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Woojin isn’t sure exactly when it started. All he knows is that at some point between their slightly disastrous first meeting and now – between the homecooked meals and the training sessions and the shared bike rides and the face-off against Jeongho orchestrated solely to defend Taehee’s honor – Taehee somehow became the most important person in his life.
Sure, he was upset at how callously Taehee dismissed his desire to make amends for the mistake that’s haunted him for years, his need to finally apologize to Taeseop, but it’s not like he actually meant it when he told Taehee he was done talking to him. He certainly didn’t expect Taehee to completely ghost him because of it. In truth, he thought – mistakenly, he now realizes – that after everything they’ve done together, Taehee would somehow automatically know how much he means to Woojin.
The thing is, Woojin has never had a friend like Taehee before, someone so warm and supportive and genuinely kind. And even though he can be a little weird sometimes, Woojin kind of likes that about him – he even finds it kind of charming. There’s something about the mischievous sparkle in Taehee’s eyes, the curl of his lips when he smiles, the way his expression turns soft and sweet when the two of them are sharing a quiet moment, that has Woojin’s heart racing in an entirely unfamiliar way.
The revelation that no one else at school has been able to see Taehee all this time is a cruel awakening. Woojin can’t do anything to hold back the panic that rises in his chest as his teammate shows him a clip of himself talking to the air on the mound – the moment that was supposed to be him promising Taehee, once again, that he would win for him. He can’t fight his instinct to leave, to run to find Taehee, because Taehee has to be around somewhere.
(He has to. He can’t be – he isn’t – no. It must be a misunderstanding.)
So here Woojin is, at Taehee’s apartment, trying to convince himself that it’s fine, that there’s nothing wrong, because there’s Taehee’s bike right there, with his signature keychain dangling from the seat as always. But the woman who answers the door is sad, too sad, and Woojin doesn’t want to think about why, doesn’t want to confront the sinking feeling in his stomach.
But he has to. He listens with growing dread as Taehee’s mother reveals that Taehee is actually Taeseop, that his closest friend is also the person whose life he’s always believed he ruined. And when she opens the door to Taehee’s room, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he’s seeing: a boy – the boy who’s come to mean everything to Woojin – lying motionless on the bed, tubes attaching his body to the machines that surround him. Machines, Woojin knows, that are just about keeping Taehee alive.
He’s in a daze as Taehee’s mother explains the whole story – the concussion that was Woojin’s fault, the cancer diagnosis that was not, Taehee’s lack of interest in receiving treatment until Woojin unknowingly gave him a reason to go on, his determination to find Woojin and help him pitch a strike again, the day he went into the operating room only to come out in a coma.
“This is how much he cares about me,” Woojin whispers, his tears hot as they drip onto the pages of the notebooks filled with words of advice and encouragement written just for him. What did I do to deserve him? he thinks brokenly. How could I possibly deserve his devotion?
“He really wanted to get better so he could see you,” Taehee’s mother says quietly. “He – he isn’t getting better, but I’m glad he got to meet you anyway.”
Woojin looks at her then, at the sorrow in her eyes, and his chest feels so tight that he can’t breathe. He understands, he does, that sometimes, there’s no hope of someone coming back, that it’s not reasonable to force their body to persist when they’re too far gone – but it’s too difficult to accept that reality when it comes to Taehee. “When,” he forces himself to ask anyway, “are you taking him off life support?”
She sounds full of grief, anguish, regret as she says, “Tonight.”
Without a second thought, he’s off again, this time on the bike he’s started thinking of as theirs, because there’s no way he’s letting Taehee go without saying goodbye, without asking him why.
(Why didn’t he reveal the truth from the start? Why did he turn helping Woojin into his life’s purpose? Why did he have to carve out such a large space for himself in Woojin’s heart when he was just going to vanish afterwards?)
The confrontation in the training room goes about as well as Woojin could have hoped. He vents his frustrations a little, sulks for a bit, and quietly, secretly mourns the experiences they’ll never get to share, the future he thought they would get to see together. Then they’re back on the bike, and Woojin’s heart is fluttering wildly as Taehee clings to him like he belongs there, his cheek warm where it’s pressed against Woojin’s back.
Why can’t we just stay like this? Woojin thinks longingly, selfishly, because he would be content to live in this moment forever.
But he knows they can’t, so instead, he throws himself into making Taehee’s last wish – one last shared memory for the two of them – as perfect as he can. He finds a way to sneak into the stadium, to light up the field so it feels like a real game for Taehee, and promises he won’t go easy on him.
