ducky

there’s a famous unspoken rule that everyone in hollywood history has to follow. if you want to date a celebrity, you have to have balls.

well, not literally.

you just have to realise how much of you will be put out in the world if you do, “fans” will hate you, you will be waterboarded with questions about your partner and suddenly your life will become all about them. your looks will be judged, so will every action you do, no matter how little.

you have to be brave enough to watch pieces upon pieces of yourself be handed to strangers who will tear them apart.

you had known all of this.

you just never expected to become the said person.

when you started dating megan, she wasn’t #katseye_megan, but she was just your megan. your best friend from preschool and now your girlfriend.

she had started dream academy, sure, but she wasn’t a pop sensation. your relationship wasn’t known, only by a few close friends and family. your mother’s even exchanged a glance as they looked at each other with a knowing look and smiled when you told them about your relationship.

“we knew this would happen. surprised it took you guys so long.”

your jaw dropped, shock evident on your face that if stared at you long enough, you’d start to resemble the scream by edvard munch, recalling that painting to be prominent in your mind ever since that one history class in freshman year.

megan chuckled next to you, simply wrapping her arm around your waist with ease and laying her head on your shoulder. looking at you like the love-sick puppy that she was, as if looking at you would give her the answers to any question the universe threw at her.

when you graduated high-school, you moved in together. thankfully for you guys, your college and katseye’s rehearsals were in the same state. leaving you to be able to live together, even for the time being.

megan, of course, had to stay in the dorm with lara half the time, since they, as a group, needed to bond, and some weverse life streams went way past the time she had the energy to go home.

even if it wasn’t all the time, it still was something. you got to share some mornings and some nights curled up together, just like you had dreamed since middle school.

even with her frequent staying with the katseye members, she never let you wonder where she was. updating you every chance she could.

“just made it to the meeting… boring :(”

“just got to rehearsal. pray for me. pls.”

“manon is taking us to mcdonalds, want something?”

or just sent a photo of herself, captioning it with “miss you”.

that’s what you were used to; that was your routine. you sent a picture of yourself, most of the time buried in books, while she replied with drool emojis and barking everywhere. asking if she can “impregnate you”.

you always giggled, response the same. “buy me a ring first.”

that’s why this hurt even more.

you started noticing the lack of messages on her part. you, of course, still sent her your selfies, but megan stopped updating where she was going. it was barley noticable at first, just one or two fewer messages a week.

the question you didn’t want to ask lodged itself beneath your ribs; you wanted to ask if something was wrong, if you had done something to offend or hurt her.

sitting in the living room on the couch, megan came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth.

“y/n, y/n, look! dave just sent me the funniest tiktok video!” her giggles were muffled by the foam on her face as she pushed her phone towards you.

you didn’t look at the video, eyebrows just scrunching up in puzzlement, trying to recall her ever mentioning a guy by the name dave.

“isn’t it so funny?” she continued, not noticing your lack of enthusiasm.

“megan, who is dave?” you asked, voice gentle.

her giggles faltered. confusion replaced it. “i told you about him!” she beamed, the toothpaste dripping down her face, all over her chin, not helping her look.

“i… don’t think you did,” you replied, scratching the back of your head.

she shrugged casually, as if this information was meaningless. “he’s been my backup dancer for weeks, super funny guy! we always spend our breaks cracking up at random things.” she turned around, walking back to the bathroom, phone in hand. still giggling to herself.

then it all clicked, the nights she spent at home, usually on her phone during movie nights, you didn’t ask what it was, presuming it was business stuff, and you both agreed to not bring work home. but this wasn’t work anymore; it already crossed that line a while ago.

you couldn’t help but wonder… was megan…?

you quickly shook your head, trying to get the thought to disappear. megan would never cheat on you, right? you’d been together for almost 3 years. she wouldn’t do that, you knew she wouldn’t. but the late-night texting, lack of proper conversations with you were getting to you.

she was allowed to have friends, you didn’t deny that, you weren’t controlling, but her not telling you, pushing you to the side for a random guy, hurt.

you missed your girlfriend, and she looked fine, happier even, without you.

so you did what any avoidant person does, you started doing the same. pushing her away, you didn’t think she would notice anyway.

spending extra hours at the library, taking extra shifts at your job, so you wouldn’t go home to see her giggling and smiling at her phone. even signing up for a random club at your school for extra credits.

you would come home exhausted, heading straight for the shower and falling into bed next to megan, snoring softly. megan giggled at something dave texted, turning to you to show you, only to see you knocked out cold.

her face turned into disappointment, before she silently placed her phone on the bedside table. brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and getting under the covers with you. megan hated seeing you this exhausted, it hurt that you had to work so much, so she wrapped her arms around you, curling up into you.

if only she knew that she was the one causing your exhaustion.

you woke up early the next morning, in hopes of making it out of the apartment before megan woke up. got ready, silently trying to walk and open your closet to pick out your clothes for the day. you almost did it until reaching for your sweater, you accidentally dropped a box, the sound joilting megan awake from her side of the bed.

“y/n..?” she muttered out in confusion, eyes still with sleep. “where are you going at,” she turned to the nightstand, checking the clock. “5.32am?”

you awkwardly played with your hair, trying to come up with a reason as to why you were leaving your girlfriend's bed like a one-night stand.

“i—uh—i have an early lecture. and i need to study before,” you rambled, hoping she would believe it. megan sat upright on the bed, rubbing her eyes.

“can we go out to that favourite spot of yours tonight? i’ve been craving their pizza,” she asked, jawning after her sentence.

“i’m sorry megan, but my boss put me on a double shift tonight. maybe another day? i have to run, love you,” you said as you rushed out the door, your bag in one hand and keys in the other.

megan heard the apartment door close and lock when her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. whispering to herself, “but you’re not talking early lectures this semester.” her eyes fixated on the door you had just bolted out of.

megan couldn’t sleep after that, her exhaustion only catching up to her during a break during practice. she jawned in her hand when sophia approached her. handing her a water bottle.

megan smiled as she looked up at the girl, silently thanking her. sophia sat down next to her, opening her own water bottle.

“are you okay, megan? you’re more tired than usual.”

megan licked her lips and pressed them into a thin line, playing with the plastic in her hands. “it’s just my girlfriend… i feel like she’s avoiding me, and i have no clue why.”

if sophia was surprised by this information, she didn’t show it. instead, she turned her body more towards megan, giving her her full attention. “what makes you think that she’s avoiding you?”

megan ran her hand through her hair as a way of grounding herself before she replied, “she lied to me this morning about her lectures, she stopped sending me our daily selfies, and when i asked if she wanted to go out, she brushed it off, saying she’s busy.”

sophia nodded along as megan spilled her guts. sophia wasn’t oblivious like megan was; she knew the 101 patterns of situations like these. sophia also noticed how close megan and dave got, and from the sidelines, anyone could mistake them for partners.

“megan, how does she feel about dave?”

megan’s eyes shot up, pupils growing extremely wide, mouth hanging in shock. she didn’t expect this kind of question, anything like that, really.

sophia nodded, comprehending the situation now. she put her hand on megan’s shoulder, squeezing it before resuming, “talk to her.”

their break was announced to have ended, sophia got up, giving megan a hand before pulling her up with her.

when you got home that evening, it was already way past midnight. your body reeked of sweat, exhaustion obvious on your face. you fumbled with the keys until you finally unlocked the door. the apartment was dim, with only glare coming from the street lights outside.

you didn’t notice megan on the couch until her voice scared the shit out of you.

“y/n, can we talk?”

you turned around, hand still clutching your heart, trying to stop it from beating so loudly. “can it wait till morning? i’m way too tired,” you said while turning away from her, hoping to just fall asleep.

megan caught your hand before you could walk away, shaking her head. “no, we are talking about this right now.”

you sighed, pinching your eyebrows. “fine, what is it?”

megan, still holding your wrist in a tight grip, looked you in your eyes. “are you jealous of dave? a guy who is just my friend at that?”

a scoff left your mouth, face turning into disbelief. “friend?” you said, your tone filling with anger.

“megan, you’ve been treating him more like a partner than you have me in weeks.” you were getting frustrated. did she seriously think this was just about her being friends with a guy?

tears swelled up in your eyes, megan’s gaze softened when she noticed the water covering your irises. “y/n/n—”

you shook your head. “no, you’ve been treating me like shit! you pushed me away for a friend you met not even that long ago! and what? when did you notice that i stopped crawling and begging for your attention like a stray? when i stopped coming home early? now you know how it felt to be with you these weeks.”

megan took a sharp inhale. “i was there! here! you stopped being here!”

“you stopped being emotionally present a long time ago megan.”

megan’s eyes filled with tears. her face becoming drenched just like yours.

“i think i’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.” you said.

megan shook her head, denying you. her hand still gripped yours, not letting you go. she wrapped her arms around you. trying to hug and not let you go.

“no, no, please don’t. please don’t leave me. y/n, please.”

your heart broke at her pleading, did she think you were going to break up?

you slowly wrapped your arms around the girl, her head in the crook of your neck, drenching your shirt with her tears.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t want to neglect you. i never meant to put anyone above you. please, y/n. you have to understand, i didn’t know, i’ll block everyone, i’ll do anything. please, i love you so much.”

megan rambled into your neck, hicuping after each sentence.

“you’re literally my angel, the only one for me. no one can compare with you; no one has your kind of laugh that makes me giggle every time you find something funny. you’re so loving and forgiving it hurts, please. y/n, give me a chance to make it better. please.”

your heart warmed at her words, staying like that for a while. megan found the silence painful, already silently accepting that her apology didn’t change anything.

you unwrapped your arms around her, megan took her head out of the crook of your neck.

“we have to set some boundries, but i forgive you, megan.”

her eyes softened, hopefull.

“not yet and not fully, but i do.”

a/n: this whole story was written with fuck me eyes by ethel cain on repeat blasting in my ears... hope i got the idea right, anon 🕸️

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who wakes up in the middle of the night when she feels your body too far from hers, she just needs to feel your warmth the whole time, her arms around you, your breath on her neck, she needs it like pure air to breathe.

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who brings your body close to hers again in a natural, casual move, just passing an arm around your waist and pushes you close barely with an eye open, kissing your cheek and adjusting her head on the pillow before falling asleep again.

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who texts you a thousand messages when you’re sleeping so you can wake up to her messages.

thinking about you

i miss you omg wake up already

hope you sleeping well, miss you soooo much

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who’s lock screen and wallpaper is your pictures, sometimes she changes for pics of you two together but she’s so obsessed with you that her lock screen is a pic of you smiling on a nice restaurant date and her wallpaper is a pic of your pretty eyes you took just for her

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who is absolutely obsessed with your body, your thighs, your waist, your arms, your ass, your tits, your neck, she loves your body, not only sexually but its her source of comfort, to lay by your side, to hug you, to feel your warmth, its more than a sexual need, its a need just like water or food.

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who absolutely loves loves loveeees to lay her head on your chest, she will watch tv sucking on your tits, or listen while you talk about your day, or just scroll through her phone with her lips around your nipples… it’s soothing to her. why she needs any therapy when she has her girl’s pretty tits disposable?

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who loves your praise when she eats you out…

“it feels good, hm? you like my tongue here, baby? because i love the way you taste.”

“tell me how good it feels, tell me i’m making you feel good, please.”

she’s moved by the praise, she’ll eat you out harder by the time you start to moan about how good her mouth is and how good she’s doing . . . <3!

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who can’t never make out with you because three minutes of hot kisses and she’s already too needy and eager, taking off your clothes and murmuring “please, please” under her breath, against your lips, doe, puppy eyes wide as she watched your every reaction to her touches.

NEEDY GF! MEGAN who doesn’t mind be your toy, she’s actually eager for that! you feel like riding her face? she’s already ready with her mouth open. you wanna put a strap on her to make yourself feel good? she will be moaning and whining as if its her real cock about how good you squeeze her.

