Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Growing up, Jay's mother warned him about people. Mean people. Scary people. Incompetent people. People, she told him, were going to be very frustrating and obnoxious and contrary to deal with, and Jay needed to accept that as a fact of life in order to not go insane.
He wonders why she never warned him about the opposite: someone who got along so well with Jay that all he would ever want to do was spend time with them. He figures she didn't want to get his hopes up with a statistical anomaly, because there's only one Heeseung in the world.
Jay is incapable of describing Heeseung neutrally. It comes with the territory, doesn't it? An artist can't describe his favourite work without bias: he can't just say he loves the colour blue and leave it at that. He'll say, "It's this particular shade of lapis lazuli. My grandmother's favourite ring was the same colour." He'll spout the history, the reasoning behind every decision. The context. The work is at its best with context for the admirer, and Jay has been refining the context of him and Heeseung ever since they met.
The context is: Heeseung is a shy kid. Jongseong didn't know this at first because he was too busy chattering away with the other kids at summer camp to notice the gawky shadow along the wall. It's only when they're picking teams for baseball that he notices how tall Heeseung is for his age, and he points his finger confidently in Heeseung's direction.
"I want him," Jongseong declares. Heeseung still never lets him forget how those were his very first words addressed to Heeseung. Heeseung, eyes as wide as a deer's, shuffles his way to Jongseong's side of the field. He somehow manages to creep up all the way to Jay's side without making a sound.
"I've never played baseball before," he whispers, fidgeting anxiously.
"Neither have I," Jongseong assures him. "Don't worry about it, we'll totally beat them."
An hour later, they're both sitting on the bleachers, panting from the brutal heat. Their team is losing, and Heeseung hasn't managed to hit the ball once.
"Sorry," Heeseung says glumly. "I'm no good at baseball. I'm better at basketball."
"Well, we're playing baseball," Jongseong replies, forgetting every inch of decorum his mother managed to beat into him. He still has enough of a conscience left of him to feel guilty when Heeseung's face droops even further.
"It's okay!" he adds hastily. "I'll help you practice after the game, alright?" For that offer, he gets a tentative smile.
They end up practicing well into the night. Heeseung isn't a baseball fanatic and neither is Jongseong, but something about throwing and catching the ball over and over again is fun. It might have something to do with how they get distracted halfway through and start talking instead of playing. They bond over how they're the only two Korean kids at the camp, and then over how their mothers forced them into it.