And when he manages to not only pitch a strike, but catch Taehee’s final hit too, and Taehee’s only reaction is to beam at him with those shining eyes and that radiant smile, it feels better than winning a game of baseball ever has. So as Taehee walks towards him, endearing as ever as he chatters on and on in his energetic way, Woojin can’t help himself. The moment Taehee stops in front of him, he leans in and kisses him squarely on the mouth – just a quick, fleeting peck, but an earnest and sincere one.
For the first time, Woojin gets to see Taehee rendered completely speechless, and the startled-deer look on his face makes Woojin want to go in for another kiss. He doesn’t, though, instead steering the conversation back to familiar, safe territory.
All too soon, Taehee begins to disappear, and his final request for Woojin to become MVP is one Woojin can’t refuse. “It was already my goal,” Woojin says desperately. “Doing it with you.”
Taehee just smiles. “If you don’t forget me, I’ll always be with you.”
“How can I forget you?” Woojin asks, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
(How could he ever, ever forget this beautiful, brilliant boy who changed his life in every way?)
But it’s too late to say anything more now, to explain why forgetting him is an impossibility, so he just asks Taehee to keep watching him – and with that promise, Taehee is gone. Woojin watches him fade into the night, feeling the tears welling in his eyes but refusing to allow them to fall, and he tries to let go. “Bye, Taehee-yah.”
~~~
Jaemin is so caught up in the last scene of the story, typing as fast as he can so as not to forget a single word, that he almost doesn’t notice the weight of someone joining him on the bed. Still, focused as he is, he can’t miss the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist, and he instinctively leans back into the embrace, happily allowing himself to be tugged onto the waiting lap.
“Working on something new?” Jeno asks, pressing a soft kiss to Jaemin’s shoulder before resting his chin there, tucking his face into Jaemin’s neck as Jaemin continues to type.
“Mhm,” Jaemin hums, reluctant to look away from his screen when he’s so close to being done, though he does briefly turn his head so he can give the top of Jeno’s head a quick peck.
Jeno’s voice is muffled as he speaks again, his lips warm against Jaemin’s skin. “What are we getting up to in this one? Anything fun?”
“Actually, it isn’t us this time,” Jaemin says, and he holds back a laugh as Jeno’s head shoots up. “Not exactly, anyway.” He doesn’t need to see Jeno to know what expression is on his face – a mix of surprise and curiosity that makes him look extra cute.
“Then who?” Jeno asks, peering more closely at Jaemin’s laptop.
Jaemin finishes up the last sentence before finally turning slightly in Jeno’s lap so he can gaze at him fondly. “Woojin and Taehee, of course. I wanted to give them a happy ending.”
Jeno blinks a few times, clearly taken aback, and he’s just so adorable that Jaemin has to steal a proper kiss. “I thought you liked the ending,” Jeno says when they draw apart again. “You liked that it was bittersweet, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Jaemin says, because he did find it touching in a melancholy kind of way. “But it also makes me sad to think about you being all alone in the world.”
“I’m not all alone in the world,” Jeno says, his arms tightening slightly around Jaemin’s waist. “I have you.”
Jaemin has to kiss him again for that, how he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You do,” he agrees. “Woojin doesn’t have Taehee, though. And he’s basically another version of you.”
Jeno nods thoughtfully. “So you’re giving Woojin a happy ending because you would want me to have one.”
“Well, yes,” Jaemin says, delighted as always at how easily Jeno just gets him. Then, to be cheeky, he adds, “And also because Taehee deserved at least one kiss from him. It’s not right for the male lead to not kiss the female lead, you know.”
Jeno’s eyes disappear into the crescents Jaemin loves so much as he laughs softly, nudging Jaemin’s jaw with his nose. “Hm, I can’t argue with that. You were a perfect female lead, after all.” Jaemin’s heart flutters – Jeno might get a bit shy over doing so in public, but when they’re together like this, he’s more than happy to indulge Jaemin’s desire to embrace femininity. Jeno huffs out another little laugh, shaking his head. “We didn’t do a very good job of making them seem like they aren’t in love, did we?”
“They are in love,” Jaemin says, and he means it. He’s believed Woojin and Taehee are in love with each other since his first time reading the script, and his belief in that has never wavered. Playing Taehee was that much easier because of it, because being completely enamored with Jeno, knowing every single thing about him, wanting nothing but his happiness – it all comes to Jaemin as naturally as breathing.
“They really are, aren’t they,” Jeno says, looking a bit wistful. He appears to shake it off quickly, though, because his tone is playful as he adds, “It would have made sense for Woojin to kiss Taehee when he was yapping away after Woojin’s last pitch, wouldn’t it? He was so cute, rambling on and on like that. Woojin could have just kissed him right there and shut him up.”
