AmazingDan + pbirds High School Encounter

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It didn't take long for Jimmy, as he pressed uncomfortably past teenaged hordes of imposing faces and overwhelming cologne, to remember why he preferred to stay home during school events like these. He didn't know anyone here; his group of similarly cagey friends had bailed at the last possible second, and he started to wonder why he hadn't. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that they were all graduating in a few weeks or so- after this, the ungodly cluster of students would soon dissolve and the majority of them would never see each other ever again. It felt like Jimmy was more or less obligated to come, but it probably would've stung more if he actually knew anyone there.

Some kids he recognized, sure: there was the boy who sat next to him in statistics and occasionally asked to borrow his calculator; there was the boy who Jimmy let cheat off of him in world history, all throughout sophomore year, because he thought he was cute (he was, but nothing ever came out of it, and by the end of the year the boy still never learned Jimmy's name); there was the girl who sat next to him in bio, who he never managed to actually talk to, even though he thought she was cool. He knew some names and knew some faces, but he wasn't sure there was a single student here that he'd actually befriended in his entire high school career. It was kind of sad. Still, Jimmy found himself wedged into a corner, staring at his phone, frantically texting his group of actual friends even though it was long after they stopped replying. That was at least more socially-appropriate than staring at the ground, right?

An annoyed-sounding voice, fantastically close: "Dude. Hey."

Jimmy jumped, nearly dropping his phone as he crammed it into his pocket. No, that wasn't necessary. It was fine. He took it back out, checking to see if anyone replied to his pleas, to somehow save him at this very moment- of course they hadn't. "Uh." He put his phone back into his pocket. "Hi." He looked up for a fraction of a second and slowly realized that he had no idea who this guy was.

"Called your name like 20 times, what the hell, man?"

"Umm," Jimmy offered eloquently. "Sorry, do I know you?" There was a fantastic pause, wherein he briefly considered checking his phone again.

"Serious? Freshman year?" Jimmy didn't dare make eye contact, but still caught some of the boy's sweeping, theatric gestures. "Mr. Wilson, third period?" Jimmy shook his head sympathetically, running a hand over his flushed face. "Dylan Cramer," the boy finally supplied, remarkable disappointment in his voice.

Jimmy was still certain Dylan Cramer had him confused with someone else, but forced an unconvincing nod. "Right! Uh, Dylan. Sorry, I just, uh-"

"No- No, it's cool. Don't worry about it. I'll catch you later, Bobby."

As the boy walked off, Jimmy continued nodding confusedly, convinced that he'd just been had. Somehow. By a kid from his freshman English class. He didn't scan the area for witnesses of his apparent callousness, only continued to preoccupy himself with imaginary texts and the enduring question of whether, in the event that he actually left this trainwreck, it would rain on the way home.
 
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Mitch wasn't the usual guy people hung out with. He stood out, he was a loner yet a trouble maker. He loved flirting and hook ups, and an unlikely candidate for most people looking for a friend. In fact, the only real reason he was here was just to say good bye to those he was actually loyal to for all of high school. He rubbed his limp arm; a result of a bus accident when he was young. The blonde scanned the crowd, growling as he started to be shoved around, "Watch it!" He grumbled to someone who full-on crashed into him, brown eyes showing his clear irritability, "Jesus Christ, watch where you're God damn going." He snorted, continuing on his way towards the clearer part of the crowd. He was starting calm down when he was shoved again, this time, right into Jimmy.
 
When the kid slammed into Jimmy, his first reaction was to shove back. He didn't act out of genuine malice; rather, he acted out of self-preservation: the wall behind him was his only defense from the increasingly aggressive crowd, and he was acutely aware of his less-than-impressive physical stature. It was only when he shoved the dude that he realized he was treading on ridiculously thin ice. If this ended up in a fight, he'd be completely obliterated. Not the best way to go. For a wild moment, he considered getting his phone out again, as if he'd have enough time between now and the guy's response to type out an appropriately-spiteful final will to the jerks that left him stranded here.

"Uhh, sorry-" Jimmy blurted quickly, side-stepping away from the stranger as he stared at his own shoes. He held his hands up and dared a glance at his face for long enough to confirm that he couldn't remember ever meeting this guy before.
 
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Mitch was really about to blow a gasket when Jimmy actually shoved him. He considered punching him but that really wouldn't get him anywhere. The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them as he let it out, "It's alright man, it's really crowded here. I don't blame ya for being in the corner." He smiled slightly, trying his best to be nice. The boy that had pushed him seemed fairly harmless. He at least said sorry, unlike the previous people that bumped into him.
He tilted his head as he looked at Jimmy, "Do I know you, bro? You look familiar..." He squinted slightly, brown eyes looking up and down.
 
