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The day began with Jaeyi questioning all her life choices.
"Remind me again why I'm here instead of sleeping in and binge-watching a gay drama like a normal person?" she grumbled, slouched miserably in a bus seat as the vehicle rattled toward the city stadium.
Yeri, her best friend since high school and the human embodiment of glitter and serotonin, beamed from across the aisle. Her fingers were intertwined with her girlfriend Kyung’s, as usual. “Because we’re treating you to front-row seats, unlimited stadium snacks, and three glorious hours of hot women playing baseball. Also—minor detail—you love us.”
“I tolerate you,” Jaeyi muttered, narrowing her eyes.
“Same thing,” Kyung chimed in, utterly unfazed. “Besides, this isn’t just any game. The Peanut team’s undefeated. You need to witness Seulgi pitch. She’s... unreal.”
“Unreal as in she floats off the ground?” Jaeyi deadpanned, accepting the iced latte Yeri shoved into her hand as a not-so-subtle bribe.
“No,” Yeri sighed, sipping her own drink like it was wine. “Unreal as in she’s a goddess in cleats with thighs sculpted by the gods and an arm that could end civilizations.”
Kyung nodded solemnly. “She’s the reason we’re on top of the league.”
“She’s got this icy calm. That stare? It’s like bam straight into your soul,” Yeri added, voice reverent.
“She stares into your soul while throwing a ball?” Jaeyi raised a brow.
“You wouldn’t get it,” Yeri said with a wistful sigh, turning to gaze out the window as if she were in a music video. “She’s not just a pitcher. She’s poetry. In motion.”
“She’s a girl. Throwing a ball. With force.”
“She’s art,” Yeri corrected, completely serious.
Jaeyi rolled her eyes so hard she might’ve unlocked a new dimension. “Baseball is just glorified stick-hitting and circle-running.”
“Wow. Disrespect,” Kyung gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls.
Jaeyi shrugged. “Sorry I don’t get excited over watching people chase a ball for three hours. I could see that at a dog park.”
“You’re just bitter because you're single,” Yeri said, shooting her a knowing look.
“Correct,” Jaeyi said, unbothered. “While you two model for ‘Disgustingly In Love Monthly,’ I’m bracing for death by overpriced popcorn in a sea of sweaty fans and screaming children.”
“I’ll get you nachos,” Yeri offered sweetly.
Jaeyi sighed. “Fine. But only because I’m poor.”
She liked her friends, really, she did. But being the designated single friend on their couple’s date to a sports event wasn’t high on her dream day-off itinerary. She shot Yeri a glare as she adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag.
“So let me get this straight. I get to third-wheel at a baseball game.”
“It’s not third-wheeling if you pretend we don’t exist,” Yeri chirped.
“That’s literally impossible. You two hold hands when one of you sneezes.”
“It was an emotional sneeze,” Kyung said, planting a kiss on Yeri’s temple.
Jaeyi gagged audibly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
The stadium appeared in the distance like some grand coliseum. Music blared. Fans in team jerseys streamed through the gates like migrating birds. The electric buzz in the air was undeniable, even if Jaeyi was trying really hard not to care.
She frowned, squinting at a mascot bobbing in the distance. “Are those… giant peanuts?”
Kyung handed her a foam finger the size of a toddler. “We’re called the Peanut Team, genius.”
Jaeyi held it at arm’s length. “This thing could double as a weapon.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Yeri said, tugging her toward the entrance. “Seulgi’s warming up soon!”
“Oh yay,” Jaeyi muttered, dragging her feet like a hostage.
But the moment they stepped inside, Jaeyi faltered. The stadium roared with life—an explosion of noise and color. The scent of hot dogs and buttered popcorn wafted through the air. Kids screamed, vendors shouted, and some poor soul in a peanut costume was dancing like his rent depended on it.
They found their seats along the third-base line. Jaeyi flopped into her chair, crossed her arms, and slurped dramatically from her comically large soda. “Wake me up when something explodes.”
As if on cue, the stadium lights brightened. The crowd quieted slightly, and the announcer’s voice boomed across the field:
“Now taking the mound… number nine… the ace of the Peanut team… Woo Seulgi!”