Jaemin smiles. It seems like they had the same interpretation of the scene – Woojin finding a hyper, excitable Taehee adorable – but instead of telling Jeno that, he just gives him a mischievous look. “Are you sure you aren’t talking about what you wanted to do to me when we were filming that part?”
Jeno kisses him soundly before pulling away, grinning. “I can’t be talking about both?”
“Good point,” Jaemin concedes. “Maybe you should be the one writing this story. I decided to write it from Woojin’s perspective, you know. You’d have an easier time getting into his head.”
Jeno laughs, squeezing Jaemin’s waist gently. “I’m sure you understand him as well as you understand me, so I’ll leave it to you, writer-nim.” He kisses Jaemin’s temple. “I’m curious about what their happy ending looks like, though.”
“In this version, Taehee was in a coma instead of being a ghost,” Jaemin explains. “So after his spirit returns to his body, they reunite at Woojin’s next game and they get to kiss each other for real.”
“That sounds perfect,” Jeno says with a smile.
“That’s not all,” Jaemin says, because even though he does plan to end the actual story there, he has the rest of their lives mapped out too. “After the game, they go out for sweet and salty fried chicken for their first date, and from then on Woojin always takes Taehee everywhere on their bike, and Taehee wears Woojin’s jersey to all his games. Then they graduate and go to college together, and Taehee makes a new Chapter III notebook, and Woojin proposes after winning a trophy with their university baseball team. And then they get married and have lots of babies and teach all their children how to play baseball too.”
“I assume Taehee is able to get pregnant in this universe?” Jeno asks, teasing.
Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him. “Of course he is,” he says, pouting exaggeratedly. “He’s the female lead.”
“Of course,” Jeno echoes, and he splays a tender hand on Jaemin’s stomach, resting it there lightly, reassuringly, a reminder that he knows all too well that this is the one thing Jaemin wants that he can only get in his fictional universes. “I was just confirming. Obviously Woojin will give him all the babies he wants.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jaemin says, satisfied, curling into Jeno’s embrace. “Anyway, the point is they get to spend the rest of their lives together.”
“Happily ever after,” Jeno murmurs contentedly. “Just like they deserve.”
“Yeah,” Jaemin says, and for just a moment, the line is blurred: he’s Jaemin, smiling at Jeno, who he’s shared everything with for thirteen years, who stayed by him through every hardship they’ve faced, who he’s going to love for as long as he lives. But he’s also Taehee, smiling at Woojin, who he’s loved since before they met, who pulled him out of the darkest moment of his life, who he gets to have a happy ending with. “Just like we deserve.”
~~~
Woojin is on the mound for the first time in what feels like years, and he’s more confident than he’s ever been. The memory of Taehee keeps him going, never leaves his mind: he sees him in the sky as he silently asks whether he’s watching; he sees him in Jeongho asking him if he’s ready; he sees him behind the batter, holding up his glove as a reminder to keep his eyes from straying.
The game goes well. In fact, it goes perfectly – the only thing missing is Taehee. Then, suddenly, impossibly, as he’s making his way off the field, Woojin spots him in the crowd.
At first, he thinks it’s just his imagination again, just like it was earlier. But this time, the image of Taehee doesn’t get replaced by someone else, and when Woojin looks closer, he realizes that Taehee looks paler, frailer, more worn out than he’s ever seen him. He’s in a wheelchair, a beanie on his head and a blanket covering his lap, and Woojin is abruptly so lightheaded that he thinks he might faint.
(He doesn’t dare to hope, he can’t let himself hope, not if this isn’t real – but what if it is? What if Taehee’s spirit returned to his body that night, and instead of leaving this world, he woke up?)
Slowly, like if he moves too fast, the illusion will be shattered, Woojin walks over to where Taehee is waiting. Taehee’s mother, he notices, is hovering nearby, close enough to step in if needed, but giving them space.
“Taehee-yah,” he whispers, because if his mother is here, then Taehee must really be here too.
Taehee beams up at him. His smile is weaker than usual, but no less genuine, no less beautiful. “I promised that I’d keep watching you, didn’t I?”
Woojin laughs, a watery, disbelieving little thing. “You did.” He wipes his face hurriedly, trying to rid his eyes of tears, and clears his throat. “So, how was my pitching?”
“You’re not as lame anymore,” Taehee says, and the twinkle in his eyes is the same as it’s always been. “But there’s still room for improvement.”
Woojin grins at him, feeling lighter than air. He desperately wants to kiss Taehee, to hold him and never let him out of his sight again – but he forces himself to hold off. They’ll have plenty of time for that in the new future they have ahead of them, the future he thought they had lost. “Then please take care of me from now on, manager-nim.”
Taehee’s gaze softens, his smile blossoming into something sweet and absolutely breathtaking. “I will, Woojin-ah. I promise.”