Chapter Text
The campus stadium was always so full during these seasons. The seasons where, despite the sun scorching over the bleachers, hundreds or maybe even a thousand students and guests hustled through the heat to watch some game. The clattering was irritating, the hotdog stands shouted too loud.
But perhaps that’s part of the charm.
Mingyu’s camera had zoomed into the center of the field, focusing right on the center of the diamond where Seokmin stood. Through the small viewfinder, he watched as Seokmin, eyes locked onto a target Mngyu could not pinpoint, wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jersey before pulling his cap lower.
He stood in the pitcher’s mound—a small raised dirt hill in the middle of the field, staring straight at the batter.
Mingyu had watched Seokmin pitch before, albeit from stands much farther away than the level he is at right now. Being able to purely capture it in his practice motion made it look evermore dramatic: Lifting his front leg, rocking his body back, and then driving forward. His arm whipped with the ball with a sharp snap of his wrist.
Beautiful.
Exactly as he had promised him.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
Mingyu’s heard of Seokmin before from a couple rumors. Baseball was a pretty big part of the campus culture since their college was recently named one of the top-ranked teams in the league. Within the center of all those rumors was Seokmin. It was all thanks to him being an eager freshman at the beginning that their baseball team got pushed into the limelight (or so he’s heard).
Well, it’s not like Mingyu particularly cares much for campus sports. He much prefers creative activities like drawing, filming, or cooking, as much as he ironically goes to the gym. Is it a crime for a big, buff guy like to make cupcakes? God forbid.
“We’re headed to Kyochon with a couple guys for lunch, you in?” Seungcheol said between a groan as he stretched, standing up from one of the library seats they had reserved.
“For what?” Mingyu raised a brow, leaning back against his chair. He was just finishing a storyboard for one of his assignments, simple, and hopefully passable. Let’s not talk about the canvas due in two days for his fine arts class, though…
Seungcheol just shrugged, already packing his bags. “A welcome party for the freshmen in our department. But it's open invite, so I got Wonwoo and Jihoon to come with. You know how they like free food and all that.”
Right. Seungcheol was a Sports Science major and was part of a lot of clubs around the athletics division. A pretty far cry from Mingyu’s intermedia major, but he digresses. Their department has been known to be a rowdy crowd and subsequently pretty tight-knitted, so Mingyu does hear a lot of parties and social events being held by those students.
“Chicken was the reason why Wonu and Jihoon decided to come out of their studios? Shocker,” Mingyu chuckled.
“Hey, the tab’s on the baseball team so nobody’s complaining. Come on, you in or what?”
Mingyu’s ear perks, almost amused. “Baseball team? They got money like that?”
“Well, I heard they get some compensation for some games and shoots.” Seungcheol slings his backpack behind, one strap on for what Mingyu can only assume is a performative visual.
“Fine, I’ll go,”
What’s the harm?
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
The shop smelled of the sweet tangy flavor of chicken coated in honey with the mix of soju. Oh, and drunk college students. He forgot about that part.
Seungcheol, naturally, was greeted with a chorus of loud shouts and table-thumping before they even cleared the doorway.
“Choi Seungcheol! Over here!”
Mingyu scanned the crowded restaurant. The back section had four long tables pushed together and buried under towering plates of fried chicken, crumpled napkins, and half-empty pitchers of beer. Sitting right in the middle of the chaos—looking thoroughly dragged out but content—were Wonwoo and Jihoon, already chewing on drumsticks.
“You actually managed to pull him away from his assignments?” Wonwoo asked, lifting his glass in a lazy greeting as Seungcheol and Mingyu slid into the booth next to them.
“It took the promise of free food,” Seungcheol laughed, immediately reaching across the table to steal a piece of garlic soy chicken from Jihoon’s plate, earning himself a sharp glare and a swat on the hand.
“Order your own.” Jihoon hissed. As indifferent as this music major is, surprisingly, he’s very territorial over his food. “The tab is open on their tab anyway.” His thumb jerks over behind him.
