saur

ns masterlist . next

the idea of soulmates isn't wrapped in myth or fantasy. there's no magic thread tying fates together, no divine hand deciding who belongs to whom. but still, it feels real in its own quiet, mysterious way. people speak of it in hushed tones, describing sudden connections that strike like lightning. strangers lock eyes and feel as if they've known each other for centuries. some are shaken by deja vu so intense it leaves them breathless. others dream the same dreams on the same nights, caught in a strange, shared familiarity. science has no name for it. the world just accepts that sometimes, two souls find each other and remember.

for y/n, remembering isn't tender. it's not some miracle to chase or cherish. it's a cycle of sorrow that follows her into sleep, again and again. she dreams in sharp, vivid color, trapped in lives she can’t recall by day but can’t escape by night. and always, at the center of it all, there’s the same woman. a fierce, beautiful stranger who feels more like a missing limb than a memory. y/n meets her over and over, in different centuries, different bodies, different lives. they find each other and lose each other, always torn apart by something cruel and unseen. like their story was carved in stone long before they ever lived it.

the dreams aren't fragments or fading whispers. they're entire worlds. she lives them fully, loves fiercely, and dies a little each time she wakes. in one life, the woman bleeds out in her arms on a battlefield turned to ash. in another, she disappears into a storm that swallows the sea. always, it's loss. always, it's heartbreak.

the weight of it bleeds into her waking life. she carries grief in her bones, hollow in places she can't explain. she's learned to build her life around absence. to keep her distance. to avoid anything that might stir that old, aching recognition. people think she's cold, guarded, maybe afraid of love. they don't understand that she's loved a hundred times and lost a hundred more, all in the span of sleep.

she doesn’t walk alone. she walks with the echoes of a hundred endings. haunted not by a ghost, but by a soul she keeps finding and losing. and deep down, more than anything, she's terrified it’ll happen again.

the psychiatrists office sits on the top floor of an old building downtown, the kind with creaking stairs and an elevator that groans like it’s doing you a favor. it’s not the kind of place that promises peace or healing. the walls are painted in muted shades that aimed for calming but landed closer to worn out. a soft, sagging armchair waits under a crooked floor lamp that hums faintly when it’s on. there are no framed quotes about growth or resilience, no carefully placed succulents in trendy pots. just shelves crowded with books that have been read too many times and the faint, lingering smell of mint tea mixed with dust.

y/n sits cross legged on the couch, her shoulders tight, fingers tangled in her lap. her posture is practiced stillness, but tension hums beneath it. outside the window, the city murmurs. traffic lights blink in steady rhythm, a car horn groans in the distance, tires hiss over wet pavement. the world moves on, indifferent.

inside, the room is quiet. the air conditioner hums softly, and every now and then, there’s the sound of a pen scratching across paper. taeyeon sits across from her, steady and composed, taking notes with a kind of quiet precision that makes y/n feel exposed.

taeyeon is a psychiatrist. her presence is gentle, but clinical. her voice is low and even, each word measured, careful not to press too hard. she never rushes, never interrupts. she has the kind of calm that makes y/n ache with something sharp and shapeless, part envy, part resentment. taeyeon was calm in a way that y/n could only dream of.

“how many nights this week?” taeyeon asked, clicking her pen once before jotting something down.

“five,” y/n said, her voice barely more than a breath. “same woman. different place.”

taeyeon nodded slowly. “can you tell me about the most recent one?”

y/n exhaled through her nose, like the memory hurt to touch. “a desert. sand everywhere. in the air, in my mouth, in my lungs. we were running. hiding. i don’t know from what. she had a scar along her jaw and a cloth wrapped around her wrist, like she was bleeding. but she smiled at me like everything was fine.”

“and did you recognize her again?” taeyeon’s voice was calm, careful. not dismissive, not probing too hard. she had learned how to ask without denying. not with y/n.

“always,” y/n whispered. “it’s always her. different bodies, different voices, but the same eyes. i just know.”

taeyeon tapped the tip of her pen against the paper, thoughtful. “how did it end?”

“same as always,” y/n said. “i lost her. the world started falling apart or she just vanished. sometimes she dies. sometimes i do. and then i wake up crying, and i can’t breathe, and it takes a while before i remember where i am. before i feel real again.”

there was a pause. taeyeon leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees.

“we’ve talked about dissociation,” she said gently. “how powerful dreams like this can sometimes be the mind’s way of processing trauma. especially when they’re this vivid, this consistent. it can feel like you’re living two lives. like your brain is carrying something too heavy to face all at once, so it breaks it into pieces you only see when you’re sleeping.”

y/n couldn’t help the quiet scoff that slipped out. dissociation. of course.

they always said the same things. dissociative episodes. unresolved trauma. recurrent nightmares. some leaned toward ptsd, others floated terms like delusional attachment or maladaptive daydreaming. one suggested a rare sleep disorder. they circled her like they were mapping a storm they couldn’t predict, naming symptoms like they were anchors, like labels could keep her from drifting too far.

but none of it touched the truth of it. none of it explained how it felt like her soul kept getting dragged through time, tethered to a stranger who never stayed.

y/n nodded regardless, but her expression was distant. “but what if it’s not just trauma? what if it is real? what if i’m not broken? what if my soul just… remembers?”

taeyeon didn’t answer right away. instead, she let the question hover between them like smoke.

“i believe your pain is real,” she said carefully. “your grief, your connection, your fear of losing her. all of it. i’m not here to tell you what’s real and what isn’t. i’m here to help you stay anchored, no matter what the answer turns out to be.”

y/n laughed, but there was no humor in it. “anchored. i feel like i’m drowning in someone else’s life. like i’ve already lived and died a thousand times, and i don’t have any of the good parts to show for it. just the endings.”

taeyeon softened. “that sounds exhausting.”

“it is.” y/n’s voice cracked. “and the worst part? i feel like i’m grieving someone i’ve never even met. and no one gets it. no one sees it as real grief. not even me, most of the time. it just… hurts.”

taeyeon nodded slowly. “grief doesn’t need permission. it doesn’t need logic. your mind, your body, your heart—they’re all carrying something. whether it’s memory or metaphor, it deserves to be processed.”

“but what if i never stop dreaming of her?” y/n whispered. “what if i’m meant to keep losing her forever?”

“then we figure out how to live in between the dreams,” taeyeon said. “how to find meaning in the spaces where you’re awake. how to hold on to yourself. you’re not here to solve every life you’ve lived. you’re here to live this one.”

the silence that followed wasn’t heavy. it was necessary. y/n stared out the window, watching the sky shift from steel to amber. somewhere below, a siren wailed. the city moved on, uncaring. but in this room, in this breath, she felt just the smallest flicker of stillness.

taeyeon didn’t speak again right away, and y/n was grateful for it. sometimes silence was the most honest part of these sessions. not everything needed a tidy response, a plan, a labeled diagnosis. sometimes it was just about making it to the next breath without sinking.

“do you think i’m delusional?” y/n asked at last, her eyes fixed on the window. her voice was flat, but her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

“no,” taeyeon said, calm and certain. “i think your mind is telling a story your body hasn’t finished understanding. maybe it’s rooted in trauma. maybe it’s memory. maybe it’s something we don’t have language for yet. but that doesn’t make it delusion.”

y/n turned her head slowly. “but no one else dreams like this. no one else wakes up with bruises shaped like hands they’ve never touched. or with songs on their lips they’ve never heard before. i speak languages i’ve never learned. i wake up missing her like she just walked out of the room.”

taeyeon wrote something down, but her eyes never left y/n. “have you ever told anyone that part?”

“no.” she paused, her voice low. “i stopped trying. people look at me like i’m breakable. or lying. or worse... like i’m something to be afraid of.”

there was a long pause.

“can i ask you something?” taeyeon said.

y/n gave a small nod.

“if it’s real—your dreams, the woman, the loss—what do you think you’re meant to do with it in this life?”

the question landed between them like a stone dropped into water. not heavy, but deep. it sank fast, and y/n felt the ripple of it in her chest, behind her ribs where the grief always settled.

“i don’t know,” she said quietly. “i think… i’m afraid i’ll never find her here. or worse, that i will, and i won’t recognize her until it’s too late.”

taeyeon’s voice stayed soft, steady. “what if it’s not about finding her at all? what if it’s about becoming the version of you who can survive losing her? or maybe… the one who doesn’t lose her at all?”

the thought felt like an open wound and a balm all at once. y/n looked down at her hands, her thumbs rubbing together in slow circles, a nervous ritual she barely noticed anymore.

“that version of me would have to be a lot stronger than this,” she said quietly.

“maybe,” taeyeon replied. “or maybe she’s already here, underneath the grief.”

the clock ticked softly in the corner, marking the end of the session, but neither of them moved. the city outside had shifted again. a wind stirred through the alley below, carrying the distant sound of footsteps and voices and life.

