slouch. Your exhaustive strides were just a shallow reminder that there used to be a hop in your step. Five more minutes and you were free from the shackles of work. Free to figure out what to make for dinner, and appease the gurgles of your stomach.The seconds on the point of sale system didn't seem to move fast enough as you folded the customer's final item and shoved it into a bag.

When you were a kid, no one told you how exhausting being an adult was, and thus it became something to look forward to. You were so caught up on getting that first kiss, sneaking out to go to parties, seeing people that your parents didn't approve of, that you didn't realize that life didn't slow down from there. It was like you blinked, and you were no longer 16. Instead, you were twenty-something perpetually feeling like life was just an endless pit of "what ifs" and building up the courage to make something of yourself. Another mindless "Have a good day." escaped your lips as you bid a customer bye for the nth time that day. You wondered how many of your years would waste away telling others to have a good day, when you yourself hadn't had one in a while.

You pressed your fingers against your temple to sooth a small growing headache. Working in retail for as long as you had, you knew that the s-curved line of people didn't stop for your discomfort. With a fake smile on your face, you welcomed the next few customers as your eyes wandered around the store looking for the person who was going to take over for the next hour. Fifteen minutes past the hour, your replacement finally came. Externally, you wanted to scream and ask them what took you so long? but you knew that would only make you as good as the worst customer. Graciously, you nodded at them, before walking away to the back room to fetch your things and head out.

...

You stood against the wall at the bus shelter shivering from the cool summer breeze that was disguising just how rapidly autumn was truly coming. Today probably wasn't the best day to forget your coat. You rubbed your arms for warmth, taking micro footsteps in place. The pain in your feet made you romanticize the comfort of the sturdy old bus seats as a place of rest. You felt your phone in your pocket vibrate, but you let it ring out. You were determined to get a seat on this bus. A deep sigh escaped you as you surveyed the density of the crowd on the platform- the ride home was definitely going to be longer than usual. When the bus arrived, you queued behind a long line of people. Your phone rang a second time, at this point the crowd was getting larger and you knew you weren't going to get a seat on this bus.

PRIVATE CALLER

"Hello?" you pressed your phone to your ear. Sometimes your mother used phone booths to reach you, so you expected her voice to be on the other end of the line. "I'm offended I had to call you twice for you to pick up." The voice was much deeper, and the delivery much more lighthearted than anything that would've came out of your mother. The absence of a greeting was distinct and direct, but no matter, you knew exactly who this was.

You felt the tenseness of your shoulders drop with just the sound of this voice. "If I had definitely known it was you, I wouldn't have picked up, Mr. Private caller." you jest with the phone pressed between your ear and the crook of your shoulder.

"You know, I was gonna suggest that I pick you up, but just for that comment, I change my mind."

You poke your tongue at your cheek, coyly. For all the changes that occurred in your life, for some reason you could depend on Jinyoung's quick wit and humour to hit the spot even after all this time.

"That's fine, I just finished work so I was thinking of just going home anyways." You had no idea he was even back in South Korea. Last you heard, he was on tour somewhere in North America. More than that, you couldn't even remember when the last time you actually talked was. You were curious about what he was up to these days, but you you knew any hint of urgency in your voice would lead to incessant teasing on his part. The line progressed slightly, but you still didn't feel any closer to the entrance of the bus.

"I'm about to get on a bus home."

"Well, don't get on."

"If I don't get on then you're gonna have to repay me for the fare I paid to even get here." You eyed the bus reaching its capacity, and stepped aside. You twisted your fingers in hope that he was being 100% serious, otherwise you were going to have to wait out for the 6:30pm bus.

"I can't believe the cost of your attention is only $2. Do better." the voice quipped.

"Okay, Jinyoung I guess I'll just get on, then." you threatened, although you had no intention of boarding the departing bus.

"Fine, fine. I'll pay for your fare. Just wait for me."

...

The sky had darkened tenfold since you hung up from Jinyoung's impromptu call. The streetlights glowed gold against the lavender backdrop of the sky. You sat on the bus shelter bench, swinging your feet back and forth as you waited for him. If he took even a minute longer, you vowed to somehow become the president of the Park Jinyoung hate club. Of course, you wouldn't actually, but the idea became more appealing the longer you waited.

You weren't one to go on spontaneous outings- at least not since your teenage years. Recently, you followed the strict routine of work, home, sleep, and to stray from it seemed pointless. But the fact that he even thought of you when he came back home to South Korea was still not something you could wrap your head around.

In the distance, a glow of headlights appeared, stopping perfectly adjacent to your bus stop. The window rolled down, and there appeared Jinyoung's face in all its glory. To say all the words in your vocabulary disappeared would be an understatement. A part of you doubted he would even follow through. Without missing a beat, he returned a look to you. "You just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna get in the car?"

...

Your backpack was sitting atop your lap, bouncing with the movement of the car. Jinyoung hung one hand over the steering wheel. The orange and purple of the sky twisting, and creating a brand new colour that only seemed to grace the skies at this hour. The music was unidentifiable, but the volume was low enough that you didn't even bother trying to figure it out.

"So what'd you do today?" he asked.

"I worked, I told you that." you replied, matter-of-factly.

"And how was it?"

"I honestly can't tell the difference between this week and last week. Or even last month. Same old, same old. Annoying customers, stale lunch, forgot my jacket at home even though it's 15 fucking degrees outside."

"Do you still work at that clothing store you started at when we were 20?"

Your eyes shifted, following the ever-changing scenery of the highway. No idea where he was bringing you, and yet you were brought to comfort by Jinyoung's habits. You knew he didn't have a drug deal, or a random party planned. Jinyoung was always the type to be home before midnight. He was a self-proclaimed goody-two-shoes, but you weren't completely fooled. You knew he could bend the rules if it seemed to serve him.

"That exact same one."

"Anything else?"

You looked at him, the shock settling in that he was really right next to you-- no longer just a figure on a billboard that you used to know. The changes of his physicality were subtle; his face was more defined, but his cheeks still carried the baby fat that had been there since childhood. The shadow of his facial hair loomed on his smooth skin. The mole on the top of his lip, not necessarily gone, but faded. He looked older, but the aura of his presence remained the same.

"And then I was dumb enough to get into a car with a stranger because he said he'd give me $2."

Jinyoung side eyed you, causing you to erupt in laughter. His glare was also unchanging. "Stranger? Your memory's fading already?" He shook his head disappointedly. "I thought you still had a few good years left."

"Oh yeahhhhhh. Sorry Jinyoungie. Didn't recognize you with all the fame." you pinched and pulled on his ear- both things a relic of your grade school years. When you were kids, you never let him forget the age gap. Granted, it was only 3 days, but that gave you the freedom to refer to him however you pleased, while he was stuck with the honorifics.

As you let go, the curve of his ear flushed red. "OWW.” he cried, swatting your hand away. “You’re lucky I’m driving otherwise I would pull your hair.”

Being raised with Jinyoung meant that you were inseparable but kind of in the worst way. If Jinyoung got a good mark on a test, his parents would immediately flaunt it to yours. If you wanted to sneak out, he was on your tail telling you to go back home. And if he knew you liked someone, then that person would know soon enough by the words of Jinyoung. All of that warranted ear pulling, and if you did something in retaliation he would pull your hair.

He was one of the few people in your life, who encapsulated a certain time of your life. The time in your life when you were young, and the world felt so big and everything was possible.

The car rocked back and forth as it shifted into the elevated ramp of a parking lot. Your eyes widened as you realized where you were. He lingered in his seat before popping his seatbelt off and exiting the car. You followed him, swinging the passenger door open.

"So you randomly called me because you wanted to hang out at the...convenience store?" you gestured to the old, orangey building. The bricks were chipped, and the fluorescent lights illuminated the outside through the big glass window. You remember the days when you and Jinyoung would sit on the parking blocks and split a bag of chips until you were chased off the property by the owner. He pulled on the store door, pressing his back to it and letting you enter first.

"Well, I wasn't going to come here until you started yanking my ears. That's when I knew you were hungry."

Without stopping, you weaved through the store until you reached aisle 3- the snack aisle had become a home to you and Jinyoung when you were growing up. In grade school, you were both fearful of what was beyond the boundaries of your home and school so you indulged in after school snacks at the convenience to talk about the latest happenings in your life. As you aged, it became the place of solace after exams, or the meetup location for last minute plans.

He picked up a package of gummy worms, and shook them in your face. "Do you remember what happened the last time we ate theseeee?" Jinyoung smirked. For a moment, you were taken aback by how much he had grown. In your teens, you and Jinyoung met eye to eye. Now, you felt like you had to look up at him in order to be taken seriously.

You crossed your arms, "Yeah, we ate them in the parking lot and you made me confess who I had a crush on."

"Chan, right?"

You nodded, with a sulk as you reminisced. "That wasn't fair."

"Why? Do you still have a crush on him?"

"I haven't thought about him in so long. You really think I'd have a lingering crush on a guy I haven't seen in years?"

Jinyoung shrugged, and shifted his feet. "You had a huge crush on him, though. You even stared at him like this." He rested his palm to his cheek, letting out a deep sigh while trying to maintain an enamoured expression. You snorted, hitting him on the chest. "You'd write his name all over your notebooks AND you bullied me into giving you one of my new ones." he added.

You let out a belly laugh. "And then I wrote his name all over that one too."

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. "They were premium quality notebooks. My aunt sent me them from the states!"

"You had a kabillion of them. Besides, you pestered me for-like-ever to know who I liked, but you never even told me who you had a crush on." You grabbed the bag of gummy worms from his hand and placed it in your shopping basket. Your attention shifted, as you realized you should be in search of your favourite chocolates. You knew that you were far too old to be eating junk food for dinner, but there was something familiar about being hyped up on food that you knew would rot your insides. Your eyes landed on the top row of the wall, and before you could grab your favourite chocolates, Jinyoung stripped it from the wall and dropped it into the basket. He piled on a bag of sour cream and onion chips, and then you both ventured to the drink refrigerators.