“ride- ride my cock, baby, just like that…”

“you feel so good, i l-love your pussy so much… fuck.”

it had been three weeks ago. the adrenaline was high, the bass of "touch" was vibrating through the floorboards of the stage, and megan was doing her part, scanning the front row. that was when the stage lights swept over section b, row 1.

there you were.

you were wearing a hot pink crop top and a matching skirt, an outfit that demanded attention, but it wasn’t the clothes that made megan miss a step in her choreography. it was your face. you were singing along, eyes shining with pure joy, and when you locked eyes with megan, you didn’t just scream like everyone else. you smiled a soft, genuine smile that seemed to cut through the chaos of the arena.

megan had spent the rest of the concert unconsciously gravitating toward your side of the stage.

later that night, on the tour bus, she couldn’t shut up about it.

"i’m telling you, daniela, she was literally glowing," megan had insisted, scrubbing her makeup off with a wipe while staring at the ceiling. "she had this pink outfit on. section b. did you see her?"

daniela had rolled her eyes. "meg, there were two thousand people in pink. it’s our concept color half the time."

"no, but this was different," megan groaned, frustrated that she couldn't articulate the magnetic pull she had felt. "she was... pretty. like, intimidatingly pretty. i felt like i should have been asking for her autograph."

manon had laughed from the seat next to her. "careful, megan. you know the rules. don't go falling for the front row."

"i'm not falling," megan had scoffed, throwing the makeup wipe into the trash. "i just... i know i won't see her again. and that sucks."

she was wrong.

the fan sign event was in full swing. the room was buzzing with the low hum of chatter, the shutter of cameras, and the occasional shriek of excitement. the air smelled of expensive perfume and permanent markers. megan was seated between yoonchae and sophia, smiling until her cheeks hurt, signing album after album, answering questions about her skincare routine and her favorite snacks.

she was grateful, she really was, but her social battery was draining. she took a sip of water, adjusting her headband, and looked up to see who was next in the queue.

her heart stopped. it actually stopped, then slammed against her ribs with the force of a sledgehammer.

it was you.

you were wearing a different outfit today—a soft denim jacket over a white dress—but the face was unmistakable. it was the face that had haunted her dreams for the last three weeks. you were standing about five people back in the line, clutching your album to your chest, looking nervous.

the fans in the front row noticed the change instantly. megan, who had been slouching slightly in her chair, suddenly straightened up. her eyes widened, losing that glazed-over 'idol autopilot' look and sharpening into intense focus. a few fans whispered, wondering what had caught her attention, but megan didn't care.

she was counting down.

four. a nice girl who asked about megan’s dance training. megan answered politely, but her eyes kept darting over the girl's shoulder.

three. a guy who wanted a high-five. megan gave it to him, tapping her foot impatiently under the table.

two. a fan who was crying. megan held her hand, offering comfort, but her internal monologue was screaming, she’s right there. she’s right there.

one.

and then, you were standing in front of her.

up close, you were even more devastating. the harsh fluorescent lights of the venue usually washed people out, but you looked radiant. you placed your album on the table, your hands trembling slightly.

"hi, megan," you breathed out, your voice soft.

megan felt a grin split her face, wider and more genuine than anything she’d offered the cameras all day. "hi," she replied, her voice dropping an octave, becoming something softer, intimate. "i remember you."

you blinked, looking stunned. "you... you do?"

"la show. three weeks ago," megan said immediately, leaning her elbows on the table to bridge the gap between you. "section b. you were wearing that pink two-piece set. the skirt and the top?"

your jaw dropped slightly, a lovely shade of red blooming across your cheeks. "i... yeah. that was me. i can't believe you remember that. there were so many people."

"hard to miss you," megan murmured, uncapping her marker. she didn't break eye contact. "i actually told the girls about you afterward. i wouldn't shut up about the 'pretty girl in pink'."

you let out a breathless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "you're lying. there's no way megan skiendiel was talking about me."

"ask daniela," megan challenged playfully, tilting her head. "i was distressed. i thought i’d never see you again."

she looked down at the album page, opened to her solo photo. the staff member behind megan tapped her shoulder, a silent signal to hurry it up, the line was long. megan ignored them.

she started signing, but she didn't just sign her autograph. she began writing a message. a long one.

"so," megan said, keeping her tone casual but her eyes flirting dangerously with yours. "what's your name? or do i just keep calling you 'pretty girl in pink' in my head?"

"it's y/n," you managed to say.

"y/n," megan tested the name, smiling as she wrote it down. "suits you. pretty name for a pretty face."

the management’s rule echoed in her head: do not fall in love.

megan looked up at you, taking in the way your eyelashes fluttered, the way you were biting your lip nervously, the way you looked at her like she was the sun.

i have been instructed to not fall in love with any fans ever since debut, but how could i not fall for a face as pretty as yours?

she finished writing the message. beneath her signature, in smaller, messier scrawl, she had written a series of digits.

"you know," megan said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she slid the album back toward you. "i'm usually really good at following rules. i'm a model employee."

you took the album, your fingers brushing against hers. the contact sent a jolt of electricity up megan's arm that she was sure you felt too. "are you?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"usually," megan smirked. her eyes flicked to the staff member who was now glaring at the clock, then back to you. "but for you? i think i'm about to become a problem child."

you looked down at the album, your eyes widening as you realized what the numbers were. you looked back up at her, shock written all over your features. "megan, is this...?"

"shh," megan winked, putting a finger to her lips. "don't get me fired before i get to take you out on a date."

the staff member stepped in. "moving along, please."

you grabbed your album, clutching it like it was a holy relic. you began to stand up, your legs looking a little shaky. megan watched you go, a pang of desperation hitting her. she needed to make sure.

as you turned to leave the table area, passing behind her chair to head toward the exit, megan pretended to drop her marker.

"oops," she said loudly.

as she leaned down to "retrieve" it, she reached out with her left hand, catching your attention. you paused. in a swift, practiced motion, something she must have learned from a spy movie, she slipped a small, laminated card into your hand.

it was a backstage pass. the 'family & friends' all-access laminate.

you froze, the cool plastic pressing against your palm. you looked down at her. megan was already sitting back up, smiling brightly at the next fan in line, but she cut her eyes toward you for one brief second.

she bit her lip, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge: come find me.

you bit your lip back, nodding once, a flush rising on your neck. you quickly tucked the card into your pocket and walked away, trying to look casual, but megan saw the bounce in your step.

megan turned her attention to the next fan, "hi there! what's your name?"

inside, she was screaming. the rule book had been thrown out the window, burned, and scattered to the wind.

the laminate card felt heavy in your pocket, burning a hole through the fabric of your denim jacket. the security guard at the end of the hallway had barely glanced at it before nodding you through, his indifference a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of your heart.

you found the door marked megan. you took a breath, smoothed your dress, and knocked.

the door opened almost instantly, as if she had been standing right on the other side waiting. megan pulled you inside, shutting the door quickly behind you. the dressing room was surprisingly empty; the other girls must have been in hair and makeup or catering.

"you came," megan breathed out, leaning back against the closed door. she was still in her stage outfit, glittering under the vanity lights, sweat making her skin glow.

"you gave me an all-access pass, megan," you teased, trying to find your footing despite the fact that your knees felt like jelly. "it would have been rude to waste it."

megan laughed, a breathless, airy sound. she stepped closer, invading your personal space with an ease that made your head spin. "i was worried you’d think i was crazy. writing my number on an album?"

"it was a little crazy," you admitted, looking up at her. "but i like crazy."

"good." megan’s gaze dropped. she wasn't looking at your eyes anymore. her dark eyes were fixed firmly on your lips. the air in the room shifted, becoming thick and charged with static.

"megan," you murmured, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"hmm?" she hummed, not looking up.

"you’re staring at my lips."

megan’s eyes snapped back up to yours, but she didn't look embarrassed. she looked hungry. she took another half-step forward, her thigh brushing against yours. "i’ve been thinking about them since the la show," she confessed, her voice low and raspy. "it’s really hard not to stare when you’re standing right here."

you felt a blush creep up your neck, but the boldness of her admission gave you courage. you let out a soft giggle, the sound breaking the heavy tension just enough to let you breathe. "you are dangerous, skiendiel."

"i try." she reached out, her fingers grazing the fabric of your denim jacket, hesitating as if she wanted to pull you closer but was restraining herself.

you checked your watch, feigning responsibility. "i should probably go. if the rest of the group comes back and finds a random fan in the dressing room, you’re going to be in so much trouble."

megan groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "i hate that you're right. i hate logic." she looked back at you, intense and serious. "text me? tonight?"

"i will," you promised.

the text came at 11:42 pm. how she found your number, you dont know and maybe you don't really care.

megan: my ears are still ringing from the show but all i can hear is you giggling in the dressing room.

megan: did you make it home?

you: safe and sound. you were amazing tonight, by the way. even from the back of the room.

megan: next time you’ll be front row again. or side stage. i prefer you within reaching distance.

that text marked the beginning of a two-month blur that felt like a movie montage.

-

dating an idol was... complicated. it meant late-night facetime calls where megan was removing her stage makeup in a hotel room in tokyo while you were eating breakfast in la. it meant dates that happened in the back of tinted suvs with takeout food, or in private karaoke rooms where you spent more time talking than singing.

you learned that megan was funny, genuinely, sarcastically funny. you learned she was affectionate, constantly needing to hold your hand or rest her head on your shoulder whenever the coast was clear.

it was two months in, sitting in her car parked specifically in a blind spot behind a 24-hour diner, when she asked.

she had been quiet for a few minutes, just tracing the lines on your palm with her thumb.

"y/n?"

"yeah, meg?"

"i don't want to hide this anymore," she said softly, looking at your joined hands. "i mean... i know we have to hide it from the public. but i don't want to be 'just talking' or whatever this is. i want to be yours. officially." she looked up, her eyes vulnerable. "will you be my girlfriend?"

you had squeezed her hand, leaning over the center console to kiss her cheek. "i thought you’d never ask. yes."

one month later.

the dorm was silent. a rare, golden miracle.

everyone was out and the house was empty. megan had texted you the all-clear code: eagle has landed. nest is empty.

you had arrived ten minutes later.

now, the air in megan’s bedroom was hot, smelling of her vanilla perfume and the friction of movement.

you were straddling megan’s lap on her desk chair, the wheels locked in place. the chair groaned slightly under the movement, but neither of you cared. megan’s head was thrown back, her hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you anchored against her.

"god, y/n," megan gasped against your neck, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "i missed you so much."

"i saw you yesterday," you teased breathlessly, your hands tangled in her dark hair, guiding her face back to yours.

"too long," she mumbled against your skin.

she captured your lips again, the kiss deeper, messier than the ones before. you ground down into her lap, the friction sending a jolt through both of you that made megan’s breath hitch audibly. a low moan vibrated in her throat, a sound that you felt more than heard.

"meg..." you whined, the sensation overwhelming.

megan didn't waste time. her hands moved from your hips, sliding up under the hem of your shirt. her palms were warm against your bare skin, tracing the curve of your waist before moving to the center of your back. her fingers danced along your spine, pressing firmly, pulling you impossibly closer until there was zero space left between you.

you broke the kiss to gasp for air, resting your forehead against hers. her eyes were blown wide, dark and hazy with lust.

"you're so beautiful," megan whispered, her hand splaying out on your back, her thumb rubbing circles against your skin under the shirt. she bucked her hips up slightly, an instinctive response to the pressure, and you let out a shaky, needy sound, biting your lip to keep from being too loud.

"we're alone, right?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"completely," megan promised, leaning up to bite your bottom lip gently. "just you and m—"

the bedroom door slammed open.