“same time next week?” taeyeon asked eventually, her voice light, as if the conversation hadn’t just opened a door that couldn’t be closed again.

y/n stood slowly, wrapping her coat around her like armor. “yeah,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what next week would bring. maybe another dream. maybe another ending.

the hallway outside taeyeon’s office was dim and narrow, lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed just enough to feel wrong. the carpet was a tired gray, worn thin in spots, and the air smelled faintly of old coffee and overused cleaning spray. y/n took the stairs instead of the elevator, her steps slow and careful. she didn’t like the sound of her own breath in tight spaces, not after sessions like this. everything inside her felt too exposed, like her skin didn’t fit quite right.

by the time she stepped outside, the sky had settled into dusk. cars moved past in quiet waves, headlights blinking on one by one. the breeze carried the damp scent of distant rain and exhaust. she pulled her collar up and slipped the folded prescription into her coat pocket like it was something she didn’t want anyone to see.

quetiapine.

low dose. for sleep, taeyeon had said. for the emotions. for the edges. something to soften the line between the dreams and waking life.

“just something to ground you,” she’d added, voice gentle.

y/n hadn’t argued. but she hadn’t said yes either. 

at the corner, she paused beneath a flickering streetlamp. the script crinkled in her pocket like a secret. the words felt heavy. antipsychotic. sedative. off-label.

none of them felt like they belonged to her.

she didn’t feel sick. not in the way they meant. she didn’t feel like her mind was broken. if anything, the dreams were the only things that felt consistent, real, even if they tore her apart. it was the waking world that felt fragmented. like a life half-lived. like her body was here but her soul had its bags half-packed, always waiting for a call back to somewhere else.

she crossed the street without looking, cars slowing around her like she wasn’t really there. the pharmacy on 9th street glowed too brightly, its glass doors sliding open with a sterile hiss. she stood just inside, the cold air conditioning raising goosebumps on her arms, and stared down at the slip of paper in her hand.

her name. her date of birth. the drug. the dosage. instructions in bold print. take one at bedtime. do not operate heavy machinery. may cause drowsiness.

none of it said what she really wanted.

may stop you from dying over and over again in your sleep.may dull the face of the woman who keeps saying “found you.”may silence the only part of your life that feels like truth.

“can i help you?” the pharmacist asked, polite, rehearsed, unaware of the war playing out behind her eyes.

y/n hesitated. then handed the paper over.

when she left twenty minutes later, a small white bag folded shut in her hand, she felt no relief. no sense of control. only a deeper kind of uncertainty.

because she knew what was waiting for her when she closed her eyes.

and she didn’t know what scared her more. seeing the woman again or the possibility that this time, she wouldn’t at all.

she moved on instinct, letting her feet carry her forward while her mind drifted somewhere else entirely. head bowed low, shoulders curled inward like she could shrink out of existence if she tried hard enough. around her, the city pulsed with people who had places to be and lives to live, all of them tethered to their own distractions. she kept walking, each step a blur, vision unfocused as thoughts piled on top of each other in a fog she couldn’t cut through. then, as she turned a corner sharply without thinking, her body moving faster than her awareness could catch up, she slammed shoulder first into someone heading the opposite direction. the sudden jolt snapped her out of her spiral like a slap to the face. she almost dropped her bag.

the impact wasn’t hard, but it knocked her a step back. the other girl stumbled too, letting out a soft, surprised gasp. y/n opened her mouth to apologize, her reflex already halfway formed. sorry, i didn’t see you— the words were on the tip of her tongue. but the moment their eyes met, everything stopped. her words fell to a muted breath. time didn’t slow. it fractured.

she hadn’t meant to look up. it was just a reflex, a flicker of attention at the sudden jolt of impact. 

the girl was tall. braids framed her face, a few loose strands curling at her cheekbone like they belonged there. she was pretty in a way that made you look twice without meaning to. golden skin, soft curls pulled back just enough to show the shape of her face, and eyes that held something quiet but certain. everything about her was put together without trying too hard, like beauty had always just come naturally to her.

but her eyes. her eyes were the thing that undid y/n.

they were wide and deep, dark enough to drown in, and so achingly familiar that y/n’s breath caught in her throat. it wasn’t recognition in the normal sense. it was older than that, buried in the marrow. it was the kind of knowing you don’t earn in one lifetime.

those eyes had looked at her through fire. through battlefield smoke. across oceans. in dreams. in death.

she knew them. and for a second, the girl looked like she knew her too.

“are you—” the girl started, voice quiet, edged with a question she hadn’t figured out how to ask.

y/n’s heart slammed against her ribs. and then, she turned. her footsteps had never before in her life felt so heavy as she walked away. it was the only thing she could do. if she didn’t, she’d say her name without ever having heard it. if she stayed, she’d never be able to leave again.

behind her, the girl stood still, watching. not following. not calling out. but something had shifted.

deja vu had never felt more tangible. 

__

manon wouldn’t call herself a hopeless romantic. not exactly. she liked the idea of love, sure, the kind that made your chest ache and your world tilt on its axis. but more than that, she liked the promise of it. the cinematic kind, drenched in golden light and dramatic pauses, the kind where someone looks at you like they already know the ending and still want to live every second of the story anyway.

she wasn’t naive, not really. she knew love wasn’t always soft or beautiful. she just liked to believe it could be.

she watched movies like twilight not because she believed in vampires, but because she believed in the way edward looked at bella like the sun finally had a rival. she cried at the end of 10 things i hate about you. she read books like scripture. she fell in love at least twice a week, usually with strangers on the train or characters in a playlist.

her friends orbited her like moons around some untamable sun. they filled her life with noise and comfort, and manon loved them for it. loved the way they let her be loud and messy. 

she danced with her headphones in, full volume, hips swaying as she folded laundry or cooked or waited for her nail polish to dry. sometimes she danced in public, in line at the bodega or waiting for the light. 

she was so, unashamedly herself. 

so when she turned the corner that evening and bumped into someone—really bumped, hard enough that her shoulder throbbed for a second—she barely blinked. she started to apologize, hand halfway raised in that instinctive, easy way she’d always had. but then the girl looked at her, and manon forgot the rest of the sentence. 

there was something in that stare. something raw and terrified, like manon had reached out and touched a memory that didn’t belong to her. her smile faltered. her heart stuttered in a way it never had before, not even during all the silly crushes or movie moments.

the girl’s eyes were wide and wild, and she looked at manon like she might fall apart just from being seen.

“are you—” manon started, unsure what the hell she was even asking.

but the girl was already backing away. already turning. already gone. just like that.

manon stood there for a long time after. cars passed, the light changed, people moved around her. the city didn’t pause. but she did. her chest felt hollow in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. like she’d missed something important. 

she didn’t know who that girl was, but the skin on her shoulder was still buzzing where they touched. deep in her gut, something whispered to her.

you’ve met before.

somehow, she knew that wasn’t the last time she’d see her.

when manon stepped back into the apartment ten minutes later, the scent of leftover incense and vanilla candles wrapped around her like a hug that didn’t quite reach. megan was the first thing she saw, curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her, fully absorbed in her nintendo switch. she didn’t even look up. not until sophia passed behind her and plucked the console clean from her hands.

“hey!” megan gasped, reaching for it, but stopped when sophia gave her a sharp look.

“you’ve been on this all damn day. come eat something before you fuse with the couch.”

megan blinked, then lit up like a light switch. “is it the thai place with the crab rangoon?” she was already halfway to the kitchen before anyone answered.

manon followed slowly, takeout bag rustling against her leg. she’d been starving when she left to pick it up, had practically been fantasizing about curry puffs and sticky rice all day since she finished moving furniture into her new room. but now, her appetite sat buried beneath the weight of a face she couldn’t shake. that stare. those eyes.

she dropped the bag on the counter and started unpacking containers, only half listening as megan pulled open drawers for chopsticks and plates.

“you okay?” sophia asked, not looking up as she peeled the lid off the tom yum soup. “you’re quiet. which is creepy.”

manon hesitated. then, after a moment, she sighed. “i ran into someone.”

sophia’s face morphed into something equal parts teasing and inquisitive. “do we mean ran into, or ran into?”

“shut up,” manon said, but her voice was distant, almost dazed. she leaned her hip against the counter. “no, i mean… literally. this girl just came out of nowhere. we bumped into each other, and i looked at her and…”

“and?” megan asked around a mouthful of noodles.

manon exhaled, rubbing her fingers along the edge of the countertop. “and i don’t know. it was weird. like… my whole body stopped. like i knew her. or maybe… used to know her?”

megan raised a brow, but sophia only rolled her eyes.

“great. you’ve been here a week and you’re already writing yourself into a romance novel” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “listen. you just moved. you’re tired. your brain is bored and lonely and doing that thing where it makes random people feel cosmic.”

“i’m not lonely,” manon said quickly.

sophia gave her a look. “you just left your whole life behind. you miss your favorite boba spot. it’s fine. just don’t start chasing strangers in the street.”

“i’m not gonna chase her,” manon muttered, tugging open a container of rice halfheartedly.

“good,” sophia said, dipping a spring roll in sauce. “focus on getting your bearings. we still haven’t shown you the lake. and the bookstore downtown. or that cursed karaoke bar megan keeps trying to get us kicked out of.”