Both of you stared deeply at your drink options. On each level of the fridge, stood several different colourful drinks. If you knew Jinyoung, then you knew he would pick a Coke- it was something he swore by in your younger years. You hummed, mentally deciding between an iced tea or a vitamin water. You weren't sure why it bothered you when Jinyoung picked up a Sprite, but you tried to hide your dismay. With an ice tea in hand, and a basket full of both of your favourite things, you made your way to the cashier.

At the last moment, Jinyoung placed a bright yellow umbrella on the checkout counter. He looked down at you, surely, “You never know when it’s gonna rain.”

...

The following car ride to your next destination only lasted about 3 minutes before he parked on the side of the road and dragged you down the street, with the plastic bag full of your foods in hand.

"I should've known you were going to bring me here." you said, strolling down the familiar gravel pathway towards your elementary school. All colour in the sky had disappeared now, finding it hard to see anything but the outline of each other and some features.

Both of you settled on the grass field, onlooking the tall school building that was the foundation of your formal years. As soon as you opened the bag of chips, you found yourselves deep in conversation, talking about what life had been for him the last few years. You couldn't help but be in awe when he explained the rush he got when he got on stage, and how he got anxiety when he thought he wasn’t doing his best. The candidacy of his thoughts drew you in and you were surprised that he trusted you with his secrets.

All these years, you had always wondered what he was up to, if he was living a life far better than the one he left at home. To everyone else, he was this huge pop star that had travelled the world 3 times over, but to you, he was your best friend who left home at 16. You had seen him through the bad hair phases, the adolescent temper tantrums, the voice cracks, and the questionable fashion choices both your parents had put you in.

He leaned back on his arms as he gazed at the school. "Are you afraid of change?" You were silent for a moment as you thought. "On a scale of 1-10?" you rocked your head back and forth. "It's a 15."

Jinyoung raised his eyebrows. You held your legs to your chest, and looked at him. "Why?"

He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it and looked smugly in the other direction. "Heyyy." you poked him repeatedly. "You can't just ask me that and not tell me why."

He enclosed his hand around your finger, forcing your poking to come to a halt. It felt like he was studying your face. Never in your life had you ever felt like you were under the scope of Jinyoung's gaze. The darkness of the sky acted as a mask, hiding your blushing face.

"It was the last thing I asked you before I left." he admitted. "I asked you that when things were about to change big time for us… I always wondered if you resented me for leaving you behind."

The last day before Jinyoung left to become a full-time trainee, you two snuck on to this very same field. Both of you ran across the grass, picking up dandelions; believing that if you gathered enough and blew on them, that they would fuel your wishes.

“You thought I could resent you?” He nodded. “Well, for starters, I hate your guts.” You replied sarcastically, causing him to look at the ground with embarrassment and your face softened at the sight of it.

“You know what I wished for on all of those dandelions, Jinyoung?”

“Not to fail the math exam.” Even in a soft moment, he couldn’t help but be sly. “No!” You exclaimed.

“Well, you should’ve. You got a 48.” He sensed your killer look on him. “So what’d you wish for?”

You played with your fingers. You thought you’d take this secret to the grave. “I wished that you’d be successful in whatever you chose to do.” His eyes enlarged, alarmed at your confession. “but maybe I should’ve wished for the math thing.”

Jinyoung giggled, inching closer to you so your legs were pressed against each other.

“What did you wish for?” You asked. He smiled with the side of his mouth, shaking his head.

“I wished that I’d always find my way back home.” “Oh goddd.” You gagged. “you’re so corny.”

“What about you, huh? You used your wish on me!” he bellowed, his voice echoing against the school playground.

“Hey, I might just be the reason why you’re famous.” You fought back.

You flipped your phone over, 7:53, the brightness of it only barely illuminating the dark. You thought about what you would be doing at this moment if you weren’t here, if he hadn’t picked you up. Mmm probably falling asleep to a tv show. Probably dreading tomorrow. Probably not as happy.

"But what did I say? You know… the first time you asked me that question?” You couldn’t even begin to imagine how 16-year-old you answered.

"You said you were excited to see who we were going to become.” The words of your younger self were so hopeful, yet your current self felt hopeless. Your expression sank, and Jinyoung offered a small smile to revive it. He felt guilty having asked you the question in the first place.

You sat in silence for a bit, dwelling on the excitement for life that you once had. Where was it? And how could you get it back?

“I feel like I’ve let myself down. I don’t even know who I am now.”

Jinyoung blinked slowly, watching his childhood best friend crumble. He rested a hand on your shoulder. "I just look at you, and in so many ways you're the same. I still know what makes you laugh, and the way you say things. I can still pick out your favourite snacks, and know you’re gonna pull my ears when I do something to piss you off.” he yanked on yours softly. "Everything about you feels just how I left you. I feel my youth when I'm with you. But at the same time I’m comforted by how much you’ve changed.”

“I don’t think I’ve changed much.”

“You don’t see it, do you?” You shook your head no. “Do you remember how scared you were to even leave the house when we were kids? Now you live on your own. You never took anything seriously back then, but you’re now one of the hardest working people I know…” his voice softened. “And you let yourself be vulnerable with me when it used to take hours to drag it out of you.” You laid on his shoulder, and he rested his head on top of yours, snuggling closer. “You fear change, yet you’re changing right before your own eyes. And maybe one day, I’ll come back here, and I won’t even be able to recognize who you’ve become.” You sniffled, the idea of Jinyoung not remembering you broke your heart. You held your chest. “But if that day does come, it’ll be okay. Because I know that the person that you’ve become will have it all figured out. I’ll always be rooting for every single version of yourself even if it doesn’t include me.” You sobbed quietly, interlocking your fingers with his. He held your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. For once, there was an action not done out of habit or relic. It was an action evoked just for this moment, and it was a change that you didn’t mind.

…

Jinyoung held your hand, leading you down a narrow road a few minutes away. The sound of crickets, barking dogs, and distant vehicles could be heard as you stood in the middle of the road of your childhood neighbourhood.

You hadn’t been here since you moved in 2016. You looked up at the large modern house that sat on what used to be two lots. Yours and Jinyoung’s childhood homes were purchased by a wealthy business man and demolished to build the business man’s dream home. You stared at the foreign house that sat on the place of your childhood dreams and frustrations.

Jinyoung placed his hands on your shoulders and stopped you at the exact halfway point between what was once his house and your house. You rubbed your arms as a gust of wind rushed by. Without thinking, Jinyoung slipped off his hoodie and placed it on top of your shoulders.

“I remember racing you down this street.” You piped up, pointing down the end of the road. Jinyoung always won that race. No one was faster than him on this street.

“I remember finding that stray puppy and fighting over who got to keep it.” He responded.

“It should’ve been me.” You bickered. Jinyoung laughed, amused at how you were always one to hold a grudge.

“Do you remember that day when it started raining soooo hard and we had to walk shoulder to shoulder under my umbrella?”

You nodded. “Ya, that was the same day with the gummy worms, you dummy.”

“So do you remember what happened right here?” He pointed at the exact spot you were standing. You racked your head for a memory, but nothing stood out to you clearly. You shook your head no. “We always said bye to one another here...but…?” you trailed off.

He took a step forward, both of you standing directly under the streetlight now. You watched his face light up as he likely played the moment back in his head. “So that day, standing under my umbrella, we were about to go our separate ways. You turned into me.”

He took another step closer, popping open the bright yellow convenience store umbrella and holding it over your heads.

You could see it now. It was drizzling so hard, even your hair wasn’t protected from getting soaked. You wrapped your hands around the handle, just like how you did back then. Chest to chest, huddled under the umbrella. Jinyoung locked eyes with you, your heart beat faster.

“And you looked at me, and I swear I was going to say everything I wanted to tell you right then and there.” Your mouth opened in shock. “This was the place where I almost told you I loved you.”

You studied the eyes of the boy you watched grow up. He looked scared, but sure. There was no doubt in your mind that Jinyoung meant what he said. He lowered the umbrella, not letting his gaze veer from you.

Your life was just a build up of what if’s and trying to gain the courage to make something of yourself… but you didn’t want that anymore. With your heart beating out of control, you leaned into him, taking the risk and kissing his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, deepening the heat of the kiss.

A round of thunder boomed above you, and little by little, raindrops began to pour from the sky.

You and Jinyoung separated to look up at the sky. “I did say, you never know when it’s gonna rain.”

You both ran for the car, shoulder to shoulder, under the umbrella. From your heads to your toes, you were soaked in the rain, but neither of you cared. You silently thanked the world for every bad thing that happened to you today that led to this.

…

You blinked your eyes awake, surveying the damp clothes strewn across your living room floor, and the heat of the bare body laying next to you on the couch. You stared at your sleepy childhood best friend, a smile spreading across your lips. This was a change you were ready for.

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paintingwithdarkness · 4 years

Note

"i run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keeps calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead” with BluePulse please!

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes. Y’all just listened to ‘Today is the Day’ by Yo La Tengo. Next up we have ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes.” Jaime pressed a button on the console in front of him, starting the next song before adding on to his commentary. “If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to call in!”

Jaime switched off his microphone and let the song play, flopping back in his chair. Running the night segment of the Houston University campus radio was a pretty chill gig. It paid him above minimum wage for every hour he worked, he only had to work six hour shifts, and it was only five days a week. Besides that, it was a solo job, and no one was there to tell him what to do. Obviously there had been some ground rules when he’d been hired— no cursing on air, and he had to take call-ins from students— but other than that, he had free rein of the radio frequency and he could play whatever music he wanted from 6 pm to Midnight, Monday through Friday. All he had to do was press buttons on a control console, sit back, relax, and occasionally answer the phone.

Speaking of which... Jaime checked the time. 10:28 pm. Great, that meant it was almost time.

With a groan, he raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, eyes squeezing shut. Every night for the past two weeks at exactly 10:30 pm, without fail, the same jackass student had been calling in to insult his music taste and request High School Musical songs instead. The first time it had happened, Jaime had been shocked at the audacity of the student, but had granted the song request anyway. (He had to. It was part of his contract. If a person called in with a song request, Jaime had to grant it. The only exception was if someone requested a song that was inappropriate to air. As long as it had clean/sensored language, and was free from overly explicit themes, Jaime queued up the song).