"megan! do you have my black boots? the ones with the—"

it was manon.

time seemed to freeze.

manon stood in the doorway, holding a shopping bag. she looked at the desk. she saw the chair. she saw you. she saw you on top of megan. she saw megan’s hands clearly under your shirt. she saw your swollen lips and flushed faces.

for a solid three seconds, there was absolute silence.

megan froze, her hands still under your shirt. you froze, looking like a deer in headlights, mid-grind.

manon, ever the quiet one, let out a scream that could have shattered glass. she slapped her hands over her eyes, spun around, and ran directly into the doorframe before scrambling out into the hallway.

"oh my god! oh my god! my eyes! i'm blind!"

megan scrambled to push you off, panic setting in. "manon! wait!"

you stumbled off megan’s lap, yanking your shirt down and trying to fix your hair, your heart hammering so hard you thought you might die of embarrassment right there.

from the hallway, you heard the front door open and a cacophony of voices. the others were back early.

"who is screaming?" that was sophia’s voice. "is there a bug? manon, why are you on the floor?"

"megan!" manon wailed from the hallway. "megan is... in there... with the pretty girl in pink... and they were... they were..."

"they were what?" daniela’s voice piped up, sounding amused.

megan stood up, her face bright crimson. she looked at you, panic warring with hilarity in her eyes. "i think we're busted."

"you think?" you hissed, frantically wiping lipstick off your chin.

megan walked to the door and poked her head out. "guys, can we just—"

daniela pushed past megan, barging into the room. she took one look at you, disheveled hair, swollen lips, standing awkwardly by the bed, and then looked at megan.

"finally!" daniela threw her hands up. "i owe yoonchae twenty bucks. i bet you guys wouldn't hook up for another month."

"you bet on us?" megan shrieked.

"we all bet on you," sophia said, appearing in the doorway, looking calm but amused. she looked at you and offered a polite wave. "hi, y/n. nice to see you again. sorry about manon. she's... sensitive."

megan covered her face with her hands, groaning into her palms. you couldn't help it. you started laughing. you walked over and wrapped an arm around megan’s waist, pulling her hands away from her face.

"well," you said, smiling at the terrifyingly supportive group of girls staring at you. "i guess the secret is out."

megan looked at you, saw the humor in your eyes, and sighed, leaning into your touch. "yeah. guess so." she glared at manon in the hallway. "knock next time!"

"lock the door next time!" manon screamed back.

-

but no relationship is perfect.

you knew what you signed up for.

that was the mantra you repeated to yourself in the mirror every time you had to duck into a bathroom stall to avoid a paparazzi camera. it was the sentence you whispered into your pillow when megan had to leave your bed at 4:00 am to get back to the dorms before management did a headcount.

i knew what i signed up for.

but knowing the terms of the contract didn't make the fine print hurt any less. you knew about the secrecy. you knew about the busy schedules. you knew about the pressure. but you didn't know about the feeling of shrinking. you didn't know that loving megan skiendiel meant slowly becoming invisible.

it had started small, cancelled dinner plans because a practice ran late, a movie night interrupted by an emergency meeting. you were understanding. you were the "good" girlfriend. you were supportive.

but then came the incident at the boba shop.

it was a tuesday, a rare afternoon off. you were both wearing masks and hoodies, trying to be normal people getting bubble tea. you were laughing at something she said, your hand instinctively reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"megan?"

the voice shattered the bubble. a fan, phone already out, eyes wide with recognition.

megan flinched. it was a physical reaction, a recoil that sent her stumbling a step away from you. her demeanor shifted instantly from 'girlfriend' to 'idol'. she straightened her spine, put on the practiced smile, and waved.

"hi!" megan chirped, though her eyes were darting nervously around the shop.

the fan looked at megan, then looked at you, eyebrows furrowing. "oh my god, i love you so much. is this your friend?"

you opened your mouth to speak, maybe to say yes, or cousin, or old classmate.

"no," megan said quickly. too quickly. she stepped in front of you, effectively blocking you from the fan's view. "she’s just a staff member. she’s helping me run some errands today."

staff member.

not a friend. not a distant relative. not even an acquaintance. you were an employee. a nameless, faceless assistant.

the fan lost interest in you immediately, looking through you as if you were made of glass. "oh, cool. can i get a picture?"

"quickly," megan said, ushering the girl away from you.

you stood there, clutching your cold tea, feeling the shame burn hot in your cheeks. you weren't angry that she hid the relationship; you were angry at how easily she discarded your humanity to protect her image.

that was three weeks ago. since then, she had cancelled three dates back-to-back. first, it was an unexpected interview. then, she was "too tired" and afraid she’d look bad on camera the next day. then, a choreography change.

you were reaching your breaking point. megan sensed it.

"baby, please," she had begged over the phone two days ago, hearing the hollowness in your voice. "i know i’ve been terrible. i know. but i’m going to make it up to you. i promise."

"you always say that, meg."

"this time is different," she insisted, her voice thick with desperation. "friday night. i have the whole evening cleared. i’m going to take you somewhere special. a private room, no masks, just us. the most romantic date ever."

you hesitated. "i don't know..."

"please," she whispered. "be ready by 8:30. don't ask questions. just look pretty, and i’ll handle the rest. i love you."

and because you were in love, and because hope is a dangerous thing, you agreed.

-

friday. 8:15 pm.

you stared at yourself in the full-length mirror. you had gone all out. you were wearing a slip dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, the fabric shimmering under the warm light of your bedroom. you had spent an hour on your makeup, achieving that perfect, dewy look that megan always complimented. your hair was curled to perfection.

you sprayed a cloud of perfume—the vanilla scent she loved—and stepped into it. you felt beautiful.

8:30 pm.

you sat on the edge of your couch, careful not to wrinkle your dress. you had your purse in your lap, phone in hand, waiting for the text. i’m outside. or come down.

the clock on the wall ticked.

8:45 pm.

traffic. it was friday night in the city; traffic was inevitable. you checked your lipstick in your phone camera. still perfect. you sent a quick text.

me: hey, just checking in! no rush, just letting you know i'm ready :)

9:15 pm.

no reply.

you stood up and paced the living room. maybe she was driving. if she was driving, she couldn't text. that was responsible. but anxiety began to gnaw at your stomach. the silence in the apartment felt loud.

9:45 pm.

you sat back down. you checked megan’s fan accounts on twitter/x. nothing new. no sightings. that was good, right? it meant she wasn't stuck at a public event.

you called her. it rang. and rang. and rang.

“hi, you’ve reached megan. leave a message!”

you hung up. "okay," you whispered to the empty room. "maybe her phone died. or she’s surprising me by knocking on the door."

10:30 pm.

the hope had curdled into something sour and heavy in your throat. the apartment was dark, save for the streetlights filtering through the blinds. you were still sitting on the couch, but your posture had slumped. the purse had slid to the floor.

you felt foolish. you felt like a child who had dressed up for a party that no one else was attending. you thought about the expensive primer you used, now settling into the fine lines of your frowning face.

10:55 pm.

it was over. you knew it.

11:00 pm.

your heart didn't shatter all at once; it cracked slowly, painfully.

you stood up, your legs stiff from sitting in one position for hours. you walked to your bedroom, the click of your heels on the hardwood floor sounding like gunshots in the quiet apartment.

you stood before the mirror again. the girl staring back didn't look beautiful anymore. she looked pathetic. she looked like a fan waiting for an autograph that would never come.

tears welled up, hot and stinging. you didn't wipe them away. you watched them track through the foundation, leaving streaks of ruin down your cheeks.

"stupid," you choked out, your voice breaking. "you are so stupid."

you unzipped the dress. it fell to the floor in a pool of silk. you didn't bother hanging it up. you kicked it aside. you took a makeup wipe and scrubbed your face, harsh and angry motions that turned your skin red. you scrubbed away the contour, the blush, the hope.

you put on an oversized t-shirt, one that wasn't hers, you refused to wear hers right now, and crawled into bed. you curled into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest.

you couldn't sleep. you just stared at the wall, feeling the hollowness in your chest expand until it consumed you.

1:00 am.

your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

the light was blinding in the darkness. you squinted, your heart doing a painful flip in your chest. it was her.

megan: baby i’m so sorry, we had a vocal session that was way longer than any of us expected to be.

you stared at the words. a vocal session.

megan: we have an album we need to release before the end of the year yk that..let me make it up to you, i’ll be there in 20 okay?

something inside you snapped. it wasn't a loud snap. it was the quiet death of your patience.

she didn't forget. she just prioritized. and she didn't even have the decency to text you during the session to tell you to take off the dress. she let you wait. she let you sit there for four and a half hours because she assumed you would always be there waiting.

your fingers trembled as you typed. you didn't scream. you didn't use caps lock. you didn't send a paragraph.

me: don’t bother, i really don’t wanna see u rn megan

you watched the read receipt appear instantly. the three dots began to bounce. she was typing.

you turned off your phone. you placed it face down on the nightstand. and then, finally, you cried yourself to sleep.

-

you woke up with a headache that throbbed behind your eyes. the sun was streaming through the curtains, offensive and bright. your eyes felt swollen and gritty.

you shuffled to the kitchen to get water, your body feeling heavy, like you were moving through molasses.

knock. knock. knock.

you froze, glass in hand.

knock. knock.

"y/n? i know you're in there. please open up."

it was megan. her voice sounded wrecked.

you didn't want to open it. you wanted to crawl back into a hole. but the anger, that cold, hard anger, propelled you forward. you walked to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open.

megan stood in the hallway. she looked terrible, which gave you zero satisfaction. she was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her face bare, dark circles under her eyes prominent. she looked like she hadn't slept.

"y/n," she breathed out, stepping forward, reaching for you.

you took a sharp step back, putting the door between you and her. "don't."

megan flinched, her hand dropping to her side. she looked at you. she saw the swollen eyes, the red-rimmed lids, the absolute exhaustion radiating off you.

"i came as soon as i woke up," megan said, her voice trembling. "i tried calling you all night. why was your phone off?"

"because i was sleeping, megan," you said, your voice raspy and devoid of warmth. "unlike you, i don't operate on idol time."

"i said i was sorry," megan pleaded, her desperation rising. "it was the producers. they wouldn't let us leave until the harmony was perfect. i couldn't check my phone. you know how strict they are."

"i don't care," you said flatly.

"you don't care?" megan blinked, looking hurt. "y/n, it's my career. it's the album. you know this is my dream."

"and what am i?" you asked, the question cutting through the air like a knife. you finally looked her in the eyes, and the intensity of your gaze made her stumble back. "am i a hobby? am i a pastime? or am i just a staff member you keep around for when you're bored?"

megan’s face paled. "that... that isn't fair. you know why i said that."

"i waited for five hours, megan." you laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "i sat on my couch in a dress i bought specifically for you, for five hours. do you have any idea what that feels like? to sit there and realize that i am not even worth a five-second text message?"

"i didn't have my phone!" megan raised her voice slightly, frustration leaking into her tone. "i’m trying my best here! i’m trying to balance the biggest career of my life and this relationship, and i’m doing it alone!"

"you're not doing it alone!" you yelled back, the dam finally breaking. "i am the one hiding in cars! i am the one being called 'staff'! i am the one sitting alone in an apartment waiting for scraps of your time! i am doing all the compromising, megan!"

megan stepped into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her.

"you think i want to hide you?" megan shouted, her hands balling into fists. "you think i like lying to people? i am doing this to protect us! if they find out, it’s over. the group, the tour, everything! i am under so much pressure, y/n, i feel like i can’t breathe half the time!"

"then stop dragging me down with you!" you screamed, your voice cracking, tears hot and fast returning to your eyes. "if it’s too much, then let me go! because being your dirty little secret is killing me! i am a person, megan! i have feelings!"

"i know you have feelings!" megan stepped closer, her face contorted with stress and anger. "but you knew! you said you understood! you said you could handle the lifestyle!"

"i thought i could handle the lifestyle!" you countered, gesturing wildly around the empty apartment. "i didn't think the lifestyle meant being stood up until 1 am while you pretend i don't exist! i didn't think it meant loving someone who puts me second every single time!"