“hey,” megan said, mouth full. “i stand by my avril lavigne medley.”

sophia ignored her. “new town, new start. the last thing you need is a mysterious stranger who makes your stomach do weird things.”

manon didn’t respond right away. her fingers drummed quietly against the countertop. she was trying to believe sophia. it would’ve been easier to just agree, to let the moment fade into one of those random, unexplainable blips you forget after a few days.

but the girl’s eyes were still there when she closed her own, and something in her gut whispered that forgetting wasn’t going to be an option. still, she nodded.

“yeah,” she said. “you’re right. it was nothing.”

she didn’t believe it for one second.

the next day, manon wandered through town with no real destination, letting the late morning sun soak into her skin and ease the tightness in her chest. the streets were still unfamiliar enough to feel like a story she hadn’t read yet, every corner turning into something new. sophia and megan had spent the morning walking her through the local spots and pointing out cafes with the kind of casual pride that only came from living somewhere long enough to love it. even so, they could tell she needed space, and she hadn’t argued when they gently peeled away after brunch. between their constant presence and the easy chatter of their friends—daniela, lara, and yoonchae— the thing manon needed most now was to decompress.

she still took her time, pausing now and then to glance through coffee shop windows or let the scent of warm bread drifting from nearby bakeries pull a faint smile to her lips. her steps were slow, unhurried, more about the wandering than the destination. when she turned the next corner, she found herself standing in front of a narrow storefront tucked between a flower shop overflowing with soft blooms and a stationery store lined with pastel journals in its window. the sign above the door read second story books, the words hand painted in faded cursive that looked like it had weathered more than one season. sophia had scribbled directions onto a torn sheet of notebook paper before brunch, a little map paired with a single warning written beneath it in blocky letters. don’t let the book clerk scare you too much. she’s always in a bad mood.

despite the warning, nothing could’ve prepared manon for the surprise waiting inside.  the bell above the door chimed softly as she pushed in.

it smelled like old pages and lavender, the air heavy and still like the inside of a dream. narrow shelves wound through the space in lazy, looping rows, creating little pockets of quiet. sunlight filtered in through high windows, cutting gold lines across the hardwood floor.

and then there she was.

manon froze.

behind the counter, half-shadowed beneath a hanging fern, stood the girl from yesterday. the one who’d looked at her like she was a ghost. the one who had vanished without a word.

it was enough to make manon’s stomach swoop. her heart picked up, irrational and bright.

she grabbed a book off the closest table without looking at the title. anything. she didn’t care. she just needed a reason to speak.

the girl didn’t look up until manon was right in front of the counter.

“hey,” manon said, almost too soft. she cleared her throat and held out the book like a peace offering. “i, um, figured i’d stop by. didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

y/n’s hands stilled on the register. she looked up slowly, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything.

her blood turned to ice the moment manon stepped through the door. it was immediate, visceral, like the air itself had shifted around her. the bookstore, her sanctuary, the one place that had always felt untouched by the chaos of the world, now felt exposed. like someone had cracked it open and let something in that wasn’t meant to be there.

 no. no, not again. 

she could feel it in her chest, in her fingertips, that creeping sense of inevitability pressing against her like a warning. the weight of something old and painful, something she had buried and begged not to unearth again. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. not here. not now. not in this life.

“you’re following me?” y/n asked flatly, her voice low and smooth.

manon blinked, caught off guard. “what? no, i just—i didn’t know you worked here. i came in for a book.”

“what book?”

manon glanced down. the cover was upside down. something about sea mythology. she tried not to laugh. “uh… i’ve always liked mermaids?”

y/n didn’t smile. her eyes, so striking yesterday, were unreadable now. cool and distant.

manon tried again. “i’m manon, by the way.”

y/n’s fingers tapped the edge of the counter once, then slid the book across the scanner. the beep sounded far too loud in the quiet.

“okay.”

manon hesitated. “you don’t want to tell me your name?”

“not particularly.” y/n bagged the book and handed it over without looking her in the eye. “it’s twelve seventy-six.”

manon dug out her card, suddenly cold despite the warmth in the room. she looked at y/n, really looked. she tried to find something in her expression that might explain the coldness, the distance. she came up empty.

“did i… do something wrong?” she asked, quieter now.

y/n didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, but her jaw tightened, her eyes fixed somewhere just past manon’s shoulder like looking directly at her might make something break loose. when she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured, almost gentle if not for the edge she forced into it.

“you should go,” she said. “whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. i don’t have time to entertain strangers who think they belong in places they don’t.”

she didn’t mean it. not really. she just wanted to make her go away. to save herself from the inevitable pain of loss. because what’s there to lose, when you didn’t have it to begin with?

manon stared at her, the silence thick. her face twisted up in confusion. nonetheless, she shakes her head.

“right,” she said finally, voice clipped. “thanks for the book.”

she didn’t look back as she left, the door chime sounding harsher this time.

y/n stood still for a long while, the weight of the moment pressing on her ribs. her hands shook. she didn’t like hurting people—but she had to.

she couldn’t let her in.

not again.

__

the office was quiet again, that familiar kind of stillness taeyeon always kept like a blanket draped over every session. but today it settled over y/n like a weight instead of a comfort. the air felt too clean, too measured, and it only made the anger in her chest simmer hotter. not loud, not explosive, but persistent, like a slow burn that wouldn’t ease up. for as long as she could remember—since she was fourteen and her parents could no longer ignore the way she woke up gasping and sobbing into her pillow—she had been told that something was wrong with her. maybe not always in words, not in the one word that would ruin her completely, but in every glance, every hushed conversation, every carefully scripted therapy session where people tried to convince her she was just confused. they put her on medications, changed the doses, swapped one diagnosis for another as if her mind was a puzzle they could never quite solve. therapist after psychiatrist after specialist all trying to convince her that what she saw every night wasn’t real. that the girl in her dreams, the lives they lived, the endings that shattered her, were just symptoms of something broken. and now here she was, after all those years, sitting in this overly warm office with the sun pouring through the blinds like nothing had changed. 

she was real. 

she had walked into y/n’s world like the universe had run out of ways to keep them apart. and all y/n could think was how fucking cruel it was that no one had believed her. how all this time she had been drowning in something no one else could see, only to have it show up in the middle of a bookstore like it hadn’t ruined her already.

y/n sat in the same place she always did, one leg tucked under the other, shoulders curled slightly in like she’d been bracing for a storm that hadn’t passed yet. taeyeon was across from her, notebook open but untouched. her eyes, lined with quiet concern, never strayed.

“you saw her again,” taeyeon said, not asking. just… knowing.

y/n stared at the floor between them. “at the bookstore.”

“how did it feel?”

“like waking up and remembering she died,” she said softly. “again.”

taeyeon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “and what did you do?”

“i made her go away.”

taeyeon tilted her head. “did you want her to go away?”

y/n’s silence answered for her.

“have you been taking your medication?” taeyeon asked gently.

“yes.” a beat. “sometimes.”

taeyeon didn’t scold. she just nodded, thumb tapping lightly against the cover of her notebook. “you told me the dreams stopped being dreams a long time ago. that they feel like memories. full lives. love. loss. over and over. and now—”

“now she’s here,” y/n finished. “not in a dream. not in a memory. she’s here. in this city, walking into the places i go, smiling like i haven’t watched her die a hundred times.”

“and what makes you so certain she’s the same person?”

y/n laughed, but it cracked in the middle. “it’s in her eyes. i could barely breathe when she looked at me. like my body remembered before my mind could catch up.”

taeyeon leaned forward slightly. “let’s say you’re right. let’s say this is fate. a thread between lives, tangled and pulled tight. then maybe the question isn’t whether it was supposed to happen. maybe the question is—who are you to keep it from happening?”

“i’m someone who’s tired of losing her,” y/n said. “every time. every time i get her, the world takes her back. sometimes it’s war. sometimes it’s illness. sometimes it’s something as stupid as a car crash. and every time, i break. i don’t want to do it again.”

taeyeon nodded slowly, her expression unreadable but not unkind, like she was choosing each word with care. “i believe you,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “i believe the grief is real. i believe the loss feels real too. and whether or not these dreams are memories or symbols or something in between, the pain they leave behind isn’t something we can ignore.”

y/n looked down at her hands, fingers loosely clasped in her lap. her throat felt tight, like the wrong word might split her open.

“but what you’re describing,” taeyeon continued, “it doesn’t sound like fear anymore. it sounds like a kind of punishment. you’re bracing for something you think you can’t change. and in doing that, you’re trying to protect yourself, maybe even her, from something that hasn’t happened yet.”

y/n didn’t answer, didn’t move. the silence stretched, but taeyeon didn’t fill it with pity or false comfort. instead, she leaned back slightly, letting her words settle.

“so let’s talk about free will,” she said. “maybe the endings in your dreams were never up to you. maybe they always happened no matter what. but how you meet them… that part is yours. you get to choose how you exist in this moment, in this life. do you want to keep running from something you haven’t fully understood? or are you willing to let yourself stay still long enough to figure out what this really is?”

y/n turned her face toward the tall window, watching a single leaf trace a slow arc down the glass before catching at the bottom. it stayed there, still and weightless, like it hadn’t made the long fall at all.

