Archive of Our Own

The Mariners’ locker room buzzed with the low roar of chatter, the metallic clang of cleats against the tile, and the unmistakable scent of leather and fresh laundry. Jay adjusted the brim of his cap as he laced up his cleats, trying not to laugh as his teammates tossed wild guesses across the room.

“Alright, so who do you think it’s gonna be today?” Rodriguez called out, waving a bat like it was a microphone. “We’ve had rappers, we’ve had actors, hell, last week we had that TikTok comedian. I’m putting my money on some football player this time.”

“Maybe a Gamer,” someone shot back, earning a round of groans.

Jay smirked and shook his head. “You guys are acting like this is the draft. Whoever it is, they’re just throwing one pitch.”

“Easy for you to say, Park,” Rodriguez teased. “You’ve only been here a year; you haven’t suffered through some of these celebrities.”

Jay only shrugged, though inside, he still felt the hum of disbelief every time he pulled on the Mariners jersey. Back in Seattle. Back home. He’d dreamed of this moment since before he moved to South Korea at ten, chasing baseball across oceans, working through every setback until the impossible became possible. And now? He was the kid who made it.

The locker room chatter cut off when the door opened. The team manager stepped inside with the marketing lead beside him, clipboard tucked under her arm. Both of them scanned the room before their gazes landed directly on Jay.

“Park,” the manager said. “You’ve got an extra assignment before the game today.”

Jay blinked. “Extra assignment?”

The marketing lead stepped forward, her smile knowing. “Our first-pitch guest tonight is a big-name celebrity from Korea. Heeseung. Do you know him?”

Jay nearly choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. Of course, he knew him; everyone did. Heeseung was one of those singers whose voice was on every playlist his cousins played at home, the kind of star who could sell out an arena just by announcing he was passing through town.

Jay cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ve… heard of him.”

“Good,” the marketing lead said, tapping her clipboard. “You’re fluent in Korean. We’d like you to greet him, make him comfortable.”

Rodriguez let out a low whistle. “Our rookie’s already making international connections.”

Jay shoved him lightly with his shoulder, though a grin tugged at his lips. He stood, brushing off his jersey. “Alright. Where do I find him?”

He didn’t have to look long. Just outside the dugout, Heeseung stood surrounded by assistants and staff, dressed casually but still glowing under the afternoon sun. His tour jacket was crisp white with metallic accents. The sunglasses perched on his nose made him look every bit the superstar. The only thing that didn’t fit his image was his mannerisms; he shifted from foot to foot, like he wasn’t quite sure where to stand.

Jay felt the corners of his mouth tug upward. He knew that look. He’d been there, too, the first time he stepped onto a professional field in Korea. Out of place, a little untethered.

He approached with his most easygoing stride, pulling off his cap as he neared. Switching to Korean, his voice came warm and confident. “Welcome to Seattle.”

Heeseung startled slightly, then looked up. Behind the sunglasses, Jay caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melted into relief. His lips curved into a smile that hit Jay square in the chest.

“You speak Korean?” Heeseung asked, lowering his shades to get a better look at him.

“Fluent,” Jay replied, offering his hand. “Figured it’d be easier than making you guess through translations.”

When their hands met, the shake lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Jay’s pulse picked up, though his grin didn’t falter. He could see cameras pointed in their direction, the Mariners and Heeseung’s team not missing an opportunity for fans.

“Thank you,” Heeseung said softly. “This is… honestly a little intimidating.”

Jay tilted his head, teasing just enough to make the other man’s smile widen. “You? Intimidated? You fill stadiums bigger than this. You’ll be fine.”

Heeseung laughed, shy but genuine, and the sound slid into Jay’s bloodstream like a shot of adrenaline.

As he stepped back, Jay leaned in just enough for his voice to drop into something playful. “Tell you what. Watch the game after your pitch.” Jay winked as he said, “I’ll try to hit a home run for you.”

The pink flush that rose across Heeseung’s cheeks was worth everything. Jay tipped his cap back on, flashing one last smile before jogging off toward the field. He didn’t look back, didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze trailing him the whole way.

Heeseung wasn’t used to being the one who felt out of place.

Usually, he was the star everyone else revolved around. He’d walked into arenas packed with twenty thousand fans chanting his name, stood under blinding spotlights with every camera trained on him, and carried a stage like it was built just for him. But here, standing on the edge of a baseball diamond with grass so green it almost glowed, he felt like a kid sneaking into the wrong classroom.

He shifted his weight from one sneaker to the other, tugging the hem of his jacket as staff rushed around him. His sunglasses shielded him from the direct stares of the crowd already trickling in, but not from the anxious flutter in his chest.

And then—warm, smooth Korean cut through the noise.

“Welcome to Seattle.”

Heeseung turned, caught completely off guard.