"i don't put you second!"

"yes, you do! every single day! the fans come first. the company comes first. the girls come first. and i get whatever scraps are left over!" you were sobbing now, your chest heaving, the headache pounding against your skull. "i'm tired, megan. i'm so tired of being invisible."

"i am trying to build a future!" megan yelled, her voice raw. "for me! for us!"

"there is no us if you’re never here!"

the words hung in the air, vibrating with the force of your scream. megan stared at you, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

you wiped your face aggressively with the back of your hand, sniffing loudly. you looked at her, and for the first time, you didn't see the idol. you just saw a girl who was hurting you.

"i’m just so..." you trailed off, your voice dropping to a broken whisper. "i'm done. i'm done fighting for your attention, megan."

the silence that followed was suffocating.

megan paused. her angry stance faltered. she blinked, and suddenly, the adrenaline that had been fueling her rage evaporated, leaving behind a cold, stark terror.

she looked at you. really looked at you. you were shaking. your face was wet with tears. you looked broken.

megan reached up to touch her own face and was startled to find it wet. she hadn't even realized she was crying. her fingers came away damp with tears she hadn't felt falling.

but that wasn't what stopped her heart. it was what you said. i'm done.

those two words echoed in her head, louder than any cheering crowd. done.

"what..." megan’s voice was a ghost of a whisper. "what do you mean... you're done?"

you didn't answer. you just looked at the floor, hugging yourself as if trying to keep your pieces together.

megan felt the floor drop out from under her. the anger was gone, replaced instantly by a panic so sharp it nearly brought her to her knees. she realized, with terrifying clarity, that she was about to lose you. not just for a date. not just for a night. but forever.

she thought about her life without you. no late-night texts. no giggling in dressing rooms. no one to hold her when the pressure got too much. just empty hotel rooms and screaming fans who didn't know her.

"no," megan whimpered. "no, you can't... you can't mean that."

she rushed forward, closing the distance between you, but she didn't grab you. she didn't pull you in. she collapsed.

megan skiendiel, the girl who danced on stages in front of thousands, dropped to her knees on your living room floor.

"y/n... baby, please," she sobbed, reaching out to take your hands. her grip was desperate, her palms clammy. "don't say that. don't say you're done. please."

you tried to pull your hands away, but she held on tight, pressing her forehead against your knuckles.

"i can't lose you," she cried into your skin. "i can't. i swear to god, i can't live without you. you're... you're everything. you're the only real thing i have."

you bit your lip, looking away, trying to steel your heart. "megan, get up."

"no!" she shook her head frantically against your hands, looking up at you. "i won't get up until you tell me you're not leaving. i'll fix it. i swear, i'll fix it. i'll tell them to back off. i'll make time. i'll scream it from the rooftops if you want me to. just... just give me time. give me one more chance."

you looked down at her. her eyes, those big, dark, expressive eyes, were swimming with tears. her eyelashes were clumped together. she looked terrified. she looked like a puppy that had been kicked.

it was your weak spot. it always had been.

your resolve, which had felt so solid moments ago, began to crumble. you loved her. god help you, you loved her so much it hurt. you saw the sincerity in her face, the sheer panic at the thought of a life without you.

you let out a shaky breath, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "i can't keep doing this, meg. i can't keep waiting."

"you won't have to," she promised, squeezing your hands. "i'll be better. i'll be the girlfriend you deserve. i'll be greedy with my time for you. just... please. don't go."

you closed your eyes, tilting your head back. the silence stretched, heavy and fragile.

"just one chance," you rasped out, your voice barely audible.

megan let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. she scrambled up from her knees and immediately pulled you into her arms. she buried her face in your neck, holding you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe.

"thank you," she wept against your shoulder. "thank you, thank you. i love you so much. i'm so sorry."

you slowly brought your arms up to wrap around her, your fingers threading into her hair. you cried together, standing in the hallway, the fight draining out of you until only exhaustion remained.

-

the rest of the day was spent in silence, but it was a healing silence.

you didn't go out. you didn't open the curtains. megan led you to the couch, and you both collapsed onto it, tangling your limbs together under a throw blanket. she refused to let go of you. even when she had to use the bathroom, she made you promise to stay right there.

she kissed your swollen eyelids. she kissed your forehead. she kissed your knuckles. every touch was an apology.

eventually, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep with your head on her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless nap.

megan stayed awake. she watched you sleep, tracing the line of your jaw with her eyes. she looked at the puffiness of your face and hated herself for causing it. she thought about the fear she felt when you said you were done. she never wanted to feel that again.

she carefully reached for her phone on the coffee table, trying not to disturb you.

she opened her messages. she found the contact labeled manager.

her thumb hovered over the keyboard. she looked at you one last time, sleeping peacefully in her arms. she made her choice.

megan: schedule a meeting with missy for tomorrow. it’s important.

megan: we need to talk about my schedule and my contract terms. it can't wait.

a/n: first post HOW R WE FEEEEELINGGG 😛😛

“Apologies are dumb, don’t you think?” the words hum out of your mouth and into the hot and humid summer air. 

You watch as Megan's brows furrow, “why do you say so? I mean… what else are people supposed to say?”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” you chuckle, “people say sorry because they have nothing else to say. People say sorry when they’re out of excuses and can’t… reason their way out anymore. Sorry’s are dumb. They’re like… a bandaid over a bullet wound. They don’t fix a thing, you know?”

The girl smiles, “well I apologize a lot.” She looks towards you, one of her iconic smiles that would usually send fans screaming plastered her lips as her head quirks, almost like she’s challenging you to a duel of the wits.

You scoff, a playful roll breezing over your eyes while a smile pulls onto your cheeks, “ugh, shut up Megan!” A shove is thrown her way as she grabs onto her arms like you fatally wounded her.

“Now you have to say sorry!”

“Oh please,” your head turns to the girl, “I’m sorry. Happy?”

“Okay sure, whatever,” Megan says, pretending to ponder your words with a faux unamused scowl. 

A weight dips onto Megan’s shoulders, her head tilts to watch yours slowly fall into place, “I’d always forgive you Megan Meiyok Skiendiel.”

“Don’t full name me!” the girl gasps as she swats at your head. Your hands flew up to cover your scalp as you retreated back into your space.

“Hey! I mean it. You’re my best friend. I’ll always forgive you,” you grin.

“You better!”

Those words didn’t age so nicely now, but you were right.

You would always forgive the girl. No matter what.

No matter what reason or logic or virtue or morals in your head it went against. 

You will always forgive Megan.

1. I’m so sorry I messed up the choreo.

Megan loved to utter those beautiful words, and you loved to watch them fall from her lips even before you realized the way they would make your heart stutter and your brain blank. You paid no mind to the wedge it pried open in your chest. The way the words sank somewhere you didn’t enjoy. Somewhere too deep to decipher at first.

The first time Megan formally apologized to you was in the dance studio. The two of you were trying to film a video for a tiktok. The girl, a perfectionist, spent her time tweaking the way her heel struck the vinyl floor or analyzing the angle her elbow bent during a beat drop. That landed the two of you here, you trying to teach Megan this so-called “sick” hand trick they did in the choreography, while the skilled dancer, who you firmly believe probably started dancing in the womb, managed to lose every ounce of her composure as her eyes followed your wrists.

“Okay Meggie,” you smiled. It was a nickname you gave the girl. One reserved only for your use. A rule only written in the fine print of your lives. An unspoken understanding. “You put your wrists together and point up, okay? Elbows perpendicular to the ground. You twist them around so both your palms face you, then do that in reverse, like a 180?” you say demonstrating the gesture with your hands moving in fluid motion. 

The girl beside you nods along, hands following the action with immaculate precision. As always. That was something you admired about Megan. Her intentionality. She always knew what to do. Where to place her hands. How to perform. What expression to make. It was like she knew the job as an idol inside and out. What to lay bare, and what to keep hidden behind the gates of her heart. 

You wish you could too.

Still, her wrist was too stiff in some aspects. That was unusual for the fluid movements and groove she was known for. Yet, you shrugged it off. You always did. Something in your mind snaked through your thoughts with perfectly pieced together lies and excuses. The stiffness must’ve been from the stress, or the pressure, or the coming performance. Nothing similar to the word that had been dangling around the two of you now. Nothing like the concept people yearned for daily, but the two of you danced around like second nature. Love. 

You’re not sure if your brain purposely ignored the way her cheeks visibly flushed bright red as you pulled her into frame after setting up the camera and pressing record. You’re not sure if your ears meant to drown out the way her breath audibly hitched at the skin on skin contact when your fingers met hers. In that moment though, from the screen you could see the way Megan’s movements began 2 beats after when she was supposed to. A mistake the girl would never usually make.

You didn’t ponder on it.

You didn’t even scold her for messing up the take.

You laughed. The throw your head back type of laughter one would do when a friend made a silly mistake that you promised to remember forever.

Yes. One of those laughs.

Megan just spirted out apologizes like her life depended on it, “shit— I’m so sorry I messed up the choreo. I promise it won’t happen again—”

“Meggie, it’s fine,” you grinned, waving her off as you picked up your phone to reset the recording.

You didn’t bother to think too hard about why. Just blaming the incident on the girl zoning out like she usually did. You didn’t think that hard in general. If you did, you would have seen the way her eyes were glued onto your figure when she fumbled her counts, or the way her jaw was slightly unclasped when you began to move your hips to the beat. You were too focused on completing the dance challenge instead. In hindsight, all probably for the better. If only it stayed that way.

2. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.

From then on, Megan’s apologies only grew in number. They piled into towers which rested on top of your chest. A heavy weight you learned to carry because love wasn’t supposed to be easy. At least that was what you were told. You could forgive this flaw. It was just who Megan was. Loud, at every function until the doors close and her voice drops to a soft whisper as if anything louder than a mouse would send you packing and out the door. Excited, about basically anything she could get her hands on. Yet, every time she saw you walk over, her fingers would begin to fiddle while her words turned to gibberish. She became a nervous wreck. It was as if she couldn’t imagine how someone like you could love someone like her. Unpolished. Rough around the edges in the most beautiful way possible. A hindrance. 

But you did.

Oh so much. 

So much you could excuse her little habit. A habit that always gets on your frayed nerves.

Her stupid apologies.

Still, how could you blame her? They’re just words. Harmless sounds which come out of her mouth.

It would always happen. You learned to live with it. Today was one of those days. 

All the girls were in the dance studio. A new comeback meant new choreography. It was routine. Nothing out of the ordinary. The stares you could feel at the side of your face were nothing out of the ordinary either. Also practically routine. You could always tell who it was.

Megan.

Who else could it even be?

You listened as Sohey explained this one dance move for the fifth time that day. His tone dripped with annoyance as he continued, “stomp and then hip. Not the other way around. Not at the same time. Just come on.” His rant continued while he demonstrated the action, stomping his foot on the ground before popping his hip to strike the desired pose.

The group of you reentered formation, running the dance from the start. The words echoed in your head. Point your toes, now straight arms, isolate the chest, kick and strut. Then, you felt your right knee bend when it shouldn’t have. Horror ripping through your body as your legs gave out beneath you, sending you straight to the floor. The vinyl flooring zoomed into view while your hands went out to try and break the fall. Within seconds you were on the floor, palms pressed against the dusty plastic. Your knee screamed at you in a dull pain. 

“Fuck!” you hear Megan blurt out beside you. Her foot was located where yours were moments ago. A trip. A simple trip that left you pushing yourself off the floor and back onto your feet because the show never stopped. The fans never waited. Megan’s apologies came tumbling, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have rushed the beat and tripped you and hurt you. It was all a mistake I promise, I swear. Please. Please Y/n–”

“–it’s fine, Megan. It really is,” you say like it was nothing, dusting off your knees and returning to formation as Sohey chanted for the group to run the dance again.

Megan didn’t need anyone to call her out to know the reason for your fall. One glace. One movement out of focus, and she sent you straight to the floor. 

