Chapter Text
Being a ‘proper’ adult turned out to be… lonely. It was isolating in ways no one had ever even hinted at. Even though he was still living with his parents, Noriaki Kakyoin felt the sharp cut between being simply grown, and being an adult like a knife blade. It was clear he had to keep it to himself, too, because no one talked about that part of adulthood. But he wondered now if some of the things he was told then pertained to now.
In high school, and even throughout college, there had been a lot of advice from adults, like, "An art degree is worthless." And, "Art degrees won't get you a job." Or, “You should major in something safe.” To that type of advice, Kakyoin had listened but he hadn't really understood the subtext. Hadn't seen what they saw in him, a boy incapable of making friends. Kakyoin didn’t think that would matter. He was wrong. Kakyoin had picked a communication minor thinking it would help him work in advertising or graphic design, but his parents and high school advisors had been too gentle in guiding him. He had still been too optimistic to realize what even the most dire of comments were warning him about.
Fresh out of college, Kakyoin was also out of prospects for a paying job. Art wasn't profitable. At least, not for some kid with no experience or interpersonal skills. Someone forgettable. When a friend of his father offered him an internship, Kakyoin said yes before he even knew what the job was. The pay was awful and not enough to move out of his parents house, the hours were miserable, he was on his feet all day, but it gave Kakyoin something to do. Technically it was in his expertise, though Kakyoin wasn't working with the equipment or the people who used it.
Morioh-cho Radio station was most known for its morning show. The morning theme song was known as far away as Tokyo, where the radio waves barely reached, even though they broadcasted only local news because the host was charismatic and fun. The station also had a late night program on the weekends, with the same host, that was equally as popular. As an intern, Kakyoin walked by the booths where the DJs worked, but besides the tour when he first started, he never went into any of the recording studios. Kakyoin's job was to run. He ran for coffee for everyone on staff, he ran for parts for the maintenance crew, he ran for snacks and waters and whatever else they asked for daily for the talent, the only odd job he'd been given that didn't require running was setting up a little stage once in the parking lot when they had a live contest on air. He could have set up the equipment, too, and avoided the scratchy audio that several people called in to complain about, but he wasn't paid for that sort of work.
Kakyoin didn't think his father's friend even knew he had a communications degree, just that he was doing a favor for an acquaintance's son. Kakyoin liked being close to the station equipment and seeing how the sausage was made, metaphorically, but it was lonely. Everyone knew him, to shout 'hey kid/red/go-fer we need...' but no one knew him as a person beyond another pair of hands. Which felt like a shame, because Kakyoin was good with his hands in many more ways than just carrying things. Working backstage had been his forte in the production class he'd taken, since he was taller than average and had good muscle tone, so he had moved scenery and watched the others act from the wings. And he memorized the lines because his deep voice carried to the stage without the audience hearing him. But it took a long time for Kakyoin to warm up to people, so he had never made friends. He didn’t know how to now, either.
A large part of his loneliness was a product of his own personality and naivety. So, Kakyoin plodded on, keeping an eye out for a job that would take him away from the radio station, despite his love of the goings on inside the surprisingly bustling place.
“Hey, Red, move it.”
A grumble surprised Kakyoin in the equipment room. The head maintenance engineer was glaring at Kakyoin from the doorway. He had his cart, some equipment had broken down and he had to lower himself to the level of his job description to fix it.
“Sorry, Youji-san.” Kakyoin stepped to the side of the cramped room.
The equipment room was where all the spare equipment was stored, mostly it was older model pieces that were harvested for parts or patched in until the newer piece was fixed. It was also Kakyoin's unofficial office, since he was spare equipment himself.
“Having lunch or zoning out on a job?” Youji asked as he piled things on his cart.
One of the analog switches again, it looked like. Digital was basically the norm in the industry, but their live shows still used DJs so the station hadn't fully upgraded to hard drives and laptops. Their music library was digital, had been before Kakyoin arrived, and the DJs manually switched for segments and advertisements. It had become increasingly harder to find new analog switches for the instrument panels, so Youji was often busy fixing the old ones. To fully upgrade, they'd have to renovate the audio booths and management didn't want to pay that price yet. Kakyoin was sure the DJs would demand the upgrade pretty soon and force the issue considering how loud the rumors were. Especially if their number one personality Kai Harada demanded it. Kai Harada ran the morning show and the late night talk show on the weekends, and he was so beloved by the town he practically ran the station.