He mentally prepared himself. ‘Seven Nation Army’ was just about over, and Jaime already had his next song selected. If he timed things right, he could take the annoying student’s call during the next song, and wouldn’t have to subject himself to humiliation where everyone who was listening to his station could hear. It had only taken Jaime three nights to catch onto the trend.

As the guitar faded out, Jaime switched back on his microphone and addressed his audience, “That one’s a classic. ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Hope y’all enjoyed that one. I’ve got a few more songs in store for y’all with the time we have left-”

The tell-tale ring of the phone interrupted him. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent the string of Spanish curses that wanted to fall from his lips from actually coming out. He had spent too long talking, and now he had to take the dreaded call on-air.

He took a deep breath, and had to layer on the enthusiasm thick as he ‘cheerily’ exclaimed, “It looks like we have our first caller of the night!” Jaime picked up the phone and gave the scripted greeting, “Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

Like all the nights previous when Jaime had asked this question, he got the same response. “Nah. I think I’ll stay anonymous. Keep things interesting. Though if you want a clue, I’ll tell you; I’m on the track team.”

Jaime scrambled for his notebook. That was the biggest clue he’d gotten yet about this mysterious student caller. It was almost like some kind of game. So far, every night when this student had called in, they’d said they wanted to remain anonymous, yet would give a clue about their identity. So far, Jaime had a bulleted list of eight items, with ‘track team’ being number nine. The other clues he’d received were ‘hates Indie Rock’ (which was Jaime’s favorite genre of music, thank you very much), ‘favorite movie is High School Musical 2’ (which was blatantly obvious, based on the songs this jackass student always requested), ‘favorite color is red’ (which told Jaime squat about who this kid was), ‘favorite food is chicken whizzes’ (once again, jack shit), ‘red hair’ (which was the first major clue Jaime had gotten), ‘green eyes’ (now it was obvious the kid wanted Jaime to figure out who he was), ‘5’9”’ (somewhat helpful), ‘Freshman’ (which eliminated 3/4 of the students on campus this caller could be), ‘mechanical engineering major’ (another somewhat helpful clue), and ‘gay’ (which, wow, Jaime would never out himself live on the air. This guy had some balls...).

After the mad scramble for a pencil, Jaime flipped the notebook open and single-handedly jotted down the new piece of information, balancing the phone against his ear with the other hand. When he was finished, he leaned back in the big leather chair, kicking his feet up against the edge of the desk in front of himself, feeling satisfied. Jaime knew he had enough information now to track down this annoying student and put an end to these stupid calls interrupting his radio show every night. Tonight would be the last time ‘We’re All in This Together’, ‘Bop to the Top’, or ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ would play during his segment, and Jaime was RELIEVED.

“Is that why you feel the need to call into my show every night?” Jaime fired back at the student. “So you can rope all of your track mates into singing ‘We’re All in This Together’ while you run in circles?”

An airy laugh was the response. And there a slight second where Jaime thought to himself, ‘Wow. That’s actually kinda cute,’ before his brain rebooted and he realized how counterintuitive that was. This guy was an annoyance that had to be dealt with. So what if he had an attractive laugh? It didn’t erase all of the other judgements Jaime had already formed of this student. And they were that this guy had terrible music taste and needed to find another hobby besides calling in every night to bug the shit out of Jaime.

“What better song to commemorate mutual suffering?” The other man laughed again.

Jaime scowled. ‘Mutual suffering’? Sure, Jaime knew the vexing student was talking about his track mates, but he couldn’t help catching the irony in the choice of words. As far as Jaime was concerned, the only one doing any suffering was him.

“So is that your request for tonight?” Jaime just wanted to get this over with already.

A contemplative “hmmm” made its way down the line, before being followed with, “Well, I was originally gonna ask for ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ but ‘All in this Together’ works nicely, too.”

“Por Díos,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. “¿No puede este idiota tomar una decisión?”

“Woah, hey, is that Spanish?!” Apparently Jaime’s mumblings hadn’t been quiet enough. “Yo hablo español!”

Jaime cringed. The pronounciation was terrible, but the enthusiasm was endearing. And dammit! He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. His train of thought was off the tracks again.

Without saying anything else, Jaime turned to his computer, quickly punched ‘We’re All in this Together’ into the song search bar, and hit play. He switched over the audio connection so that the only thing his audience could hear was the music, took a deep breath, and then made his rebuttal to the annoying student.

“You might want to work on that pronounciation, ese.”

The response was whiny. “Aww, it’s not that bad!”

Jaime cringed. “It’s not great, either.”

The student on the other line sighed. “Fine. But at least I have good taste in music!”

“That’s debatable.” Jaime didn’t know why he was dragging out the conversation. Usually after he granted this annoying caller’s request each night, the student rattled off a final jab at Jaime, before just hanging up. Why was he staying on the line tonight? Maybe Jaime just had to direct the conversation in that direction?

“My music is better than what you play every night. I’m doing you and your radio station a favor!” And yep, there it was.

“I don’t think people are tuning into my station to listen to the one High School Musical song you insist I play every night.”

Jaime could practically hear the smirk through the line when the other student responded. “Even if people are tuning in to listen to your crappy music, my song is still the highlight.”

Jaime groaned. He was growing weary of this conversation. “Do you listen to anything besides terrible High School Musical songs?”

That cute laugh caught in Jaime’s ears again. “Doi. A guy needs to have a little variety in his music. I’ve also got ‘Can’t Stop Singing’, ‘Turn Up the Music’, ‘Determinate’-”

Jaime’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m gonna stop you there. Does your playlist contain any songs that aren’t from Disney Channel movies?”

A horrified gasp marked the beginning of the indignant response. “What’s wrong with Disney movies? High School Musical is the crashest movie series in existence.”

Jaime didn’t have enough time to think over the choice of the word ‘crashest’ before the other student continued rambling on.

“What other kind of music do you need?! Disney movies have great numbers, teach you about life and friendship, and growing up, and you gotta be kidding me if you don’t think Zac Efron is hot playing Troy.”

Jaime snorted a laugh for the last amendment to the other student’s statement. He’d only watched High School Musical once, and that was enough for him. And despite occasionally finding other men attractive (being bisexual himself), Zac Efron had never really done it for Jaime.

“I wouldn’t exactly call those ‘musical numbers’ as you put it, any type of masterpiece, however, I suppose you earn a pass for the friendship and growing up part.” Jaime smartly decided to skip the Zac Efron comment altogether, “I would say I’m more of a fan of the Disney animated movies. At least I can tolerate the Lion King and Aladdin sound tracks.”

A little puff of a chuckle, and then, “You should really get a better hobby than bashing on Disney movies.”

Jaime scoffed and immediately fired back, “You’re the one who calls me every night to bash on my music.”

“Oooh.” The other student made a hissing sound, as if a flame were being extinguished. “Caught red handed. But—” And here, Jaime could sense something dangerous was about to be said— “how about we settle this once and for all. You obviously don’t get out of the radio studio enough. What say you come to the next Houston U track meeting? We can settle this music debate once and for all.” Yep. That was a challenge.

Jaime took a few seconds to deliberate. He was curious to see who this mysterious caller was. Besides, what harm could it do? Jaime was not the type to back down when he was challenged. He had his pride and dignity. He would not be bested by this asshole. He was going to go to that track meeting.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ese.” If the other student were there in person, Jaime could imagine shaking his hand to seal the contract.

“Alright,” the other student said, and if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, he sounded rather gleeful that Jaime had taken the bait, “I’ll see you there.” And then the line went dead.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair as he hung up the phone with the other. What had he gotten himself into?

The next Houston U track meeting was a week and two days since the fated phone call. Since that night, the mysterious student caller hadn’t rung Jaime’s radio station. It was a power move, and a good one at that. He had put the ball in Jaime’s court (or passed him the baton? That was a track thing, right?), meaning all responsibility was on him. In all honesty, Jaime was tempted to skip out on their ‘deal’. Sure, he’d agreed, but only because Jaime’d thought it was the key to get the student to stop calling. Now that the calls had stopped, Jaime saw no reason to get involved and draw attention back to himself. Maybe if he didn’t go, the annoying student would just leave him alone.

On the other hand, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that just give the other student more incentive to start calling him again? Not only would Jaime continue to get bashed for his music taste, but then the other student would also be able to expose him as a liar. That was definitely NOT the reputation Jaime wanted to have. He had no choice. He HAD to go to that stupid track meeting.

It didn’t mean he didn’t drag his feet the whole way to the field though. Even with his ticket and getting there five minutes early, it was near impossible to find a seat. Jaime had no idea a sporting event like track would be so popular. What was so special about a bunch of guys running around in a circle?

It took a little shoving and some mumbled “sorry”s and “excuse me”s before Jaime was finally able to plunk down next to a young couple, in one of the only empty seats left. They seemed like nice enough people; the man even tried making small talk with him once Jaime sat down; but Jaime’s shy demeanor prevented the conversation from launching into something deeper.

Once the couple was no longer paying him much attention, Jaime surreptitiously slipped his little pocket notebook out of his jeans and flipped it open to the page where he had noted all of the little clues his mystery caller had given him.

Unfortunately, only some of them were usable in this context. Clues about the other student’s personality and preferences wouldn’t help Jaime identify anyone. Only the clues the track star had given Jaime about his physical appearance would be of use. He was looking for a redheaded, green-eyed, 5’9” Freshman. Should be simple enough.

When Jaime glanced down to where the runners were stretching by the starting blocks, he immediately noticed three boys with red hair. Luckily, this track meet was only a Houston U event and other schools weren’t participating. That meant one of the three was his mysterious caller.

From this distance, Jaime couldn’t judge eye color, and height was difficult to gage. He supposed he would have to wait for the announcers to give the names and grades of the competitors. Hopefully only one of the redheads would be a Freshman, and Jaime could find his culprit.

