Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a long day at the dance studio. P1Harmony was doing the final preparations for their upcoming tour and confusions about details and formations had them sweating until there was no more liquid left in their bodies. The day was done, and now that nighttime set in and their legs were starting to give out due to exhaustion, it was officially time to relax. The dorm was warm and soft around the edges. Low lamp-light pooled in warm circles across the floor, shadows stretched over the scuffed wood and soft fuzzy rug. The air smelled like a mix of booze and popcorn, which both were being displayed across the coffee table. Music thrummed from Keeho’s phone, but not loud enough to drown out the voices. It was a steady pulse under them, something with bass and lazy synth that matched the night’s tempo.

The living room had been rearranged for chaos. The couches were pulled too close together, an armchair turned sideways so it faced the center. It was a set for a play they’d liked to act out every once in a while, the one where no one had an early call time tomorrow. Everything was perfectly set in place so that the night could unfold at its own pace and everyone was ready to unwind.

Keeho was the last to join the group. With a beer in his hand he sat cross-legged at the center, like a ringleader in a one-man circus. He wore the kind of grin that meant someone was about to regret showing up. 

Beside him, Soul was just shy from falling out of the armchair. Laying with his legs over one armrest, and leaning sideways against the back in a way only he would swear was comfortable. His expression was a careful balance, too tired to be invested, but too amused to be detached. 

Intak bounced one knee off the chair he had stolen from the dining table. He was looking half-interested at the label of his special beer that claimed to have ‘extra protein’ in it. He had been so proud when he ordered it online, but hasn’t been too vocal about it since he actually had his first sip. 

Jongseob was sitting on the rug, facing the couch and armchair, and shuffling a deck of cards mindlessly while daydreaming.

Jiung sat on the couch, posture relaxed but not careless, one socked foot tucked under his thigh. He was looking into the half-empty mug filled with his home-made cocktail (read: some mix of vodka and any sweet-sour liquids he had found in the pantry). 

Theo was laying beside him, spread across the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, limbs loose, chin tilted back, half an eye on the room and half on his phone, which he put down as soon as Keeho joined their circle.

“Okay I’m feeling like starting up an old classic for tonight. You all know the rules,” Keeho said, the beer bottle in his hand already gleaming under the lamplight. “Spin the Bottle: Truth or Dare edition.”

“Yeah thanks for clarifying the ‘Truth or Dare edition’, you menace", Theo snarked jokingly.

“Hey. It’s safer than the original with kissing-”

“That’s debatable,” Jiung chimed in.

“-but with maximum emotional damage,” Keeho finished, unbothered.

Theo was excited, curious, and sat up a little from his slouching on the couch. His voice ran smooth as water. “Truth or dare is only as damaging and dramatic as the people playing it.”

Jongseob shot him a look. “Exactly! And we are excellent at damage and drama…”

They couldn’t disagree with that one. So they decided to play, ready for whatever dramatic stories they could tell for months to come.

The first rounds were the kind of harmless only this group could make look suspicious. Soul dared Jongseob to wear Keeho’s hoodie like a skirt for ten minutes, which Jongseob accepted with alarming enthusiasm. Keeho, on a ‘truth’, confessed to swapping his bedsheets inside-out sometimes when they have busy schedules and he doesn’t feel like washing them. “Maximum efficiency,” he insisted, but the rest of the members just flinched at his confident lack of hygiene. Intak refused to answer whether he’d ever had a crush on another idol, which Keeho called “the most incriminating silence I’ve ever heard.”

Laughter spilled across the room in little bursts. It was overlapping, tangling, and loudly filling the space until even the corners seemed to hum with it. Then the bottle spun again. Glass against wood, a spinning blur, until it slowed and wobbled, the neck settling in an unarguable point toward Jiung. Keeho sat up straighter, ready to incriminate the next victim. “Truth or dare?”

Jiung’s gaze flicked around the circle. Too many eyes waiting, too many grins sharpened with expectation. “…Truth,” he said finally.

Theo eyed around the room, the corners of his mouth already curling. “Alright. What’s your favorite position in bed?” He asked unashamedly.

The noise was immediate with mock gasps, low whistles, the kind of collective leaning-in that meant they’d all been waiting for this exact kind of chaos. Being glued together as a group 24 hours a day meant they knew each other well, but even then there are some things they just did not discuss. These were not secrets, per sé, they were just holding on to their last bit of privacy for the sake of protecting their sanity.