The cheer that followed was deafening. Jaeyi looked up, bored—and immediately choked on her drink.
The pitcher walking toward the mound was not what she expected. She wasn’t some hulking dude with rage issues. No. She was tall. Cool. Ridiculously composed. Her uniform hugged her frame in all the right places, and under the shadow of her cap, her expression was unreadable—laser-focused but somehow elegant.
Every step she took was fluid. Measured. Unhurried. Like she belonged there. Like the world moved for her.
“Okay,” Jaeyi said slowly, sitting up straighter. “Maybe this isn’t a total waste of time.”
“Told you,” Yeri whispered, smug. “Art.”
“Shut up,” Jaeyi muttered, eyes locked on the field.
Seulgi stretched, rolled her shoulder, and took her stance. Then, with one graceful motion, she delivered the pitch.
It curved in the air like a dancer mid-spin and slammed into the catcher’s mitt with a sharp, satisfying pop.
The stadium erupted.
Jaeyi blinked.
Okay… that was kind of hot.
But what really made her heart trip wasn’t the speed, or even the skill—it was the way Seulgi stood there afterward, calm and unapologetic, as if she was born to command this space. That gaze—intense, quiet, unwavering—wasn’t cocky. It was something worse.
It was magnetic.
Jaeyi’s soda sat forgotten in the cup holder. Her pulse did a very embarrassing flutter.
Yeri nudged her. “Told you she’s the real deal. She’s got fans all over. Never let a single home run through this season. But don’t be fooled—there’s footage of her blushing like a schoolgirl when fans give her flowers.”
“You memorized her Wikipedia page, didn’t you?”
“Wikipedia? Please. I run her fan page.”
Yeri leaned in, grinning like a devil. “Still think baseball is just sticks and balls?”
Jaeyi didn’t answer.
Because suddenly, baseball wasn’t about sticks.
Sometimes, it pitched you a curveball you never saw coming.
And this one? Might’ve just hit her right in the heart.
Jaeyi hadn’t expected to be watching—like, really watching—the game.
She’d come for the vibe. The snacks. Maybe to mock the jocks for fun. But now?
Now she was leaning forward in her seat, chin nestled in her palm, eyes locked onto the pitcher’s mound like it held the secret to eternal youth, or at least the answers to every final exam she’d ever bombed.
And at the center of it all stood Seulgi.
Woo Seulgi was a storm disguised as stillness.
She stood poised, every line of her body taut with coiled power, a statue carved from patience and muscle. Her face, shaded by the brim of her cap, was unreadable, jaw tight, lips pressed together, not a flicker of hesitation in her gaze. With a practiced flick of her fingers, she adjusted the cap lower, a small, deliberate movement that somehow screamed game on.
Her glove rose to her chest. A pause. A breath. One of those long, soul-emptying exhales people take before doing something that could change everything.
Then—without fanfare, without warning—she moved.
The pitch was art.
A fluid, whip-quick arc of motion that was all precision and purpose. Her body twisted like a ribbon under tension, form sharp and clean, the definition of controlled aggression. Her muscles moved beneath her uniform like clockwork. Jaeyi blinked once—and nearly missed it.
Snap.
The ball hit the catcher’s mitt with a violent crack that echoed through the stadium like a starting gun.
The crowd erupted.
Jaeyi inhaled like she’d just surfaced from underwater. “...Damn.”
Beside her, Yeri’s voice cut through with a knowing smirk. “What was that?”
Jaeyi jerked like she’d been caught stealing. “What? Nothing. That was just... a good pitch. Technically impressive. That’s all.”
Yeri didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious,” Jaeyi muttered, but her eyes betrayed her, already drifting back to the field. “For someone who throws balls for a living, she’s... athletic.”
Yeri leaned in, voice drenched in smug. “Athletic? Babe, you’ve been ogling her biceps like they owe you money.”
“I have not—” Jaeyi started, then froze, caught mid-denial by the reel playing in her mind: the way Seulgi’s forearm had flexed as she wound up, the taut line of her jaw before release, the light sheen of sweat painting her skin like a spotlight to sin.