Within a few minutes, a runner was at the blocks for every lane. The first event was the 100m sprint. Everyone on the team would be participating. Only six could go at a time, and the announcer said that there would be three heats. Unfortunately for Jaime, the announcer didn’t bother with the names of the competitors since everyone was running, but he hoped that at least the winners would be announced, in case his redhead happened to be one of them.

In the first heat, two of the three red-haired boys were lined up at the blocks. Jaime trained his eyes on them. The first boy was in the second lane, and the other in the sixth lane. Hopefully one of the two would win so that Jaime could narrow down his suspects.

When the starting gun fired, all six runners took off like rockets. The pure speed was quite a shock for Jaime to witness. Within fifteen seconds, all six runners crossed the finish line.

“Winner!” The announcer shouted, once first place for the heat had been determined. He held up the arm of one of the redheads Jaime had been watching. “Senior Wally West with a time of 10.8 seconds!”

An elderly couple three seats over from where Jaime was sitting sprang out of their seats cheering. “Yeah, Wally!” shouted the man. His wife was enthusiastically clapping.

When they sat down again, the couple next to Jaime (conveniently sandwiched between him and the cheering couple) turned to face them.

“Wow!” the blond man next to Jaime exclaimed. “That’s his fastest time yet!”

The other blond man laughed (and it was then that Jaime noticed the striking resemblance). “He’s been working hard. Of course, he’s no match for Bart, but just maybe Wally might have a shot at beating him in the 3200m.”

The brunette woman of the younger couple hummed, a smirk resting on her lips. “I don’t know about that one. Our Bart’s got Thawne blood, too. He’s got runners from both sides. Wests... not so much.”

“Mel!” the man next to Jaime gasped, scandalized. “I thought we said no family rivalry at track meets?”

Immediately the brunette woman, Mel, appologized. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s right,” the man from the elderly couple interjected. “You have to remember Donny’s got some West blood himself. Iris was a West before she married me.” He slung an arm around the graying red-haired woman sitting beside him.

It was then that Jaime was able to piece it together. The young blond man— Donny— sitting next to him, was the son of the elderly couple— Iris and her husband (unfortunately Jaime didn’t have his name yet). The younger brunette woman— Mel— was Donny’s wife, and one of the runners— Bart— was their son, and the grandson of the elderly couple. Wally— the runner who had just won the first heat was a relative (?) of the two couples.

By the time Jaime was done puzzling out the relations, the next heat of runners was already at the starting blocks. Unfortunately, the other redhead, whom Jaime guessed was Bart, was not in this heat.

The starting gun fired, and the race was over within fifteen seconds again. The winner was announced, and the runners of the third heat took their places.

Jaime’s gaze zeroed in on the redhead in the first lane. That must be Bart. Mel and Donny were balanced on the edges of their seats next to Jaime.

As soon as the gun fired, Bart was nearly a quarter of the way down the lane. He was insanely fast. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if he hit an Olympic time. His teammates stood no chance.

When he was announced the winner, Jaime had to do a double take at the 9.63 second time blinking on the screen behind him. That was more than a second faster than Wally, who had won the first heat.

“‘Attaboy, Bart!” Donny yelled.

The exclamation caused Bart’s attention to be drawn towards them. He waved proudly at his parents, and then his gaze caught on Jaime. Even from this distance Jaime could see the electric green eyes trained on him. There was no mistaking it now. Even with the other redhead to consider (since Jaime hadn’t heard his name or grade announced yet), he was certain Bart was his mystery caller. There was something in his eyes— a knowing glint— that made Jaime nervous. Could Bart know who he was?

It wasn’t completely impossible. Because he ran the campus radio at night, Jaime had a page on the school website. His name and picture were plastered right along side Cassie and Gar’s. Cassie had the morning shift from 6 am to noon, and Gar’s comedy segment ran from noon to 6 pm, when Jaime started. All Bart had to do was look him up and he would know exactly who Jaime was.

In retrospect, Jaime easily could have done the same to figure out who his annoying caller was. Once he’d received the track team clue, he could have pulled up the roster and narrowed his suspects down. He could have ruled out Wally because he was a Senior, and possibly even the other redhead based on his year. The announcer had said that Bart was a Freshman when he’d announced him as a winner, so Jaime figured he was the most likely of the three to be the caller. He matched all of the physical descriptors.

There were two more sprinting events that followed, each doubling the distance of the previous. After witnessing the 100m event, Jaime wasn’t surprised when Bart came in first for the 200m and 400m. It was honestly impressive. Bart was talented both in the art of running and annoying Jaime over phone calls. Truly difficult feats.

Once the sprinting events were finished, the competitors moved onto the field. Unlike the sprinting events, some members of the team sat out. Jaime noticed only six members of the team were participating. Two for discus, two for shot put and two for javelin. Neither Bart nor Wally was one of the six. The other redhead on the other hand, was lined up at the javelin throwing line.

Jaime paid him little mind. As soon as the announcer introduced him as a Senior, Jaime tuned out completely. Now there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Bart was his mystery caller.

While the field events took place, Jaime watched Bart stretching out on the side of the track. He was surprisingly limber. And Jaime had nothing to blame but the part of his mind attracted to men when he watched Bart bend over in his running shorts to stretch out his hamstrings. He had really nice legs, among... other things.

Jaime shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. He’d come here to put Bart in his place because of the annoying phone calls. Not admire his amazing calves.

When the field events were over, some members of the team moved back onto the track for the hurdle events. Again, Bart was not amongst them.

“He doesn’t do hurdles either?” Jaime accidentally mused aloud.

Donny turned to look at him. “First track meeting?” he asked, kindly.

Jaime felt a blush crop up on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant for his comment to be out loud.

“Yeah,” he admitted, despite his embarrassment.

Donny gave him a smile. “They each only do one event plus the sprints. You’ve got the three field events, hurdles, and long distance.”

“Oh.” Jaime nodded to show he understood.

Donny outstretched his hand. “I’m Don.”

Jaime shook Bart’s father’s hand. “Jaime,” he returned.

When Don took his hand back, he used it to point to his wife. “This is my wife, Meloni.”

The brunette woman waved at him.

“And my parents, Barry and Iris.” He gestured at each member of the older couple as well.

Jaime ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you all.”

The pop of the starting gun drew their attention back to the track where the hurdlers had just taken off from the blocks. Jaime watched on in interest, amazed at the skill that had been displayed today. He’d never imagined a track meet being this entertaining.

After a few moments, Don turned back to him. “Who’re you here for?” He pointed down at the track members surrounding the edge of the rubberized circle, cheering on their participating teammates.

Jaime felt that blush bloom on his cheeks again. Should he be honest? He was sitting right next to Bart’s parents. What if they started asking questions he didn’t have the answers to?

“Uh, I-I’m here for Bart.” He didn’t really have any other options. He didn’t know the names of any of the other track members.

Donny’s green eyes suddenly lit up. “Bart didn’t tell us his boyfriend was coming! It’s quite a coincidence we ended up sitting next to one another!”

Jaime gave a hard blink, processing the sentences that had just exited the blond man’s mouth. “Uh, we’re not-”

Meloni cut him off. “Oh! You’re the one who runs the campus radio! I knew your name sounded familiar. Bart talks about you all the time!”

The first thought that went through Jaime’s mind was, ‘Does he now?’. There was no mistaking it. Bart was 100 percent the annoying student who called into his radio segment each night. And Bart knew who he was. As soon as this track meeting was over, Jaime was definitely going to have some words with him.

“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you!”

Jaime didn’t know whether he should burst their bubble. Don and Meloni seemed like genuinely good people, and they were happy for their son having seemingly found a relationship. Although their assumptions weren’t true, Jaime knew he would feel extremely bad telling them otherwise.

Luckily, there wasn’t much time for him to dwell on the subject. As soon as the winners for the hurdling events were determined, the obstacles were cleared off the track and the next set of runners were lining up at the starting blocks. Two heads of red hair immediately caught Jaime’s attention. Bart and Wally were lining up in lanes one and two, while a few more of their track mates joined them in the other lanes.

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Barry posed the question aloud.

“I think Bart’s got a running shot.”

Everyone groaned at Don’s poor-quality joke.

“I apologize on my husband’s behalf,” Meloni mostly addressed Jaime, “What he meant was that Bart’s been working on his pacing. He’s the fastest on the team, and has always taken first in all of the sprinting events, but Wally always gives him some good competition for the long distance stuff.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. Bart had definitely been fast; no doubt about that. But he was curious to see how he would do in an event that required more endurance. Apparently he would actually have some competition this time, unlike in the sprinting events where Bart had left all of his teammates in the dust.

When the starting gun fired, Jaime found himself actually holding his breath. This first distance was 1500m, just shy of a mile. Jaime could remember having to do the one mile run in P.E. back in high school and how much of a pain it had been. The best time Jaime had ever gotten was just over six minutes.

For the first lap or so, Wally and Bart were neck and neck. The rest of their teammates were about half a lap behind. Then, when they went into the second lap, Bart kicked it up a notch, pulling ahead. Wally kept his own even pace, a schooled look of determination set over his features, while Bart’s lips transformed into a confident smirk.

By the final lap, Bart and Wally were shoulder to shoulder again. It was clear that Wally had the superior skill when it came to pacing, as he had been able to keep the same speed the whole time, whereas Bart’s speed had varied in spurts, depending on his level of endurance. It was unclear which one of them was going to win.

When Jaime looked around at the stands, he could see fans eagerly debating which one of the redheads they thought was going to win. The general consensus seemed to be Wally, but Jaime had a feeling his High School Musical-song-loving caller had a trick up his sleeve.

When they reached the last 100m or so of the race, the stadium burst into cheering, each person of the audience shouting encouragement to their respective runner. Against all odds, and to the surprise of many, Bart burst into a full out sprint, easily overtaking Wally, and crossing the finish line with an enthusiastic whoop.

Jaime was absolutely shocked to say the least. After running three laps, how had Bart found the energy for that last burst of speed?

A time of 4.02 minutes flashed on the screen behind them as the announcer proclaimed Bart the winner. Meloni and Don broke into cheers beside Jaime, and Barry and Iris clapped as well to show their support. Even Jaime found a small smile working it’s way onto his lips as he clapped, in awe of the impressive speed Bart had just displayed.