“Lunch.” Kakyoin answered.
“Y’done with it?” Youji asked gruffly, “I could use a pair of hands replacin’ a switch.”
“Of course, sir.” Kakyoin smiled.
He hadn't eaten, but he wouldn't pass up a chance to do work on the booths. Youji explained nothing, and the analog parts weren't exactly the kind of thing Kakyoin had studied in college, but he loved to look inside places you normally don't have the chance to and find out how things worked. As a child, wires in the walls especially fascinated Kakyoin. He'd gotten electrocuted once, pulling wires he shouldn't have, but that hadn't stopped him as a teenager taking little machines apart and learning in college about basic electronics.
Youji grunted and left the cart for Kakyoin to push, while he carried his toolbox. The equipment room was in the basement, with some offices and the filing rooms, while the booths were mainly on the second floor. Getting the unwieldy cart into the freight elevator was rough, and Kakyoin was sure Youji was laughing at him as he struggled it over the bumps of the loading dock and over the elevator door track. He understood immediately why he had been asked. Kakyoin always fell for people foisting the hard work on him, but that was okay. Labor was productive, at least, much better than buying drinks and snacks. Or worse, giving tours.
Kakyoin could talk, but the attention of other people wasn't exactly something he liked. Probably left over trauma from growing up with red hair, he expected people to call him a liar whenever they looked at him too long in a social setting. Youji didn't much look at anybody and he didn't have conversations, so Kakyoin liked to work with him best. The fact that Kakyoin couldn't seem to make connections was one of the reasons he couldn't get a job. His classmates went into careers by word of mouth, but Kakyoin wasn't only just ‘that guy’ here at the station, he was a nobody everywhere.
“Booth three.” Youji muttered as the elevator came to a stop.
“Kusunoki-san must be unhappy.” Kakyoin responded.
“Kusunoki is always unhappy.” Youji scoffed.
Tohmu Kusunoki was the oldest DJ in residence. He played enka music on weekday afternoons, a program that didn't have high listener counts because it went up against midday television dramas, but that was popular among its devoted fan base of older generation listeners. Kusunoki was also a huge grouch off mic. He was probably in booth two for his program today now that three was under repair, and he loved to say booth two smelled like feet. Booth one was the biggest and most modernized booth, but no one but Kai Harada got to use it.
The station had four recording studios, the six hosts, minus Harada, shared booths two and three. While booth four was reserved for emergency broadcasts. Youji and Kakyoin trundled into booth three as quietly and quickly as they could, since the on-air light was on next door. The booths were sound proof, but it was always best to be sure you weren't ruining someone's program. Especially Kusunoki, who held grudges.
Closing the studio door felt like sucking the air out of the room as the silence pressed in. Kakyoin only looked in as he walked by everyday, but it was almost otherworldly sealed inside. This was where the magic of a radio station happened, the connection between a single person and a faceless crowd that turned a person into a personality.
“We'll have to get the deck open.” Youji grumbled.
The studio booths were set up with the analog on one side of a raised L-shaped desk and the digital links on the other arm. Booth three only had one microphone, it couldn't be used for live interviews, but it could take calls. The DJ laptop was with Kusunoki in booth two now, so everything looked tidy without the complicated connections cluttering one side of the desk. Youji, with obvious well-worn practice, swung open one of the chunks of sound proofing material on the wall to reveal the room’s electrical panel.
“It's the main switch.” Youji said, “It pops out.”
Suddenly expected to do something, Kakyoin's eyes swept the deck that sat on an angle above the desk. Luckily, ‘main switch’ was labeled. A tarnished toggle that looked as old as Youji, set in the ‘off’ position below a faceted plastic indicator light. A yank brought the switch out of the casing.
“That's the one, lemme turn off the power.” Youji clicked a few of the breaker switches on the wall panel. They were not labeled. He looked back at Kakyoin. “Pull it.”
Kakyoin went for the contact plate, there was a snap, and he pulled his hand back.
“It's still live, Youji-san” Kakyoin announced, trying to shake the sharp, painful tingle from his fingers.
“Oh, sorry.” Youji turned back to the panel and flicked more of the breakers off.
“It's alright, but I'll let you test it this time.” Kakyoin said.