Jiung’s brow furrowed like he was debating whether to answer. Making the others grow all the more curious in response. He could deflect, he could joke. But instead he said, slowly, honestly: “I’ve not really done that… I- I’ve never been past second base before.”

For a moment, a slow and peaceful silence followed. A light pause in the night. People were processing this new information.

“Like-,” Keeho asked, leaning forward, “second base second base? The sex one… or some weird Jiung-specific version where the second base is, I don’t know, reorganizing someone’s fridge together?”

“No,” Jiung said, deadpan, though a faint blush was creeping up his neck. “Actual second base. Hands up the shirt, feeling around over clothes. That’s all I have done.”

Theo sat up fully, eyes bright now. “Well. Lucky for you…” He tapped his chest, lazy but deliberate. “…I know all about baseball.”

The groans were unanimous. There was truth in Theo’s statement, of course, because baseball had been his favorite sport since the moment he came out of the womb. But they all knew that this wasn’t quite what they were talking about right now. It was cheeky, silly, lighthearted, and relieved the tension in the room.

“That pun should be illegal,” Keeho said.

“Oh no,” Theo said smoothly, “it’s a public service.” 

Jiung jumped in quickly with the banter and decided to match Theo’s energy. “Yeah? Are you giving lessons or something?”

Theo tilted his head just slightly, enough to close the space between them by a breath. “Depends if you’re coachable.”

The laughter was loud, tripping over itself. Keeho declared himself in the official fanclub for “whatever that was.” Soul, still draped in his chair, muttered, “Can’t wait for Jiung to strike out.”

“I will not strike out,” Jiung shot back, which only made Jongseob, without looking up from his phone, say, “Sure. You’ll drop the bat halfway to first.”

It should have been just another joke, folded into the pile with the rest, but Jiung caught the way Theo’s smirk lingered from across the room. It was not sharp, not teasing, but like he’d just remembered a secret. And later, when the game moved on and the bottle was spinning toward someone else, Jiung found himself noticing every time Theo laughed. The lazy sprawl of him on the couch. The warm curve of his voice when he tossed in some low comment. Every so often, their eyes met quick, like the flick of a spotlight, and Theo’s mouth would pull into that same small smile. Not enough for the others to catch, but enough to leave Jiung wondering if he’d just agreed to a game he didn’t know the rules for.

The bottle spun again, glass flashing in the lamplight, and the night carried on like normal. Later, the game didn’t end so much as dissolve. Keeho wandered off mid-round, claiming urgent snack replenishment. Intak, still in Keeho’s hoodie-skirt from an earlier dare, was hunched over Soul’s phone, laughing in bursts that came from deep in his chest. Jongseob had quietly migrated to the corner of the couch, scrolling with the faintest smile, the bottle abandoned where it lay on the rug. The music faded to a memory when someone’s Bluetooth cut out, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator and the low murmur of voices drifting from the living room. The air was heavy with the warmth of too many bodies in one space and the buttery salt of long-finished popcorn.

Jiung found himself in the kitchen without really thinking about it. The counter was a collage of the night: some half-drunk cups, snack bowls with nothing left but crumbs, and a crumpled napkin balanced precariously on the edge of a plate. He turned the tap and let the water run warm, the hiss filling the silence as he began the slow, automatic work of rinsing each glass and setting it down to dry. There was comfort in it, in the small, sure motions of his hands, in giving his restless mind something to do. To help him distract from overthinking all the ‘truths’ that had been news to him, as well as all the ‘dares’ that will fill the group with new inside joke material for at least the next few months. It also helped him distract from the idea that the members were overthinking Jiung’s ‘truth’ about his sex-life. Or rather, lack thereof.

He hadn’t heard Theo come in, but he had suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. Leaning onto the counter, and picking up a stray glass with suspicious leftover fluid residues on it. He had sniffed it, flinched, put it back, and then turned to Jiung. Just observing him for a moment.

“Look at you,” Theo said, voice pitched low, as if this were a conversation meant for no one else. “Cleaning up after all the chaos.”

Jiung glanced over his shoulder. “Keeho made most of this mess”, he shrugged unbothered by his efforts.

“And yet…” Theo stepped inside, the soft sound of socked feet against tile. “…here you are. The hero of the post-party maintenance.”

