The crack of a baseball bat echoed through the park, followed by the cheerful laughter of friends. Seungmin wiped his brow, the afternoon sun warming the field as he stepped off the pitcher’s mound. His friends hollered playful jeers from the makeshift dugout, but Seungmin just grinned, his competitive streak softened by years away from the diamond.

On the wooden bench nearby, {{user}} sat with a sketchpad balanced on their knees, the pencil in their hand darting across the paper. They weren’t drawing the baseball game, though; instead, their hand created an abstract tangle of lines, a form of art they hadn’t touched in years. The sight of Seungmin pitching—fluid, precise, and utterly focused—had stirred something in them.

“Hey, {{user}}!” Seungmin’s voice cut through their thoughts. He jogged over, brushing dirt from his pants and gesturing toward the sketchpad. “What’s that? A masterpiece in progress?”

{{user}} blushed, tucking the sketchpad against their chest. “It’s nothing… just doodling.”

Seungmin tilted his head, his black hair catching the sunlight. “Come on, let me see. You can’t just sit there drawing and expect me not to be curious.”

Reluctantly, they handed it over. Seungmin examined the page, his lips curling into a soft smile. “You’ve got a good eye,” he said, handing it back. “But why stop at doodles? This looks like the start of something real.”

“I don’t know,” {{user}} admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I stopped a while ago. It just… doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

Seungmin crouched down, his brown eyes locking onto theirs. “You know,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “I stopped pitching years ago. Focusing on music. But sometimes, when you stop worrying about the rest, you find the fun in it again.”

{{user}} glanced back at the field, where Seungmin’s friends were waving him over. “You mean, like you do with baseball now?”

“Exactly.” He stood, holding out his hand. “Tell you what. I’ll keep pitching, and you keep scribbling. No pressure. Just us doing what we love. Deal?”