“You didn't hesitate the first time.” Youji said, "Didn't run out of here, either, must not have been too bad.”
“It wasn't pleasant.” Kakyoin returned, “You didn't leave a low volt running just to tease me, did you, Youji-san?”
“I'm a professional, I wouldn't do anything like that on purpose.” Youji said.
Kakyoin saw the same amusement from when he was struggling the cart into the elevator. This nasty old man… Kakyoin couldn't help but laugh.
“I've been shocked worse, a little zap won't get me to stop looking over your shoulder.” He said.
“That's a good trait in a chore boy.” Youji said.
The old man's tone was warm and approving, so Kakyoin figured he'd passed some sort of test. Youji had worked at the station for thirty years, he'd probably seen a lot of interns come and go, some of them had to have been insufferable. Kakyoin tried not to rub people the wrong way, being an enemy was worse than not being friends, he was kind of proud to get the old man's approval. Maybe his time here was teaching him a bit about dealing with people after all.
“Now about this switch, you know your ass from your elbow, don’cha?” Youji hardened back up, “Get me my 316 slotted screwdriver so I can get this switch completely disconnected. We’ll have to replace the wires.”
Kakyoin didn't know which screwdriver that was, but he knew better than to ask. He simply said, “Yes, sir.”
⋆♪ ၊၊||၊ ৎ𝄢 ၊၊||၊ ♫⋆
Kakyoin knocked on the door twice and waited. The Station Manager’s office was part of a different hallway of shag carpeting than the one below where the booths were. The carpet on the third floor was less trodden, but it wasn't anywhere near pristine. The booths weren’t the only thing in the station that could use an update. Kakyoin had come up to the management floor when he was hired to meet his father's acquaintance, but he was the Production Manager who oversaw pre-recorded media. Kakyoin had been told that day, and the day he started working at the station, that the Station Manager didn't care about any staff but the talent. Interns, custodial staff, the receptionist at the front desk, and even the recorded and live engineers, had long ago been put under the authority of the Program Director, since he oversaw performance and the back stage sort of fell under that description.
When Kakyoin arrived this morning and got the notice that he was expected to meet with the Station Manager, the woman at the reception desk had given Kakyoin a pitious look. He was almost sure he was being fired.
“Come in.” A voice spoke, muffled by the door.
Kakyoin stepped inside the office. The carpet continued, though inside the room it was a bit less matted. The office matched the carpet, it clearly hadn't been updated since the station had been built. The Station Manager was in his sixties, iron gray hair and a black moustache, and his eyes were sharp. He didn’t just run this place, he owned it; his word was law.
Kakyoin sat in the chair across the large, wooden desk from the man.
“Kakyoin, wasn't it?” The Station Manager prompted.
“Yes, sir, Noriaki Kakyoin.” Kakyoin nodded.
“You've been here a month now, son, has Morioh-cho Radio treated you well?” The Station Manager asked.
“Yes, everyone has been nice and I'm enjoying the work, sir.” Kakyoin answered the way he figured he was expected to.
“I'm glad to hear it, we’re like a little family here, y’know?” The Station Manager said without even a hint of a smile. No one else had ever said as such, Kakyoin assumed that to mean the Station Manager was the only one who bothered to. “I was told you're doing well, and I wanted to tell you that when a full position opens up, you'd be the first one on the list to get it. Until then, I hope you stay on, son.”
“Thank you.” Kakyoin said for lack of anything else.
“Good to meet you.” The Station Manager stood and shook Kakyoin's hand and showed him to the door.
Kakyoin wandered back to the basement, a little confused about why that meeting had been facilitated. It was nice to think he could get a full time job here, but the vague way it had been offered made it seem like full time jobs didn't open up very often and he'd have to endure as an intern for quite some time. What could have prompted such a meeting?
“Yer late today.” Youji was in the equipment room when Kakyoin arrived, sorting components.
“Had a meeting with the Station Manager this morning.” Kakyoin said, “I guess he got around to finally meeting the intern.”
Youji grunted, going back to his containers of screws.
“He did say if a job opened up, he'd be willing to hire me.” Kakyoin mentioned the curious part, “Maybe someone said something good about me.”
Youji finished his sorting before he responded, “There is one open position here, as my apprentice, but you don't have the training for that.”
“Unfortunately, I don't.” Kakyoin said.