Jiung huffed a laugh through his nose. “Someone’s gotta do it.” He truly did not mind.

Theo didn’t answer right away. He leaned against the counter opposite, close enough for Jiung to feel the weight of his gaze even while looking down at the soapy swirl in the sink. It was the same way Theo had watched him during the game. Casual, but with an undertow.

“Soooo,” Theo began, stretching the word until it was almost a sigh. “Second base.”

Jiung groaned before the teasing could even land. “We’re not doing this.”

“Sure we are,” Theo replied easily. “It’s just… I’ve never heard anyone talk about second base like it’s a country they’ve only read about in textbooks.”

“I didn’t say it was foreign,” Jiung countered, rinsing a glass with maybe more force than necessary. “I just haven’t gone further. That’s all.”

Theo tilted his head. “Not even a stolen base?”

Jiung turned, dish towel in hand, giving him a look. “Is every sentence going to be a baseball pun?”

“Only until you start laughing.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Theo’s grin sharpened, but he didn’t push. Then Theo reached out, slow and deliberate, and he brushed at the collar of Jiung’s hoodie. He was tugging it into alignment with the care of someone adjusting a tie.

“Uniform check,” he murmured, sly and cunning. His eyes flicked briefly to Jiung’s mouth before returning. “Can’t have my rookie looking sloppy.”

Jiung’s breath caught in a way he prayed wasn’t visible. He sounded like he was in territory that could quickly become unknown. Yet, he was not ready to deal with the thought of that yet. It was foreign, unstable, unknown. “…I’m not your rookie.”

“Not yet,” Theo said, and the words landed heavier than they should have, “but the season’s long and I’m sure the training roster has some leftover blanks.”

For a moment, neither moved. Jiung could hear the soft fizz of a leftover soda can somewhere on the counter. Then there was the hum of the fridge and the crescendoing sound of his own pulse beating in his ears.

Theo was the one to step back first. The shift was abrupt enough to leave a hollow space in the air. He plucked the soda from the counter, popped the tab with a sharp hiss, and took a sip like the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened.

“Anyway,” Theo said casually again, “don’t let Keeho rope you into another game tomorrow unless you’re ready for extra innings.”

Jiung shook his head, half-laughing despite himself. “You’ve been saving that one all night, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.” Theo’s smile was pure trouble. “Night, Jiung.”

And then he was gone, just disappearing into the warm hush of the dorm. The faint scent of his cologne followed, citrus and something sharp beneath it that was now fading slow.

Jiung stood there for another minute, with a dish towel in his hand. He was staring at the counter like the right comeback might still arrive if he waited. But all that came was the quiet, and somewhere beneath it, the sense that the game wasn’t over. Not the one with the bottle, not the one with the dares.

Something else.

Something he wasn’t sure he knew the rules for, but wasn’t quite ready to quit.

Chapter Text

Morning came slowly. Light sifted in through the thin curtains in pale gold stripes. It was glimmering across the mess they’d left in the living room, like nature was gently judging them to start their day.

The dorm smelled of a thick whelm of coffee, lightened by the sweetness of toaster waffles, layered over the ghost of last night’s snacks. There had been buttered popcorn, salt, something vaguely artificial and neon from the gummies Keeho had brought out halfway through the game.

Somewhere down the hall, the faint static of a hair dryer sputtered on and off. Soul’s playlist, a mix of game soundtracks and moody instrumentals, trickled from the speaker. Jiung padded out of his room in socked feet, hoodie pulled over his head, hair flattened in awkward tufts from sleep. 

The living room was already in motion, though in that loose, unhurried way mornings sometimes allowed. Keeho was curled into the corner of the couch with a mug balanced on his knee, scrolling on his phone with the air of a man gathering blackmail material. Intak was stretched out on the rug, head pillowed on a folded hoodie, shoveling cereal into his mouth like the world might end before he finished. Theo sat at the dining table, chair tipped back on two legs, methodically peeling the label off a water bottle in long, even strips.

“Oh, look who it is,” Keeho announced when Jiung appeared. “The man, the myth, the second base legend.”

Jiung groaned on instinct, bypassing them entirely for the safety of the kitchen. “We’re not doing this again.”

“We are,” Keeho said, grinning. “The people demand it.”

“Democracy is overrated,” Jiung muttered, fishing for a mug in the cabinet.