“what if the pain outweighs the good?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

taeyeon didn’t respond right away. when she finally spoke, it was quiet, like she was offering something fragile.

“what if it doesn’t?”

the question lingered in the air between them, thin and delicate like a thread stretched just short of breaking. after a long moment, taeyeon leaned forward, her tone still soft but edged with something firmer.

“this girl you met. whether she truly is the girl from your dreams or not, maybe it’s time to confront what her presence brings up in you. maybe it’s not about proving anything. maybe it’s about facing the fear that has kept you running in circles.”

y/n didn’t speak. she stared down at her hands where they sat curled in her lap, her nails pressing small crescents into her skin.

“the grief you feel is valid,” taeyeon said. “but so is the joy. so is whatever connection has followed you across years and versions of yourself. maybe it’s love. maybe it’s something quieter. maybe it’s just the feeling of being seen. but if all you do is brace for the ending, you’ll miss everything in between. the mornings you wake up and forget the fear for a moment. the small ways she makes you laugh when you least expect it. the sound of your name in her mouth when she says it like she already knows you and is just waiting for you to know her back.”

y/n’s throat tightened. she blinked hard against the sting rising behind her eyes and clenched her hands a little tighter, like that alone could keep her grounded.

“start small,” taeyeon said. “don’t fall. don’t run. don’t promise anything to the stars. just… say hello.”

it sounded impossibly simple.

and impossibly hard.

__

y/n hadn’t expected to see her again. after the way she had dismissed her, voice sharp and cold, words chosen with the precision of someone who had spent years learning how to keep others out, she had thought that would be the end of it. clean. final. she had intended it that way. it was safer to draw the line before anything familiar could bloom into something harder to let go of.

but two days later, just after noon, the bell above the door gave its soft chime, and when y/n looked up, manon was standing there again.

outside, rain was falling in that quiet, steady way that softened the edges of everything. her curls were damp at the ends, looser from the moisture, and her jacket clung slightly to her arms, darkened with water. she looked hesitant, but not unsure. in her arms was a paper bag, folded carefully with a receipt tucked under the twine, pressed close to her chest like she needed both hands to hold whatever it was.

y/n’s heart tightened in her chest, an involuntary pull she hated herself for.

she didn’t speak. her fingers stayed frozen above the keyboard as she watched manon approach the counter, slow but steady. without a word, manon set the book between them, her fingers brushing once against the wood before she let go.

“i think this belongs back here,” she said.

there was no smile, no attempt to smooth things over. only the return of something that hadn’t been opened. the book’s spine was still unbroken. untouched. it wasn’t just a return. it was a question. maybe even a challenge. and y/n wasn’t sure yet if she was ready to answer.

y/n’s fingers hovered hesitantly over the register just as she reached for the book, then she froze. despite the weight of her worries, the relentless nightmares, and every shadow of doubt whispering what could go wrong, her mind kept returning to taeyeon’s words, steady and calm. after a moment that stretched quietly between them, she finally lifted her gaze and met the girls’ eyes. 

“hello,” y/n said softly.

the word was small. sincere. it tasted unfamiliar in her mouth. but she meant it. she didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not that she took taeyeon’s advice so literally.

manon blinked like she hadn’t expected it. her expression cracked open, just slightly. not quite a smile, but something warmer. less guarded.

“hi,” she said. then, after a pause, “you remembered me.”

a silence passed, but it was lighter than before. manon’s hands stayed at her sides. she didn’t move to leave.

“can i ask your name now?” she tried again.

y/n hesitated. she thought of taeyeon. of choices. of pain. of joy. of letting herself be a little braver.

“y/n.”

manon said it back like she was trying it on her tongue for the first time. like she was memorizing it.

that was the beginning.

what followed after didn’t unravel in a neat, cinematic montage. but it came close. they started seeing each other in fragments. a shared coffee break on y/n’s lunch. manon dropping by just to “browse” but staying until close. conversations that began at the register and ended on the curb outside as the sky turned lavender.

they learned each other in quiet ways.

manon talked with her hands, her whole body involved when she was excited. she had a habit of singing along under her breath when music played over the bookstore speakers, sometimes even when she didn’t know the words.

y/n was quieter, but not closed. she listened with the kind of attention that made you feel like the only person in the room. she underlined books she read and sometimes shared passages out loud, voice barely above a whisper.

they traded stories. half-truths, memories, confessions. manon talked about her old apartment, her sister, the playlist she made for every mood. y/n talked about dreams, sometimes. the ones that lingered. the ones she couldn’t quite name yet. still, she never told manon about those ones. the ones that ended in death, in pain, and suffering. 

there were days they walked the long way through town, hands brushing but never quite holding. they shared desserts at cafés, drank tea on manon’s balcony under cheap string lights, and sat side by side without needing to fill the quiet.

and somewhere in the middle of all of that, y/n felt something dangerous creeping in. something gentle. something like hope.

a year passed. 

it started as nothing. a headache here. a little fatigue. manon brushed it off, the way anyone her age would. blamed it on late nights, caffeine, maybe stress. she was always in motion, always vibrating at a higher frequency than anyone else in the room. too many playlists to make, too many open tabs in her brain. so when the tiredness lingered, she didn’t say anything.

but y/n noticed.

she noticed when manon started showing up to the bookstore a little later each time. when she leaned heavier against the counter, smiled a little less brightly. when she stopped finishing her coffee, when she sat instead of danced.

the cough came next. dry, quiet at first. but persistent.

“allergies,” manon had said with a shrug, waving it off. “probably dust or whatever.”

y/n wanted to believe her. she tried. but the weight loss didn’t stop. manon’s skin dulled. her eyes dimmed. and there were days—quiet, terrifying days—when she seemed like she was just barely holding herself upright.

they weren’t dating. not exactly. not yet. but they shared pieces of each other now. manon lingered at the bookstore until close just to walk y/n to the bus. y/n had started bringing her herbal teas and cough drops, slipping them into her bag without comment. they exchanged playlists. secrets. names of books that made them cry.

so when y/n got a text saying can you come over? she didn’t ask why. she just went.

the apartment was dim. manon’s room smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent. she was sitting on the edge of her bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, phone face down beside her. she looked up when y/n entered, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

y/n sat beside her without touching her.

“what’s wrong?”

manon stared at the floor. swallowed.

“i went to get bloodwork done,” she said finally. “more tests. the clinic called today.”

y/n felt her stomach turn.

“they… it’s cancer.”

y/n didn’t move. couldn’t.

“lymphoma,” manon added, too calm. “they caught it early, they think. but it’s real. it’s happening.”

the air felt suddenly too thick to breathe.

“i don’t know how to do this,” manon said softly, voice cracking. “i just moved here. i was starting to feel like i was finding my footing. i met you. and now… now everything feels like it’s slipping.”

neither of them cried right away. it wasn’t that kind of moment. it was colder. quieter. like something ancient in the body remembering grief before it arrives.

and for y/n, it did arrive.

“say something.” manon practically begged, quiet. 

it bloomed in her chest like a warning. not again, it screamed. her blood went cold. this was why she hadn’t wanted to open herself. why she’d kept people at arms’ length for so long. because something always came to take them.

“i need to go,” y/n said, and the words tasted like rust.

she stood too quickly. the chair scraped against the wood, sharp and sudden, and manon flinched like it had cut through her. y/n didn’t look back. couldn’t. her legs moved on instinct, carrying her out of manon’s room, past the soft light of the kitchen, past the coat rack with manon’s jacket still hanging from it. the apartment felt too full, too quiet, too warm for what had just been said.

behind her, manon didn’t follow.

the hallway outside was dim. some overhead light flickered, buzzing faintly like it was shorting out. y/n didn’t stop walking until she was out of the building. she didn’t stop even then. just kept moving, down cracked sidewalks and across wet intersections, her chest burning. she didn’t know where she was going, only that she couldn’t stay.

not there. not near her.

her hands were shaking. she shoved them in her coat pockets. her throat ached from trying not to scream.

why now?

why did the universe keep handing her beauty just to rip it away?

manon had smiled like sunlight. she had filled y/n’s once empty days with noise and color and chaos. and now—now that brightness had an expiration date.

no, y/n thought. no no no no.

but her feet kept walking.

when she got home, she didn’t turn the lights on. she sat on the edge of her bed in the dark, still wearing her coat, arms wrapped tight around herself. she didn’t cry. not yet. something in her had already started to shut down. like a door closing. a lock turning. like a heart bracing for the next goodbye. she wanted so badly to reach for her phone, to google all the symptoms, treatments, life expectancy, anything. yet, she didn’t.

no amount of statistics were stronger than the gut wrenching pull in her chest that told her what she already knew.

this was it.

__

the room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the radiator kicking on. taeyeon didn’t speak right away. she’d grown used to the way y/n sat when she didn’t know how to begin. hands clenched together, gaze locked on some faraway point on the carpet, like if she focused hard enough, she could will herself invisible.

“i assume you’re not here just to sit in silence,” taeyeon said eventually.

y/n didn’t look up. “she’s dying,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

taeyeon’s tone didn’t shift. no shock, no gasp, just a steady presence. “you mean manon?”

a nod.