It should’ve been illegal. Or at least rude.
Trying to recover some shred of dignity, she asked, “What’s her name again?”
Yeri blinked. “You literally heard the announcer ten minutes ago.”
Jaeyi rolled her eyes with fake annoyance. “I wasn’t paying attention. Just tell me.”
“Woo Seulgi,” Yeri said, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “Also known as your future wife, apparently.”
“Shut up,” Jaeyi muttered, cheeks heating. “Is she always this good?”
Kyung, who had somehow been paying attention to the actual game instead of the drama beside her, chimed in. “Pretty much. Scouts are already circling. Her stats are insane ERA under 1.00, and she throws like hell.”
Yeri let out a dreamy sigh. “And she never cracks under pressure. Doesn’t matter if the crowd’s screaming, someone sneezes in her windup, or some loser tries to trash talk her, she’s pure ice. Locked in every time.”
Jaeyi watched as Seulgi shook off a signal from the catcher and shifted her weight slightly, preparing for the next pitch. There was something surgical about it, like she wasn’t just playing the game she owned it.
Jaeyi’s stomach flipped.
And then, like fate heard her thinking something embarrassing Seulgi looked up.
It was only for a second. A lull between pitches. But her eyes lifted toward the stands.
Jaeyi froze.
Their gazes collided. Or maybe they didn’t. It was a blink. A heartbeat. But Jaeyi swore that steely focus paused right where she was sitting.
Her pulse stuttered.
Heat spread up her neck like wildfire.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Yeri said beside her, grinning like a villain. “She does that. The eye contact thing. It’s lethal.”
Jaeyi collapsed back into her seat like the bones had been sucked out of her. She hugged her drink to her chest like it could protect her. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “This is normal. Totally fine.”
She was not fine.
Not even close.
The innings passed in a blur of cheers and gasps, and Seulgi’s grip on the game never faltered. Every pitch was a study in focus, her movements so precise they could’ve been choreographed. Jaeyi couldn’t look away. Every windup pulled at something in her chest. Every pitch landed like a heartbeat she didn’t know she was holding.
It wasn’t just a crush—it was gravity.
“She’s like... focused,” Jaeyi mumbled into her straw.
Yeri snorted. “You like her.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, please. Your ears are literally blushing.”
“I’m just—respecting her technique,” Jaeyi shot back, flustered. “For educational purposes.”
Kyung didn’t even glance over. “And I subscribe to Playgirl for the interviews.”
Jaeyi flipped them both off in slow motion—only to be cut off by the stadium roaring to life.
A batter swung. Missed.
“Strike two!” the announcer boomed.
Yeri jumped up, fists in the air. “Let’s gooo, Seulgi!”
Feeling awkward just sitting, Jaeyi stood too, stretching her arms above her head. Her shirt lifted a little, catching the breeze. She yawned to play it cool, even as her legs betrayed her by wobbling slightly.
And then—
A sound like lightning cracked through the stadium.
The sharp crack of bat meeting ball. The crowd gasped as the foul ball ricocheted.
Jaeyi turned—too slow.
Pain bloomed in her forehead, white-hot and immediate.
The world tilted. Her drink went flying. Someone screamed.
Maybe it was her.
Then—
Nothing.
Just darkness, and the distant, panicked echo of Yeri’s voice calling her name as the world slipped quietly, completely away.
The world returned in chaotic, sparkly fragments.
Jaeyi squinted against the angry glare of overhead fluorescents, her skull pulsing like it was trying to throw its own rave. For one very dramatic moment, she was pretty sure she’d died and was being reborn in a sterile version of hell with paper sheets and a headache the size of Jupiter.
Her mouth? Sahara. Her limbs? Weighted blankets. Her brain? Offline.
She groaned like she was auditioning for a zombie musical.
“Hey—whoa, easy there. You just came back to life. Don’t ruin your encore.”
The voice floated through the fog. Warm. Soft. Very much not a doctor. Very much... familiar?
Jaeyi blinked once. Twice. Her vision eventually unblurred just enough to make out the outline of a girl sitting next to her bed like a scene from a high school romcom that skipped the meet-cute and went straight to intimate hospital lighting.