There was a few minutes between events while the results of the race were recorded and the next set of runners lined up at the starting blocks. Again, both Bart and Wally were among the competitors. This time, the distance was more than double what they had just run at 3200m. Jaime was curious to see how Bart would hold up against the longer distance.

When the starting gun fired, all of the runners took off as a group, rather than Bart and Wally distinguishing themselves from the pack right away. With eight laps to go, Jaime supposed it made sense. No point in going all out during the first half of the race, only to burn out when it really mattered. Bart and Wally would probably wait until the final few laps to burst ahead of their teammates.

Around and around the track they went, keeping pace with one another until the sixth lap. As soon as they passed the starting line, all of the runners kicked it up a notch, and gaps between the competitors became more noticeable. As expected, Wally and Bart pulled ahead of everyone else, and chatter broke out amongst the crowd about which redhead it would be this time.

Barry and Iris seemed to have their money on their nephew (Jaime had finally pieced it together when Barry made the comment about Iris being a West before marriage), whereas Don and Meloni, being the proud parents they were, were betting on their son to come out on top. Jaime couldn’t help being biased, and was also rooting for Bart. After all, he was the whole reason Jaime was at this track meet to begin with.

Bart was giving his all. Halfway into the last lap, he was ahead of Wally by a few steps. It seemed like he had the win in the bag. Then out of nowhere, Wally pulled the same stunt Bart had last time.

Jaime could see Bart do a double take when his cousin passed him, but there was nothing he could do. Bart’s strength was his speed; not endurance. He was only able to give about 80 percent, whereas Wally had paced himself better, and could pour 100 percent of his speed into the last leg of the race.

While Jaime was disappointed to see Bart take second, he was still impressed overall. Wally had beat Bart by two seconds, but Bart had beat the rest of his team by nearly ten seconds, meaning he and Wally had had quite an impressive lead.

Barry, Iris, Don and Meloni were engaged in a chat about the outcome of the latest race, but Jaime found his eyes glued to his not-so-mysterious (anymore) caller. Despite losing the last event, Bart seemed to be a good sport. He and Wally were standing on the sidelines, getting a quick drink and catching their breaths before the final event was set to start. Between gulps of water, Jaime could see the cousins teasing one another, egging each other on, and hyping one another up for the competition of the next race.

When they were called over to the track for the last event, Bart elbowed Wally in the ribs with a cocky smirk on his face, and Wally retaliated by pulling the smaller man into a headlock to ruffle his hair. Jaime didn’t quite know what to make of it, other than that Bart seemed to have a cocky, playful personality. It explained why he had been so adamant about playing the stupid identity game he had roped Jaime into over the phone during his radio segments each night.

The last distance was 5000m, or approximately 12 laps. Just thinking about that much running made Jaime want to cry. Needless to say, he wasn’t a huge fan of running. Other sports, sure, but running was not something Jaime enjoyed for himself. He would have to give massive kudos to Bart for having enough dedication to running to put himself through the 12 lap race.

Again, all of the runners stayed in a pack for the majority of the race. By about lap eight, it was clear who the real endurance runners were. The six competitors had spread out, a few feet behind one another, with Wally leading. There was a black-haired guy on his heels, and following behind him were Bart and another black-haired runner, a little shorter than the man in front of him. Two more runners were taking up the rear.

Laps nine, ten and eleven passed without much change. It wasn’t until they got into the final lap that Bart mustered the energy to pull ahead of his two black-haired teammates and take up the trail behind his cousin.

Wally’s winning time of fourteen minutes and two seconds flashed up on the scoreboard, followed by Bart’s time of 14.08. Jaime almost had to do a double take. When he calculated the math, it meant Bart had averaged a time of approximately a minute and eleven seconds per lap, and Wally had been faster still!

While the judges and officials were confirming the results of all of the events that had taken place, the stadium around Jaime burst to life as audience members began to make their exit down to the track to meet with and congratulate the athletes they had come to support. Beside him, Don, Meloni, Barry and Iris stood from their seats and gathered up their belongings, preparing to go congratulate Bart and Wally on their wins in today’s events.

“You should come with us, Jaime,” Meloni suggested when Jaime didn’t stand up with the rest of them.

Immediately, a stone sank in the college student’s stomach. What would Bart think if he saw Jaime with his parents? He and Bart hadn’t even met yet. How would Jaime be able to explain if Bart’s parents brought up the boyfriend issue?

Reluctantly, Jaime got up to follow the two couples down to the track. He was sweat-dropping. He really hoped Bart’s parents wouldn’t make things awkward.

As soon as he was in range, Don slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, congratulating him on his multiple wins. Meloni also smothered Bart in a hug when she got her opportunity, cooing over how well he had done. Beside them, Barry and Iris were doing much of the same to their nephew, expressing their awe of Wally’s endurance in the long-distance events. Meanwhile, Jaime stood awkwardly by, waiting for a chance to hopefully have a chat with his not-so-mysterious caller.

When the Allens finally separated from their son, Jaime locked eyes with Bart. There was a glint in those green irises that Jaime couldn’t place. It wasn’t good or bad per say; Jaime could only describe it as making him feel on edge, ready to tip one way or the other.

As soon as Meloni noticed the stare between the two boys, she immediately turned on Bart, much to Jaime’s horror.

“Bart! Why haven’t you introduced us to your boyfriend? He’s such a handsome young man.” She used an insistant hand to push Jaime forward, so much so that he almost stumbled and fell into the chest of his supposed “boyfriend”. Luckily, Bart’s hands came up and caught him by the biceps before that could happen.

Both his and Bart’s eyes widened. Pink burned hot on each of their cheeks. Jaime took a quick step back. He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Well?” Don goaded. “Don’t be shy! I’m glad to see my son’s finally been able to put the Allen-family charm to use! How long have you two been together?”

Jaime could feel the color in his cheeks getting darker by the second. Bart was still giving him this weird look, as if it weren’t his parents who had instigated this whole conversation in the first place. The prolonged awkward eye contact was making Jaime uneasy, and he was tempted to just speak up and shut down Bart’s parent’s idea about him and their son being in a relationship, but before he had the chance, Bart was clearing his throat to speak.

The track star raised a hand to the back of his neck, and Jaime had to do a double-take at the innocent “embarrassed” façade he was now putting on. “Well,” he said, playing bashful, “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Babe.”

Jaime’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon hearing the pet name. Bart was just going to go along with this?!

Without preamble, the redhead slung his arm around Jaime’s shoulders, crushing him into his side in a display of “affection” for his parents’ benefit. “Jaime’s a little shy,” Bart said, when Jaime failed to fill in the silence. “He wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I’m actually a little surprised he came to the track meet today.”

Bart subtly bumped Jaime’s hip with his own, which was a cue for him to talk. It took a moment for the raven-haired boy to scramble for a response. He would play along... for now.

“I had to see if you were as good as you were making yourself out to be,” Jaime had noticed Bart’s encoded message; he hadn’t expected Jaime to take his phone call seriously and show up. Jaime was giving his own back in return (I had to discover who the annoying caller was).

Bart chuckled. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Jaime had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Now the guy was just laying it on thick.

“Of course not, Chiquito.” The pet name came out from behind clenched teeth.

Luckily, Mel and Donny seemed to buy their act. When it was clear they were in the clear, Bart asked, “Mom, Dad, is it okay if I have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”

Meloni and Don shared a look before Don said, “Okay. But no hankey-pankey behind the bleachers!” He waved a finger at them, teasing smile in place over his lips.

Jaime felt himself going pink. “Of course not, Sir,” he managed to get out, in spite of how mixed up this situation had gotten.

Bart grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him a little ways down the track so that they were out of Meloni and Don’s hearing range. As soon as he had the opportunity, Jaime whirled on him.

“What the hell was that back there, ese?” Jaime hissed.

Bart shrugged. “They bought it, didn’t they?”

Jaime felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “Why didn’t you correct them?”

Bart did another shrug, this time with a knowing expression on his face. “It’s not like you said anything either.”

Jaime’s glare fell apart under the truthful accusation. It was his fault for not immediately shutting down the idea when Don had first brought it up to him in the stands.

Bart placed his hands on his hips and began rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “In all honesty, I’m actually surprised you showed up.”

Jaime emulated Bart’s pose, resting a fist against his hip and gesturing with the other. “Well, I couldn’t risk you calling back during my segment tonight and accusing me of being a liar in front of my entire audience, now could I?”

Bart tilted his head in such a way that Jaime had to repress the thought of ‘Oh, that’s cute,’ before it accidentally slipped out of his mouth.

A faint pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks. “I guess I did kind of back you into a corner, didn’t I?” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, and it was the moment that Jaime realized Bart was genuinely sorry for having done so. While he may have wanted Jaime to show up today, it was clear now that he wouldn’t have used Jaime’s absence as blackmail against him if he had decided not to show.

Not wanting Bart to feel guilty, Jaime shrugged it off. “No es gran cosa.”

A smile worked its way onto Bart’s mouth. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m guessing by the look on your face, you’re not actually all that bothered by it.”

Jaime sighed. “Well, besides inviting me here so I can tell you how much I hate granting your High School Musical requests every night, what exactly is the reason?”

Bart scoffed. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to my face!” He was trying to deliver the line seriously, but the smile on his lips told Jaime that he wasn’t actually offended.

Jaime shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his own lips. “What can I say? Disney Channel movies are cheesy, and their sound tracks are even worse.”

Bart chuckled. “Your music is too depressing. You need something more upbeat. Less lyrics about death, sad childhoods, and oppression. ‘We’re All in this Together’, right ah-me-go?”

Jaime cringed, both at Bart’s pronunciation and at the stereotypes. His music was more complex than what Bart was making it out to be. Besides, Jaime wasn’t here to argue anyway. Bart had invited him to this track meeting with ulterior motives, and Jaime was determined to figure out what they were.