“when did you find out?”

“three nights ago.”

“and what did you do?”

y/n blinked. “i left. she told me and i didn’t say anything. i just walked out.”

taeyeon let the admission hang in the air, like a confession cracked wide open. “why?”

y/n’s throat felt tight. she hated this part. the dissection. the honesty. “i was afraid. it was happening again. i felt it in my chest like deja vu. like loss was already blooming there. like something ancient.”

“so you ran before it could happen.”

“yes.” her voice cracked. “and now it’s already happened.”

taeyeon wrote something down, briefly. “tell me what ‘it’ is.”

“the goodbye. even if she doesn’t die for months or years. i’ve already lost her.”

taeyeon leaned back in her chair. “you’ve spent so long fearing the endings, you’ve convinced yourself they’re inevitable. but that’s not fate. that’s avoidance.”

“what if the ending is inevitable?” y/n asked, desperate now. “what if she’s supposed to die, and i’m supposed to watch it happen again? what if this is just another life i have to lose her in?”

“then what?” taeyeon asked. “you let her die alone?”

y/n looked up, stung.

“you believe in past lives. in soulmates. in stories repeating themselves,” taeyeon continued, gently now. “so tell me—if you really believe this was written, then who are you to think you can stop it by not showing up?”

“because it hurts less if i’m not there.”

“does it?” taeyeon asked. “because from where i’m sitting, it doesn’t look like it hurts any less. it just hurts differently.”

y/n swallowed, hard. “i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t need to do anything heroic,” taeyeon said. “you just need to show up. she’s still here. she’s still alive. she still needs someone who doesn’t disappear when things get hard.”

silence stretched again, but this time it didn’t feel empty.

“so go to her,” taeyeon said. “not because you can fix her. not because you can save her. but because she’s someone you love. and that matters. it always has.”

y/n nodded, eyes burning. this time, she didn’t argue.

one moment y/n was leaving taeyeon’s office, the next she was sitting behind the counter at the bookstore. she’d closed early. her afternoon was spent between books and various medical webpages. and then, she was leaving. 

she had to make things right.

within ten minutes, y/n stood in the hallway outside manon’s apartment, heart pounding in a way that felt like it might tear her apart from the inside. the door cracked open a little, and sophia’s sharp eyes met hers immediately. no welcome in the gaze, just that familiar protective glare, the kind that said don’t mess this up or don’t come back at all. yet, without a word, sophia stepped aside and let y/n in.

the apartment smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale air, a quiet heaviness pressing down on everything. manon was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, her face pale but defiant. the kind of defiance that felt like it could crumble at any moment. her eyes, sharp and wet with hurt, locked onto y/n’s the second she stepped inside. there was so much pain in those eyes, the kind of pain y/n had never wanted to be the cause of again.

“you shouldn’t be here,” manon said, voice brittle but steady, like she was trying to protect herself before she even spoke.

y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, stepping closer, holding out a small box wrapped in soft paper. “i did research,” she said quietly, voice shaking just a little. “there are treatments, options i found. i know it’s not perfect. but i want to try. i want to be here for you.”

manon’s eyes flickered, a storm of emotions crashing behind them. anger, pain, desperation, and then something softer, almost like hope. it was fleeting, but it was there.

“you really think you can fix this?” manon whispered, but the edge had softened.

“maybe not fix,” y/n answered, kneeling down so she was at eye level. “but fight. with you. if you want.”

manon’s breath hitched, and then she nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. the weight between them shifted just a bit.

the months that followed unfolded in waves. sharp, brutal, unrelenting. they began with cautious hope, with treatment plans mapped out across sterile tables and doctors who spoke in a language y/n had to learn one desperate phrase at a time. words like metastasis and prognosis became part of her daily vocabulary. she kept a notebook with scribbled margins and highlighted passages, trying to make sense of the labyrinth they’d been thrown into.

chemotherapy came first. the poison meant to heal. manon took it like a warrior, but even warriors break. she tried to joke at first, brushing off the nausea, the sudden exhaustion that followed each round like a shadow. but the hair came out in clumps by week three, and the day she sat in the bathroom with y/n, silently handing over the scissors, something in the air cracked.

they cried together. not loudly, not dramatically—just quietly, as y/n guided the clippers over her scalp, kissing her bare shoulder every time manon’s breath hitched.

radiation followed, and with it came a different kind of hollowing. manon grew smaller. not just physically, though the weight dropped quickly, but in presence. her fire dimmed, her voice thinner. there were days she didn’t speak at all, days when she lay curled on the couch, trembling from pain, eyes unfocused, distant. but y/n never left. not once. she was there to hold the bucket when manon vomited until there was nothing left to give, there to rub lotion into paper-thin skin, to whisper comfort into the silence.

she learned the landscape of manon’s pain. the patterns in her breathing, the quiet signals of a day turned worse. she memorized med schedules, drove her to every appointment, and sat through every long hour in waiting rooms that smelled like antiseptic and fear.

and somewhere along the way, she grew closer to sophia and megan. what started as an uneasy truce slowly deepened into something like kinship. they saw her there, always there, even when manon lashed out in frustration, even when she was too tired to speak. they saw y/n carry her through the darkest nights without complaint. sophia started leaving coffee out in the mornings when y/n stayed over. megan offered to pick up groceries when she noticed y/n hadn’t eaten properly in days.

they became a unit. scarred, sleep-deprived, fiercely protective of the girl they all loved.

and manon… manon began to soften again. even in the midst of the storm, even as her body grew weaker, there were moments of clarity, of fierce affection. her hand would find y/n’s in the quiet, her thumb brushing over her knuckles. she would press a kiss to y/n’s temple on the rare nights when she had enough strength to pull her close. she stopped asking why are you still here? and started whispering thank you instead.

everything changed. everything hurt. but y/n stayed. through the sickness, the fragility, the fear, the slow unraveling of the woman she had loved in every life before this one.

because this was the promise she had made.

and she would keep it.

on the eve of another surgery—the riskiest yet—manon asked for a moment alone with y/n. the hospital room was dim, painted in the soft gold light of early evening, machines humming low around them like a lullaby with no melody. y/n sat beside her, heart heavy, hands trembling. manon reached out, her fingers lacing through y/n’s like they belonged there.

her touch was weaker now, but her eyes burned with the same fire y/n had always known. fierce. raw. unrelenting even in the face of fear.

“there’s something i need to tell you,” manon said, voice barely above a whisper. “i had this dream. or maybe it wasn’t a dream—it felt too real. like memories layered over each other. a montage of us. every lifetime. every version of us. and every time, i lost you first.”

y/n’s breath stilled in her chest.

“but this time,” manon continued, her grip tightening, “this time it’s me. and even though that breaks my heart, i’m still glad. because we met again. and that has to mean something. that has to count for more than just another ending.”

her eyes glistened, her voice catching. “at least one of our meetings has to end happy. and if it’s not this one, then maybe the next. or the one after that.”

she paused. then, quieter, almost pleading, “promise me you’ll find me again. no matter how long it takes.”

y/n blinked, tears spilling freely now. she brought manon’s hand to her lips, pressed a kiss against her knuckles like a vow.

“i promise,” she whispered, voice cracking around the words. “always.”

the surgery came too soon, a cruel thief dressed in white scrubs and quiet reassurances. things unraveled fast. complications, fevers, numbers dropping on machines that had once felt hopeful. no miracle came. no sudden turn. just the slow, irreversible fading of someone who had fought too hard for too long.

manon slipped away quietly. not in violence or chaos, but like a candle guttering out at the end of its wick. soft. final.

at the wake, y/n sat between sophia and megan, their hands linked in silent grief. the room was thick with sorrow, the kind that settled into bones and stayed there. photographs surrounded them, snapshots of a life that had been hard-won, deeply lived. none of it felt like enough.

y/n felt hollow. like the best parts of her had been buried, too. and yet… something still burned inside her. not anger. not hope. something older. fiercer.

a promise.

no sickness, no death, no cruel twist of fate could sever what they were. what they had always been.

she would find manon again. in another time, another skin, another life. maybe it would take years. centuries. maybe it already had. but she would keep looking.

because this was just one version of their story.

and one day—whether next time or the one after that—they would get it right. they would find their forever.

and y/n would keep her promise.

__

and she did.

in the next life, perhaps the best one they got, y/n found her again.

there was no certainty, no divine answer to whether this life would be the last of them, the one that finally broke the loop or merely paused it. but maybe it didn’t matter anymore. maybe it was enough that they’d had this—this quiet, sun-drenched life carved out of stubborn hope and years that had taught them how to hold on.

they were older now. softer in the way people get when they’ve fought too long and finally let themselves rest. manon’s hair had gone silver at the temples. y/n still kissed the corners of her eyes every morning, where time had left its delicate marks.

outside, the countryside stretched in golden stillness, summer wind weaving through the tall grass. the old dog dozed nearby, belly rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. the porch creaked beneath y/n’s weight as she sat beside manon, her arm tucked gently around her wife’s frail shoulders. their children were inside, making tea, trying not to cry too loud.

manon’s breathing was thin now. shallow, labored. she’d chosen this. chosen to leave the hospital behind, chosen to be surrounded by the life they’d built together. the one they’d clawed out of fate’s grip with both hands.

y/n held her hand, memorizing the shape of it all over again. she didn’t need to speak. manon’s eyes met hers, and in them, there was peace. not because death didn’t hurt. not because it didn’t still feel unfair. but because they had found each other. again.

and this time, they’d been allowed to stay.

manon’s last breath slipped out like a sigh, the softest goodbye. the breeze carried it, warm and gentle.

y/n didn’t cry right away. she just leaned her head against manon’s and whispered something only the wind would hear.

because she knew.

in any timeline, in any world, in every version of forever— she would find her.

always.

