The diner was almost empty by the time Mark arrived. It was later than the last time, and the night felt heavier somehow—like the air itself was holding its breath.
Jared was already in a booth near the window, twirling a straw in a glass of Coke. He looked up as Mark walked in, and for a moment, neither said a word.
Just a look.
Mark slid into the booth, suddenly hyperaware of how loud his heartbeat was.
"You came," Jared said softly.
"Yeah." Mark looked down at his hands. "I wasn't going to. Thought maybe it was a mistake."
Jared's brow furrowed. "Do you think it is?"
Mark shook his head slowly. "No. I don't."
They sat in silence for a while, the diner's neon sign casting a dull red glow over the table. Outside, a car rolled by, headlights slicing across the window like flashbulbs.
Jared leaned forward. "I haven't done this before. Not like this."
Mark glanced at him. "Hooked up with a guy?"
Jared chuckled. "No. I mean—cared about someone. Not like this."
That did something to Mark—some quiet crack in his chest that widened.
"You're different around me," Mark said.
Jared looked down at his drink. "You bring it out of me, I guess."
They didn't talk about baseball. They didn't talk about practice or the team or how this could screw everything up. For once, none of it mattered.
By the time they left the diner, the street was empty and quiet, just the hum of streetlights and the chirping of cicadas in the trees. Jared didn't say anything—he just slipped his fingers into Mark's hand as they walked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They reached Jared's dorm first.
"You wanna come up?" Jared asked, voice quiet.
Mark hesitated. Just for a second.
Then: "Yeah. Okay."
The dorm room was dimly lit by a desk lamp. Posters lined the walls—vintage baseball teams, a few concert flyers. It smelled like laundry detergent and faint cologne.
Mark stepped inside slowly, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
"I should probably say something clever," Jared muttered. "But I got nothing."
Mark turned to him. "Good. I'm tired of the cocky version of you."
Jared smiled, stepping closer. "Then I'll give you the real one."
He kissed Mark.
It wasn't rough or rushed. It was slow, deep, the kind of kiss that left no room for questions. Jared's hands found Mark's waist, steadying him, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush.
Mark's fingers tangled in Jared's shirt, clinging to him like he was afraid to let go. The months of tension, the subtle glances, the teasing—all of it poured into that kiss like water finally bursting through a dam.
When they pulled apart, both of them were breathless.
"I've wanted to do that since the first practice," Jared said, forehead resting against Mark's.
Mark laughed softly. "You had a funny way of showing it."
"I was a dumbass."
Mark tugged him down into another kiss, this one more urgent.
Clothes came off slowly at first. Hesitant. Jared's hands trembled as he slid Mark's shirt up and over his head, revealing pale skin and tight muscle underneath. Mark returned the favor, fingers brushing across Jared's abs, following the defined lines of his torso like he'd imagined a hundred times in the locker room.
There was a reverence to it—a wordless awe in how they touched each other.
When they finally made it to the bed, they took their time. Exploring. Learning. Mark gasped as Jared's mouth trailed along his collarbone, his breath hot against his skin. Jared shivered when Mark scraped his nails lightly down his back.
Every movement was deliberate. Every kiss a promise.
There was no rush to get to the finish. Just slow-burning desire and the quiet trust that had begun to build between them. The heat came naturally—sweat-slicked skin, mouths that couldn't stay apart, gasps and whispered names in the dark.
It was more than sex.
It was real.
When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, breath still shallow, hearts pounding in sync. Jared's hand rested on Mark's chest, fingers lightly drumming against his heartbeat.
Mark stared at the ceiling, dazed.
"Well," Jared murmured. "That escalated."
Mark laughed, exhausted and euphoric. "Understatement of the year."
Jared rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "You okay?"
Mark nodded. "Better than okay."
There was a pause.
"You staying?" Jared asked.
Mark turned his head, looking at him. "Do you want me to?"
"Yeah," Jared said, without hesitation. "I do."
Mark smiled and reached for the blanket, pulling it over them both.
