They ended up at a late-night diner just off campus.
It was the kind of place that smelled like fried food and cheap coffee, with peeling vinyl booths and a jukebox that hadn't worked in a decade. Mark wasn't sure if it was intentionally charming or just rundown, but it felt right.
They sat across from each other, menus untouched, a basket of fries between them.
"So…" Jared stirred his milkshake with a straw. "Is this weird?"
Mark raised a brow. "You mean this being our first date? Yeah, a little."
Jared grinned. "So you do think it's a date."
Mark didn't answer right away. He dipped a fry into ketchup, casually avoiding Jared's gaze. "Well, you did kiss me. Feels weird to call it a friendly hangout after that."
"You didn't exactly punch me in the face," Jared teased.
"I considered it."
Jared laughed, head thrown back, and Mark felt something warm coil in his stomach. That laugh wasn't the cocky one Jared wore around the team. This one was softer, real. And it made something shift inside him.
"You're not what I expected, you know," Jared said after a minute, tone quieter.
"Oh yeah?" Mark smirked. "What'd you expect?"
Jared shrugged. "Some uptight rookie. Maybe kind of shy, trying too hard to impress everyone."
"Harsh."
"I was wrong." Jared leaned forward a little. "You're stubborn, a smartass, and way too competitive. You're also probably the best catcher I've had behind me since I started playing."
Mark blinked. "Is that supposed to be a compliment or a pickup line?"
Jared grinned. "Both."
Mark looked at him—really looked at him. "You hook up with girls at every party, Jared. How do I know I'm not just… another game?"
The question hung in the air. Jared didn't dodge it.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe I thought that's what this was at first. But then you showed up, challenged me, and suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about you. Not like a conquest—just… like you stuck in my head. I've never had that happen before."
Mark chewed on that for a moment. "I don't do casual."
"I figured," Jared said. "And I don't know if I'm ready to come out or label anything. But I want to keep seeing where this goes. If you'll let me."
Mark looked down at the fry in his hand, then slowly smiled. "You're lucky I like trouble."
They finished their food talking about music, practice, and weird teammates—like Travis, the first baseman who wore pineapple socks and believed in "manifesting home runs." Laughter came easier after that.
When they stepped outside, the air was cool, and the streets were quiet.
"I'll walk you back," Jared offered.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Chivalrous now?"
"Maybe." Jared nudged him with his elbow. "Maybe I just want more time."
They reached Mark's dorm, standing beneath the amber glow of the streetlight.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Jared stepped in closer, not touching, but close enough that Mark could feel the tension coil again in the air between them.
"Is this the part where you kiss me again?" Mark asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Jared's smirk turned softer. "Only if you want me to."
Mark hesitated… then leaned in.
This kiss wasn't like the last. It was slower, careful—less fire, more feeling. A promise instead of a dare.
When they broke apart, Mark's voice was quiet.
"You better not screw this up."
Jared grinned. "I'll try not to."
--------
The next morning, Mark woke up with a stupid smile on his face.
He stared at the ceiling of his dorm room, heart still buzzing with the memory of Jared's kiss under the streetlight. It wasn't just the kiss—it was how Jared kissed him. Careful. Honest. Like he meant it.
That terrified Mark more than he wanted to admit.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, groaning at the early morning alarm. Morning workouts weren't going to wait just because his life had suddenly become complicated.
By the time he made it to the field, the team was already stretching. Jared caught his eye from across the grass and gave him a small, casual smile. No one else seemed to notice.
But Mark did. And it sent a jolt through his chest.
"Look who finally showed up," Travis called out, tossing Mark a ball. "Rough night?"
Mark snorted, catching it one-handed. "You could say that."
"Let me guess—studying?" Travis teased. "Or were you out breaking hearts?"
Mark just rolled his eyes and took his place in the lineup. Jared stepped beside him a moment later, close enough that their arms brushed.
"You good?" Jared murmured.
Mark didn't look at him. "Eyes front, pitcher boy."
Jared chuckled and jogged off.
Throughout practice, something had changed. Jared was sharp as ever—his fastballs biting, his control perfect—but every now and then, he'd glance at Mark after a pitch, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Not the cocky smirk, not the usual competitiveness. Something quieter.
Mark tried to focus. He couldn't afford to screw up—especially not now. The catcher-pitcher bond was critical, and the last thing he needed was for anyone to think something was off.
But it was hard.
It was hard not to think about the way Jared's fingers had touched his wrist in the locker room. The way he smiled when no one was looking. The way his voice softened when he said Mark's name.
"Hey," Coach Whitman barked. "Mark. You with us?"
Mark blinked, snapped out of it.
"Yeah—sorry. Just tired."
"Then wake up. We've got scouts coming next week."
That snapped Mark back to reality fast. He nodded, crouched behind the plate, and got back to work.
After practice, sweaty and drained, Mark collapsed onto the bleachers with a bottle of water. Jared sat next to him a few minutes later, running a towel through his hair.
"You okay?" Jared asked under his breath.
Mark glanced around. The field was mostly empty now. A few teammates gathered near the dugout, laughing. No one was paying attention.
"I can't stop thinking about you," Mark admitted. "And it's screwing with my focus."
Jared leaned back, elbows on the bench behind him. "Same."
Mark looked at him. "So what do we do?"
"We figure it out," Jared said. "We don't have to label it. We don't have to tell anyone. But we don't have to pretend it didn't happen, either."
Mark nodded slowly, unsure but not pulling away.
Jared's voice dropped, barely a whisper. "Meet me tonight? Back at the diner?"
Mark hesitated… then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."