Jimmy raised his eyebrows at the floor, shrugging unconvincingly. To be fair, the kid could've been in a dozen of his classes, and Jimmy still probably wouldn't know his name. He hoped that wasn't the case- the guy looked like he could throw a punch.

"Uhh, maybe," he offered, daring a glance up at the boy's face again. He seemed vaguely familiar, but was so far off in the realm past Jimmy's league that he'd never really bothered to struggle up to introductions. In any case, this wasn't really the kind of scenario he'd anticipated.
 
Mitch snapped his fingers, trying to remember. Oh man, he was pretty cute. Why couldn't he place that face? He sighed and rubbed his head, ruffling and messing up his hair, "Uhhhhhh... mmmm... Oh! You're the kid that let me copy off your study guide in History one time! Yeah!" He grinned cheekily, "My name's Mitch." He said, finally offering his hand. Hey, with little to no friends, it couldn't hurt to make a new one, right? He could at least try, though he seemed to have scared the guy. Oops.
 
"Uh. Jimmy," he replied, stammering, wiping his sweaty hand on the leg of his pants before shaking Mitch's, though he didn't dare take another stab at eye contact. He wasn't really sure how this kid was still talking to him- maybe he was shipwrecked here, too. Or it was some kind of joke. Either way, he felt more than a little suspicious of the guy, though he did remember sharing a class with him. His face grew a spectacular shade of red as he slowly recalled all the times his eyes had wandered during those directionless lectures, focusing- on more than one occasion- around Mitch's profile. That didn't make him creepy, did it? He guessed it probably depended on whether he'd ever noticed. Did he ever notice?

It was at this time that Jimmy realized he was still shaking Mitch's hand. Shit. He let go spasmodically, jerking his hand up towards his hair, trying to recover as smoothly as possible. Yeah, he'd never spoken to the guy before, but not because he never wanted to. He just… didn't have the opportunity. Maybe now, he could initiate something. Might as well; they were all graduating, worst case scenario they just never see them again, right? What's the worst that could happen?

"S-so, um. Uh. …Uh." Okay, he had to act now, unless he wanted Mitch to give up and walk away from him mid-sentence. "You, uh. Kinda- What- ...What kind of-" He cut himself off, suddenly all-too aware of how high-pitched his voice was. He rubbed his burning face, grinning embarrassedly. Now, this was a trainwreck. "What… Kind of, um, stuff do you do? Like, what kinda- what- Like, in your free time, and… stuff. I just, uh, don't really know too much about you, I mean." Now that probably sounded creepy. Or rude. Jimmy wasn't really sure why he'd opened his mouth in the first place, and half-considered just crawling away. At least he probably couldn't make it any worse, right?
 
Mitch couldn't help but keep the cheeky grin on his face, seeing how awkward Jimmy was. It was flipping adorable. The boy chuckled softly, not minding the length of the handshake. He hadn't been planning for it to be the length that it was, but the other had a good firm hand. The blonde had to bite his lip as Jimmy struggled to gather his words. Oh god. Damn, his awkwardness was cute.

Oh god, he was talking. Mitch snapped back to reality and nodded at his question, understanding where he was going, "Oh, well, usually I draw a lot. Like a lot." He paused, "I also play piano." He added with another cheeky smile, "I have a lot of tattooes, but I don't know if that counts as a kind of hobby.. I have enough, though." He chuckled very quietly
 
Jimmy nodded profusely, examining his shoes. "Uh, cool. Cool." He didn't mention that he'd been playing piano for years- it was one of the few hobbies he'd been able to actually hold onto throughout high school. Band, the chess team- hell, even the swim team had fallen by the wayside as he struggled through the toughest courses he could jam into his schedule. Looked good on his transcripts, he guessed, since it all landed him in one of his choice colleges after all, but ate away pretty much all of his free time. If it weren't for the old keyboard he'd found in the closet and about five years of lessons under his belt, he probably would've given up piano, too, but he couldn't talk about that. He couldn't bring himself to disclose the one talent he'd managed to become proud of himself for, because what if Mitch ended up being better? What if they were to compare themselves one day, and Jimmy was blown out of the water by just some guy he met at some shitty grad event? What would that make him? Jimmy was well aware that the situation was beyond hypothetical, and that by tomorrow morning the kid wouldn't even remember his name, let alone ever plan on speaking to him again. Still, the thought bothered him too much to even murmur a word of understanding.