“Not all of my music is depressing,” Jaime countered. “Besides, you ignored my question. Surely you had some kind of motive in inviting me here besides to just discuss your terrible music taste. I want to know what it is.” Jaime raised both eyebrows.

An unexpected pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks, covering up the freckles sprayed like paint across his Caucasian skin. “I wanted you to notice me.” Jaime nearly missed the words, for they came out of Bart’s mouth in a whisper.

“You wanted me to notice you?” He repeated the statement, hoping for a bit of an explanation.

Bart’s blush deepened, skin in competition with his hair for reddest feature. His green eyes were piercing the ground, seemingly in an effort to burn a hole big enough to burry himself in to avoid such embarrassment. His fingers twisted harshly against one another. His whole aura had changed from the confident runner he had been on the track to nervous schoolboy.

“We’re in the same physics class.” Bart’s sneaker kicked up a puff of dirt as he ground his toe into the sand.

Jaime blinked. He’d never seen anyone like Bart in his physics class. Was he that non-observant that he had missed him?

“I-I usually sit behind you.” It sounded like Bart was struggling to admit something difficult. Usually Jaime was the shyer one in conversations, so he completely understood what it felt like having to lead a difficult conversation. But he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Bart was on the edge of a confession, and Jaime had to know what it was.

“I noticed how a-attractive—” Bart’s blush deepened yet again— “you were pretty much as soon as I laid eyes on you. I-I wanted to get to know you better, so I asked around a little. Turns out Cassie’s a mutual friend of ours. She told me a little bit about you, from working with you at the radio station, and I did a little bit of research on my own. I looked you up on the school website. I started calling in to your station. I kept asking Cassie if she could find out more about you for me. Your favorite color, food, movie... Any hobbies, or things you like. I started piecing together this picture of you in my mind, using our conversations on the phone to confirm or deny my theories about you. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for you to notice me, so I started dropping hints on the phone, hoping you would take an interest. But you didn’t. And I-I can understand if-if you don’t feel the same way but IthinkIaccidentlyfellinlovewithyou.”

Jaime blinked hard. “¿Qué?” That last bit had left Bart’s mouth in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. Had Bart just admitted he was in love with him?

When Jaime snapped out of his confusion and looked back at Bart, he saw that the track star was struggling to hold back tears. A salty droplet fell from his chin and landed on the ground between them, creating a dark spot in the dirt. His shoulders were trembling with the effort to not let out a cry.

Guilt settled hard in Jaime’s stomach, like a boulder being dropped into a lake. The aftershocks were still rippling through his system. The pieces were slowly coming together.

Bart was in love with him, and wanted the feeling to be mutual. He had called in to Jaime’s radio station, hoping that he could get Jaime to take an interest in him. He wanted Jaime to pursue him, that way he would know for sure that Jaime felt the same way. And Jaime had taken an interest; he’d just done a poor job at showing it.

Hesitantly, Jaime reached a hand forward in an effort to get Bart to look up at him. “Por favor, no llores. Lo siento, I-”

Bart took a step back, angrily wiping his tears away with his fists. “No. I-it’s stupid. I built this idea of you up in my head, and it’s probably not who you are at all. I was just desperate and wanted you to like me back. And I know that me calling you every night was probably annoying and that you probably aren’t even into guys-”

Jaime surged forward, grabbing onto the other boy’s bicep with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other, and did something that surprised himself probably even more than it surprised Bart.

Bart froze, teary eyes wide in shock as Jaime’s lips smashed against his own. He was too surprised to react.

As soon as Jaime realized what he had done, he pulled back, blushing madly. Despite his embarrassment however, he couldn’t help the truth that fell from his lips.

“I am.” When Bart still looked confused, Jaime rushed to clarify. “Into guys. Into... you. I’m bisexual.” He raised a hand to nervously rub at the short raven hairs along the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.

Bart seemed to snap out of his stupor. “You’re into me? I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you only came today because I was blackmailing you.”

Jaime’s awkward laugh turned amused. “If you think I showed up today because of your so-called ‘blackmail’, you need a new definition for the word.” He moved his hand from his neck, slipping it into his pocket to pull out his notebook. Jaime flipped it to the page where he had taken down all of the little clues Bart had given to him over the phone and turned the book around to show it to the track star. Bart’s green eyes widened slowly as he read over all of Jaime’s scrupulously written notes.

“I wrote down everything you told me about yourself.”

Bart’s gaze slowly ascended from the page, an awed look in his eyes. Hastily, Jaime closed the notebook and placed it back in his pocket. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in consideration before finally saying, “I’d like a chance to get to know you. I want to give us—” Jaime used a finger to gesture between himself and Bart— “a chance. If that’s... crash?” He tested out the word he’d heard Bart use during a few of their phone calls.

The redhead’s face lit up like a child’s after receiving a piece of candy. “Yeah! That’s totally crash! When are you free?”

“Uh-” Jaime pulled out his phone to check his calendar, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Time to get this show on the road, Kiddos.” When Jaime looked up to see who the hand belonged to, he saw Bart’s father standing between them, his other hand grasping onto his son’s shoulder. “Who knows what you two would get up to if Mel and I left you alone any longer.” Don playfully shook his head, before turning the eyes Bart had inherited from him on his son. “Your mother and I were college sweethearts, too. We know what kind of things kids your age get up to.”

Both Bart and Jaime blushed at the implications.

“Dad!” Bart groaned in embarrassment.

Don chuckled, as if it were all in a day’s work embarrassing his son. He turned to Jaime. “We usually go out as a family after track meets to celebrate. Everyone’ll be there. It’s a good opportunity for Bart to introduce you to the family. If you’re up for going, Jaime?”

The raven-haired student shared a look with his boyfriend? friend? person-he-thought-was-very-attractive-but-wanted-to-get-to-know-a-little-better-before-dating? Bart shrugged.

Jaime felt put on the spot. He and Bart had just discussed the possibility of beginning a relationship, and now he was supposed to meet the ‘rents? Not that he hadn’t already, but that was beside the point. Going out for a meal with Bart’s parents, grandparents, cousin and who-knows-who-else, and having to pretend that he’s madly in love with someone he was just meeting for the first time today? This had the potential to kill any chances he and Bart had at actually beginning a real relationship.

“I’m sorry, I already have plans,” was what Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure. I’d love to get to meet your family, Cariño.”

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes-”

“-and his amazing boyfriend, Bart Allen-”

Jaime had to stifle an ‘oomph!’ as his boyfriend of three glorious months slung an arm around his neck and plopped down on his lap, leaning in close to the microphone so that he could be heard, too.

“-Next up we have ‘Flourescent Adolescence’ by Arctic Monkeys-”

“-And after that, ‘I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’ from High School Musical!” Bart slammed a finger into the ‘play’ button, starting the next song in the queue, before swinging his leg around so he could straddle Jaime’s lap and drag him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Jaime had a pout on his lips. “Who let you in here?” Bart wasn’t supposed to be in the studio, especially when Jaime was live on the air.

The younger smirked deviously. “Cassie might have loned me her key so that I could pay my boyfriend a visit while he was working...”

Jaime shook his head. “Of course she did.”

Bart booped his nose with a fingertip. “Don’t act so put out. You know you looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head, trying to keep a poker face. “Nope. You just tainted my reputation by saying that we’re gonna play High School Musical songs voluntarily. How could I love someone who would pull such a slanderous act against me?”

Bart poked his nose again. “You looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head. His lips threatened to quirk up into a smile. His poker face was cracking. “Nope.”

Bart hovered his lips dangerously close to Jaime’s own. “Admit it, Babe. You love me more than anyone in the world.”

Jaime’s mask crumbled. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” He pulled Bart that little inch forward to kiss him again.

Unfortunately the phone cut their loving moment shorter than either boy wanted. Jaime picked it up.

“Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

“Yeah, Jaime, it’s Gar. I’m glad to hear that you finally found yourself a good partner, but next time you might want to make sure your mic is off before making any declarations of love while you’re live.”

Crimson bloomed to life across the entirety of his face while Gar hung up on the other end of the line. Immediately, the radio host leaned forward and flicked off the switch to his microphone. Jaime buried his face in his hands.

“I hate you!” He directed at Bart in an embarrassed moan.

Bart chuckled. “Nah. You looooove me.”

Here it finally is @purple--waffles! I’m so sorry it took me so long! I’ve been slowly working on it since the day your request arrived in my asks. Life is crazy, and I haven’t had a whole lot of time to write recently, but I really wanted to finish this for you. My mind ran with the prompt, and even though it took me awhile, hopefully the length makes up for it??? Maybe? Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

#young justice #yj #bart allen #jaime reyes #kid flash #impulse #blue beetle #bluepulse #asks #answers #writing requests #sorry this took me a little while to finish

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professor-maka · 5 years

Note

#14 pls! :D “I come to the library every day to ‘study’ but really I’m just watching Netflix over your shoulder and I’m really invested in this series and the day we’re supposed to be watching the season finale you’re not there and I??? Feel personally betrayed??”

Ask and you shall receive. ❤️ I hope you like!

Thanks to @sahdah and @macabremermaid for the eyes.

—

“HBO and Chill”

She can’t afford HBO, not making her own way through school, so Maka had never really worried what shows it airs. Why pine for what you can’t afford?

But then, he’d changed all that, the white haired kid who goes to the library to study every Sunday night, like clockwork. Sometimes he comes at 6, and sometimes he rolls in at 8,but he’s always there, just like her. But unlike her, he always takes a break to stream on his laptop.

The first night, Maka had been pissed—sure it isn’t a quiet study floor, but who streams in thelibrary without headphones? She’d been fuming but also curious. Game of Thrones? She’d read the books—had wished she could watch the series—but alas!

Fuming gave way to interest, and instead of confronting him like she thought about during the first 15 minutes, Maka had found herself watching over his shoulder as hequeued up two more episodes that night, and, reading abandoned for the evening, she found herself wondering when the hell she was going to get to watch more.