As they drifted off to sleep, limbs tangled and skin still warm, Mark felt something he hadn't in a long time—peace.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't know how long they could keep it quiet or what would happen when the team found out. But right here, in this bed, with Jared breathing softly beside him…
He felt safe.
---------
The early morning sun filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting golden stripes across Jared's dorm room. Mark stirred, his muscles sore but his heart light. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, feeling Jared's body still pressed beside him under the covers.
"Morning," Jared murmured groggily, eyes barely open.
"Morning," Mark replied, smiling as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Jared's jaw. "I should probably head out before your roommates get back."
Jared nodded, but didn't move.
Mark sat up, grabbing his shirt off the floor. "I'll see you at practice?"
Jared yawned. "Yeah, see you then."
Before stepping out, Mark turned back and kissed him—quick, but lingering just a beat too long.
The door creaked open.
Tyler froze in the hallway, holding a half-eaten protein bar, eyes going wide at the sight of Mark, rumpled and shirtless, standing inside Jared's room.
"Dude—uh—sorry—" he blurted, then immediately turned and vanished.
Mark stood there, stunned. Jared muttered a curse and shoved the covers off.
---
By the time they made it to the field for practice, it was already done.
The team was buzzing with energy—but not the kind you wanted. Conversations stopped abruptly when either of them walked by. Teammates gave them odd glances. Phones were out. Some guys smirked; others looked away.
Mark kept his head down, pretending not to notice. Jared kept his expression neutral, but Mark could see the tension in his jaw.
Coach Whitman called them all in.
"Focus today," he barked. "We've got a weekend series. I don't care what's going around the locker room—leave it outside. Got it?"
No one answered. Just nods. A few snickers.
Practice was hell. Mark dropped two throws. Jared's pitches were all over the place. They misread each other's signs more than once. It was like their rhythm had been completely stripped away overnight.
"Cut the crap!" Coach shouted after a miscue. "You two want to make fools of yourselves, do it on your own time."
No one said anything. But the message had landed.
After practice, Mark lingered in the locker room, moving slowly. He kept expecting someone to say something cruel, or make a joke, or worse—but most of them just avoided him entirely.
Jared didn't even change in the same corner. He grabbed his bag quickly and left without a word.
Travis came over while Mark was lacing up his sneakers.
"Hey," he said. "Rough day."
Mark forced a smile. "Yeah, just a little."
"Look… for what it's worth, I don't think it matters who you like. You've earned your spot. And if they can't deal with it, screw them."
Mark gave a small nod. "Thanks."
But all he could think about was Jared. He hadn't texted all day. Hadn't looked at him once during drills. The space between them wasn't just awkward—it felt like rejection.
---
That night, Mark found himself sitting alone on the bleachers, the field dark except for the dull glow of campus lights in the distance. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Jared.
He looked tired. Stressed. And not like the guy Mark had kissed that morning.
"Hey," Mark said softly.
Jared sat down beside him, keeping a noticeable distance. "Hey."
Mark watched him for a beat. "Rough day, huh?"
Jared nodded. "Yeah."
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that stretched and ached.
Finally, Mark spoke. "So… what now?"
Jared didn't look at him. "I don't know."
Mark tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Jared exhaled hard. "I mean… maybe this wasn't a good idea."
A weight dropped in Mark's chest. "You mean… us?"
Jared rubbed a hand through his hair. "I've got a reputation, Mark. People look up to me. The team depends on me. This—what happened between us—it's complicated."
"Complicated," Mark echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It was a mistake," Jared said. "We shouldn't have let it happen."
Mark stared at him, blinking. "You didn't seem to think it was a mistake when you were kissing me last night."
"I wasn't thinking," Jared muttered, not meeting his eyes. "It was the moment. That's all."
Mark's throat tightened. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened?"
Jared's silence was answer enough.
Mark stood up slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. "You don't have to pretend you're not into guys, Jared. But don't pretend you didn't feel anything."
Jared looked away. "I'm sorry."
Mark swallowed hard and turned, walking away from the bleachers, the words still echoing in his head.
It was a mistake.