So, then, what was there to talk about? What could he contribute? Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, collecting droplets of sweat, sighing deeply before he blurted the first thing that came to mind:

"You know, uh. My mom, she always told me that, uh, tattoos give you skin cancer." He nodded to himself and didn't wait for a response before continuing: "So I feel like for, uh- someone your- our, I guess- our age, especially, shouldn't really, uh, look into that kind of thing, since it could be bad like that. You know? I mean, it's your choice and all, it's just my mom also told me that job interviewers- like, the people that interview you when you try and get a job- they don't hire you if you have a lot of tattoos because they see parts of your character that aren't really, uh, dignified to have in, um- in an interview, because that's, like, a professional business environment and tattoos, like, that's not too, uh, professional, if you get what I mean. So it's probably, like, the best for- for you, probably- to, uh, quit while you're ahead, if you get what I mean. Just, like, if you think about it, I mean."
 
Mitch grinned as Jimmy starting talking about tattooes, and he was soon laughing, snorting a little, too. But he quickly stopped. He hated his laugh, "O-oh man... that was good..." he calmed down, "My dear Jimmy, tattooes don't give you skin cancer. It's just ink, good ink, I might add, in your skin. It's not cancerous." He chuckled again, "Sunburns over time can give you cancer, yes. But that whole tattooes thing, its like that myth that vaccinnes give you Autism. Its not true and can't be Provence." He paused, leaving on the wall, "As for getting jobs, Jimmy." He grinned widely, "I don't give a flying fuck. I don't plan on going to college just yet. I'm happy with my job I have now." He smiled at the boy, brown eyes sparkling, "What do you want to study? Medicine? Law?" He was curious about this boy, definitely. He probably wouldn't be the best influence on him but maybe he needed to loosen up.
 
Whatever stability there had been in Jimmy's demeanor faltered when Mitch started laughing. Oh. Right. He wasn't sure what he'd expected in the first place- he'd really just been uttering whatever came to mind, without considering how Mitch would take it- but laughter was probably one of the worse outcomes he could've hoped for. He probably looked like an idiot. Socially, though, he guessed that wasn't too far from the truth; only an idiot would zone out, completely ignoring what the other was saying, only surfacing once a question was asked. Jimmy felt like turning and running as Mitch waited for an answer, and it took him more than the typical response time to process what Mitch had even said.

"Oh, uh, like- like, ma- a major? Uh-hm." To his convenience, his mind promptly emptied itself of all knowledge of academics. His major. Feeling that he'd just blown a fuse, he shook his head dumbly for a few solid seconds before continuing: "I, uh, I- I dunno. I, I- um. I dunno. I dunno yet." Slowly gaining confidence, like the acceleration of an airplane that just freshly caught fire, he added, "What about, um, you? What, uh, job...?"
 
Mitch listened and nodded, "Uh huh..." He smiled softly, "Oh, well, I have an internship at a tattoo place. I design tattoos a lot and watch as other people make those tattoos. It actually is a pretty good living with how much they cost." He explained excitedly. It was the one thing he was passionate about, and since Jimmy had asked about it, he was Definitely going to explain it.

(Sorry it's so short)
 
A tattoo artist. Jimmy's face contorted to hide his impending arrogance; he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, studying his shoes. He did feel vaguely jealous, since this guy seemed to genuinely have everything figured out, but still he remembered an overly-enthusiastic classmate who sat next to him in seventh-grade biology, a kid who wholeheartedly planned to drop out of high school and become a casino dealer. Now that Jimmy struggled to remember them, he realized he couldn't recall seeing them for years. Maybe they had dropped out, and were making it big- otherwise, they had probably doomed themselves to unemployment. A casino dealer, a tattoo artist… Even though Jimmy had no idea what he was going to do with his life, he knew he wasn't going to end up like that. Probably.

"Well, uh. My mom's, actually, a- uh- an, um, artist, sorta. Never, um, really got anywhere with it, though." That was why his father worked: his mother was practically unemployed. Internally, though, Jimmy hoped that Mitch wouldn't catch onto what he was getting at the second after he said it. He didn't know why his mouth seemed fixated on making a scene, here, but he didn't seem to be able to do much to stop it.
 