Sure enough, it was the baseball team and all their boisterous glory. Before Mingyu could even react or at least sit down, he watches as Seungcheol gets up, waving someone down from the other table with much enthusiasm. He wonders why Seungcheol, who he has known ever since childhood, never looked at him with such blatant enthusiasm… or maybe he’s thankful. He’d throw up if he did.
A man, a little shorter than Mingyu, smiles as he approaches. He had this effortlessly soft, ethereal look about him—the kind that felt entirely out of place in a rowdy fried chicken joint packed with sweaty athletes. His hair, a silken, honey-brown mane that fell perfectly around his jawline, was tucked neatly behind one ear. He wore a loose-fitting varsity jacket that looked more like high fashion than sports gear, draped casually over his shoulders.
“Cheol-ah!” The man waved.
Cheol-ah? That’s pretty casual, Mingyu mentally notes. When the boy comes closer, he gets a better view of his downturned eyes that were framed by his lashes. He looked like he could stare right into his soul. It honestly gave him the shudders.
“Hannie,” Seungcheol gave him a warm hug and pat on the back. “Let me introduce to you my friends,” He grinned.
The so-called ‘Hannie’ took a brief scan of the table. “Nice to meet you guys. I’m Yoon Jeonghan, the student manager. I run the logistics, but most importantly, the wallet.” He winks at them, a cheeky cat-like grin.
They exchange greetings, only to get cut off by someone calling for who he now knows is Yoon Jeonghan.
“Hyung! We need more beer over here, the freshmen are winning the drinking games!” The loud, booming voice cut through the restaurant’s chatter. Mingyu looked over and saw another man half-standing from his seat at the center table, waving an empty glass pitcher in the air like a trophy.
Jeonghan let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, though the fond smirk on his face betrayed him. “They’re going to empty our club funds in one night,” he muttered, turning his head back toward the noise. “Lee Seokmin! If you break another glass, you’re paying for it out of your own pocket!”
Hearing his name, Seokmin laughed—that same bright, eye-crinkling laugh Mingyu has been continuously informed about through rumors and the two girls at the back of his production class. He began walking over to their table to hand Jeonghan the pitcher. He was still wearing his red-and-white varsity jersey, the fabric stretched broad across his shoulders.
“Come on, hyung, it’s a celebration,” Seokmin whined playfully, before his eyes shifted to the rest of the table. He paused, his gaze landing directly on Mingyu.
Hm. the man from the rumors.
Mingyu realized just how tall this man actually was. He had a sharp nose, a singular mole on his face, and an easy, grounded presence.
“Oh, Seungcheol-hyung, you brought guests?” Seokmin asked, his eyes lingering on them with an open, friendly curiosity.
“Yeah, these are my friends from the other departments,” Seungcheol said, gesturing around.
“Wonwoo, Jihoon, and this is Mingyu. He’s in intermedia.”
Seokmin looked impressed, “Wow! arts? That’s awesome, I haven’t seen your guys’ major since you’re over at the west wing.”
Mingyu gave a curt chuckle with a nod, “Yeah, the creative department is opposite from athletics.”
“Lee Seokmin,” the pitcher introduced easily, shifting the empty plastic pitcher to his left hand so he could extend his right one to Mingyu. His grip was firm, warm, and calloused from years of holding a baseball, but his handshake was remarkably gentle. “It’s cool to meet you!”
His smile was cute, and Mingyu has an eye for beauty.
“Kim Mingyu. It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard a lot.”
Seokmin turns bashful, his ears turning pink. Whether it was from the alcohol or the mere compliment that Mingyu very halphhazardly gave, he will never know.
“Have you? That’s a little embarrassing.” Seokmin awkwardly chuckles.
Mingyu heard a faint voice from behind him. It was very much Wonwoo’s, that much he knows. “They’re cute.” he mutters to Jihoon. It’s followed by the sound of stifled giggling and rustles. They enjoy teasing him a little too much.
