Chapter Text
The practice gym smelled like sweat, rubber, and regret.
Jeonghan caught the ball mid-air, pivoted, and sank a perfect three-pointer without even looking at the hoop. The satisfying swish echoed through the space, followed immediately by Seungcheol's whistle.
"Again." He barked.
Jeonghan's soul left his body.
"I think I just heard my knees file a restraining order." He muttered, but jogged back to position anyway. Around him, his teammates moved like the living dead. Soonyoung was doing some kind of interpretive dance that might've been a stretch. Seungkwan had collapsed onto the bleachers with the energy of a Victorian maiden succumbing to consumption.
"Five more drills." Seungcheol announced, arms crossed like a disappointed father.
"Five?!" Mingyu wheezed.
"Would you prefer ten?"
The gym fell silent except for the sound of twelve grown men accepting their fate.
An hour later, Jeonghan stumbled into his dorm room, dropped his bag with a thud that his downstairs neighbor would definitely complain about tomorrow, and face-planted onto his bed. He didn't move for a full three minutes. Honestly, he might've been dead. It would've been a mercy.
His phone buzzed somewhere near his hip. He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
With a groan that came from somewhere deep in his suffering, he fished it out and squinted at the screen.
[Pledis U Group Chat]
Seungkwan: i can't feel my legs
Soonyoung: TIGERS NEVER QUIT
Seungkwan: WE ARE NOT TIGERS
Seungcheol: Practice tomorrow at 6 AM.
Hansol: that's illegal
Seungcheol: So is losing.
Jeonghan locked his phone and tossed it aside.
He needed a distraction. Something calming. Something that didn't involve running, jumping, or Seungcheol's motivational speeches that sounded more like threats.
His hand reached for the small radio on his nightstand, a relic he'd picked up from a thrift store during freshman year. Most people streamed everything now, but there was something oddly comforting about the static, the unpredictability of it. He twisted the dial until a familiar frequency clicked into place.
"And that's all for tonight's playlist. Thanks for the requests, everyone. You're listening to ATEEZ FM, and this is your host, Captain."
The voice was warm, steady, with just a hint of rasp that suggested too much coffee and not enough sleep. Jeonghan had stumbled onto this station a few weeks ago, late one night when he couldn't sleep after a game. He'd been hooked ever since.
Captain, whoever he was, had a way of talking that felt personal; like he was speaking directly to you and not to thousands of faceless listeners. It was soothing in a way Jeonghan hadn't expected.
"Before we wrap up, let's take a few more calls. Line one, you're on."
A nervous laugh crackled through the speaker. "Hi, uh, Captain? I just wanted to say your show got me through finals week. I listened every night while studying."
"Glad I could help. Did you pass?"
"Barely, but yeah!"
"Then my work here is done. Good luck next semester."
Another click.
"Line two, what's on your mind?"
"Do you think," a different voice began, tentative, "it's possible to fall for someone's voice before you know anything else about them?"
There was a pause. Jeonghan found himself leaning closer to the radio.
"I think," Captain said slowly, thoughtfully, "that voices can say a lot about a person. The way someone speaks, the words they choose, the silences between them… yeah. I think it's possible."
"Have you ever?"
"Next caller." Captain interrupted smoothly, but Jeonghan caught the slight hitch in his tone. Interesting.
A few more calls filtered through. Someone requested a song. Another asked for advice about a terrible roommate. One caller launched into an elaborate conspiracy theory about why the campus cafeteria only served mystery meat on Thursdays.
Jeonghan found himself smiling despite his exhaustion.
Then, almost without thinking, he picked up his phone.
He stared at the number he'd saved weeks ago, ATEEZ FM Call Line, and hesitated.
He'd never actually called before. Just listened. But tonight, after Seungcheol's boot camp masquerading as practice, he felt reckless. Delirious, even.
He hit dial.