Youji got up and left.
Kakyoin got the feeling the old man was disappointed. It was a two year certification to be an electrician and Kakyoin had already used up his and his parents’ savings on a four year degree in the arts. Kakyoin was disappointed he couldn't apprentice to Youji-san, too. He checked his watch. It was time to get the station employees’ coffee. Kakyoin left the equipment room and began going door to door to collect drink orders. It was the one constant job he had, and probably the one he liked least.
⋆♪ ၊၊||၊ ৎ𝄢 ၊၊||၊ ♫⋆
“Intern!”
Kakyoin was startled by the Program Director as he was handing out coffee to the evening staff. After another month of work, he had finally figured out how to get the cups back to the station when it was raining and cold with the coffee still hot. This was the quiet time of the station, when the day DJs went home and the music was automated by a few engineers overnight. Close to when Kakyoin went home for the day to have a late dinner his mother left in the fridge for him.
“Yes?” Kakyoin answered the call, it was reflex at this point.
“You've been shown how to run a live mic, haven't you?” The Program Director asked, grabbing Kakyoin's elbow and pulling him out into the hallway.
“Uh, well, sort of,” Kakyoin stammered.
“Okay, well, there's a switch you flip and that's it. Easy.” The Program Director said, “And you probably have the nicest voice in the building right now, so, I'm going to need you to cover for the weather man. He lives near the beach and his driveway flooded, but we have to announce the weather because the rain intensified.”
Kakyoin numbly took in the rambling, sure the man wasn't really talking about him going on air.
"It's just going to be for a few hours, you barely have to say anything. It's the middle of the evening, most people are already home. You'll say the date and weather every quarter hour, there's a display for that, and since you know how to switch the feeds, you'll be doing it all. Thank you."
Kakyoin was shoved into booth four forcibly over his protests. The sound proofed room made his ears ring a little when the door shut behind him, or maybe it was his panic. Setting up this old one-man booth probably would be easy, but it was still dusty as heck and Kakyoin hadn't actually run equipment since he was in school a year ago. Kakyoin fumbled around until the display turned on and began connecting to the weather system, and he acquainted himself with the microphone arm by bashing the old style metal mic into his forehead. The switch to go live was the same type as the one he'd helped Youji fix last month, at least it was recognizable.
"Okay, Red," The producer's voice startled Kakyoin from a speaker, he didn’t know any of the booths had outside access. "You really did get it up and running. Good. Let's go through the procedure a few times before you're patched in. The storm won't hit us directly, we just need to be a calm presence for people."
Calm presence meant Kakyoin couldn’t show his nerves. He gulped, almost giving himself the hiccups.
“Put on a set of headphones, and try to time your interruptions with the end of one song and the beginning of another. You can adjust the playlist from your station, as well. I've told the other guys to give you the lead like they do for the weather man.”
Kakyoin did as he was told, he got down the pattern for switching over from the music program, but his voice cracked the first live reading. He felt like he was fourteen and reading a passage out of his textbook for the class. He could hear the snickering behind him like he was really there. He felt out of control.
Looking over the generated playlist, Kakyoin noticed that they were harder driven than what most people liked to listen to on a rainy day, and if someone was anxious about the hurricane they wouldn't soothe them. He quickly swapped a few songs before the next weather call to keep his nerves under control. And this time he managed to speak in a normal tone of voice.
“This is Morioh-cho Radio, a hurricane warning has been issued for the town of Morioh. The winds are going to start picking up now. The beaches are closed and, if you can, stay indoors. If you're driving, stay safe.” Kakyoin announced, “The trains will only be running until seven this evening, weather permitting. Stay tuned in for further updates on the weather.”
“Doing good, intern. Keep it up.” The Program Director said during the break.
Kakyoin hoped the speaker didn’t come with a camera, though he was pretty sure the place was too old for that, because controlling his voice came at the expense of him worrying his lip in his teeth.
⋆♪ ၊၊||၊ ৎ𝄢 ၊၊||၊ ♫⋆
Kakyoin was surprised how quickly the live announcements became methodical. The switching was repetitive and his nerves shrank after each successful sequence.