The player in front of him was tall, broad-shouldered, with a grin that seemed to light up the shaded dugout. His cap was tucked under one arm, dark hair falling in soft waves across his forehead. The name stitched across his jersey read PARK, and suddenly, Heeseung forgot how to breathe.

“You speak Korean?” He blurted, lowering his shades to actually see him.

“Fluent,” the player said easily, offering his hand. His voice was low and confident. “Figured it’d be easier than making you guess through translations.”

The handshake was firm but not rushed, and Heeseung felt the heat climb his neck.

Oh no.

When the player—Jay, his brain finally supplied—added, “Tell you what. Watch the game after your pitch. I’ll try to hit a home run for you,” Heeseung’s stomach flipped like he was on a roller coaster.

By the time Jay jogged away, cap back on and shoulders rolling with the easy confidence of someone who belonged here, Heeseung was rooted in place, sunglasses dangling uselessly in his hand.

“Earth to Heeseung,” one of his managers drawled.

He blinked, shoving the shades back onto his face. “What?”

“You’re staring so hard, you’re going to set the grass on fire,” another teased.

“I—” Heeseung coughed into his fist, trying to gather what was left of his composure. “I was just… making sure I understood what he said.”

“Sure,” the first manager said, grin smug. “And what exactly did he say that has you blushing like a teenager?”

Heeseung turned away, but the warmth blooming across his cheeks betrayed him. His heart was hammering like he was backstage before a concert. He’d never been this flustered over someone he just met. Not once.

“Don’t get distracted,” his head manager reminded him, though the smirk on her face betrayed her amusement. “All you have to do is throw the ball. That’s it. Pitch, wave, smile, done.”

“Right,” Heeseung muttered, clutching the baseball like it might anchor him to the earth.

When his name was announced, the stadium erupted. The cheer was thunderous, rolling over him in a wave of familiar sound. All those eyes, waiting.

Heeseung stepped onto the mound, the ball heavy in his hand. The infield stretched out before him, the catcher crouched, glove extended. His palms were slick, his breath shallow.

And then he heard it.

A sharp, piercing whistle from the dugout.

He glanced sideways. Jay stood there, two fingers in his mouth, whistling with all the confidence in the world, grinning like he believed in him without question.

The tension snapped. Heeseung laughed, nerves dissolving into something lighter. He wound up and threw.

It wasn’t a perfect pitch, more of a clumsy arc than a straight shot, but it landed safely in the catcher’s mitt. The stadium clapped, cheered, and hollered.

Jay cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling encouragement loud enough that Heeseung caught it even from the mound.

Heat surged through Heeseung’s veins, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He tipped his cap to the crowd and walked off the field, fighting a smile that felt impossible to contain.

By the time the anthem finished, Jay was already vibrating with energy. He’d promised Heeseung a home run, and if there was one thing Jay Park didn’t do, it was break promises.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances toward the VIP seats along the first-base line. Even from the field, Heeseung was impossible to miss, tour jacket glinting under the lights, his posture a mix of careful composure and boyish excitement.

“Eyes on the ball, rookie,” Rodriguez teased as they jogged out.

Jay smirked. “Don’t worry. I can multitask.”

He hadn’t planned on staying for the whole game. The original plan was simple: throw the pitch, wave, smile for a few cameras, then slip out early for rehearsal.

But the second the game began, Heeseung realized he wasn’t moving from this seat.

He knows the point of baseball is to watch the whole team. Instead, his eyes followed only one figure in the outfield.

Jay Park.

The way he moved across the grass was like choreography, every step sharp and precise, but effortless too, like he wasn’t even trying to be spectacular, he just was.

And when the crack of the bat sent the ball soaring deep into center field, Heeseung’s heart leapt with it.

Jay sprinted back, legs stretching, glove rising. At the warning track he launched himself into the air, colliding with the padded wall as his glove snapped shut around the ball.

The crowd roared. Heeseung was already on his feet before he realized it, clapping and laughing in disbelief.

His manager leaned over, smirking. “Not into baseball, huh?”

Heeseung ignored her, unable to look away from the way Jay straightened, tipping his cap toward the section where Heeseung sat. It was quick, subtle. But he saw it.

And it made his knees weak.

He couldn’t stop grinning as he jogged back to the dugout. The catch was good; it would definitely be in a highlight reel by the end of tonight, but it was the look on Heeseung’s face that made Jay’s chest feel like it might burst. Wide eyes, jaw slack, then that radiant smile breaking across his features.

Jay could live a thousand lifetimes and never forget it.

By the fifth inning, Jay stepped up to the plate. The lyrics to Highway to Hell faded; his bat felt solid in his hands, the pitcher winding up across from him.

He thought about timing. He thought about mechanics. But mostly, he thought about the way Heeseung had blushed when Jay promised him a home run.

The pitch came. Jay swung.