Dark hair tucked under a cap. Jersey half unbuttoned. Eyes wide with concern and cheeks flushed like she’d run straight off the field and into a soap opera.
Wait a second. Wait just one baseball-fueled second.
Seulgi.
The pitcher.
Holding her hand.
Jaeyi blinked harder. “...Okay. So this is heaven?”
Seulgi let out a shaky laugh—half relieved, half nervous wreck. “Not quite. You’re just concussed. Possibly. Definitely. But you’ve been out for a bit and scared everyone into an early midlife crisis.”
Jaeyi tried to sit up. Bad idea. The world did a quick spin. She flopped back dramatically. “Right. Baseball. Ball to the face. My favorite hobby.”
Seulgi’s brows knitted tighter. “Are you in pain? I can get the medic—”
“No, no.” Jaeyi waved her hand like she was swatting away a mosquito and/or death. “Just my brain rebooting. And my ego. And maybe the left hemisphere of my soul.”
Then she looked down.
They were still holding hands.
Warm. Gentle. Casual like they’d done this before.
Seulgi noticed, too—and recoiled like the contact had physically zapped her. “S-Sorry! You were, like, cold when they brought you in and I—I panicked. It was like, life support... but make it emotional!”
Jaeyi grinned through the head fog. “You always hold hands with the girls you nearly decapitate?”
Seulgi winced. “I swear, I didn’t even see where it went! Someone yelled that it hit the railing, and the next thing I knew, people were screaming, and your body was doing that cartoon ragdoll thing—”
“Seulgi.” Jaeyi raised an eyebrow. “I’m not mad.”
Seulgi blinked, visibly short-circuiting.
“In fact...” Jaeyi let her voice drop into a flirtatious lilt, “...you’ve got a wicked aim.”
Seulgi blinked faster. “I... I do?”
“Mmhmm.” Jaeyi gave her a lazy, loopy smile. “First strike: my skull. Second strike: my heart. Third strike? You’re out. But like... out to dinner, maybe?”
Seulgi made a noise that sounded like a hiccup and a laugh had a baby.
“You’re—wow. Okay. You’re something.”
“Concussed?” Jaeyi offered.
“Charming,” Seulgi countered, going redder than her team’s logo.
A beat passed. Jaeyi squinted at her like she was something worth studying under a microscope—and possibly kissing. “So... why are you here? Didn’t you just win? Shouldn’t you be taking selfies with a trophy or basking in your athletic glory?”
Seulgi scratched the back of her neck, which somehow made her look both awkward and adorable. “I asked where they took you. And just... stayed. You know. In case you died and needed someone to hold your ghost hand.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jaeyi said, genuinely touched now.
“I know.” Seulgi’s voice softened. “But I wanted to.”
And just like that—Jaeyi’s heart slipped on a banana peel and fell straight into a boy band-level swoon.
“Well,” Jaeyi said, clearing her throat, “since you tried to kill me and saved my ghost... I guess we should exchange names. I’m Jaeyi. First name, Last name, walking head injury.”
Seulgi laughed and shook her hand. “Woo Seulgi. Sorry about the almost-murder.”
Jaeyi grinned. “I’ve had worse first dates.”
They were still grinning at each other like dorks when the clinic door exploded open like a confetti cannon.
“SHE LIIIIIVES!” Yeri screeched, flying in with a neon-blue sports drink in one hand and chaos in her eyes.
Kyung followed with the energy of a chaperone at their wit’s end, clutching a foil-wrapped pretzel. “I told her not to Google funeral songs.”
Jaeyi let her head fall back with a groan. “Can someone bolt that door shut with emotional duct tape?”
“Oh, hush,” Yeri said, dramatically pressing the ice pack onto her forehead. “You scared me into researching casket discounts. You owe me trauma points.”
“She’s fine,” Kyung declared, poking her with the pretzel. “Still sassy. Still snarky. Still somehow single.”
Jaeyi shot them a look. “Still within slapping range.”
“Ohhh, look who’s still here,” Yeri said, zeroing in on Seulgi like a heat-seeking missile. “Woo Seulgi, MVP, Destroyer of Jawlines and Hearts.”