Apologies didn’t feel like enough for her back then.

Now, they certainly aren’t enough for you anymore.

3. Sorry.

For how unpolished Megan’s apologies were, the sounds she uttered in front of a camera was never so. Clean cut, purposeful. A talent she learned from growing up in the unforgiving claws of the entertainment industry for so long. A talent she forgot only around you.

All it took was one interview. One camera picking up on where her field of vision landed.

“Megan Skiendiel. What are you looking at?” the interviewer remarks. Her voice cut through the peaceful atmosphere of the radio station's recording booth, sending everyone’s heads snapping to the sound. 

Megan’s head whips around until she’s faced towards the interviewer, spluttering, “I— what? I— I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

The way her head turned towards you every two syllables while she stuttered didn’t help her case. The way she panicked and became redder than a tomato didn’t help either. Sophia, ever vigilant, ever composed, jumped in the way she always did, “I think what Megan meant was how you asked about pillars of support, right? Megan and Y/n have always been close. Two peas in a pod since Dream Academy days. They’re each other's biggest pillars of support. Right, Megan?”

A flustered girl swiftly grasped onto the olive branch their leader extended, “yes yes. Exactly that. I don’t know where I’d be without Y/n supporting me all this way.”

You just laugh at the scene. Something in your stomach churned at the lie. The way the intimacy of your friendship was reduced to mere companionship, like it was all luck that forged the way. It glossed over the nights the two of you spent talking on the couch after a misunderstanding. It blurred away the glances across meeting rooms when executives were ripping everyone to shreds. It wiped clean the secret brushes of the knee, hand, foot under dinner tables, when walking through the halls, in every moment possible that meant a little bit more than either of you let on. Moments that made the friendship almost feel like a little bit more. Like it could be a little bit more than just sisterly love. 

The flushed cheeks, fumbled sentences, clammy hands. Friends don’t do that. Families don’t do that. You and Megan did. That had to mean something more than what was being let on now. It must.

The interviewer gets a memo through their earpiece. No one knew what it was, just that it made them drop the topic. You watch as Megan’s breathing returns to normal. The anxiety and stress of the slip slowly escaping her. The rest of the group follows suit, but the twist in your chest doesn’t ease. It grows instead. It grows as you watch Megan force her head back in front of her every time it drifts even at the slightest angle towards you. It grows as she avoids eye contact even when the group mentioned your names together with hers in a reference to something stupid the two of you did. It never stopped growing. 

It was after the recording live sign dimmed and everyone filed out of the room that Megan finally found her way back to you. Somewhere where the camera lenses couldn’t analyze every movement of her lips. Somewhere where silence filled in the blanks of the internet's scrutiny was when she spoke, just a whisper, “sorry.” 

You didn’t need to respond. With just a link of your pinky with hers you seemed to bring life back into the girl amidst the pain which spread in your chest. It told her what she should have already known. You’re forgiven. Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday. Always. You’re forgiven.

Yet, her apologies continued. Silent. Each a needle to your aching heart. Sorry, the words slipped from her flingers as she almost flinched at your touch. Sorry, the sound drips from her eyes as she refuses to meet your gaze. Sorry, her body repeats as her nails carved crescents into her palms like a silent punishment. 

This was the first time you thought, maybe, just maybe, Megan wasn’t ever quite truly intentional in all she did. Maybe she didn’t mean to continue apologizing even after you had repeatedly told her to stop. Maybe, she simply feared making mistakes. Fearing them so badly, she would frantically try to cover them up with an essay-worth of words flowing from her mouth. Apologies on apologies, as if burying the other person alive under them could kill the guilt.

It never did, but Megan, sure as hell, still tried. 

Rapidly. Intentionally. Desperately. 

It never did, but you, sure as hell, still drowned. 

Wordlessly. Unknowingly. Willingly. 

i. I’ll always forgive you.

You’re not sure when Megan began to sneak up on you. You’re not sure when her god forsaken apologies began to sound like music to your ears. You just know they did. They became a steady rhythm in the chaos of idol life, like the thump of your heartbeat ringing between your ribs, or the underlying beat of a new song the group was working hard to record. It was yours. It was special. 

Maybe it was the interview incident that made you realize your feelings for the girl. The way your soul burned when she refused to acknowledge you until the cameras stopped rolling. It hurt. Too much for it to be platonic in your mind. The two of you couldn't have been just friends for a long time now. Not with the way she looked at you. Not with the way you threw her off balance. Not with the way the same happened to you too. Something wasn’t right. Something had to break.

You loved Megan. 

With her apologies and all.

You were sure the girl must’ve felt the same, but thoughts still nagged your mind, picking apart each of your nerves at the seems. How would management react? Could you go public? Would Megan even want to? It was a lost cause from the start. Yet your mind still dreamed of feeling the way her hand would fit snugly in yours like a missing puzzle piece to the convoluted maze of your life. You ached for it. You hope she did too.

You didn’t expect an apology today. You didn’t expect to enter the katseye dorms after spending an extra few hours in the vocal studio running warm up exercises to land you standing face to face with Megan Skiendiel. Face to face when you originally thought all the girls agreed to go out to some LA party tonight, leaving the dorms empty for you to ponder in. 

“You— Megan? Why are you here?” you murmur, setting your heavy bag down on the ground against the wall as you took your shoes off. 

The shuffles approaching were obviously the girls. You could tell from a mile away, but something was off about the sound. Too careful. Too timid for the usually hyper girl. You know this game by heart. An apology, but for what?

“I’m sorry,” the words echo from the girl's mouth. 

Your brows visibly furrow at the sound. “For what?” you hum out. Finally standing up to face her. Only now do you see her puffy eyes, her twisting fingers, the balls of her feet shifting weight from side to side. 

“I— I know we’re not supposed to do this,” she hiccups while her head tilts down and the action sends a pang to your heart.

“No no Meggie, talk to me. I… Come on. What’s the matter?” you say a little faster, worry beginning to claw on your chest. 

You watch as she presses her eyes closed like it could wake her from this nightmare before she continues, “shit y/n, I like you, okay? I like you more than bandmates should. Sorry, you’re just…  I—”

Time stops. You swear it does as the words settle in your chest. “Mean it?” you ask back, unable to believe what’s coming out of her mouth, “mean it mean it?”

“What?” the girl whispers out almost flabbergasted, “of course and I’m sorry because this is so unprofessional of me and you know, you don’t even like me back like that and well, I bring you so much trouble with my pinning and it’s just not cool or fun or endearing. It’s just annoying,” she heaves out in one breath, immediately starting on the next, “annoying as hell like these apologies I know you hate! Just— I can’t keep pretending anymore! Shit, I shouldn’t be saying any of this anyways. It’s gonna ruin the whole group dynamic and Soph is gonna be livid and management—”

A swift motion cuts off her panicked spiral. Before you could even comprehend the action, you stepped towards her. Everything in you was moving by itself at this point. Every ounce of reason spilling out of your mind like her words had opened a gate to your soul. Her eyes quickly catch up to your train of thought as her breath hitches. A breath of air croaks out of her throat while her eyes widen at you in shock. Her lips go to form a sentence. You beat her to it, pressing your mouth to hers. A quiet gasp precedes her before she kisses back. Sweet like the candy she loved and the way she grinned. 

This love-struck giddy grin graces her lips when she pulls away. “Wait… Sorry… You’re not mad at me? Like at all?” she questions almost in complete shock.

A laugh escaped you, as if she just asked an absurd question. You had quickly learned that no matter how much you hated apologies, you loved Megan Skiendiel way more. “Stop saying sorry, I’ll always forgive you. No matter what you do,” you say, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind the girl's ears.

“Mean it?”

“Gosh, I mean it so much.”

You just wish that was still true now.

4. I’m sorry.

Maybe the apologies had snuck up on you as much as the person who spoke them had done the same. You couldn’t lie and pretend the sweet apologies hadn’t begun to sound like music to your ears. Every apology was a balm over your soul, a way Megan showed she cared. It was her love language, you convinced yourself. The phrase rang in your ear like a growing melody of her love. A confession strung in teary eyes and trembling lips. A sight you wish could be framed in your mind, hung in every corner of your soul, stored in your memories for eternity. 

You wanted to stay here. A limbo you once believed was hell itself. 

The apologies had taken root in your mind. It was almost a representation of the girl herself. Her care. Her reverence. Her love. You had long forgotten all sense as you swore this was how love was supposed to feel like. Apologies that clattered upon each other in an endless pile. A lake of tears which you kissed away from her cheeks. 

You thought this was home. 

You should’ve known you had thought wrong. 

You should’ve known this was a disaster in disguise. Yet isn’t that the beauty of love? You reminisce. The gauze over bullet holes and kisses over broken bones? It mends and heals without a care in the world, like it can bend fate itself. 

You had called those apologies, love. The first time you did so was in the kitchen, like forever was a concept the two of you had won at an arcade game. Tangible. Straightforward. Permanent.

“Megan, can you check if the cookies are good? I feel like it’s been in the oven much longer than 15 minutes now!” you call out to the girl staring at her phone, endlessly scrolling through reels or posts or something you didn’t truly care much about while you washed the tower of mixing bowls and measuring cups stacked tidy on the counter. 

“Sounds good,” she hums, walking over to the oven with her phone still in her hand, thumbs scrolling endlessly.

You sigh, still scrubbing away oily residue from a spatula. The silence is eerie as you wait for the sound of a burning hot baking pan to hit the grills of the stove. Nothing. You pause your motion now, letting the water waste away into the drain, waiting for the sound to spring into your ears.

“Megan?” you ask, waiting for the emptiness to finally break.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, like anymore would break the fragile string that strung us together.

You finally stop the faucet and set the spatula down, “something happened?” Your heart barely lurches at the apology now.

A meek sound answers your question, “I think I might’ve set the timer wrong… the cookies are burnt… I’m so sorry I don’t know how I—”

You shrug in return, “just cookies Meg, no biggie.”

“You sure?”

A soft grin makes its way onto your face, “super sure, Megan.”

“So I’m forgiven?” the girl practically beams. 

“In what world would you not be?” you laugh back.

Except that phrase didn’t feel so funny anymore.

It really didn’t feel so funny anymore.

5. Sorry, sick.

It was only natural that the apologies would fade into routine as time went on. What fool would believe otherwise? You found yourself waiting for them during your day. A droplet of spoiled milk, a miscount in choreography, a step on your toes during a photoshoot. You discovered solace in the sound of those two words on her lips. A sanctuary she cut out of her soul for you. 

Over time, your heart has built a tolerance to the words. The more they were uttered, the less your chest ached at its sound. The words would slide into your ear channel and out the other without the bat of an eye. Calming even. If you dared to call it so. 

It was a quiet morning. One where the world seemed to flow in rhythm with time. A small hum on your lips as you flipped pancakes on the stove. Toast popping out of the toaster with the perfect cha-ching right as you turned to check on it. Sunlight streaming in from the windows, right onto the dining table where the house plants basked in its radiant glory. It was early enough your other members weren’t awake yet, but late enough the birds were already happily chirping, hopping from one tree branch to another. 

So peaceful, you didn’t even hear Megan’s footsteps until a small sneeze echoed in the quiet serenity. 

“Bless you,” you say, continuing to work on the pancakes. Usually, Megan would apologize. A meek sorry that’d tumble out before you could stop her, instead, a weak sniffle was heard. With a swift flick of your fingers, you shut the stove and turned around to stare at her. In front of you stood Megan. Hair tussled, the collar of her sweatshirt sliding off her left shoulder, face pale and her lips glistening as she stood there in a small pout. Within seconds, she sniffled again, grabbing a tissue to whip away at her runny nose. 

“Sorry, sick,” she mumbles into the thin sheet of paper.

The words don’t even register in your mind at the sight of her well-being. Your feet slide across the floor in seconds to cup her face, feeling her forehead for a fever. “Love, you’re burning up,” the words rush out of your lips, “god why are you up?”