"The rain has begun to get heavier," Kakyoin had changed the generic weather screen of his laptop to show him more details hours ago so his updates wouldn't be so repetitive for his own sanity, "Morioh-cho Radio is still mapping the storm. This is as close as the hurricane will get to us. The winds are still gusting around sixty miles per hour, and it is dangerous to be outside. It is now three-forty-five and the hurricane warning is still in effect."
When Kakyoin switched back to the music, the light for outside communication blinked on. He'd turned the open channel off after a while, since no one was bothering him after he got going.
"You're doing great, Red!" Blasted into the booth as soon as the connection was open, "Our weather man is back in the building, so go ahead and sign off at four and he'll be taking over for the morning shift.”
Kakyoin sighed in relief. He wasn't sure he was doing things right, even after hours of doing it. Plus, he was tired. He'd arrived at the station at five yesterday, almost twenty four hours ago. Someone had actually brought him, the intern, coffee earlier, but there was only so much coffee could do after a whole night of nervous energy.
“It is now four o'clock. The hurricane is turning away from Morioh. Morioh-cho Radio’s weather man will keep you updated for the day ahead. It was nice spending the night with you. Stay safe, Morioh.”
Kakyoin switched back to the music for the last time and pulled off the headphones. He had to stretch a bit before he could force himself onto his feet. He felt like a cooked shrimp, all curled up. If they weren’t going to update this small booth, they should at least get a better chair to sit in.
The Program Director was waiting for him in the hall.
“You did great, Intern, better than great. You were professional and more than adequate, which is the level I would have been happy with.”
“Is that a compliment?” Kakyoin asked.
The Program Director laughed, “Hey, give me a break, I've been here all night just the same as you.”
Kakyoin doubted the man didn't have at least a nap, unlike him, considering his enthusiasm.
“I'm glad I didn't screw it up.” Kakyoin said.
“Once we hit one o’clock probably no one was listening, but public services like that are integral to a local radio station like us.” The Program Director clapped Kakyoin on the back, “Thank you for filling in, last time I had to do it we got calls about my voice being annoying.” Kakyoin could see that, there was a tone to the man’s voice that was grating. Maybe it was just the late hour, though. “I'll tell everybody you're taking a well earned day off, okay? So take it easy. Speaking of, if you want to wait and see if the rain will slow, there's a cot in the front office you can crash in.”
“I walk to the station every day, I'll be okay getting home.” Kakyoin declined.
“Up to you, you don't look like someone who'd get blown away, but it's still bad out there.” The Program Director gave Kakyoin another pat on the back before leaving him to his own devices.
Kakyoin went down to the deserted basement to gather his things. As he stood in the lobby, the wind did sound quite harsh. He made sure he was all buttoned up before he went out into the weather he'd been reporting on all evening, feeling like he was back in his high school uniform again. The rain was heavy, but his visibility was okay. Kakyoin trudged home, wanting nothing more than some hot tea with honey for his throat and his warm bed.
⋆♪ ၊၊||၊ ৎ𝄢 ၊၊||၊ ♫⋆
Kakyoin, having spent his day off lazily with his mother, unsure why he would be allowed a day off at all for sitting in a booth all night, arrived at the radio station at his usual time. It was basically the same time he left the morning the day before. The hurricane had fully turned away from Morioh so the winds had died down, but it remained soggy. Kakyoin was shaking out his umbrella and putting it in the stand in the lobby when the receptionist caught sight of him. Reimi Sugimoto was a bright girl around Kakyoin's age, with pink hair and a big photo of her Labrador on the receptionist’s desk. She'd talk your ear off about her doggy if she caught you looking at it. She came in the earliest for the non-audio staff, checked the doors and saw the late shift off before the morning radio show began.
“Kakyoin-san!” Reimi said, “The Station Manager wants to see you again. He's in the Production Manager’s office waiting for you.”
“Both of them?” Kakyoin asked.
She nodded, giving him a sly smile. Of course she already knew what they wanted him for, she listened as well as she talked. Reimi did the station tours, and she was the best person to call if anyone was being difficult. She always had a packet of Pocky in her pockets to sweeten people up, or take them off guard with her Pocky horoscopes.
Kakyoin left his jacket on, dripping and all, going straight to the Production Manager's office instead of bothering to go down to the equipment room. His thoughts were whirring. What could both the Station Manager and Production Manager need him for? Just thanks for covering for the weather man? Did a job open up?
“Kakyoin.” The Production Manager was waiting in the hallway for him.