Maka had been damn near lowering herself to ask her shithead papa for the gift of HBO, sulking in the library as she did her reading and itched for more in the saga of Starks andLannisters, when her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of someone moving in to occupy the table in front of hers, the same table she claims every Sunday. She nearly gasped when she realized it was him again, the white hairedboy from the previous Sunday, the one with HBO, the same one she’d seen around campus and in the back of a few of her classes, silent as as stone.

Maybe he’d watch again, she thought. She hoped. Although, Maka reminded herself, he’d surely be ahead by now and she has always hated skipping episodes. Disappointment hadflooded her as she poked her nose back into her book and there was nothing but yawning quiet, the scratch of her pen, the click of his keys. And then, she heard it. The theme song! And it was… the next episode!

She barely pretended to read that time as he watched three more episodes straight.

That had been months ago, early in the semester, and now, the semester is nearly at an end and so is the series and she can’t wait! Because by some miracle, he clearly only watches at the library on Sunday nights, right when she’s there to see it, and Maka has become invested.

The finale is tonightand she isn’t even pretending to study, she’s so wound. She needs to know what happens. The show has far outpaced the books and waiting is torture,but Maka knows he’ll be here by 9 to livestream like he has been for weeks.Well, maybe she should at least make a stab at studying. Sure she’s got As sofar in her classes, but finals still matter.

Nine o’clock hits and he’s not there. He’s never not there, not all semester, so where is he?

Ten PM hits and she’s inthe first stage of grief, mourning the loss of her livestream. But surely he’llshow and stream, even if it’s a little late. Eleven hits and with it comes the anger. Why now? Why tonight? How dare he string her along through 8 seasons only to deny her the finale!

Fists clenched, Maka makes a decision. Maybe not the most rational decision, but she’s more than a little desperate. Apparently, laptop boy is friends with Blake—she knows because she’d seen them playing one on one together as she passed the courts afew times—so she can find out where he lives or his number or something and—and—

Well, she doesn’t know, but desperate times, desperate, desperate times.

Clicking Blake’s speed dial on her cell, Maka rolls her eyes at his answers of, “Yo, this is your godspeaking, whatcha want?” That being a god brother makes him her actual god ishis personal joke; only he finds it funny.

“I need—a favor.” She sounds more sheepish than she means to, feels silly, almost hangs up, but—

“Sure, shoot, anything for my favorite minion.”

“Uh, so, eh—“ she stammers through his guffaw at her inability to spit it the fuck outalready. But she’s Maka Albarn and if she’s anything, she’s brave, so she pushes on. “That, uh, weird kid with the white hair you play basketball with—“

“Who, Eater? What, you got a thing for him or—“

“Nooo, he just—wait, his name is Eater?”

The guffaw is louder this time. “Nah, not his name name, it’s just what I like to call my newest minion, keep up.”

“And I thought BlackStar was bad,” she mutters, face flaming. Eater. Knowing Blake, she tells herself she doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, whatever, anyway, Maks, what do you want with my boy Soul? Never pegged you for being into the emo type but, like, no judgement.”

Well, Soul isn’t so bad a name. She finds she likes it. Much better than Eater, anyway.

“I’m not into anyone.” She manages not to snap even if she’s seething in mortification. “He—uh—forgot something at the library and I wanted to try to get ahold of him to—“

“Yeah, yeah, alright,I’ll text you his contact, gotta go, they set up the beer pong table, laterloser.”

Black Star will be BlackStar. At least he texts her the contact, and of course it’s under Eater. Figures, but whatever, she just needs to find out why the hell he ditched her.

She’s already pressed to call and let it ring several times when she realizes all at once she has absolutely zero business bothering him. Because, sure, he’d strung her along like a kitten with a string, laying out all 8 seasons before her like a buffet of medieval shenanigans, but it’s not like he’d done it on purpose.

The end call button gets pushed so fast it might have been the key to stopping the apocalypse. Really, it sort of is. Maka drops her phone on the table like a hot potato and lets the shame wash over her—how could she let sensationalized, bawdy medieval television get such a grip on her?

Her phone vibrates and she scoops it up, craving a distraction from her own silliness.

uh do i no u —the text reads.

No, he certainly doesn’t. Maka has no idea what to do but she can’t not answer, it would be rude, so she types back:

Not really. Blake gaveme your number.

ummm okay why — he responds after a pause.

Why? She can’t exactly tell the truth but she doesn’t like lying, either.

I was worried when you didn’t show up at the library. You’re always there on Sundays at the table infront of mine. Sorry.

It’s the truth, just not all of it. Because she does feel like they’ve bonded over Game ofThrones watching it together every week, and she’s overheard phone calls with his parents and his brother and she’s gotten to know quite a lot about him. Gods, she feels like a stalker, but— but—! He’d invaded her library time, not the other way around! And he’s the one who breaks rules to talk on his cell—he’s lucky she hasn’t reported him! And—

The vibration startles her out of her spiral.

maka shit im sorry im sick running 104 was gonna go set my alarm but slept thru its the finale im sorry gimme a sec ill b there

What. The hell.

He knows her name? And that she’s been watching? And—he’s sick—and—

Don’t you move! 104 is dangerous where do you live? I’ll be right there.

Even as she thoughtlessly hits send she regrets it because what is she doing? He’s going to block her or ignore her or tell her to fuck off, or what if he’s theone who’s actually a stalker—

Vibration. It’s an address, for an apartment complex next to campus.

Be right there. Her fingers send it out before she can even think—he knows her name, he sent her his address, maybe he’s a stalker serial killer?

But she’d called him. Also like a stalker. So it makes no sense and what even is she doing with her life?

For about half a second, Maka considers blocking his number and going home, never to enter the library on a Sunday night again. But he’s running a 104 fever; he might need help!And—she’s not a coward and she’s fully capable of kicking ass if she must. AND—the Game of Thrones finale is at his beck and call.

That’s the clincher, so she packs her things and makes her way across campus. It’s nearly midnight, so Maka keeps to well lit walks, and it isn’t long before she’s at his door. She knocks and hears coughing and shuffling and then he’s opening the door, looking bedraggled in plaid pajama pants and a ratty band tee, dark smudges under his eyes, his pale hair sticking up every which way. Well, the last part isn’t sofar off from his normal, anyway, but he looks sort of pathetic with his fuzzy blue blanket over his shoulders. Endearingly so.

“Uh, so,” she says, fidgeting with the strap of her bag on her shoulder and looking at his mouth to avoid his eyes.

“You can—uh—come in.” He sounds nervous even past the unusual scratchiness of his voice, but steps back, so she steps in. He closes the door behind her and she notices he’s got a nest of blankets on his big leather couch. She’s pretty sure she can hear an episode of Chopped somewhere in the background.

“Lay down.” Maka finally takes charge, tired of them both standing so awkwardly. “You have tea?”.

He just blinks at her for a minute, shakes his head, then looks between the couch and the kitchen. “Uh, sure, I can make—“

“Nooo!” she cuts himoff. “For you. I’ll make it.”

“Maka, you don’t have to—“ it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say her name and it startles her, especially because she sort of likes it.

“I know, but I want to.Help, I mean. So lay down.” She doesn’t give him the chance to protest, just walks into his kitchen and begins opening cabinets.

“Furthest cabinet on the left,” she hears his voice call out from the living room. “Cups in the dishwasher.”

She finds the tea (loose leaf! She doesn’t expect that!) and cups and sets the electric kettle on the counter below the tea cabinet to boil.

Several minutes later,she’s got two steaming cups of green tea with an herbal blend, and she walks them out to the living room. Soul has neatened the couch and is sitting up, leaving room on the other side. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly. Poor boy looks pathetic, flushed and droopy. Maka sets down a tea cup on the coffee table in front of him, sets the second on the other side, and sits across from him on the couch. She means to let him rest but it’s so awkwardsitting with a sleeping not quite stranger that she clears her throat nervously.

Startling awake, he looks at her, blinks, then seems to recall the situation,

“Uh. So. Wanna watch the finale?”

It’s at least half of why she’s here, so she nods, still feeling awkward and out of place, yet absolutely determined.

They end up commenting to each other through the episode and it’s nice. Why haven’t they ever watched it together like this? Not just Maka spying and pretending not to, but actually just—together? She could have asked and sat with him but she’s been silly.

It’s a regret, but as the episode ends, they’re both too full of feelings and ideas for it to last, and they talk about the finale and the series for a good hour before she stifles a yawn and he lets out a huge sneeze and she remembers who he is and where they are.

“So um—thanks for letting me come watch.” She’s fidgeting again, this time with the hem of her hoodie.

“‘’Course. Thanks for giving a shit and taking care of me.” His smile is wide and genuine and she could maybe melt which is—silly for a lot of reasons, really—but she also remembers—

“How do you know my name?” she blurts.

“Uh.” A nervous hand musses his hair further. “We’ve had like four classes together and you—sort of stand out.”

He’s already pink with fever but his skin goes red and—is he blushing? She blushes back at the thought.

“Oh, yeah, okay, I just—uh—didn’t realize you noticed me or anything, especially at the library.”

Gods this is embarrassing.

“You weren’t exactly subtle,” his voice is gruff as he looks at his hands.

“But—“ she stammers. “Then why didn’t you just ask me to watch with you if you knew?”

“Thought you’d say no.” His eyes are still down though they flick her way for an instant.

Would she have?

Maybe. In the wrong mood. She can be stubborn, she knows. But still.

“Well, since I’m here, you were wrong.”

“Yeah, I caught that. Guess it’s too late now, anyway. Show’s done.”

It is, isn’t it.

The thought of giving up her Sunday study tv night makes her inexplicably sad. Especially since she’s here during summer and knows he is, too, from one of his calls with his brother.

“You have Hulu?” Inspiration strikes.

“Er—Uh—yeah?” He looks confused.

“Because I don’t, and I’ve been dying to watch Hamdmaid’s Tale.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’d be—cool. We could start tonight—I mean—“

“Yeah, sounds good. You clearly shouldn’t be alone with that fever and I don’t have a final until Tuesday!”

“Cool,” he repeats, calling up the Hulu menu on the television.

For her part, Maka can’thelp a slight satisfaction at having made a new friend who can afford to stream.