“P—practice—” she quickly defends before you cut her off with a huff, “practice? In this state? No, you’re going to sleep, babes.”

“Y/n—”

“Don’t even think about it.” The words are stern with no room for negotiation. Only at the tone does Megan resign.

“Sorry I ruined your morning—”

Sorry. 

That word again. 

Yet your brain simply floated over it, filling the syllables with empty space instead. You don’t mind that she broke your hard earned peace this morning with her sickness. You don’t even dwell on the apology she uttered. 

You shush her.

You bring her back to her room.

You grab medicine from the bathroom cabinet.

You grab her a cold wet towel.

You text management then Sophia that the two of you can’t make it to practice today.

As simple as that.

6. Sorry.

You had better things to worry about than apologies now. 

Idol life. Invasive fans. Management’s demands. Performances. Brand deals. A secret relationship. Did you even have to continue? 

You don’t have time to be bothered about those two words.

It had already been a long day. Back to back rehearsals, vocal runs, filmed tiktoks, interviews. Another day, another thing pulling you in a million directions. Fatigue was a constant companion now. Rest was a foreign concept.

You had been sprawled face first on Megan’s bed. Phone thrown onto the bedside table. Megan’s body pressed over yours as she grumbled on and on about the ridiculous schedule.

“Megan, is that your phone?” you sigh with your eyes closed as vibrations swim through your body from the rectangular shaped warmth buzzing over your lower back. 

The girl groans, “fine,” before she pushes herself up and takes out her phone to put it on do not disturb mode. You wait for her to set it aside and drape back over you, but cool air is all that awaits for moments on end.

Slowly, vision returns to you once you peel your eyelids apart. “What’s the matter?” you rasp out, eager to return to the rest you had been desperately craving.

“Management wants us to do a live, babe,” Megan says, voice soft, careful.

Immediately your face falls back into the sheets of her bed, “tell me you're kidding me.” Still, after a few moments you pull yourself together, roll onto your back and sit up to Megan already setting the phone camera up.

It doesn’t take long for the fans to file in once your girlfriend pressed the livestream button.

@/luluvrs: ARE WE FINALLY GETTING A MEGY/N LIVE? @/hereagain4u: this is historic?? @/miagamegirl: Missed you guys a lot <33

It didn’t take long for conversation to flow. It was the reason why everyone loved your livestreams with Megan anyways. It just made sense. 

Megan hummed as she leaned in closer to the screen in order to read a comment. The live felt so natural. That’s probably the reason why the following words flowed out of her mouth before she could stop it.

@/lovelee4u: someone pls drop a fun question :D @/manzix: is this a Q&A? @/ongoingchaos: who is your celebrity crush?

“Ooo, easy question! My girlfriend y/n of course!” Megan blurts out without a second thought before the realization dawns on her. In an instant, her already tired face somehow manages to pale even more. 

@/hermslore: UH IS THAT A HARD LAUNCH? @/lafortezasboy: I’m not sure if this is good… @/vivilvr: SO MEGY/N IS REAL?? WAIT WHAT??

You feel your eyes widen. Your eardrums boom at the side of your face. There wasn’t even a chance for you to stop her before she unveiled the secret even management was unaware of. The feeling of your blood draining from your face was instant as both Megan and you sat there in shock.

Comments flew by in seconds as the world zeroed in on Megan’s sentence. There was no backtracking available. The words were out. Their meaning was undeniable.

@/mayzini: they’re gagged rn @/emdashofficial: PR NIGHTMARE? @/g7rlcrush: um so… I don’t think this live is staying up after this

Once Megan snapped out of her daze, her hand flew in lighting speed to the end live button. 

But the damage was done. 

Both your phones were blowing up with messages from your fellow members and management, yet all you hear is Megan’s whispered apology.

“Sorry.”

You’re not sure if sorry will cut it this time.

ii. You’re forgiven, you know you always will be.

Once the live ended. You knew this day would come. Every breath you took hung mid air inside your chest as you waited for the pin to drop.

You ran through every probable consequence in your mind. You prepared yourself for every worst case scenario. Maybe some executive will pull Megan out of a rehearsal and give her a long winded speech, say something like, “Megan Skiendiel. We get it. You're young, you want to fall in love, but with someone in the group? Do you understand how big of a scandal this is? You need to break it off. You could be with anyone in the world, HYBE x Geffen can be lenient with that, but someone in the group with you is too far. Especially with you explicitly stating it.” Perhaps they’d say it softer, “Megan… You need to understand that this is bad PR. You and y/n must break it off for the sake of the group.” Maybe there was even a chance that the whole ordeal would blow over swiftly and silently though text, with Megan getting a message like “Megan Skiendiel. End it.”

That was until it finally happened.

That was when you realized it was nothing like what you envisioned. It was worse, because it was raw, it hurt, and it visibly tore her apart and you in relation. Because at the end of the day, what else could you expect? It just had to contain those two words.

I’m sorry.

And she meant it. 

It wasn’t the throwaway apology you detested.

Megan meant it.

Megan Meiyok Skiendiel was deathly apologetic.

Maybe to a flaw.

It was a quiet night. One where all the other members left to go hang out with friends or their lovers while you were too anxious to go anywhere. Thus, you settled on keeping yourself cooped up inside the dorms.

That was when Megan Skiendiel found you.

Legs to your chest, feet on the sofa, chin on your knees. It was almost a sorry sight. 

She didn’t mean to, but she peeled the bandaid off slowly. Tediously. Too gentle. 

“Y/n—” she began but you cut her off before she could finish.

“Just don’t Megan,” you whisper, already knowing where the conversation was headed.

Megan paused before she restarted, “you know I don’t want to—”

“But you’re still doing it so what’s the difference?” you retort back, head finally lifting off your knees to stare back at her.

You watch the tears churn in her eye socket, the way those big brown orbs glistened under the soft living room lighting. The girl had to physically peel her lips apart to mutter the next phrase, “we have to break up…”

A bitter laugh leaves your mouth, “have to? Of course we have to Megan. Are you kidding me? What else could even possibly occur now? Lose it all?”

The words shoot out sharper than usual, making Megan shrink back a little, forcing the tears to finally ease out onto her cheeks, dripping onto the sofa, leaving salty marks in its wake. Her mouth opens and you can almost predict what she’s going to say next. “Don’t,” you warn.

Megan doesn’t listen.

“Megan, just don’t,” you repeat, voice stern before fading. A sinking feeling pulling your stomach underwater while an indescribable itch clawed up your esophagus. You tried to hide the tears that brimmed your eyes by looking away from the girl.

Megan’s brows furrowed. You knew she never intended on making you cry. “Y/n, please. This can be temporary. After a while longer maybe they’ll let us, I—”

“Oh who are you kidding?” you laugh, choking down on a sob, “who are you fooling, Megan? You know what? Just don’t say it… please don’t say it,” your voice finally breaks. 

“But—”

“Stop Megan…” her name hung in the empty cabinet of your chest, the only thing that now remains as you continue to beg and plead the girl to swallow her following sentence, “please just no-–”

“I still love you… I’m sorry…”

A delicate, broken, wreaked scoff escapes your lips, “I told you to stop, Megan. Don’t make it any more real than needed…” You finally turn back to look at her. Your own tear streaked face mirroring hers, “why did you say it knowing it’d hurt me?”

“I’m sorry I—” Megan fumbles over her words.

Again, those three syllables. You just wished that sound would die on her tongue, stick to the roof of her mouth like superglue and never be able to escape again. Yet, you continued, “you’re forgiven, you know you always will be.”

Because that was the truth. You’d always forgive Megan Meiyok Skiendiel. At the end of the day, you still remember your promise to her all those summers ago. You remember it all so vividly now. Why the lighthearted hatred for the word now ran so deep in your veins.

All because of Megan.

You hated how that phrase dangled off her tongue like a sweet candy. How it had burrowed under your skin to the extent where you forgot the pain. It burned you. Every. Single. Time, but she never stopped. No. She always continued.

For apologies were her love language.

And Megan loved you.

Oh, just why did you have to love Megan Meiyok Skiendiel back?

7. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.

You’d been avoiding Megan ever since, putting Lara or Sophia between the two of you in every interview, leaving a room the second she showed up, refusing to meet her eyes. It was evident to everyone that something had broken after that live. 

Yet, the world is a funny thing.

It only made sense for fate to play a cruel joke on you with a around the circle moment. 

It only made sense the next time the memories came flooding back it would be another livestream.

Thankfully, this one was with the whole group instead.

@/edamameiyok: ot7 the group is back! @/charlvr: lowkey miss seeing everyone @/av4nzini: my girls <33

Before the stream started, you had taken meticulous measures to make sure Megan and you were seated on opposite ends of the couch. A remark to Sophia to keep the two of you apart. A drag to pull Yoonchae right next to you on the edge. Insisting Megan should sit on the furthest end from you, beside Lara, so it was easier to grab her bag on the table though the extra step genuinely made no difference. You didn’t want this live to go astray again. It couldn’t. You’re not sure if you could handle it if it did.

It was a simple livestream. Everyone hops on and promotes the new album coming out. Quick Q&A. Show the fans nothing was wrong. It was supposed to be straightforward, but of course, nothing was ever straightforward with Megan Skiendiel.

It didn’t take long before you felt a stare boring into the side of your head. You tried to ignore it, you really did, turning to Yoonchae to talk about your favorite lyrics, teasing the fans with potential spoilers, helping Lara freestyle a song. Nothing worked.

You felt it. The silent apology. The wave of silent apologies for ruining the special thing the two of you had.

@/raspberridani: Why is megan staring so hard @/angelwings-fly: this feels awkward as hell… @/modanisgf: uh did we miss a chapter?

It didn’t take long for fans to catch on either.

@/coolwyous: 1-800-yearner? @/katseyeluv: is she okay?? @/theosanctuary: the side eye Megan got is insane

You watched as Lara quickly nudged Megan, and how your leader had shot the girl a glare to knock it off. It didn’t work. Megan's eyes stayed locked on you, the whole entire livestream.

After the live, it didn’t take long for Megan to come find you in the dorm kitchen to utter those horrendous words.

“I just wanted to say I’m really sorry—”

“Knock it off Megan,” you bite with no regret for the harsh words when the version of you from mere weeks ago would have profusely apologized for such a tone.

The pitiful apology irritated you now. It reminded you of every reason that you hated those words. Every reason the words sounded like nails on a chalkboard to your eardrums.

They only came when it was already too late.

They only came to mend a wound that was already bound to leave a scar. 

They only came when everything was beyond salvageable.

They only came now.

8. I just wanted to say I'm sorry I slipped like that.

Every time someone would mutter the darn word, you were reminded of her again. You wanted to curse the girl for ruining such a simple phrase. Somehow, leaving your hatred for the phrase deeper than before, something you didn’t even think was possible.

You can still recall when you looked forward to the tour. A chance to be around your girlfriend more. A chance for lingering touches and carefully placed eye contact to be acceptable, mere fan service. A dream that was now crushed. A mere infatuation with a simple what if. 

Now every time at a tour stop, you had to hear her stupid apologies everywhere. From a worker who accidentally stepped on your foot, to a fan that apologized for bothering you before asking for an autograph. You swear the world was haunting you at this rate, keeping the wound fresh, making it ache so you would remember how painful love is, so you’ll avoid it for eternity now. 

You should’ve known Megan would slip up during the tour. Forget the careful balance the two of you were keeping and return to before, the version of the two of you that didn’t tip toe around each other or read into each other's words. A version of the pair of you that held trust like it was a given, instead of something fragile to protect and shield.

It was the last stop on the tour, you were almost certain that Megan would remember to leave you alone for the full duration. 

You were wrong.

Soundcheck.

A microphone in your hands as you waved to the fans and read their personalized signs. You made hearts to cameras and blew kisses to eager eyes. You barely felt the pair of arms slide around your waist. 