Hongjoong stretched his arms over his head and stifled a yawn. The clock on the studio wall read 11:47 PM. Thirteen minutes left in tonight's broadcast, and he was running on fumes and the last dregs of an iced americano that had gone lukewarm an hour ago.
He loved this. The late-night slot, the calls, the anonymity of it all. During the day, he was just another overworked music production student drowning in assignments and group projects. But here, in this tiny campus radio booth with its flickering lights and ancient soundboard, he was Captain.
It was ridiculous, the nickname. Wooyoung had started calling him that as a joke during their first year when Hongjoong had been overly serious about managing their friend group's chaotic energy. Somehow it stuck, and when he'd landed this radio slot, it felt right to keep it.
"Alright, we've got time for one more call before I send you all off to bed, or whatever questionable decisions you're about to make." He glanced at the blinking line indicator. "Line three, you're live."
For a moment, there was only static.
Then: "Hi."
The voice was smooth, almost lazy, like the speaker had just woken up from a nap. Or was about to fall asleep. There was something disarming about it.
"Hey." Hongjoong said, leaning forward slightly. "What's your name?"
A soft laugh. "Let's go with… Angel."
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. "Angel? That's pretty bold."
"Would you prefer something boring? Caller number three?"
"Fair point. What's on your mind tonight, Angel?"
There was a pause, and Hongjoong could hear rustling in the background, like someone shifting on a bed.
"I'm trying to figure out how to fake my own death."
Hongjoong blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Not literally." Angel added quickly, though his tone remained maddeningly casual. "I just… I have practice tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour, and I'm pretty sure my body is staging a mutiny. If I die, I don't have to go, right? Problem solved."
Despite himself, Hongjoong laughed. "I don't think that's how it works."
"Shame. I was really committed to the bit."
"What kind of practice are we talking about? Dance? Music?"
"Basketball. My captain is a tyrant disguised as a responsible human being."
"Ah." Hongjoong nodded sagely, even though Angel couldn't see him. "The 'we're a team' speech followed by drills that feel like punishment?"
"Exactly that. You get it."
"I have friends like that. Very intense. Very loud. They mean well, but…"
"But you still want to flee the country?"
"Precisely."
There was a beat of comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled. Hongjoong found himself smiling at nothing in particular.
"So what's stopping you?" he asked. "From skipping, I mean. Besides the whole 'team obligations' thing."
Angel hummed, considering. "I guess… I don't actually want to let them down. As much as I complain. They're trying their best, and so am I. It's just hard sometimes."
Hongjoong's chest did something odd. "Yeah. I get that."
"Do you?"
"More than you'd think." He glanced at the clock. Two minutes left. "For what it's worth, Angel, I think showing up even when it's hard is worth something. Even if your knees are filing restraining orders."
A surprised laugh burst through the speaker, bright and genuine. "Funny. I said the same thing earlier."
"Really?"
"I like you, Captain."
Hongjoong's ears went warm. He was grateful this wasn't a video call. "I'm just here to give questionable life advice and play decent music."
"Well, you're good at both."
"Thanks. And hey, good luck tomorrow. Try not to actually die."
"No promises. But… thanks. For this."
The line clicked off.
Hongjoong sat there for a moment, staring at the dead indicator light. Then he cleared his throat and leaned back into the mic.
"And that wraps up tonight's show. This is Captain, reminding you to take care of yourselves, call your friends, and maybe don't fake your own death to skip practice. I'll catch you tomorrow night. Stay safe out there."
He cued the outro music and slumped back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
Wooyoung was going to have a field day with this.
Back in his dorm, Jeonghan set his phone down and stared at the ceiling, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He should've felt ridiculous. He'd just called a stranger on the radio and complained about basketball practice like it was the end of the world.
But Captain had laughed. Really laughed.
And for some reason, that made tomorrow's 6 AM torture session feel just a little more bearable.
He closed his eyes, the sound of that warm, raspy voice still lingering in his ears, and thought, Maybe I'll call again.
Just to complain, of course.
Nothing more.