2001

"I swear, it's not gonna be that bad. It's just for my brother."

Joe pulled you along the bleachers, before shoving you down in a seat. Joe, your best friend, had a brother. This brother was astonishing at his high school soccer. And he got the opportunity, as a freshman, to play with DePaul universities' men's soccer team for tips, tricks and fun.

You didn't wanna come. You didn't wanna see them all play soccer. It seemed boring. You didn't even know the rules. But Joe said he would burn a CD for you if you came, so you agreed.

You were bored out of your mind, watching them all play on the high school's soccer field, until one guy came out. The hardcore kid everyone talked about, Pete Wentz. The kid who raged on stage but was a total jock with a professional soccer scout watching him on the side.

He currently had buzzed hair and he was near the end of his college journey. Older, in bands that actually did stuff, tan, with hella tattoos. He had rich parents, what could he say.

He came out on the field after lacing on cleats, and you stared in awe. He was hot and sexy. He stretched his legs and they were so muscular. Especially after he played a few rounds with some high school kids. He was sweaty, and warm, and he looked honey glazed, and oh my god, Patrick, you're in high school!

And in the midst of your swooning you realized, oh shit, he was coming over here. Oh, oh you were so warm. You were blushing like an idiot.

He waved at Joe through the fencing. Wait, Joe knew him? Oh god, you were so embarrassed.

"Hey Joe. Who are you?"

He said, smiling at him then briefly glancing at you. Shit. Shit shit shit.