Seulgi jumped like she’d been caught in a crime. “I—I can go if—”
“Nope.” Yeri flopped dramatically onto the bed. “You stay, hot girl. Pretty sure Jaeyi here owes you at least one number, one apology kiss, and possibly her Spotify Premium.”
Jaeyi groaned. “Why do I hang out with you.”
“Because we’re fabulous,” Yeri answered, smacking a kiss on Kyung’s cheek. “And gay.”
Seulgi looked like she was one more compliment away from spontaneous combustion.
Kyung tugged Yeri toward the door. “We’ll be outside. Not eavesdropping. Probably.”
“That’s a lie,” Jaeyi muttered.
Yeri blew a kiss. “Live your rom-com, bitch!”
And with that, the chaos duo vanished.
Seulgi looked like she was holding her breath. “They’re... fun.”
“They’re... loud,” Jaeyi said. “But yeah. Mine.”
Eventually, the medic cleared Jaeyi to leave with a stern warning about ‘taking it easy,’ which she promptly ignored the second she stood up and made a dramatic noise of pain.
Seulgi hovered beside her like a cute personal bodyguard. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
Jaeyi blinked. “Are you offering to be my post-concussion escort?”
Seulgi shrugged, smiling shy. “Only if you want.”
“I absolutely do.”
The stadium had transformed into a glittering ghost town—quiet, scattered with leftover popcorn and magic.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. Something about it just... worked.
Then a soft pat. Then another.
“Rain,” Jaeyi muttered, half-annoyed, half-cinematic.
Seulgi grabbed her hand and pulled her under the bleachers like it was a scene from a music video. “Come on!”
They landed under the metal overhang, a little cramped, a lot intimate. The air was thick with mist and adrenaline and something unspoken.
Seulgi took off her warm-up jacket and draped it over Jaeyi’s shoulders like a lesbian knight. “You’re shivering.”
Jaeyi arched an eyebrow. “You do this with all the girls you injure?”
“No!” Seulgi squeaked, already fumbling with her phone. “But I—uh—I mean, I could get your number... unless you’re planning on suing?”
Jaeyi took the phone from her gently before Seulgi could open the calculator app by mistake. She typed in her number and name, then added a flame and a baseball emoji.
“Boom. Fire and sports. Balanced.”
Seulgi stared at it like it was a treasure map. “This is real?”
Jaeyi leaned in just a little. “Oh, it’s very real.”
Seulgi blushed so hard she had to look away. “I’m really glad I met you.”
Jaeyi smirked, heart doing somersaults. “Me too. Even if my forehead had to be sacrificed in the process.”
Seulgi looked at her, rain falling just outside their tiny bubble, and smiled softly.
“Maybe next time,” she said, “I’ll just ask for your number like a normal person.”
Jaeyi grinned. “Or you could keep knocking me out. I do love the attention.”
Their laughter mixed with the rain, echoing like a promise.
A week passed.
Jaeyi stared at the screen.
SEULGI: Game this Friday. Tickets waiting at the gate. I promise not to throw anything at you this time.
A smirk tugged at her lips before she could stop it.
Yeri and Kyung had other plans. So, Jaeyi went alone.
The stadium felt different this time. The noise, the lights, the crowd—it all faded into the background. She wasn’t just watching a game.
She was watching her pitcher.
Seulgi pitched even better this time. Her form was clean, movements sharper, like every muscle had finally found its rhythm. But more than that—every time she looked up, her eyes found Jaeyi in the stands. It was never long or obvious. Just the brief flick of a glance between batters, like a tether pulling her gaze toward one person, over and over again.
And Jaeyi saw it. Felt it.
The game ended with a narrow win, the final strike met with a roar of cheers and stomping feet. The stadium came alive, a sea of red and white and victory chants. But Jaeyi didn’t join in. She stayed seated, watching Seulgi jog off the mound with her teammates clapping her back, ruffling her hair, jostling her in celebration. Seulgi laughed, eyes crinkled in that way that made Jaeyi’s chest twist—but even as she disappeared into the tunnel, Jaeyi didn’t move.
