Chapter Text
“Damn, that's a good hit!"
Seungmin exclaims, his eyes glued to the TV screen as they play re-runs of a baseball game. He turns to his friend as he plops himself onto the red cushion booth. Minho, seated next to him, is clearly more passionate about his honey-glazed, fried chicken to even pay attention to the game. He takes a full bite before letting out a moan, which encouraged Seungmin to make a disgusted face.
“Okay, am I interrupting something here? Seriously, if I see you propose to that chicken, I’m leaving.”
Minho smirks but does not look up.
“Anyway,” Seungmin continues, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I’ve been improving. Coach says I might hit a home run soon.”
He leans back in his chair, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Maybe next game.”
Minho glances at him then. Seungmin's lips are smeared with sauce. Wordlessly, Minho reaches out, wipes it off with his thumb, then licks his finger.
“All those extra practices are paying off, huh?”
Seungmin lets out a small sigh, resting his chin in his hand. There’s a pause. He turns away, just enough to hide the blush rosing from his cheeks.
“How come you’ve never come to at least one of my games?” Seungmin questioned the older one.
“I mean,” Seungmin's voice goes softer, “we’ve been friends forever. You’d think you’d show up once without me begging.”
Minho does not say anything right away. It was not the first time this question has been thrown out by his friend. Seungmin’s eyes are finding his now. Minho opens his mouth but Seungmin cuts him off.
“There’s so much you don’t know about me,” he continues while shaking his head lightly. He starts counting on his fingers.
“My jersey number,”
Eleven.
“My favorite baseball team,”
Lotte Giants.
“Am I seeing anyone? What kind of friend-”
“Are you?” Minho snorts, raising his eyebrow.
“The point is,” Seungmin lets his back rests on the booth, “you’d get to know more about me.”
Minho shrugs, showing indifference. “First of all, I’m not a very curious person. However, I think I do know you more than you give me credit for. It’s not like you know if I like anyone too, anyway. That makes the both of us.”
Seungmin freezes in his spot. He doesn’t flinch but he doesn’t smile too. Minho jokes around too much, Seungmin tells himself.
Still, something in the way Minho said it sticks to him like thorns pricking his chest. He hates himself for feeling this way because he knows he started it.
“Fine,” Seungmin lifts his shoulders in surrender.
“When’s the next game?” Minho clears his throat.
Seungmin’s eyes lights up, his expression shifts in a second, “In two weeks’ time. It’s on a Friday night.”
He carefully adds, “Are you going to come?” Praying that the hope he feels inside him doesn’t leave through his mouth.
“Tragic timing. That’s the night they releasing the new flavour pudding. Might have to prioritize. It’s a tough competition out there.”
Seungmin throws the napkin to him. “You’re an asshole. Can’t believe I have to compete with jiggly-ass custards.”
They both let out a small laugh.
“Is it the café down in Spring street?” asks Seungmin.
“Yeah, I’ll take you there someday, princess,” teases Minho.
“Whatever,” Seungmin mutters before heading to the toilet.
He keeps his back to Minho, probably thinking he’s hiding it well. Being subtle, he’d say.
But Minho catches it. That flicker of a smile, there and gone, just before he vanishes around the corner.
Minho never cares about sports as much as Seungmin does. He doesn’t understand the appeal of people chasing, kicking, or hitting a ball around. He’s also convinced that balls are his greatest enemy. Not that he never tried getting around to it.
— To me, love is…
The glow of the florescent light washes over Minho as he steps into the stadium on a Friday night, greeted by the smell of hotdogs and cold beer. He takes off his headphones and is unfazed by the loud cheering rising around him like waves.
He walks carefully around the bleachers – watching his steps so he does not land on spilt soda or stale popcorn scattered on the concrete ground. He has his Radiohead t-shirt on with a pair of black sweatpants. Radiohead is Seungmin’s favourite band. Not that it matters. It’s just a band on a shirt. Minho brings himself all the way up to the nosebleeds, away from the pitch. Nothing about this surrounding is strange to him. If anything, it’s a familiar feeling. He sits there, staring at the stretched pitch like it’s an endless abyss.
The blare of loud air horn brings back his wandering mind. His eyes drifts over the crowd and finally down to the field where he spots a very familiar figure, back turned showing a number. Eleven.
And just like that, he’s pulled back to last night’s phone call with Seungmin.
Flashback;
“What is love to you?” Seungmin broke the silence. He sounded so delicate that Minho thought one wrong word might shatter him like glass pieces.
Minho let out a nervous laugh, trying to hide the sudden tightness in his chest.
