Los Angeles was everything Jackson had expected. A city that was always alive and bustling, no matter what time it was. Even the airport buzzed with people in the middle of the night. He’d flown in on a red eye flight from San Francisco, since missing practice wasn’t an option. Taking a few weeks of vacation in the first place was almost unheard of this close to the Olympics. He could still hear his father’s voice. “Rio is only a year away, Jia Er. You need to train every second you can. You have to do better than last time.”

It couldn’t exactly be called a vacation, anyway. He promised to attend training for at least two hours a day, as well as keep up his fitness regimen, which meant plenty of time at the gym. He really had to accept the little victories as they came, though. Getting his father and coach to agree to let him train in LA for a few weeks was, by all means, a victory.

“Jackson!” A shadowed figure jogged over as Jackson stepped out into the pickup area. He didn’t need to see the guy’s face to know who it was. He heard the voice enough to recognize it in his sleep.

“Do you have to be so loud, David?” Jackson complained. “It’s so early.”

Before coming to America, Jackson has always been told that no one could ever possibly be as loud as him. But, by some sort of lucky draw - or unlucky, depending on who you asked - Jackson got roomed with David his freshman year. The two were easily the loudest people in their class, never worrying about how or when to express themselves. They just did. Since then, they’d stuck together, knowing that there would never be anyone else that could put up with them. It was a match made in college roommate heaven.

David just laughed and grabbed the handle of Jackson’s huge rolling suitcase. “My brother’s down here,” he said, nodding his head in the direction he’d just come from.

“Your brother?” Jackson asked, following along behind. “Why is he here?”

David shrugged and chuckled. “He just got his license, so he wants to drive whenever he can. Besides, he thought being able to say he drove an Olympian around would get him some bragging rights.”

The title still felt strange to Jackson. Olympian. He always knew it was coming, what with having Olympians as parents and all, but finally achieving the goal of even making it that far still felt unreal to him. Maybe it was because London was still all a blur in his memory.

Even though he still had to train, Jackson hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to do while he had free time. David’s invitation to stay at his parents house for a few weeks had been enough of a motivator to get him there. But David still had an internship, which took up most of his time during the week, and it wasn’t like Jackson knew anyone else in the area.

It was like David knew that Jackson wouldn’t have thought that far before coming, because Jackson woke up the next morning to a text from his roommate.

High school friend’s grad party tonight. You’re coming. Make some new friends. Leaving at 8, so be ready.

It wasn’t that Jackson had difficulty making friends. Quite the opposite, usually. But in a city as huge and busy as Los Angeles, he had no idea where to start. A party, though, fit the bill perfectly.

Deciding to take the day off from training, he still took most of his morning visiting the studio his coach had approved of, watching the other fencers for a couple hours. Gauging future competition was key to having the upper hand in any match. Jackson had been taught to learn his opponent’s style before he even considered picking up his sabre.

“I really thought you would’ve started training today.” The clear, authoritative voice caught Jackson off guard, having been lost in his trance of evaluating the other athletes. He looked over to his side to see a man walking toward him, a gentle expression on his face.

“I wanted to take a day to get use to the new space, sir,” he said, standing and bowing respectfully. “I’ll return to formal training first thing tomorrow.” The man just laughed, waving a hand at Jackson as he stopped a comfortable distance away.

“Please, Jackson, sir makes me sound so old,” the man laughed. “Just call me Stan.” He held out his hand, which Jackson shook almost immediately. Stan glanced out at the room of uniformed athletes, moving back and forth among the practice mats. “Seen anyone you think could give you a run for your money?”

Of course Jackson hadn’t. While all the fencers in the studio were skilled, they were nowhere near Olympic level athletes. But he wasn’t here to criticize everyone else. “I’m sure there are some skilled opponents here,” he answered politely. That just made Stan laugh again.

The two situated themselves on a bench at the edge of the room, talking about training regimens and practice skills until a digital clock in the middle of the back wall buzzed loudly, signaling lunch time. Reassuring Stan that he wouldn’t be distracted by a class going on as he practiced, they agreed to keep a mat at the back of the room reserved for his use every morning, leaving him all the time after lunch for his other fitness routines.

With that, they parted ways, leaving Jackson on his own once again to figure out lunch. It only took him about half an hour to find an organic cafe nearby and eat lunch, leaving him with way more time than he could think to fill in his afternoon. Instead of going to a gym or worrying about any sort of equipment, he opted to go for a jog along the beach. He breathed in the salty air with each pounding step as he felt the occasional sea mist cool him down through his sweat-drenched tank top.

He found himself wondering more than once what kind of people would be at the party. Part of him suspected that they’d all be rich s. The kind that only liked Jackson because of his athletic achievements and not because of who he was. He’d been around enough people like that at Stanford. They tried to add him to their collection of friends, treating him like a thing to display in some friendship trophy case. It was something that he’d caught on to and learned to avoid within months.

A bigger part of him, the hopeful part, wished that the people at the party would be genuine and real; people that didn’t let the money get to their head, if they had any at all. Talking to people who were actually nice always made Jackson feel more comfortable.

He returned from his beachside jog just in time to shower and dig through his suitcase for a decent outfit before it was time to leave. David smirked a little as he looked over Jackson’s outfit, but opted to just turn away and open the front door without a word.

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked, fully expecting for his friend to head to the garage instead of out the front.

“He only lives a couple blocks away,” David replied, holding the door open behind him. “Better to walk, especially since I’m gonna be hammered later tonight.”