The Production Manager was the type of guy who smiled all the time, and after meeting the Station Manager, it was clear he was the warm to the station owner’s cold. The Production Manager was easy going and remembered people’s names, the type of guy Kakyoin was supposed to be after graduation so he could get work. It was why the man knew Kakyoin's father, despite them being in different fields and only knowing one another from college twenty years ago. Any time Kakyoin had seen him after being hired on, he was rushing somewhere. Besides being in charge of programming in general and keeping the automated shows and music running, he solicited and spoke with advertisers.
“Good morning.” Kakyoin greeted him.
“Come into my office.” The Production Manager ushered him in.
The carpet in the Production Manager’s office must have been trampled flat years ago, because it had been replaced with scuffed linoleum. His desk was smaller than the big boss’ as well, and he had cork boards, black boards and dry erase boards all covered in scribbles and post-it notes about schedules and ideas for programming themes. It felt like he barely had things together to look at his office, but the station programming went smoothly so he was obviously actually on top of things.
“Kakyoin, how are you feeling after your day off?” The Station Manager gave Kakyoin a smile, too.
Kakyoin had no idea what to expect with that sort of welcome.
“All rested up.” Kakyoin said.
“Good!” The Station Manager grinned again under his mustache.
“Sit, sit.” The Production Manager pushed Kakyoin down into a seat.
Some paper crinkled under him, but Kakyoin figured it wasn't important to mention and just put his hands on his knees. The Production Manager perched on the edge of his desk and the Station Manager stood somewhere behind Kakyoin. Kakyoin didn't particularly like the feeling of someone lurking behind him, but waited for the men to explain why he was here.
“I had a busy day yesterday.” The Production Manager mentioned.
“The phone kept ringing, didn't it?” The Station Manager added.
“Yes, we got two dozen calls yesterday telling us how much they liked our new disk jockey’s voice.” The Production Manager said.
Kakyoin had missed them hiring someone new? Take one day off and that's the day something actually happened. The Station Manager and Production Manager waited for Kakyoin's response to this news.
“Who's the new DJ?” He asked, thinking maybe he'd get assigned their assistant or something.
“You.” The Production Manager answered.
“Me?” Kakyoin startled.
“I was surprised, too.” The Production Manager chuckled, “I mean, I heard you pitched in, but your reception was surprisingly good for only airing in the middle of the night.”
“I slept through it, personally.” The Station Manager said, “But it's clear the town appreciated your work.”
“The weatherman got delayed.” Kakyoin said numbly, “I was asked to cover until he arrived.”
“Yup, that was the situation as the Program Director explained it.” The Production Manager said, “And we've got another situation we would like you to cover, since Morioh already knows your voice and liked it.”
“Me?” Kakyoin repeated pathetically, remembering his nerves more than anything else.
“Of course!” The Station Manager startled Kakyoin with an exclamation right by his ear.
“Kai Harada keeps his personal life personal, so you probably don't know, but he and his wife just had their first child.” The Production Manager explained, “So, he requested he not do his late night show for a month or two. We were just going to play reruns or something pre-recorded during his absence, but then we got those calls yesterday. Live shows always bring in better numbers.”
“That's what makes radio work, Kakyoin, the connection to real people.” The Station Manager put in.
“Are you sure you want me?” Kakyoin asked.
“Yes.” Both men’s voices overlapped.
“I don't know how to run a show.” Kakyoin admitted.
“It's my job to help you develop a program and the program director's job to help you run it.” The Production Manager said.
“And my job to approve of the other two.” The Station Manager said, putting his hands on Kakyoin's shoulders.
“All you have to do is talk.” The Production Manager made it sound all too easy.
“Would you like to be a disk jockey at Morioh-Cho Radio, Kakyoin?” The Station Manager asked directly.
After a long thought, Kakyoin found that he did. At least there was something creative in the job and he didn't have to deal with people face-to-face. It would only be a few weeks, if he didn't like it, it would be over quickly. Maybe it would help him with his interpersonal skills, as well, and it would look good on a resume.
“Will I still have to intern during the day?” Kakyoin asked, getting a laugh.
“Unfoutunately, yes.” The Production Manager said.
“But for your radio show, you'll be paid competitively, like all the other talent.” The Station Manager said.
“Okay.” Kakyoin agreed, “I'll do it.”