That was until you felt the familiar feeling of Megan’s chin resting on your shoulder. The way she used to, with a slight quirk of her head and a calm breath.

You could feel your world freeze.

You swear you stopped breathing for a second before the world zeroed back in. Before Megan felt your body pause and immediately let go like the memories of the breakup only just arrived in her brain. 

The fans were too ecstatic to notice, and your feet moved at lightning speed so you could run across the stage to a corner far away from her.

You spent the rest of your night avoiding the girl.

You spent the rest of the night avoiding the one person who had once made the thought of going on tour a fever dream in your mind. 

The show had ended, you were backstage. You were desperately hoping she’d keep her distance, but of course, how could she resist.

Those three syllables begged to be let out, and those three syllables found its way to you.

“Wait!” you heard her exclaim, stopping you in your path, “I just wanted to say I'm sorry I slipped like that. I didn’t mean to, it just… happened and I—”

“Cut it out, Megan. It’s fine. It’s whatever.”

9. Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.

You genuinely hoped that would be the last time you’d hear her say those words back to you. You were wrong. Of course you were.

An award show where everything had dragged on for too long. A seating arrangement you didn’t choose but had to abide by, and of course, a girl you had too much history with sitting right next to you. 

Katseye was nominated for many awards tonight. You were hoping that fact would keep her occupied enough to forget your presence beside her. It didn’t.

You felt naive for thinking it could’ve. 

You watched as glitter danced off of Megan’s skin. If it had been a few months ago, you would’ve thought she looked ethereal. Now, you just feel like she’s a battered and bruised siren wearing angel wings, luring you into her depths. Begging for you to drown in her wake, as she was drowning too. What a fitting dynamic. Her dress hugged her figure perfectly. Truly a sight to behold, while the lace trim danced in the chilly venue air, fluttering against the air conditioning. 

You hope you look as good as Megan did right now. You hope your own outfit made it just as hard for her to take her eyes off you as it was for you to take yours off her. It felt almost petty, but pettiness wasn’t an emotion you strayed away from anymore.

It had become a companion to the unknown pain that always lurked in your chest.

It almost made everything almost bearable. 

The whole ceremony had continued without a hitch until the group was announced as one of the nominees for a major award. That was when you felt the touch. That was the second you felt Megan’s fingers find yours. 

You could almost curse her for the action on the spot, but you let the anger simmer. It was an award show after all. The two of you were groupmates at the end of the day, right?

Nothing more. 

You felt her finger curl around yours as all of you held your breath waiting for the winner to be announced. The silence between words were too loud to be ignored, yet you couldn’t tell if it was from the anticipation of a trophy, or the silent battle happening in Megan and your heart. 

It didn’t matter at the end of the day, as when all seven of you returned back to your hotel rooms that night, your worst nightmare found its way back to you.

You listened as Megan paused, tapped your shoulder, then apologized for interlocking your fingers together before the awards were announced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Even though we were sitting beside each other, that was out of line,” the girl spoke, fiddling with her fingers and picking at her acrylic nails.

For some reason, you just replied back, “and I’m sorry for letting you. We should stop blurring the line.”

For the first time ever. You apologized. You apologized the exact way Megan did.

The girl who had once been your world nodded back.

You did too. 

And somehow, that was the end of that dreaded exchange where apologies were uttered too fast, too informally. For you had caught onto the game now, apologies were easy to say.

Apologies, said more than what the word itself meant.

It enveloped a lot more. 

Words that couldn’t be said. Not anymore.

iii. Then stop.

You thought that was the end of it all. A silent truce. A silent agreement that apologies were just a norm between the two of you now. Megan would swallow down her pride and guilt and you would swallow down your own hatred for the word. 

It should’ve been enough.

But of course it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t when Megan felt the silence between the two of you eat away at her soul every moment it could. 

That’s why she stopped you. A quiet morning where you expected tranquil peace. That’s when she planned her attack. A day you thought would be reserved just for you. 

“Y/n, can we just talk quickly?” she blurts out the second you leave your solo dorm room.

You blink in response, still slightly groggy from the night's sleep before responding, “sure?” The uncertainty in your tone was clear. Megan should’ve taken it as a sign to back down. You let her enter your room. You let the door shut. You let her speak, and she did. 

“I’m sorry I never tried to make it work. I just… I never should have outed us. I should have fought when they tried to break us up. I… I’ve apologized so much in this relationship and I’ve done nothing to change, and… I’m sorry about that…” Megan says, the words rumbling out of her throat desperately as she tries to understand her own mind.

Megan Skiendiel spoke words that should have mended your soul, but they didn’t. They came a little too late.

“I never wanted to hurt you—” she added.

That phrase was your last straw, because at the end of the day… “You did,” you responded, “you hurt me—”

“I know,” the girl sighed back, and before another excuse would make its way out of her lips, you said something unexpected.

“Then stop.”

Because in every world you were supposed to forgive her. In every world where the sky is blue and the grass is green you were supposed to stand in front of Megan Skiendiel and forgive her. Tell her it was all okay. That at the end of the day you couldn’t care less because you had promised her, you’d always forgive her. You loved her. Forgiveness was a guarantee. Until now, where it no longer was one. 

Instead, you stood there, your eyes met hers, and you asked her in opposition, “do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had chosen differently?”

Then you watched. You watched as Megan’s face morphed into emotions you didn’t know existed, before it landed into something pained. Guilty and pained. Guilty, regretful, and pained. “All the time,” she whispered back.

“Do you think in every one of those, in every one of those what if’s,  we'd still be together?” the words hum out delicately into the still air.

“Yea… I think we would.”

A small smile grazed your lips, “I think we would too.”

In that moment you knew, apologies were her. Megan Skiendiel was a puzzle pieced together by small apologies, and you were a candle, where every match was a simple sorry. In any other world, the candle would brighten up a dimly lit room, but in this one, it fell, and the puzzle caught flame instead. 

Apologizes no longer seemed so bad. They just seemed like Megan, the girl who spoke them into song like a sun's rays and quiet companionship. 

The both of you had tried too hard. She had tried to stop her habit of apologizing, while you had tried to stop your hatred for them. Both of you were trying to change yourselves and each other into people you weren’t. Megan into someone who didn’t feel every little mistake to the biggest degree, and you, someone who was willing to push aside small mistakes as long as you got to hold her in your arms. 

Megan had rooted herself in every sorry, while you had rooted yourself into every I forgive you.

The two of you followed each other around like shadows. 

Ever so close, but also so far away. 

Now, every time you hear an apology, all that comes to mind is Megan Skiendiel.

Her laugh, her dimples, her puppy dog eyes. 

Her apologies. 

That's when it hit you.

You never stopped loving Megan Skiendiel.

You just stopped remembering that love wasn’t perfect. 

Maybe in a different world it’d still be you and her. 

there’s a famous unspoken rule that everyone in hollywood history has to follow. if you want to date a celebrity, you have to have balls.

well, not literally.

you just have to realise how much of you will be put out in the world if you do, “fans” will hate you, you will be waterboarded with questions about your partner and suddenly your life will become all about them. your looks will be judged, so will every action you do, no matter how little.

you have to be brave enough to watch pieces upon pieces of yourself be handed to strangers who will tear them apart.

you had known all of this.

you just never expected to become the said person.

when you started dating megan, she wasn’t #katseye_megan, but she was just your megan. your best friend from preschool and now your girlfriend.

she had started dream academy, sure, but she wasn’t a pop sensation. your relationship wasn’t known, only by a few close friends and family. your mother’s even exchanged a glance as they looked at each other with a knowing look and smiled when you told them about your relationship.

“we knew this would happen. surprised it took you guys so long.”

your jaw dropped, shock evident on your face that if stared at you long enough, you’d start to resemble the scream by edvard munch, recalling that painting to be prominent in your mind ever since that one history class in freshman year.

megan chuckled next to you, simply wrapping her arm around your waist with ease and laying her head on your shoulder. looking at you like the love-sick puppy that she was, as if looking at you would give her the answers to any question the universe threw at her.

when you graduated high-school, you moved in together. thankfully for you guys, your college and katseye’s rehearsals were in the same state. leaving you to be able to live together, even for the time being.

megan, of course, had to stay in the dorm with lara half the time, since they, as a group, needed to bond, and some weverse life streams went way past the time she had the energy to go home.

even if it wasn’t all the time, it still was something. you got to share some mornings and some nights curled up together, just like you had dreamed since middle school.

even with her frequent staying with the katseye members, she never let you wonder where she was. updating you every chance she could.

“just made it to the meeting… boring :(”

“just got to rehearsal. pray for me. pls.”

“manon is taking us to mcdonalds, want something?”

or just sent a photo of herself, captioning it with “miss you”.

that’s what you were used to; that was your routine. you sent a picture of yourself, most of the time buried in books, while she replied with drool emojis and barking everywhere. asking if she can “impregnate you”.

you always giggled, response the same. “buy me a ring first.”

that’s why this hurt even more.

you started noticing the lack of messages on her part. you, of course, still sent her your selfies, but megan stopped updating where she was going. it was barley noticable at first, just one or two fewer messages a week.

the question you didn’t want to ask lodged itself beneath your ribs; you wanted to ask if something was wrong, if you had done something to offend or hurt her.

sitting in the living room on the couch, megan came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth.

“y/n, y/n, look! dave just sent me the funniest tiktok video!” her giggles were muffled by the foam on her face as she pushed her phone towards you.

you didn’t look at the video, eyebrows just scrunching up in puzzlement, trying to recall her ever mentioning a guy by the name dave.

“isn’t it so funny?” she continued, not noticing your lack of enthusiasm.

“megan, who is dave?” you asked, voice gentle.

her giggles faltered. confusion replaced it. “i told you about him!” she beamed, the toothpaste dripping down her face, all over her chin, not helping her look.

“i… don’t think you did,” you replied, scratching the back of your head.

she shrugged casually, as if this information was meaningless. “he’s been my backup dancer for weeks, super funny guy! we always spend our breaks cracking up at random things.” she turned around, walking back to the bathroom, phone in hand. still giggling to herself.

then it all clicked, the nights she spent at home, usually on her phone during movie nights, you didn’t ask what it was, presuming it was business stuff, and you both agreed to not bring work home. but this wasn’t work anymore; it already crossed that line a while ago.

you couldn’t help but wonder… was megan…?

you quickly shook your head, trying to get the thought to disappear. megan would never cheat on you, right? you’d been together for almost 3 years. she wouldn’t do that, you knew she wouldn’t. but the late-night texting, lack of proper conversations with you were getting to you.

she was allowed to have friends, you didn’t deny that, you weren’t controlling, but her not telling you, pushing you to the side for a random guy, hurt.

you missed your girlfriend, and she looked fine, happier even, without you.

so you did what any avoidant person does, you started doing the same. pushing her away, you didn’t think she would notice anyway.

spending extra hours at the library, taking extra shifts at your job, so you wouldn’t go home to see her giggling and smiling at her phone. even signing up for a random club at your school for extra credits.

you would come home exhausted, heading straight for the shower and falling into bed next to megan, snoring softly. megan giggled at something dave texted, turning to you to show you, only to see you knocked out cold.

her face turned into disappointment, before she silently placed her phone on the bedside table. brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and getting under the covers with you. megan hated seeing you this exhausted, it hurt that you had to work so much, so she wrapped her arms around you, curling up into you.

if only she knew that she was the one causing your exhaustion.

you woke up early the next morning, in hopes of making it out of the apartment before megan woke up. got ready, silently trying to walk and open your closet to pick out your clothes for the day. you almost did it until reaching for your sweater, you accidentally dropped a box, the sound joilting megan awake from her side of the bed.

“y/n..?” she muttered out in confusion, eyes still with sleep. “where are you going at,” she turned to the nightstand, checking the clock. “5.32am?”

you awkwardly played with your hair, trying to come up with a reason as to why you were leaving your girlfriend's bed like a one-night stand.