The crack echoed through the stadium. The ball arced high, sailing toward the stands. The crowd’s roar was deafening as it cleared the fence.

Home run.

Jay jogged the bases, trying to play it cool even as adrenaline surged through him. When he rounded third, he risked one glance into the VIP seats.

There was Heeseung, hands clapped over his mouth, eyes sparkling. When their gazes met, Heeseung laughed, lowering his hands to clap wildly like he couldn’t help himself.

Jay touched home plate, heart pounding for a reason that had nothing to do with baseball.

He was ruined. Completely ruined.

He’d been to countless shows, seen talent in every form: dancers, singers, actors, athletes. But nothing compared to watching Jay Park call his shot and deliver it like the world bent to his will.

Every time Jay glanced toward his section, it felt like the entire stadium disappeared, leaving just the two of them.

The fans around him had started whispering, phones raised. Some pointed at him when Jay looked over, others giggled about how the idol seemed a little too invested in the game.

Heeseung didn’t care. Let them speculate.

Because when Jay smiled up at him, bright and unshakable, Heeseung knew he was in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

The hotel room was quiet except for the hum of the city outside the window. Seattle’s skyline glittered in the distance, but Heeseung couldn’t keep still long enough to enjoy it.

He paced, tossed his jacket onto the couch, then sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing one leg like he was still running on stadium adrenaline. The game played on repeat in his head: the impossible leap, the perfect home run, the easy grin aimed straight at him.

He had no business feeling this giddy over someone he’d met once. But Jay Park had lodged himself in his mind like a song hook, and there was no shaking it.

His phone buzzed with a reminder of a fan live his manager had scheduled. He cursed softly, then grabbed the device anyway, setting it up on the desk.

The second he went live, the screen exploded with comments.

“HEESEUNG OPPA HI!!”
“You look so happy today 🥺 what happened??”
“Tell us about the baseball game!!!”
“Jay Park was amazing right?? 👀”

Heeseung laughed, covering his mouth before leaning closer. “I… had a good day,” he admitted. His grin refused to be tamed. “The baseball game was… wow. So much more exciting than I imagined.”

He told stories: the size of the stadium, the energy of the fans, how different American ballparks felt compared to Korean ones. He reenacted the crowd’s roar when Jay made the catch, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. Fans flooded the chat with emojis, their laughter spamming across the screen.

But when someone asked “Who were you cheering for the most?” Heeseung froze for half a second. His chest tightened with the truth he couldn’t say aloud.

The boy who promised me a home run.

Instead, he chuckled and said, “I think I just cheered for whoever was on the field. Everyone worked so hard, it was fun to see.”

The comments lit up again, satisfied enough, though a few teasing ones lingered.

“You looked VERY focused 👀”
“Baseball fanboy era??”
“We love seeing you smile so much 💖”

Heeseung felt heat crawl up his neck. “Maybe I’ll become a fan,” he admitted softly, “at least while I’m in Seattle.”

By the time he ended the live, his cheeks hurt from smiling. He collapsed back on the bed, dragging a pillow over his face.

Back in the locker room, as the team celebrated the win, Jay couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Heeseung’s number. The marketing lead had connections with the idol’s manager. If he asked casually, maybe it wouldn’t be weird.

By the time he showered, changed, and left the stadium, Jay’s phone buzzed with a new contact added. Courtesy of the staff.

He scrolled to it, thumb hovering. A grin curved across his lips.

He typed quickly, leaning against his car in the cool Seattle night.

He was sprawled across the bed after his shower, hair still damp, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands. For all the world, he should have been asleep. His schedule tomorrow was packed, and his voice needed rest.

But his mind refused to quiet down.

He replayed every moment of the night: Jay’s easy grin, the way he switched to Korean without hesitation, the whistle from the dugout, the way the ball soared over the fence just like he promised.

It was ridiculous how his chest squeezed every time Jay crossed his thoughts. Heeseung wasn’t like this. He wasn’t the type to get flustered, to trip over simple smiles. He had years of practice ignoring butterflies, of turning nerves into performance.

And yet here he was, hiding under hotel blankets with his heart drumming like he was back on stage.

His phone buzzed.

The notification made his breath catch. Unknown Number.

He opened it, pulse pounding.

Hey, it’s Jay. Maybe we can grab coffee before you leave Seattle?

For a second, Heeseung just stared. Then his face split into a grin so wide it ached. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, unstoppable, spilling into the empty room.

He buried his face in the pillow, legs kicking helplessly like he couldn’t contain the rush of pure, giddy joy flooding through him.

“Coffee,” he whispered into the pillow, smile trembling. “With Jay Park.”

His managers were going to have a field day.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Because somewhere in this city, the boy who’d just stolen his breath away had decided he wanted to see him again.

And Heeseung couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this exciting. This fun. This… romantic.