She already knew she’d wait.
By the player’s exit, the night air was thick with the scent of hot pavement, popcorn oil, and the lingering sweetness of soda spills. A handful of fans loitered for autographs, but one by one, they filtered out. Left behind was only Jaeyi, standing alone beneath the dull glow of a streetlamp.
Eventually, the metal doors creaked open. Seulgi emerged.
Her hair was still damp from a quick shower, and she wore her team joggers, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her arms. A gym bag hung off one shoulder, and her sneakers scuffed quietly against the ground. Her gaze swept the area—and landed on Jaeyi.
In that instant, her whole face lit up. Like someone had flipped the stadium lights back on just for her.
“You waited,” she said, voice softer than usual, like she didn’t want to admit how much she’d hoped she would.
Jaeyi crossed her arms, trying—and failing—to hide her grin. “You bribed me with tickets. I had to get my money’s worth.”
Seulgi laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, eyes crinkling with both nerves and joy. “I was nervous the whole game. Felt like I was pitching for my life.”
Jaeyi raised a brow. “Why? You’ve pitched hundreds of games.”
“Yeah, but never with you watching.”
The words settled between them, simple but bare. No sarcasm. No cool-girl mask. Just the truth.
Jaeyi blinked, startled by the honesty, then quickly masked it with a playful scoff. “Imagine if I hadn’t come. You’d have to assault another innocent girl with a baseball just to lure me out again.”
Seulgi winced, laughing. “Please don’t jinx it. I’d really like to avoid a lawsuit this month.”
Jaeyi stepped closer, her smirk deepening. “I’m tougher than I look. But I do appreciate the… hands-on strategy.”
For a moment, they just stood there, shadows tangled in the golden spill of the streetlamp. Then Seulgi took a breath—quick, unsure—and leaned in. She pressed a kiss to Jaeyi’s cheek. Not long, not bold. Just a brief, too-nervous brush of lips against skin.
It was awkward. Hesitant.
But it landed.
Jaeyi blinked, surprised. Her hand lifted almost automatically to the spot, fingers lingering against her cheek like she needed to feel it twice. Then her lips curled, slow and sharp.
“You call that a pitch?” she teased, arching a brow. “I’ve got better curveballs than that.”
Seulgi let out a breathy laugh, her shoulders easing. “Just wait till our second date.”
Jaeyi’s expression softened with something warmer than teasing. She leaned in slightly, close enough to see the flecks of gold in Seulgi’s eyes. “Good. Because this game?” She nudged her shoulder gently. “Kinda made me a fan.”
Seulgi beamed. “You mean of baseball?”
“No.” Jaeyi smiled, softer now. “Just you.”
The words hung in the air, delicate and electric. Seulgi’s grin stretched so wide it looked like it hurt.
For a while, they walked side by side in comfortable silence, the city buzzing in the distance, the stadium behind them humming with the fading echo of cheers.
Then Jaeyi stopped. Turned to face her fully.
Seulgi paused, blinking.
“Would you want to get coffee sometime?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
Jaeyi tapped a finger to her chin. “Depends.”
“On?”
“Do I get to wear your team jacket? Because I look better in it than you do.”
Seulgi laughed and didn’t hesitate. She slid the jacket off her shoulders and draped it over Jaeyi’s like it had always belonged there.
“Deal.”
Jaeyi clutched the collar, inhaling the scent—cut grass, a trace of sweat, and something undeniably Seulgi. It curled in her chest like warmth.
“Strike three,” she murmured.
Seulgi tilted her head. “What?”
Jaeyi leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Seulgi’s ear.
“You’re out,” she whispered. “I’m keeping you.”
Seulgi froze for a second, stunned, then broke into a grin so wide it made Jaeyi laugh.
“Alright, you got me,” Seulgi said, eyes shining. “That was definitely a strike.”
“Good,” Jaeyi whispered, letting her fingers slip into Seulgi’s. “Because this season’s just getting started.”
And with that, they turned away from the stadium—the crowd, the lights, the chaos—and toward the quiet city streets.
Hand in hand.
Leaving behind the game.
But carrying something better.
The beginning of something neither of them saw coming.