“i—uh—i have an early lecture. and i need to study before,” you rambled, hoping she would believe it. megan sat upright on the bed, rubbing her eyes.

“can we go out to that favourite spot of yours tonight? i’ve been craving their pizza,” she asked, jawning after her sentence.

“i’m sorry megan, but my boss put me on a double shift tonight. maybe another day? i have to run, love you,” you said as you rushed out the door, your bag in one hand and keys in the other.

megan heard the apartment door close and lock when her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. whispering to herself, “but you’re not talking early lectures this semester.” her eyes fixated on the door you had just bolted out of.

megan couldn’t sleep after that, her exhaustion only catching up to her during a break during practice. she jawned in her hand when sophia approached her. handing her a water bottle.

megan smiled as she looked up at the girl, silently thanking her. sophia sat down next to her, opening her own water bottle.

“are you okay, megan? you’re more tired than usual.”

megan licked her lips and pressed them into a thin line, playing with the plastic in her hands. “it’s just my girlfriend… i feel like she’s avoiding me, and i have no clue why.”

if sophia was surprised by this information, she didn’t show it. instead, she turned her body more towards megan, giving her her full attention. “what makes you think that she’s avoiding you?”

megan ran her hand through her hair as a way of grounding herself before she replied, “she lied to me this morning about her lectures, she stopped sending me our daily selfies, and when i asked if she wanted to go out, she brushed it off, saying she’s busy.”

sophia nodded along as megan spilled her guts. sophia wasn’t oblivious like megan was; she knew the 101 patterns of situations like these. sophia also noticed how close megan and dave got, and from the sidelines, anyone could mistake them for partners.

“megan, how does she feel about dave?”

megan’s eyes shot up, pupils growing extremely wide, mouth hanging in shock. she didn’t expect this kind of question, anything like that, really.

sophia nodded, comprehending the situation now. she put her hand on megan’s shoulder, squeezing it before resuming, “talk to her.”

their break was announced to have ended, sophia got up, giving megan a hand before pulling her up with her.

when you got home that evening, it was already way past midnight. your body reeked of sweat, exhaustion obvious on your face. you fumbled with the keys until you finally unlocked the door. the apartment was dim, with only glare coming from the street lights outside.

you didn’t notice megan on the couch until her voice scared the shit out of you.

“y/n, can we talk?”

you turned around, hand still clutching your heart, trying to stop it from beating so loudly. “can it wait till morning? i’m way too tired,” you said while turning away from her, hoping to just fall asleep.

megan caught your hand before you could walk away, shaking her head. “no, we are talking about this right now.”

you sighed, pinching your eyebrows. “fine, what is it?”

megan, still holding your wrist in a tight grip, looked you in your eyes. “are you jealous of dave? a guy who is just my friend at that?”

a scoff left your mouth, face turning into disbelief. “friend?” you said, your tone filling with anger.

“megan, you’ve been treating him more like a partner than you have me in weeks.” you were getting frustrated. did she seriously think this was just about her being friends with a guy?

tears swelled up in your eyes, megan’s gaze softened when she noticed the water covering your irises. “y/n/n—”

you shook your head. “no, you’ve been treating me like shit! you pushed me away for a friend you met not even that long ago! and what? when did you notice that i stopped crawling and begging for your attention like a stray? when i stopped coming home early? now you know how it felt to be with you these weeks.”

megan took a sharp inhale. “i was there! here! you stopped being here!”

“you stopped being emotionally present a long time ago megan.”

megan’s eyes filled with tears. her face becoming drenched just like yours.

“i think i’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.” you said.

megan shook her head, denying you. her hand still gripped yours, not letting you go. she wrapped her arms around you. trying to hug and not let you go.

“no, no, please don’t. please don’t leave me. y/n, please.”

your heart broke at her pleading, did she think you were going to break up?

you slowly wrapped your arms around the girl, her head in the crook of your neck, drenching your shirt with her tears.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t want to neglect you. i never meant to put anyone above you. please, y/n. you have to understand, i didn’t know, i’ll block everyone, i’ll do anything. please, i love you so much.”

megan rambled into your neck, hicuping after each sentence.

“you’re literally my angel, the only one for me. no one can compare with you; no one has your kind of laugh that makes me giggle every time you find something funny. you’re so loving and forgiving it hurts, please. y/n, give me a chance to make it better. please.”

your heart warmed at her words, staying like that for a while. megan found the silence painful, already silently accepting that her apology didn’t change anything.

you unwrapped your arms around her, megan took her head out of the crook of your neck.

“we have to set some boundries, but i forgive you, megan.”

her eyes softened, hopefull.

“not yet and not fully, but i do.”

a/n: this whole story was written with fuck me eyes by ethel cain on repeat blasting in my ears... hope i got the idea right, anon 🕸️

you just don’t want to believe it.

the hotel room is dimly lit, the glow of the city outside barely reaching where you sit on the bed. megan stands by the window, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at you.

she inhales sharply. exhales slowly. “i don’t think we should do this anymore.” for a moment, the words don’t register. or maybe you don’t want them to. you blink. “what?”

megan swallows, gripping her arms tighter. “us. this. whatever we’ve been doing.” her voice is quiet but firm. “it has to stop.”

it’s like the air gets sucked out of the room.

your heart pounds so loudly you barely hear yourself speak. “you’re kidding.”

she doesn’t answer.

your stomach twists. a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “no. no, you don’t just get to say that like it doesn’t mean anything. like we don’t mean anything.”

megan finally looks at you then, and her eyes, god, her eyes, are filled with something that makes your chest ache. guilt. regret. pain.

but not doubt.

and that’s when you know. she means it.

your hands tremble as you push yourself up from the bed. “you’re serious.” megan presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “yeah.”

you shake your head, stepping closer. “megan, don’t do this.” “i have to.”

“no, you don’t.” your voice cracks. “you’re choosing to.” her expression flickers, but she doesn’t deny it. the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

you swallow past the lump in your throat. “tell me why.” megan sighs, running a hand through her hair. “because this isn’t fair to either of us.”

you scoff. “not fair?” the words feel sharp on your tongue. “what’s not fair is you making me believe we had something real. making me feel like i mattered to you.”

“you do matter to me.” “then why are you leaving?”

megan closes her eyes for a moment, her jaw tightening. when she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “because i don’t think i love you the way you deserve.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you physically take a step back. “what?”

she looks at you now, really looks at you, and it’s like she’s memorizing every detail, like she knows this is the last time she’ll get to.

“i thought i did,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to. but it’s not enough.”

your whole body goes cold.

“you’re lying.” the words come out too quickly, too desperate. “this is about something else. are you scared? are you worried about what people will think? because i don’t care about any of that. we can figure it out, megan, we always do—” she shakes her head, cutting you off. “no, we don’t.”

you freeze.

megan’s eyes are sad. “that’s the problem, isn’t it? we keep pretending this is something it’s not. that i’m someone i’m not.”

your breath catches. “you don’t mean that.” she exhales. “i do.”

and just like that, whatever hope you were clinging to shatters.

you stare at her, trying to find something, anything, that tells you this is just fear, that she’ll take it back. but there’s nothing.

you feel sick.

“so that’s it?” your voice is hollow now. “you just get to walk away?”

megan hesitates, guilt flickering across her face. “i’m sorry.”

sorry. that’s what she has to say after all of this. after everything.

your hands clench into fists. “no. you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like you’re the one hurting.” “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“well, congratulations,” you snap. “you did.” megan flinches but doesn’t argue.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly as the tears threaten to fall. but you refuse to let them. not in front of her. not when she’s the one doing this.

she shifts on her feet, like she’s waiting for you to say something. maybe even hoping you’ll make this easier for her. but you won’t.

you shake your head. “i hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

megan’s brows furrow slightly, but she doesn’t respond.

you take a deep, shaky breath and nod.

“okay.” your voice is barely above a whisper. megan’s throat bobs as she swallows. “okay?”

you force yourself to meet her eyes. “if you don’t love me, then i’m not going to beg you to.”

something in megan’s expression falters. for a second, she almost looks like she regrets this. but she doesn’t take it back.

and that’s all you need to know.

you step around her, moving toward the door. your hand grips the knob, and for a moment, you hesitate.

then, without looking back, you whisper, “goodbye, megan.”

and this time, she doesn’t stop you.

you just don’t want to believe it.

the hotel room is dimly lit, the glow of the city outside barely reaching where you sit on the bed. megan stands by the window, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at you.

she inhales sharply. exhales slowly. “i don’t think we should do this anymore.” for a moment, the words don’t register. or maybe you don’t want them to. you blink. “what?”

megan swallows, gripping her arms tighter. “us. this. whatever we’ve been doing.” her voice is quiet but firm. “it has to stop.”

it’s like the air gets sucked out of the room.

your heart pounds so loudly you barely hear yourself speak. “you’re kidding.”

she doesn’t answer.

your stomach twists. a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “no. no, you don’t just get to say that like it doesn’t mean anything. like we don’t mean anything.”

megan finally looks at you then, and her eyes, god, her eyes, are filled with something that makes your chest ache. guilt. regret. pain.

but not doubt.

and that’s when you know. she means it.

your hands tremble as you push yourself up from the bed. “you’re serious.” megan presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “yeah.”

you shake your head, stepping closer. “megan, don’t do this.” “i have to.”

“no, you don’t.” your voice cracks. “you’re choosing to.” her expression flickers, but she doesn’t deny it. the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

you swallow past the lump in your throat. “tell me why.” megan sighs, running a hand through her hair. “because this isn’t fair to either of us.”

you scoff. “not fair?” the words feel sharp on your tongue. “what’s not fair is you making me believe we had something real. making me feel like i mattered to you.”

“you do matter to me.” “then why are you leaving?”

megan closes her eyes for a moment, her jaw tightening. when she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “because i don’t think i love you the way you deserve.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you physically take a step back. “what?”

she looks at you now, really looks at you, and it’s like she’s memorizing every detail, like she knows this is the last time she’ll get to.

“i thought i did,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to. but it’s not enough.”

your whole body goes cold.

“you’re lying.” the words come out too quickly, too desperate. “this is about something else. are you scared? are you worried about what people will think? because i don’t care about any of that. we can figure it out, megan, we always do—” she shakes her head, cutting you off. “no, we don’t.”

you freeze.

megan’s eyes are sad. “that’s the problem, isn’t it? we keep pretending this is something it’s not. that i’m someone i’m not.”

your breath catches. “you don’t mean that.” she exhales. “i do.”

and just like that, whatever hope you were clinging to shatters.

you stare at her, trying to find something, anything, that tells you this is just fear, that she’ll take it back. but there’s nothing.

you feel sick.

“so that’s it?” your voice is hollow now. “you just get to walk away?”

megan hesitates, guilt flickering across her face. “i’m sorry.”

sorry. that’s what she has to say after all of this. after everything.

your hands clench into fists. “no. you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like you’re the one hurting.” “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“well, congratulations,” you snap. “you did.” megan flinches but doesn’t argue.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly as the tears threaten to fall. but you refuse to let them. not in front of her. not when she’s the one doing this.

she shifts on her feet, like she’s waiting for you to say something. maybe even hoping you’ll make this easier for her. but you won’t.

you shake your head. “i hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

megan’s brows furrow slightly, but she doesn’t respond.

you take a deep, shaky breath and nod.

“okay.” your voice is barely above a whisper. megan’s throat bobs as she swallows. “okay?”

you force yourself to meet her eyes. “if you don’t love me, then i’m not going to beg you to.”

something in megan’s expression falters. for a second, she almost looks like she regrets this. but she doesn’t take it back.

and that’s all you need to know.

you step around her, moving toward the door. your hand grips the knob, and for a moment, you hesitate.

then, without looking back, you whisper, “goodbye, megan.”

and this time, she doesn’t stop you.