Wow, he will definitely have to kill him. Hopefully Seokmin didn’t hear that.
Mingyu smiled, a firm one. “No, you’re fine. It’s only ever good things anyway.”
It’s mostly true. He knows someone who handles the social media of the university's departments, and he keeps complaining how all the comments he has to delete always are from the baseball games and club posts. Apparently they’re mostly very thirsty freshmen. He can’t even believe that those crazy bastards exist in public.
“Wait, come on over, I’ll introduce you to the team!” Seokmin’s voice was loud, energetic, and full of odd promise.
He took a glance at Seungcheol who wasn’t even paying attention. He was too busy talking with Jeonghan and the other new freshmen at their table, he didn’t even realize Mingyu got dragged to the other side of the room by a very strong, tall man.
Seokmin’s grip was… very tight. It wrapped around his wrists, a grip strength he could definitely recognize and commend. Some of his calluses dug into his skin, albeit not painful, just noticeable for him to feel the disposition of his hands.
“Guys, this is my new friend! Kim Mingyu” Seokmin announces right in front of a table of freshmen and varsity players.
Oh. God, he could die of embarrassment right then and there.
The air at the baseball team's table was dense with the thick, savory steam of hot stone platters, the sharp sting of cheap alcohol, and the heavy, unbothered warmth of a dozen guys who spent four hours a day running drills under the sun. Seokmin presented him like a prize, his hand still loosely but firmly anchored around Mingyu’s wrist, a grounding, heavy weight that didn't let go.
“He’s an intermediate major! Or–er, something like that… From the west wing!” Seokmin added
A collective chorus of “Ooooooh” and immediate thumping of beer mugs followed.
What the fuck am I doing. Mingyu didn’t even bothering to correct Seokmin’s poor attempt at saying his major.
Mingyu felt the heat rise up the back of his neck, but he didn't shrink. He wasn't the type to. If Seokmin was the sun—blinding, direct, and impossible to ignore—Mingyu was more like a well-placed studio light; easy on the eyes, comfortable in his own skin, and naturally capable of holding a room without having to yell for it.
He adjusted the strap of his tote bag over his shoulder, offering a smooth, effortless smile that instantly had a few of the freshmen straightening up in their seats.
“Don't let him scare you, regular people don't usually survive this side of the restaurant,” one of the junior outfielders laughed, kicking an empty plastic stool toward Mingyu’s shins. “Sit down, intermediate major. I’m Joshua.”
“You should drink something, or else you’ll listen to Seokmin rant about his batting averages sober. That shit’s terrifying,” Another man, wearing the jersey with the last name “BOO” on its back, chimed while holding a bottle of soju. He looked like he spoke from experience.
“Seungkwan!? My averages are good this season!” Seokmin protested. He practically vibrated with energy, sliding into the bench next to the empty stool and looking up at Mingyu with wide, expectant eyes.
Mingyu chuckled. He hooked his leg over the stool and sat down. “I’ll take the drink,” Mingyu said, holding out a clean glass. “Just to save myself from the math.”
Seungkwan let out a dramatic gasp of approval, nodding as he grinned like he won over Seokmin. He poured the soju right to the brim. “See? The arts department gets it.”
They exchanged pleasantries and names, but honestly, knowing around a dozen people’s names all at once was not a very easy feat.
Seokmin dropped onto the bench right next to Mingyu. Their shoulders brushed. Seokmin’s jersey was still warm, radiating heat from the afternoon game. He knocked his shoulder against Mingyu’s, a bit too hard, but completely without malice. “Seungkwan said you’re tired of me? My stats aren’t that boring!” Seokmin whined. But he was grinning. The pink on his ears hadn't faded at all—whether that be once again from the alcohol or another external factor, Mingyu will never know.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Mingyu said. He didn't look away. He took a sip of the soju, tracking the way Seokmin’s eyes followed the movement.