Your eyes kept trailing over to the other side of the table, directly across from you. It was almost as if your eyes were negatively charged magnets and Sophia was the pulling force they kept drifting towards. It wasn’t on purpose. It really wasn’t. Your mind, like your body, always was particularly uncontrollable whenever the girl was around. Even as the table was taken over by the sound of laughter and loud enigmatic conversation, you stayed silent. Lowe and behold, your silence didn’t go unnoticed. 

“You feeling alright, Y/N?” Lara’s voice cut you from your reverie, and you snapped back to reality as if you’d been caught red handed trying to sneak a piece of the forbidden fruit.

Lara’s eyes were trained directly on the side of your face as she moved in close to whisper in your ear, one hand resting idly around the back of your chair while the other found your knee beneath the table. Once upon a time, maybe the physical closeness would have had your heart skipping a beat. Maybe you would’ve felt your knees instantly weaken, your palms get clammy, or your face flush red. Now, all you could feel was guilt. You hadn’t even realized she was talking to you until now. You turn to face her, smiling the kind of tight lipped smile that tugged at the root of your being. 

“Just a bit sleepy.” You murmured, not quite a lie, but not quite truthful either. Your body felt sore and tired after a long day of preparing for Yoonchae’s dinner between work and study, and all you wanted most was to finally settle down in your own bed to sleep the night away through to the morning. 

Lara hummed, her eyes raking over your face in the way that screamed her affection, taking in your words with the kind of unquestionable belief that came with loving your partner, honestly and fully. If you were being honest, it made you feel sick to your stomach. The way Lara always seemed to look at you as if you were the only person in the world that was worth a damn. Like you were the very reason for her existence, like you held the stars up in the sky and the air in her lungs. You knew you should’ve felt fortunate. Lara always had been good to you over your relationship, the one that was coming up on nearly nine months. But sometimes, the heart simply wants what it wants. You wished it was her, you truly did. 

Lara opens her mouth to respond, something silly and witty on the tip of her tongue (like she always did to lighten your mood when you seemed down), just to stop herself when her eyes landed on your neck. The hand once resting on your knee trailed up to lightly brush away the collar of your shirt, the fabric parting just slightly for the object of her fascination to be seen clearer under the restaurant’s dim lighting. You inadvertently gulped when you realized what caught her eye, your blood running cold. 

“Shit, did I do that?” She whispered, just loud enough for you to hear as her fingers trailed faintly over the hickey blossoming on your skin. A small grin tilted the corner of her lips as she marvelled at her own creation, her hooded eyes trailing up to meet yours in the tantalising way they do. “Sorry about that, baby.”

“S’okay.” You again murmur as you gently shake her hand away from your neck, instead interlacing it with your own. You subtly shift your collar back into place to obscure the hickey and feel your smile widen, just enough to be passable. You swallow back your own nerves as you wrack through your brain for something to say, anything to keep her from thinking too hard into it. Instead, you settle on a small peck against her cheek, lips brushing her brown skin sweetly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sure enough, Lara practically beamed at your response and turned back contentedly, a smug grin permanently etched across her face at the knowledge she’d marked you up the way she had. You, however, could only feel your shame skyrocket tenfold. The second Lara was strung into an animated conversation with Daniela and Manon, the pair bickering about one thing or another in typical Daniela-Manon fashion, you exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The truth was, you had been unfaithful.

You look away from the distracted Lara, your spare hand instinctively reaching up to cup your neck. Even as conversation seemed to get impossibly louder at the table, as you nodded along absentmindedly to something Megan said on your left, your mind kept racing back to the feeling of full lips pressing into your skin. The same full lips that belonged to the girl sitting across from you. The lips of the girl who, conveniently, was already looking your way when your eyes thoughtlessly drifted towards her for the nth time that night. 

Sophia stared back at you with a familiar look engraved across her face, one unrecognizable to everyone but you (and perhaps her own boyfriend, the blissfully unaware Jungwoo laughing along obnoxiously to something unimportant). She looked so ridiculous good under the lights, her dark eyes trained on you in such a way that the only thing to cross your mind was the way she stood above you all those nights ago, wanton need in her voice. But it was her lips that wrapped you in a trance you couldn’t wake from. The way her lipgloss glimmered, lips parting slightly to reveal the same pearly white teeth that left the mark on your neck. The hickey, her hickey, burned with phantom pain at the memory of her biting down into your skin, tongue flattening out afterwards to soothe the sting  before she trailed that same tongue down your body. You felt your cheeks flush, your eyes momentarily looking away from Sophia’s. Still, through your peripheral you don’t miss the way her lips pull into a small, imperceptibly coy smirk. She knew what was on your mind, for she couldn’t shake it from her own either. 

Feeling claustrophobic, you stood from the table, dismissing Lara’s questioning glance with a short smile and mumbled “bathroom”. You didn’t wait to check if anyone was following you before practically beelining towards the restrooms, the loud chatter of the table disappearing as you stood before the large mirror, gripping the sink as the heavy door shut behind you. 

It’s not like you meant for it to happen. Once upon a time you almost had yourself convinced that Lara was the one. Then came the day you met Sophia, and whatever careful certainty you had arranged inside yourself changed. There was something about the filippina you could never quite shake. You weren’t naive to call it love at first sight. You also knew how much of it was physical, you weren’t ignorant to just how gorgeous Sophia LaForteza is to her core. Her lips were impossibly full, soft-looking, the kind that lingered in your mind long after the moment passed. You hated how easily they distracted you, how often you imagined what it might feel like to have them graze your skin, unhurried and intentional. Because god, how could you go about your day knowing her lips looked so plump and kissable? How could you not think about what it would feel like to have her? The thought pressed in on you as sharp as sin. She was one of your girlfriends best friends. It was wrong. So, completely, irrevocably wrong. She was gorgeous. Breathtaking. So, completely out of your league. Not to mention, you were both in relationships. It  was never meant to happen. Except it did.

You were both tipsy when your emotions toppled out of you like an inextinguishable flame. Megan’s birthday party had just come and gone. The night blurred at the edges, softened by music and laughter and just enough alcohol to loosen the things you kept tightly controlled. Lara drifted away into another conversation, and suddenly it was just you and Sophia, standing too close, sharing glances that lasted a second longer than they should have. One thing led to another and before you knew it, she had you pressed up against a wall in one of the house's many empty rooms. Her body was warm, close enough that you could’ve sworn you felt her heartbeat as her chest pressed against yours. Her gaze held yours, dark and knowing, as if she had seen this coming long before you had the courage to admit it. You were painfully aware of her then. The curve of her shoulder, the smoothness of her skin, the way her lips parted just slightly as if she was already savoring the moment. Desire spilled out of you both, uncontrolled and inevitable, a quiet fire you no longer tried to smother. In that space, pressed between longing and restraint, you understood how something unplanned could still feel unavoidable. 

Or, perhaps calling it all ‘unavoidable’ was just your way of making yourself feel better for your own infidelity. You never held any pity in your heart for people who cheated on their partners. You just never expect to become part of the problem. Cheating on Lara, and Sophia on Jungwoo, without remorse. The shame didn't kick in until you awoke the next morning to a missing Sophia and unanswered texts from Lara asking where you’d ran off to. 

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts, your gaze trained intently on yourself in the mirror, that you didn’t notice a familiar brunette enter the bathroom until she spoke. Her voice was soft and melodic, so different to the way she usually talked loudly and unashamedly in a crowd of her people. 

“Gloss?” Sophia’s voice cut through the manufactured silence, the sound of chatter barely audible through the thick doors. 

You don’t have any time to respond before she’s walking towards the mirror, stopping just beside you. The very second she stepped foot in your vicinity, you realized she was wearing the exact same perfume she wore at the party. Something equal parts sweet and warm, a scent that lived in your nostrils pleasantly long after she was gone. You couldn’t help but watch her as she fished through her purse, pulling out the familiar small tube of lipgloss that drove you wild. She stared herself down in the mirror as she reapplied it, slow and deliberate. Your eyes instinctively followed the path she left on her own lips, the way her tongue darted out so briefly it was nothing, but it had you stiffening anyway at the sheer memory of it. The grip you held on the sink tightened. 

You weren’t sure where your sudden confidence came from, what compelled you to open your mouth and speak the words that had been on your mind for days now. But before you could stop yourself, your eyes locked on hers through the mirror, face twisted up in guilt. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

Sophia visibly stills for the fraction of a second, a hum slipping through her lips as she twists the cap of her gloss back on and places it back in her bag.  For a moment she simply looks back at you, her eyes visibly trailing your frame through the mirror in such a way you felt your spine chill. Then, she clicked her tongue against her cheek.  “Done what?”