The house was already overflowing with people by the time they walked up to the front door, music pumping out from the garage door. Every room was filled with people holding plastic cups  and beer bottles, laughing and chatting in small groups. As they s their way toward the back of the house, they ran into a few couples frantically face in the hallway, desperate to close every bit of distance between their bodies. Something about drunken PDA always gave Jackson second-hand embarrassment. Maybe it was the fact that every bit of passion was out in the open for everyone to see. Or maybe it was because it took something he’d always seen as an intimate moment and flipped that on it’s head. He wasn’t quite sure.

“DAVID!”

The yell parted people like the Red Sea, leaving a clear path for a stocky guy with a bowl cut and goofy, half-drunken smile to walk up to them. “I was wondering if you’d show up, man.” Immediately, the two grabbed hands, pulling each other in for a bro hug before quickly separating.

“You really thought I’d skip out on a party?” David joked. “I brought my roommate along. Hope you don’t mind.” He motioned back at Jackson who smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

“The more, the merrier,” the guy chimed. “Drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

David didn’t need to tell Jackson the plan of action before they split up. The two had been to enough parties to know the drill. If either of them wanted to go home, they just left. Sticking around for the other, or even trying to find them in a party like this, would be more trouble than it was worth. Besides, they were both individuals. They could handle themselves.

The kitchen was filled with guys who’d appointed themselves as unofficial bartenders, mixing together concoctions for anyone who asked, and sometimes for those who didn’t. The steady stream of people entering and exiting the kitchen gave them enough customers to keep them busy and, in turn, quiet.

After watching the amateur mixologists for a few minutes, Jackson opted to stick with a beer. If he wanted his own drink later, he’d make sure that he made it himself. Taking a few quick sips, he moved into the living room, sidling up into an empty space against the far wall. A few minutes later, someone shifted into the open space next to him. Jackson didn’t look.

“Are parties usually this busy in LA?” he asked the person next to him, eyes still fixed on the room’s constantly-circulating occupants.

“Not from around here?” The voice that answered him made the hair on Jackson’s arms stand up on end. Lucky for him, they were hidden under the sleeves of his navy blue leather jacket. He desperately wanted to look at the owner of such a smooth, relaxed voice, but his body stayed frozen in place.

“I go to Stanford,” he replied.

“You must be a genius or something, then.”

“Nah. Athletic scholarship,” Jackson clarified.

The person hummed in acknowledgement. An uncertain silence fell between them before Jackson spoke again. “I got recruited for fencing. I’m originally from Hong Kong. What about you-”

But his words caught in his throat as he finally turned to look at the person next to him. The boy, stick thin with looks that could kill, was dressed simple enough. His plain white t-shirt and jeans looked like they’d been made specifically for him, hugging his frame in all the right places. His head of voluminous brown locks was styled up in an effortless sweep.

Get yourself together, Jackson thought, resisting the urge to smack himself in the face. Why are you acting like this? You don’t even know the guy. What’s gotten into you?

Noticing the unusual pause in Jackson’s words, the other glanced at him. His deep brown eyes grew wide as he saw Jackson staring back at him, clearly panicking for a minute before shifting his gaze back to the doorway.

“USC,” the boy muttered.

“What?” Jackson had completely forgotten what they’d been talking about before. The shock of his own reaction to the boy’s appearance had wiped all of his other thoughts.

“That’s where I go,” the boy said, still barely speaking. “USC.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Jackson said. He felt a little embarrassed, not knowing much about other schools aside from the ones he visited during team competitions. “So does that mean you’re from around here?”

The other boy nodded but, realizing that Jackson wasn’t looking at him anymore, breathed a quick “Yeah” out as well.

“I’m Jackson, by the way.” Jackson held out his hand, smiling brightly. A small part of his brain tensed up when the other boy’s fingers curled around his hand, shaking it.

“Mark,” he replied. “Have you always had an American name?”

The question surprised Jackson. His name wasn’t something people were usually interested in. He blinked, trying to figure out why the other was so curious about him. But Mark’s expression stayed neutral. There was only a slight, shy smirk stretched on his lips.

Jackson nodded. “I went to an international school in Hong Kong, so I used it a lot more than my Chinese name.”

He tried his best to smile lightheartedly, not wanting to think about the last time someone outside his family had called him by his other name. The tiny ache growing in his chest didn’t even make any sense. He didn’t usually even think about it, so why was he missing it so much now.

“What it is? Your Chinese name.”

Jackson choked on the swig of beer he’d just taken. Why was this quiet, amazingly attractive stranger so curious about him? About his background?

“Sorry,” Mark muttered, almost whispering. “I just- Forget I asked.” He shifted, about to step away, when Jackson grabbed his arm. He didn’t pull Mark closer or push him away, but just held him in place.

“It’s Jia Er,” he said. His name felt foreign on his lips. It’d been too long.

But even through all of the strange feelings, he noticed Mark smiling to himself, eyes fixed on the ground in front of them. “That’s…” he trailed off, unable to contain the small smile on his face.

“I’m Yi En.”

I've been kind of musing over this idea ever since Jackson revealed he'd been scouted by Stanford before he joined GOT7. The fact that San Francisco and LA are just a few hours apart was pretty much demanding that a "what if" fic get written. Then, when the LA photo book pictures resurfaced on my tline, I could think about anything besides this idea. So here it is!

Anyway, I hope you liked this opening chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments below.