Thank god there was alcohol involved, is the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t know for how long he can keep his social battery this vibrant if he was stone cold sober. He shudders just thinking about a future like that.
Up close, Seokmin was loud, but he wasn't overwhelming. He had this hyper-focused energy that felt surprisingly grounding. He was currently busy piling three different pieces of fried chicken onto a small paper plate.
“Here,” Seokmin shoved the plate in front of Mingyu. “You look like you don't eat enough. Film students just live on iced americanos, right?”
Mingyu raised an eyebrow. He looked at the massive mountain of food, then at Seokmin’s proud face. “Are you calling me skinny?” He was confused at first. One look at Mingyu did not scream ‘I barely eat shit!’. Far from it, actually.
“I’m calling you tall,” Seokmin shot back easily. He picked up a drumstick of his own. “Different things.”
Joshua laughed from across the table, shaking his head. “Don't let him feed you like a stray puppy, Mingyu. He does this to everyone.”
“I do not!” Seokmin protested, his mouth slightly full. He looked at Mingyu, suddenly looking a little worried. “I mean, only if they look hungry.”
Mingyu picked up a wing, the honey glaze dripping on his thumb the second he picked it up. Before he could grab a napkin, Seokmin was already tearing off a piece of tissue and handing it over. It was quick. Casual. Like they had done this a hundred times before.
Which is weird, cause they met only around twenty minutes ago.
“Thanks,” Mingyu said, wiping his hand.
“Don't mention it,” Seokmin replied. He shifted a bit closer, leaning his elbow on the sticky table.
“So. West wing. What do you actually do over there? Besides judging our taste in movies?”
Mingyu leaned in too, the background noise of the rowdy baseball team suddenly turning into white noise. “Judge your movies?” He laughed, “Now you’re putting words in our mouth, Mr. generalizer.” He scoffed.
Soonyoung’s raspy voice that just downed a bottle of pure soda and soju had spoken from the midst of towering chicken baskets, “He’s not wrong, art kid!” Soonyoung yelled, slamming his empty cup down with a dramatic sigh. “Last semester, some guy from your building did a critique on our team promo video. Called the lighting ‘uninspired’ and the editing ‘sub-optimal.’ It’s a hype video for a college game, for fucks sake!”
The table broke out into a wave of laughter, and Seokmin buried his face in his hands, shoulder shaking against Mingyu’s arm.
“That was a rough week,” Seokmin mumbled through his fingers, peering up at Mingyu with a sheepish grin. “We felt very judged by the west wing.”
Mingyu rolled his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back against the sticky booth. “Okay, first of all, that was probably a sophomore who just learned what cinematography means. Second of all, if you guys actually want good lighting, you just have to ask nicely.”
Seokmin leaned his chin on his palm, his eyes bright as he looked at Mingyu. The loud, chaotic banter of the team was still bouncing around them, but the space between the two of them felt strangely steady. “Is that an offer, director? Are you going to fix our aesthetic?”
“Depends,” Mingyu said, picking up another glass and pouring a fresh splash of soju for both of them. He pushed the small cup toward Seokmin, his fingers briefly brushing against the pitcher’s calloused knuckles. “Does the team actually have a good side, or am I going to have to work miracles with editing?”
Seokmin let out a sharp, genuine laugh, his chest expanding as he took the cup. He didn’t look away, his gaze locking onto Mingyu’s with a mix of amusement and a sudden, quiet challenge that hadn't been there a minute ago.
“Stick around for the home game next Friday night,” Seokmin said, his voice dropping slightly under the roar of Seungkwan and Soonyoung arguing about a chicken wing across the table. He lifted his glass, a confident, lazy tilt to his mouth that looked incredibly natural on him. “I’ll show you my best pitch. No miracles required.”
Ugh, he hates to admit, this kid does look really good when he doesn’t yell all the time.
“Is that an offer?”
“Hmm, more like a challenge.” He grinned, that toothy, shiny grin. It made Mingyu’s skin crawl seeing a person so effortlessly happy.