“Don’t play cute.” Your eyes rolled before you could stop them, disbelief clouding your mind. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Still, she says nothing. With a sudden frustrated huff, you frown. “We shouldn’t have done that,” you repeated, quieter this time. 

Finally she sighed, head tilting just enough to let her hair fall over one shoulder, eyes tracing your face with an ease that suggested she had already memorized it. “So you’ve said,” she started, her voice calm and even, “but from where i’m standing, you look a lot like someone who’s trying to convince themselves, not me.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, your reflection looking almost strained beside her composed one. “Sophia, we messed up,” you said, choosing your words carefully as if they might explode if handled wrong. “We both know it was a mistake.”

Her lips curved, faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something about her that was impossible to read. Where Lara displayed her emotions openly and without question, Sophia’s guardedness in this moment now drove you crazy. You wanted nothing more than to peer inside her head and see what she was thinking. Despite all the alarm bells that screamed it was wrong, you couldn’t help but wonder. Did she think about you, too?

She finally breaks eye contact with you through the mirror and turns, leaning her hip against the counter so she could view you directly. She stood so close that you could practically see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, but you don’t once dare look away from her figure in the mirror. You knew well and good that the second you turn to face her, it would be impossible to look away. There was something completely unreal about having her so close, yet just out of reach. 

“You didn’t seem to think so lowly of it all when it happened.” 

Again your body moved before you could think, your gaze finally breaking away from her reflection as your head snapped her way. Your eyes betrayed you by flicking down to her mouth before you could stop yourself, the same mouth she seemed acutely aware of as she pressed her lips together, redistributing the gloss in a way that felt uncomfortably intimate to watch.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” You murmured, cringing internally at the sound of your own voice, losing some of its conviction as the air between you grew heavier. 

“Doesn’t it?” Sophia presses, an almost incredulous scoff leaving her lips. “Answer this, Y/N. Did it feel wrong when you fucked me, or does it only feel wrong now because your perfect little girlfriend is sitting out there thinking she makes you feel as good as I did?”

You swallowed, a phantom ache once again crossing your neck where she left her mark, loud and angry. Your hand instinctively reached up to cup your neck, covering the still red hickey from her. Still, you bite back, shaking your head in disbelief.  “How can you be acting like this? She’s your friend, Sophia. Last time I checked, your boyfriend is also out there waiting for you to come back to him. Does this seriously not bother you at all?”

The space between you felt charged, every second stretching thin as she took a small step closer, close enough that you could see the warmth in her eyes reflected back at you, close enough that denying it felt pointless. Your hands left the sink without conscious thought, hovering at your sides as if unsure whether they were allowed to exist in this moment.

“This can’t happen again,” you said, though the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.

“We shouldn’t.” She agreed. 

But, actions always spoke louder than words. It was almost ironic how quickly everything unraveled, how the space between intention and action could collapse in the span of a single breath. One moment your body was alive with warning signs, every nerve flaring red as if to beg you to stop, to step back, to remember that Lara and Jungwoo were just beyond the door, laughing and unaware. You truly believed tonight would be different. You told yourself it wouldn’t happen again, that the first time had been a mistake made easy by dim lights and loud music and too much alcohol, that sobriety would make you stronger, more disciplined, more deserving of the girlfriend Lara believed you to be. You promised yourself distance, restraint, decency. But no matter how many times you reminded yourself of what was right, your body betrayed you the second Sophia stepped closer. Judging by the look in her eyes, by the way she seemed to inhale you in as if she’d been holding her breath all night, she was losing the same battle.

When she kisses you it isn’t slow nor delicate, and it sure as hell isn’t careful, because the second her lips crash into yours everything turns frantic, desperate, charged with the kind of heat you’d been trying and failing to suppress all night. She kisses you like she’s starved for it, mouth moving against yours with relentless urgency, and you feel it everywhere at once, in the way your breath stutters, in the way your pulse spikes, in the way your body leans into hers before you’d even made the conscious decision to do so. There’s nothing tender about it, nothing cautious, just raw want spilling out as if neither of you can afford to waste another second pretending restraint is still possible.

Her body presses into yours, close enough that the line between where she ends and you begin blurs, and you’re vaguely aware of the counter at your back only because it gives her the leverage to crowd you further, to keep you right where she wants you. Your hands come up instinctively, gripping at her waist, fingers tightening as if you’re afraid she might pull away even though you know she won’t, not when she’s kissing you like this, not when her lips keep finding yours again and again with breathless insistence. 

Sophia barely gives you time to breathe before her mouth leaves yours, the sudden absence almost painful as her lips trail along your jaw with intent, kisses pressed hot and lingering as if she’s memorizing you all over again. Her hands stay firm at your sides, thumbs digging in just enough to keep you still while she works her way down your neck. You feel her linger there, feel the way her lips hover before pressing in again, deliberate and unhurried, reclaiming the same place she’d marked just days prior. She kisses the hickey again, slower this time, mouth open just enough to make you gasp despite yourself, the sensation lighting every nerve as she sucks gently and then harder, unmistakably intent on leaving proof all over again. Your head tips back without permission, pulse thrumming wildly as guilt and desire knot tight in your chest, because she knows exactly what she’s doing and exactly why.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and edged with something sharp as her lips stay against your skin. “Does she touch you like this,” Sophia murmurs, the words brushing you just as much as her mouth does, “or does she just get to pretend she owns you without knowing what you really feel?”

Your breath comes uneven, hands flexing at her waist, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, dark eyes searching your face. There’s jealousy there, unhidden and raw, and it twists something deep in your stomach.

“I hate that she gets you.” Sophia continues quietly, thumb grazing the edge of the fresh mark she’s made, possessive and unapologetic. “I hate that she gets to sit next to you and think you’re hers when you’re here with me.”

You weren’t sure how long you were in that bathroom, Sophia’s lips on your neck, her breath warm as she whispered her jealousies into your ear like sins traded at a confessional. Time had stopped meaning anything, measured only in stolen touches and quiet desperation, until the sharp, unmistakable sound of a knock against the door snapped you back into yourself.

You gently but firmly pushed Sophia away, the sudden space between you feeling wrong even as you created it, and turned hurriedly back to the mirror, hands moving on instinct as you wiped at the evidence of her glossy-lipped kisses scattered from your mouth to your jawline. Your reflection looked flushed, undone, collar crooked in a way that made your stomach drop, and you tugged at it clumsily, trying to obscure what you couldn’t erase.

Behind you Sophia went still, her expression sobering as she met your eyes through the mirror, something sharp and knowing settling there as if she had expected this moment all along. She smoothed her hair, reapplied composure with the same practiced ease she always had, though her gaze lingered on your neck for just a second longer than necessary.

“You guys okay in there?” Lara’s voice came through the thick door, concerned but light, the sound of it twisting painfully in your chest.

Your heart hammered as you swallowed, forcing your voice steady as you stepped closer to the sink, pretending to check your reflection one last time. “Yeah,” you called back, hating how normal you sounded, how easy the lie slipped out. “Sorry, won’t be a minute.”

Sophia’s lips pressed into a faint, unreadable smile at that, her eyes flicking to yours one last time in the mirror, a silent reminder of everything that had just happened and everything you’d have to carry back out with you. You took a step toward the door, chest still hammering, only to feel her hand close gently around your elbow, tugging you back just enough to stop you in your tracks.

“You forgot one,” she murmured as you turned to face her, her voice low and teasing, carrying that dangerous mix of desire and ownership that made your pulse spike. Before you could respond, she wet her thumb with her tongue and swiped it over the hickey on your neck, erasing the last mark of her indulgence as if reclaiming it one final time for herself.

Her touch lingered longer than necessary, deliberate, and you swallowed hard, barely able to meet her gaze as the weight of what had happened pressed against your ribs. Then, almost casually, she moved toward the door, brushing past you so close that her body heat seeped into yours, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. She paused at the handle, leaned in just enough that her lips brushed your ear and murmured softly, her words low enough for no one outside to hear. 

“She has no idea.”

And then she was gone, leaving you alone with the mirror, the knock echoing faintly in your ears, and the undeniable weight of what you’d just done settling heavy in your chest. 

It was only when you opened the door to meet Lara’s beaming face did the guilt come back, the girl none the wiser. 

You’d done it again. 