“I didn’t expect you, Kim Seungmin, out of all people to ask me that.”
They’d been close friends for years but they have never spoken about love. Not in this way.
“It’s just… I think I’m in love” Seungmin whispered.
Love.
The word stopped him cold.
A surge of jealousy embraces his still body. A jealousy he has no right over. The body that once wanted to give warmth to Seungmin is now unbearably cold. He can't blame Seungmin for what he's feeling right now.
He wanted to ask. Is it someone I know?
“Oh no,” Minho joked. “Who’s the unlucky guy?” there was a bitterness in his voice.
He didn’t.
Hesitated, Seungmin shrugged dryly.
“Forget about it. I’m going to sleep now. Big game tomorrow. And look, you don’t have to come by the way. I know baseball isn’t your thing. Don’t worry, I won’t ask anymore.”
“Well... okay,” Minho said lightly. “If you insist.”
He was scared of the answer. Most of all, he was more scared that it wouldn’t be him.
- End of flashback –
Sound of whistles and crowd cheering echoes somewhere deep and far away in his head – drowned by the noises of his thoughts.
Minho’s hands then get restless. He can hardly focus on the game. He can’t help but to feel like something is slipping away. Maybe it’s not something – maybe it’s someone. Someone who he has been holding onto for so long? Would things have changed if he tells the truth? Will all the missed opportunities and unsaid words haunt him someday? Speak now or forever hold your peace.
What do I know about peace without him?
"Three strikes, four bases, over the fence," the words play over and over in Minho's mind like a broken record. He had lost count of how many times Seungmin had repeated the rules of hitting a home-run to him. Lucky for Seungmin, Minho doesn’t mind. He never does.
He likes it when Seungmin talks about baseball.
He just likes Seungmin.
He likes the faces Seungmin makes when he pretends to swing a bat.
He likes Seungmin.
He likes the way Seungmin covers his mouth when he laughs because he gets shy from his braces.
He really likes Seungmin.
The truth is, Minho doesn’t need a lot of reasons to like Seungmin.
His thoughts were interrupted by the roar of the crowd, chanting a name. His name. Echoing through the speakers in victory, “Marking his first ever home run, player number 11 – give it up for Seungmin Kim!”
The cheers grow louder and Minho’s heart beats faster, like a thunder drumming through his body.
Minho rises to his feet the moment he catches Seungmin rounding the bases, arms thrown in the air. He couldn’t suppress the victorious smile. There’s a warm sensation tingling inside Minho. Before he realizes, he leaves his seat. Moving. Closer. Down the steps, slipping through the joyous crowd and towards the pitch. His eyes fixed on Seungmin.
Even from where he stands, Minho can see Seungmin on his phone, typing something. Not too long after, Minho’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Four messages light up his screen.
“Home run.”
“I did it.”
“How’s the pudding? Next time you bring me there, you’re buying me one”
“Consider it a reward.”
You’re an idiot. He thinks. I’d buy you all of the pudding in this world if you asked me to.
Minho puts back his phone. He wanted to answer Seungmin himself. Through his voice, through his eyes and through his words that he’s never said before.
Minho breaks a little smile when he sees Seungmin pumps his fist in triumph as his team swarms, circling around him like planets orbiting the Sun. That’s exactly what Seungmin is to Minho. His Sun, the center of his world and Minho has been quietly orbiting around him all this time.
“What is love to you?”
There must be a reason why Seungmin asked him this question. He has to let him know his answer. His body stops on track. He hopes his eyes are deceiving him. There among the people - Seungmin falls into an embrace of a stranger. So deeply. So intimately. A wave of realization hits him, he has never seen Seungmin this happy. Minho swallows his regret, burries them deep in his gut. His feet betray his heart and decided to walk away before Seungmin spots him.
On his way back home, the words linger in his mind. The words that’s meant to answer his best friend, the only one he considers his person.
At night, in the comfort of his room.
Minho lies on his bed, eyes staring into the cracks of the ceiling, chest numb as ever. His room is dark saved by the faint city lights lurking into his room through the window. He never got to answer Seungmin’s question. What an idiot.
He sits up and quietly opens the drawer on his night stand, pulling out a small, grey steel box. From his pocket, he reaches for a small piece of paper. It’s today’s ticket. He lifts the lid and places the paper on top of the neatly stacked small papers. All dated with previous baseball games. The ones he said he wouldn’t go to.
“Love is different for each person,” he whispers, almost feeling sorry for himself.
“To me, love is a stack of ticket stubs kept safe in my room, from all the games you never knew I watched. With a little note attached on top written your name. Kim Seungmin.”