Soul, without looking up from his phone, added in that calm, deadpan way of his, “Don’t knock it off straight away. You’ve given us material for at least a week.”

Jiung sighed.

Intak perked up mid-bite. “Wait, are we doing follow-up questions? Because I still want to know-”

“Nope,” Jiung cut in, “we’re shutting this down before it starts.”

Keeho leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “You can’t shut it down. This is public record now.” Keeho leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You can’t close it. You made it a thing.”

“It was a dumb game,” Jiung said, spoon clinking against his coffee mug.

“That you lost,” Keeho said cheerfully, pushing the boundaries of a dorm filled with grumpy hangover tweens. Jiung shot him a look and retreated to the farthest armchair.

Theo leaned his chair back another inch, balancing like it was nothing. “We could always do a rematch,” he said casually. “But, you know… ease into it. Warm-ups. Drills.”

Intak squinted at him. “Like baseball drills?”

Theo shrugged. “Rookie’s gotta learn the rules somehow.”

Jiung groaned into his coffee. “Stop calling me rookie.”

Theo grinned, with that far too handsome face, that made every tease feel like ease, and every push felt like pull. “Graduate, then.”

Jiung raised a brow. “And how exactly does one graduate from your imaginary baseball program?” Playing into the imagination, although genuinely intrigued into what such a thing would even entail.

“You’ll see,” Theo said, tone light enough to make it sound like a joke. Mostly.

Keeho clapped once, delighted. “Oh, I’m definitely tuning into this match.”

“Over my dead body,” Jiung said.

The morning unfolded in its usual patchwork of nonsense. Jongseob challenged Soul to a Mario Kart race and got destroyed in under three minutes. Keeho sent memes to the group chat from two feet away, laughing so hard at his own captions he almost spilled his coffee. Intak hung out in his room mostly, but came out once asking if anyone had seen his headphones which, naturally, were on his head. Jiung mostly sat back, coffee in hand, watching it all with the kind of fond detachment you got when you were still waking up. Theo stayed at the table, occasionally chiming in with some offhand comment that set Keeho off again.

Every so often, their eyes would meet and Theo’s grin tipping into something conspiratorial, like they were in on the same joke. And maybe they were.

By the time lunch was suggested, Keeho had already started plotting “tonight’s entertainment,” which sounded suspiciously like the rematch Jiung had just vetoed. Jiung was not optimistic. By evening, Keeho had achieved the expression of a man who thought he was subtle. He wasn’t.

He’d been dropping hints since lunch, such as “casually” leaving a full bottle of beer on the coffee table, pretending to stretch his wrists like he was warming up for commentary duty, humming the SportsCenter theme under his breath. Jiung noticed. Jiung noticed everything. Which is why, when Keeho made the official announcement (“Game night! But, uh, different rules this time”), Jiung just groaned into the couch cushions and refused to move.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Keeho said, hovering over him like an enthusiastic storm cloud. “It’s not even spin-the-bottle this time.”

“That’s somehow worse,” Jiung said without lifting his head.

“It’s better,” Keeho insisted. “It’s- Theo, explain the rules.”

Theo, stretched out in the armchair like he’d been poured into it, raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware we had rules yet.”

“We do,” Keeho said. “We’re doing Baseball Training Camp.”

“Training camp?” Intak repeated, halfway through unwrapping a granola bar.

“Uh-huh.” Keeho gestured grandly toward Theo. “Our resident coach is gonna put our rookie-”

“Stop,” Jiung said without looking up.

“-through some totally safe, 100% official skill tests.”

Soul, from his corner of the couch, finally glanced up from his phone. “This sounds fake.”

“It IS fake,” Theo confirmed sternly. Then, his mouth curving into that easy grin. “But it could be fun.” That grin was the problem. It was the kind that made it hard to tell if he was joking or not.

Jiung sat up, crossing his arms. “Ground rules. If we’re doing this, I’m setting them.”

Keeho placed a hand over his heart like this was a solemn occasion. “Proceed.”

“No weird touching,” Jiung said immediately.

Theo nodded once, easily. “Agreed.”

“And if I say stop, we stop.”

“Of course.” Theo’s voice was smooth, but his eyes were steady. “It’s supposed to be fun, not torture.”

Jiung hesitated, then exhaled. “Fine. What’s first?”