#ProMa writes #soma fic #soul eater fanfic #soul eater #soul x Maka

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hotokeiki · 7 years

Text

Week 128: J-pop

http://zippyaudio3.com/download/reina-ueda-%E4%B8%8A%E7%94%B0%E9%BA%97%E5%A5%88_watashi-dori-%E3%83%AF%E3%82%BF%E3%82%B7-%E3%83%89%E3%83%AA/-569986_FWqKXF#.WRKBntnktTw.facebook

Hey guys!

Man, has it been a while. The summer has been busier than I originally anticipated. Hopefully, you saw the last update I posted. That explains fairly well what all I want to do this summer, and NEED to do this summer.

Anyway.. How is everybody?

…

Linda: They can’t answer you.

Shh, Linda. *whisper* I know, but I’m trying to be polite. *whisper*

So, the last post was good ol’ St. Paddy’s Day, March 17. It is now May 17.. I’m sorry I left you with that for two months. XD

So, what’s happened since then?

Well, finals. That was a week before my birthday. Oh yeah, I had a birthday!.. We’ll get to that.

Let’s start with grades. A couple of my professors waited until the latest allowable time to turn in grades, but I had my grades by Friday, May 5.

Here they are. I’m pretty happy with them.

EE 353 (Communication Systems) - B+

EE 358 (Control Systems) - A (pretty happy with this one)

EE 368 (Control Systems Lab) - C

CS 460 (Operating Systems) - A

EE 363 (Communication Systems Lab) - A

EE 477W (Senior Design II) - A

PSYC 460W (Psychology of Women) - A

Term GPA was 3.73, so I made Dean’s List! (=> 3.5)

I was trying to catch up in Control Systems after realizing I was taking the class too lightly. You don’t really learn things when you’ve already convinced yourself you don’t understand. Anyway, there were some tougher parts of the semester. I was freaking about this one report for Control Systems Lab, and I had convinced myself that it was due later than it was. The first section of that lab had two more days to do the simulations and write their report.. but I digress. I felt bad about doing that to Uncle Paco, being at the lab to ask questions when the assignment was due, and worked to get it done that night (I thought it was due by midnight). I apologized to Uncle Paco, and emailed my report before midnight. We worked things out, but I still got docked for the assignment. So did Evan, and we weren’t the only ones who thought it wasn’t due at that point. The last exam for Controls was the week before finals, and I thought it went pretty well. I actually figured out how Lag Compensation works during the exam (no one knew). XD

And the Communication Systems exams were brutal. I did pretty badly on the first one. It’s not that the questions were confusing, but there were so many! I told myself that if I had worked out more problems while studying, I could’ve finished the exam. There were 9 problems. I only had one actual final, and that was basically comprehensive. Also, Dr. Wu says that the exam problems are the same as the homework. They’re not entirely. He basically copied the exam from last year, and I didn’t have that exam to study for the first exam. Anyway, we get to the final (there were only two exams in total) which I’d been studying for for a couple days. But the final was.. OH MY GOSH, HOW?? How do you answer 11 problems in 2 hours. It seems easy, but the first problem is finding the coefficients for Trigonometric Fourier Series. I didn’t even finish that problem, and it took like 10 minutes!! That final was by far the worst exam I’ve ever had. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I know, because I had Evan record it. The Communications Lab was fun. It was basically a bunch of MatLab programming. I got behind on three reports, but the T.A. was fine with me turning them in late, and immediately graded them. He’s a nice guy, and he’s graduating with his masters. We’re friends now. Good luck, Zhewei!

Psychology of Women went really well. That was a fun class. I got perfects on all my papers. The last exam was also the week before finals, and it wasn’t comprehensive. I felt really good about that one. Dr. Krawczyk said we could email her to find out our scores on the final. I got a 38! Operating Systems was also really fun. Now I understand why Windows is not great for task management. We only had a project and a final take home exam/ homework/ project thing. That also went really well. I got it finished before the Computer Science party. That was a strange week. And we hit a bunch of snags in Senior Design, but my dad helped me a lot in getting ANYTHING running on the display. The display driver controller was being a little shit. Here’s video of the display demo we showed Dr. Allen: https://www.facebook.com/christian.dickinson.33/videos/566937140183929/

(it’s supposed to update the whole display at the same speed, but we ended up with a loading bar. And then we just repeatedly inverted and un-inverted the color on the display. It looks nice) Thaddeus had the Audio subsystem producing a tone, and Talen had click response of the Schmitt Trigger piano keyboard controller. In case I forgot to tell you, our project was the Super Pretendo, a handheld gaming console. There’s a good amount of documentation on Github this year!

This is what happens when I don’t post for two months!! Sorry, guys. I’ll try to wrap up.

My birthday was good. I had bacon and brats, and we saw Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 that weekend. It was good. It made me laugh and cry. I’ve been a little sick since before my birthday. I’m thinking it was a flu thing, maybe allergies. I’m pretty much over it.

How old do you guys think I am now?

Linda: You’re 23. Keep going.

Gee, way to ruin the fun, Linda. Fine. Other than that, I made my last lecture for the trimester and presented it at the high school on Monday. It was about counting age, and telling time. It was confusing. Ore wa ni-juu-san-sai!

And since Monday, I’ve just been trying to find an internship. I applied for one at my dad’s company, and he’d already decided who he was going to hire, but wanted to talk to me. It was good, and I might be able to get a job there later down the road. I applied for one at Itron, which is in town (I didn’t really want to commute again the whole summer). But I applied at a couple places in Mankato, and I got an interview set up at Software For Hire for tomorrow morning at 9am.

Ok, I’m done. *deep breathing*

Let’s get to the post!

Watashi*dori by Reina Ueda is a song off her album RefRain.

Yeah, something not tied to an anime… I think. You can never be too sure. I’m pretty sure it’s not, though.

So, I found this song on SoundCloud. I was looking online for a song from Uma Musume Pretty Derby, and I found it uploaded by Anime Song#5. The name intrigued me, so I looked at the other uploads. And I liked almost every track there. And at the bottom of this list of uploads, as in the first upload for this account, was ワタシ*ドリ. I decided to follow Anime Song#5, and really liked the uploads. It was good, and there was so much good stuff being uploaded on a daily. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Ava.. LINDA! Did you switch my script again?

.. That’s what I thought. Why do we even have that lever? .. SCRIPT! You did it again, Linda. It was funny the first time. Ok, it’s still funny…but stop.

Anyway, I wanted to listen to Last Proof (was tied with this song. I wasn’t sure which to post), but I couldn’t find it. I could play it on my mobile app, because I queued it up when I had wifi and hadn’t changed the playlist. But it only existed on my SoundCloud app, and it was the same for Watashi*dori. Well, I realized that Anime Song#5 was no more. All that exists is one message thanking them for the great uploads (like I started with Minazuki-san!!), and all of the songs that I downloaded using the SCDL extension (thanks Rae), which changes the metadata so that the composer is the account that uploaded the song. So, I have a bunch of songs currently by Anime Song#5, and those were a bunch of the songs that Anime Song#5 uploaded. Thank you for the music, Anime Song#5. R.I.P.

Word of advice. Download new songs you find on a regular basis, so they’re not completely lost to copyright antics. I SoundCloud is bad, because when an account is taken down, nothing remains. Nothing. It even says the message I sent is to Deleted user. I guess this message is my epitaph, then. This was three months ago:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi,

My name is Chris. I just liked almost all of your songs XD.

You have very good taste. I look forward to your future uploads.

I noticed the #5 in your profile name. Do you have multiple Soundcloud profiles?

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. I listen to a lot of J-pop, and post it on my blog. So, it's always fun finding more.

Here's the link to my blog if you'd like to check it out: hotokeiki.tumblr.com/

Thanks again for the great music!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This has happened before with SoundCloud. I lost a song one time, I think Sophomore year. It was before Signals and Systems and I wanted to hear this song. I hadn’t heard it in a while, but I still remembered what it sounded like and what it was called. I was able to find it again!! … and then I lost it before I downloaded, and I neither remember what it sounded like nor what it was called.

The second time was similar with a song called Signal Graph. I talked about this on my Facebook page. This was in August last year!

Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/WeeklyJpop/posts/226243397773833

And then most recently with Watashi*dori. Due to Anime Song#5’s deletion, I didn’t have the song anymore. But I remember what it was called, and who it was by. It took a little while, and checking multiple sites (a lot of which were in Russian), but I found it. I found an mp3 site that I could give a link to an individual mp3 instead of the whole search result. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.

Anyway, lesson learned. I actually downloaded this song before that unfortunate incident.

Now, let’s talk about the song, because it’s super funky.

First off, Reina Ueda’s voice is soft but also fun. It works very well with the playful nature of this song. The song is just super funky, and fun to listen to. It does a great job of switching between feels. And the instrumentation and back-up vocals really fit. It’s a well-crafted song that blends the parts together so well. I really like it. Unfortunately, I can’t listen to it with headphones at the moment. But when I can, it will be glorious!

Enjoy!!

Album: RefRain Track: 02 Lyricist: Youhei Matsui & Reina Ueda Composer: Hidekazu Tanaka (MONACA) Arranger: N/A Artist: Reina Ueda

Here’s a link to the album sampler. It’s really cool! https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjSpbmZxvjTAhWIeSYKHY_XDbUQyCkIKjAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D9yY9IVfngPk&usg=AFQjCNFXd5Uy3qwp5WLpOMNOzHtroOtkBA&sig2=VxyLjWx1sM2pfjVaSzPTsA

Alright, that’ll do it for this post.

I need to get to bed. Interview tomorrow. Wish me luck!!

If you have any questions or requests, please let me know. Sankyuu!!

Linda: Hey, Kanchou..

(That’s the first time you’ve called me anything. Why “director”, though?)

Yes, Linda.

Linda: Happy Birthday.

Thanks Linda!

Ok. Good night, everybody!

Issho ni ittemiru?

- Chris ——————————————————————————- Minna, gokitai kudasai!!

#Watashi*dori #Ueda Reina #ワタシ*ドリ #RefRain #Weekly J-pop #Week 128

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