Mitch could already see how much Jimmy disagreed with his life choices. But hey, maybe he would open this boy up a little, "Well." He cleared his throat, "Art, like the fashion industry, isn't easily. It's not for the weak hearted, not for people who give up so easily." He said, leaning on the wall, "Art majors rarely end up paying off loans. It's hard to make it as an artist. Whether you're a dancer, painter, drawer, musician." He made small gestures with his good arm as he spoke, "I know, I could either good biff or go home. But really, I'd rather be almost broke and doing something I love, rather than doing something I hate and making a living." The boy shrugged, "Its just how I roll. And if the whole tattoo thing fails, well... I guess ive kinda got my dad's horse ranch... sorta..." he sighed quietly and looked at Jimmy carefully, "You look like a smart kid." He grunted softly as he pushed off the wall, "So, ive got a question for ya: Have you ever seen or heard a piece of art and thought that it was just the most brilliant thing you've ever seen or heard?" He was actually quite curious. What did this boy like? Was he preppy? Did he not like his mom's art? He was very very curious.
 
Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, meeting Mitch's eyes in hesitation as he jammed his fists into his pockets. The kid was slowly entering the realm of too close for comfort, but nevertheless Jimmy found himself at least somewhat grateful that the conversation was still going. No tempers were being lost, and although he felt vastly intimidated, he guessed it was better than just leaning against a wall, pretending to text traitorous allies. For the time being, things seemed to be going alright, especially considering that they didn't even know each other. This was alright.

As Mitch prompted, he found himself sifting through old conversations with his friend, an aspiring cellist who had pleaded for him to join their district's youth orchestra. Each time, Jimmy had rejected the offer with varying degrees of politeness, but still his friend persisted; it was the best way to learn, apparently, and she swore that there was ample room for another pianist. That was years ago, he realized, but he almost wished that he'd said yes. Throughout that time, his friend had recommended him dozens of compositions, many for instruments that he'd never dreamed of learning to play, but that she'd found worthy of acknowledgment nevertheless. He spent weeks studying Arturo Márquez's raunchy Danzón, a blend of grace and vulgarity that caught him entirely off-guard, and that he'd attempted to replicate by himself for hours with only a recording and his dingy keyboard. Then it was Kol Nidrei by Bruch and Bach's Partita No. 2, which had driven him to tears upon numerous revisitings. In the realm of professional careers, "composer" was an especially dirty word; Jimmy knew better than to kill himself via unemployment, and thus he never breathed a word of his developing interest to anyone other than his friend the cellist. He missed those conversations, and distantly wondered if she'd ever speak to him again. She hadn't in over a year.

Again, Jimmy found himself registering that Mitch had asked him a question long after an answer was due. He knew that he couldn't trust himself to articulate what was going through his head- God forbid he ever gave an honest, straightforward answer. "Yeah. Hmm. I, uh, guess so. I get what you mean, I- I mean. Yeah."
 
Mitch blinked and figured he should repeat the question, "It's cool, you didn't hear me..." He chuckled, "Id asked if you'd seen or heard a favorite piece of art?" He grinned softly, "I loooove most celebrities tattooes." He said with a chuckle, "The one under Lady GaGa's arm, it's really awesome." He started getting excited again, "And Adam Levines are awesome as well..." He looked off and snapped back, "Sorry, I've been rambling and not letting you talk." He rubbed the back of his neck.
 
"I did hear you," Jimmy retorted, his face reddening indignantly, though his voice was little more than a murmur. As Mitch went on about tattoos, he realized that he really couldn't care less about them. Why was someone else's body art any of his business? He knew that was Mitch's passion or whatever, but it still seemed… weird. In spite of his reservations, he held his tongue until it was his turn to speak, and then he realized once more that he had no idea what to say. As he returned to those long-past dialogues about compositions, he finally relented: "You've heard of, uh… Der Erlkönig- Schubert, his-… Based off the- the ballad, the-…" Who was he kidding? Of course Mitch had heard of it. He said he played piano, didn't he? Well aware that he was making a fool of himself, Jimmy continued regardless, rather than condemn them both to painful silence. "It's- it's a, uh… Piano piece. A- Well, I guess it's a, a… It's… The story's all in the, uh, vocalist, but- …the piano's where all the drama comes from, it's… Well, I guess it's… based off- well, not based off- it's… from Goethe. A Lied, that was- it's a… a Lied."
 
Mitch blinked at the boy scrambled to get his words together, and smiled, "Well, I've heard... Of the piece... You could say..." He shrugged and bit his lip slightly, "I've never... Listened to it..." He looked down and sighed quietly, "I mean..." He puffed his cheeks. While he did enjoy piano, sheet music was hard for him to read. In fact, it was hard for him to read at all. He had dyslexia, so his piano lessons had never gone very well, "I might of... Read it somewhere... Or..." He just shrugged and smiled softly, "I'm sure it's a great piece, really. I just always kinda sucked at Piano anyway." He let out a half-hearted laugh and sighed again, "It just... Wasn't a talent I possessed, really."
 
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