Keeho lit up like a stadium scoreboard. “Ladies and gentlemen, First Base Fundamentals!”

The first “drill” turned out to be Theo showing Jiung “how to lead off the bag”, which in this highly scientific simulation meant making Jiung stand in the middle of the living room while Theo demonstrated short, quick steps in place. The absurdity hit immediately. Jiung tried to follow along, but ended up laughing halfway through when Theo made a dramatic “SAFE!” motion and slid across the rug on his socks.

“That’s a strikeout,” Keeho declared. Pushing his limited baseball knowledge.

“That’s… not even how that works,” Theo said, dusting himself off.

“Do I get points for style?” Jiung asked.

“No,” Jongseob, Keeho and Theo said at the same time, which just made Intak choke on his granola.

The second drill was “batting stance.”

Theo handed Jiung an empty wrapping-paper tube, which Keeho had clearly gone digging for in the recycling, and told him to “look intimidating.”

“I am intimidating,” Jiung said, gripping the tube.

“Prove it,” Theo said.

Jiung squared his shoulders, feet apart, eyes narrowed like he was ready to hit a home run. Theo circled him once, hands behind his back like an over-serious coach, then nodded. “Not bad, but you need to loosen your grip.” He tapped Jiung’s hands lightly, adjusting them on the makeshift bat. “Like this,” he said, stepping back immediately. “You’re not trying to strangle the bat.”

“I was just making sure it knew who was boss,” Jiung said. Which admittedly made Theo laugh. It was a real, warm sound that drew a small smile from Jiung before he caught himself.

Meanwhile, Keeho was narrating like they were on live TV. “Rookie looks confident at the plate tonight, folks. Will he make contact, or will the nerves get him?”

“I’m about to make contact with you,” Jiung shot back, pointing the tube at him.

The next drill was “sliding into base,” which Theo demonstrated with more commitment than anyone asked for, leading with a full knee-slide across the rug, pushing one arm out like he was diving for glory. Jiung refused to follow suit.

“No way,” he said. “You’re just trying to get me rug burn.”

“It's a strategic rug burn,” Theo countered.

“Nope. Not happening.”

“Fine,” Theo said, holding his hands up and following through with the clearset rules and boundaries. “No sliding. We’ll just work on running form.”

Which is how Jiung ended up jogging small circles around the coffee table while Keeho provided running commentary, “Look at that stride! Look at that determination!”, and Intak tried to hand him an energy drink mid-lap.

By this point, Soul had started recording on his phone. “This is going in the group chat,” he announced.

The last drill, called “catchers signals”, Keeho claimed will be the grand finale. Theo crouched a few feet away, holding up random numbers with his fingers. Jiung had to guess what “play” they meant. None of them meant anything. Theo was clearly making them up.

“Two fingers and a thumb?” Jiung described, very confused.

Theo smirked. “Means you’re stealing second.”

Jongseob snorted. “He’s already on second.”

Theo’s eyes flicked to Jiung’s. “Exactly.”

It was a throwaway line, light and quick, but Jiung felt it linger. It was a reminder of their conversation that started all this nonsense camp: his lack of sexual experience. It did not feel very heavy, nor weigh him down, but it was pungent enough to notice. 

And maybe Theo noticed that he noticed, because he followed it immediately with a ridiculous pose and a final announcement, “Alright, rookie. You’ve survived training camp.”

The crowd roared in pride. Or more accurately, Jongseob and Soul gave a slow clap and Intak clanked his spoon on the cereal bowl. Jiung straightened, brushing hair out of his face. “Does that mean I’m a graduate?”

Theo considered it. “Hmm… You’ve got potential. But I think you’re more of a… mid-season call-up.”

“That’s not even a real-” Jiung started, but Keeho cut in with a second applause and standing ovation, declaring the night a victory for “athletes everywhere”.

The whole thing dissolved after that. Intak challenged Theo to prove he could still slide across the rug without taking out the coffee table, Keeho tried to get Jiung to give a “post-game interview” (he refused), Soul replayed the best clips for everyone’s amusement.

By the time they’d all flopped into various corners of the room, the earlier tension had smoothed out into something softer. Theo tossed Jiung a bottle of water without comment. Jiung caught it without looking.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Theo said.

Jiung rolled his eyes, but there was no fire behind it, just some comforting heat. “Don’t get used to it.”