“it was only a matter of time before you did something to make your pr team cry,” yunjin said, her voice thick with amusement as she leaned forward in her chair. “but god, y/n. i didn’t think you had it in you to be that bold.”

you didn’t bother to look at her. instead, you kept your focus on the half-empty iced americano in your hands, the straw poking at the lid like it had something to say too. “yeah yeah,” you muttered, tone dry. “keep it coming. get it all out.”

yunjin’s laughter filled the small recording studio, bouncing off the walls like an echo that didn’t know when to quit.

the first time you met her, you were rushing to a meeting at the hybe building, five minutes late and in no mood to reschedule. the elevator was almost closed when a hand slipped between the panels, smooth and effortless, like it was something out of a k-drama. yunjin stepped in a moment later, casual as anything, earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, eyes flicking toward you.

she didn’t register who you were right away. not until she caught the outline of your face in the elevator mirror and did the most obvious quadruple take known to man. she grinned like she’d just won a bet. you raised an eyebrow. the doors shut.

your name had been climbing headlines at the time, especially after that marvel debut. you were still adjusting to the spotlight, to the way people started speaking about you like you were a headline first and a human being second. they called you the face of the next generation, a once-in-a-decade talent. you still weren’t sure what to do with that.

to her credit, yunjin didn’t immediately spiral. she told you later she’d nearly recited your entire filmography then and there but had somehow restrained herself. instead, she said, “you’re taller than i thought,” with a sort of breezy charm that made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

the novelty wore off quickly. by your third hangout, she was yelling at her flat iron over facetime and blaming you for jinxing her hair before mcountdown. the pedestal had crumbled, and in its place was something much better.

you adored her, truly. but right now? right now you wanted to strangle her.

“you do realize the internet’s having a meltdown, right?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder while fiddling with the dials on the studio mixer. “megan’s stans are going full detective mode. they’re gonna find the exact thread count of your bedsheets if you’re not careful.”

of course you knew. how could you not?

‎ 

‎it had all started at weekly idol. you and your costar, eunwoo, were the guests that day. minhyuk and hyeongjun were hosting. bright-eyed, energetic, and way too charismatic for nine in the morning. the moment you stepped on set, they bowed with exaggerated reverence and gasped like they’d seen ghosts.

“wow… everyone, protect the cameras,” minhyuk said, turning to the staff with mock urgency. “no way this equipment survives the visuals of both our guests at once.”

you laughed, cheeks heating despite yourself. the nerves hadn’t gone away even after a hundred interviews. your knee had bounced nonstop in the makeup chair. your hands wouldn’t sit still in your lap. you didn’t know why you were this on edge. it wasn’t like this was your first time.

eunwoo had noticed. he always noticed. he didn’t say much, but before your cue to enter, he gave you a quiet nod, a calm smile. just enough to settle the buzz in your chest.

the shoot went smoothly. laughter came easy. there was a moment you and eunwoo broke into an absurd duet of the show’s theme song, something so horrifically off-key that it ended up trending for twelve hours. and yet, what really caught fire was that one particular question.

“…so, y/n,” hyeongjun had said, reading off a laminated card with all the flair of a seasoned variety host. “you’ve caught the eye of the entire country. but has anyone caught your eye?”

you paused. of course you did. your manager’s disapproving face flashed through your brain like a warning siren, but you could already feel the words rising. the answer had been sitting with you for months now, quiet and patient.

you thought of coachella. of watching a failed backflip send some poor guy crashing to the ground mid-performance, which made you laugh for far too long. and how somehow, down that spiral of linked videos and fuzzy 420p livestreams, you ended up watching three girls play roblox with him. that’s when you saw her. megan skiendiel. orange wig, infectious laugh, that strange but graceful way she moved that made you look twice.

she was stunning. but it wasn’t just that. it was the way she felt. vibrant. sincere. like she wasn’t trying to be anyone but herself.

you could still remember the way your cheeks felt warm when you finally answered.

“uh, well, i don’t usually think about stuff like that,” you said carefully, then smiled despite yourself. “but i think katseye’s megan is absolutely gorgeous. i mean, i’d love to meet her. she seems fun. like the kind of person you’d want to be friends with.”

innocent enough. 

‎ 

or so you thought.

now, here you were, spinning idly on a swivel chair in yunjin’s recording booth, trying not to meet her smug eyes.

“you should’ve said nothing,” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “or lied. something. anything. instead, you went full disney channel crush monologue.”

“i thought it was harmless,” you argued, voice climbing in pitch. “i didn’t think the entire internet would spiral into an fbi task force over a throwaway comment. seriously, doesn’t anyone have jobs?”

“you’re y/n,” yunjin shot back, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “you know people hang onto your words like they’re stock tips. you practically lit a flare above her name with that answer.”

“i didn’t even say anything that bad! i called her pretty and said she seemed fun. i said the same thing about you last week on dex’s fridge.”

“right, but you didn’t look like you were about to pass out from heart palpitations when you said it about me. you didn’t blush. you didn’t pause like you were imagining your wedding vows. babe, you looked like you were one blink away from writing her poetry.”

“you’re being so dramatic.”

“am i?” she raised an eyebrow. “because you may as well have held a ‘simp’ sign and worn a megan skiendiel stan shirt. even sungchan has more chill than that. sungchan, y/n.”

you groaned at the mention of your tall, hopelessly clumsy mutual. “low blow.”

“i’m just saying.” she shrugged, biting back a grin. “even you know i’m right.”

and unfortunately, you kind of did.

“okay, but for real,” yunjin said, dragging her chair over with a squeak that made you wince. she rested her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, looking at you like she was about to stage an intervention. “what are you gonna do if she actually reaches out?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the shift in her tone. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, say she dms you. or tags you in some story. or, i don’t know, shows up at your next premiere with a bouquet of roses and a sign that says ‘hi crush.’ what then?” she asked. “you gonna freak out and melt into the floor? you gonna invite her to karaoke and try to play it cool while secretly dying inside?”

you turned away and took a long, pointed sip of your coffee.

“no, but seriously,” she pressed, clearly not letting it go. “you like her, don’t you?”

you snorted. “i’ve never even met her.”

“not what i asked.”

you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. “i don’t know. maybe.”

yunjin tilted her head. “that’s a yes.”

“it’s not a yes,” you said, but your voice was too quiet to sound convincing. “i just think she’s… interesting.”

“gorgeous, fun, interesting,” she ticked off on her fingers. “mmhmm. yeah. sounds like someone’s caught feelings off vibes and roblox streams alone. that’s powerful.”

you groaned again and rolled your eyes, but the sound that left your throat was somewhere between embarrassment and reluctant laughter. “you make it sound so unhinged.”

“it is unhinged,” she said without missing a beat. “but it’s also kind of cute. in a really stupid, romcom kind of way. you, falling for a girl you’ve never met because she made you laugh through a pixelated camera while dressed like a traffic cone.”

you narrowed your eyes. “it was a very good orange wig.”

“never said it wasn’t,” she said with a shrug. “you’re just proving my point.”

you exhaled slowly, running a hand down your face. “look, i didn’t mean for any of this to happen. i just answered the question honestly. i wasn’t trying to stir up some whole thing.”

“but you did,” she said gently. ”and maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.”

you looked at her, unsure how to respond.

“she could be into it,” yunjin said, her voice lighter again. “she should be into it. if i was her, i’d be clearing my schedule and calling my stylist for a camera-ready fit. do you even know how many people would kill to be publicly flirted with by you?”

“i wasn’t flirting.”

“girl, you might as well have asked for her ring size.”

you groaned again and flopped forward, burying your face in your arms as yunjin broke into another fit of laughter. somewhere beneath the teasing and the noise, though, was something quieter. something you didn’t say out loud.

you kind of hoped she did reach out.

even just to say hi.

__

the dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of pipes behind the walls. manhua pages rustled faintly in the room next door, probably sophia flipping through her latest haul before bed, but otherwise the place had settled into a kind of hush that only came after midnight. the rest of the girls had turned in after rehearsals, legs sore, voices hoarse, the kind of tired that sank into the bones. megan had stayed behind in the living room, half-sprawled across the floor with a pillow hugged to her chest and a cold bottle of pocari pressed under her jaw.

she was still in her practice clothes, oversized hoodie and bike shorts, skin sticky with the last remnants of sweat she hadn’t bothered to wipe off properly. her hair was clipped up haphazardly, strands falling into her face as she stared down at her phone, blue light painting her features in a soft, ghostly glow.

she wasn’t really expecting anything when she opened twitter. just a quick scroll before bed, a way to shut her brain off after a day of hitting choreography until her ankles burned. but then she saw the video. saw her name. and froze.

“Y/N CONFIRMS SHE’S A FAN OF KATSEYE’S MEGAN 🫢🫢🫢”

she clicked it.

the clip wasn’t long. maybe thirty seconds, a little more. it was some variety show. she recognized eunwoo immediately, bright-eyed and relaxed in the way only he ever seemed to be on camera. y/n sat beside him, posture a little straighter than usual, nerves twitching under the surface despite the easy smile on her face.

megan watched the moment unfold. the way the question was asked. the pause. the sheepish smile. 

“i think katseye’s megan is absolutely gorgeous.”

the words shouldn’t have done anything. people said things like that all the time. fans. hosts. stylists brushing out her hair before a shoot. it wasn’t new. but the way y/n said it, quiet, thoughtful, almost like she was holding back something bigger… it sat heavy in megan’s chest as the clip ended and replayed itself automatically.

she watched it again. and then a third time.

her notifications were already a mess. katseye’s name trending alongside y/n’s, clips being reposted with fan captions and edits, screenshots of the moment paired with captions like “megan better WAKE UP” and “y/n join the line babe”. she should’ve laughed. part of her did. but underneath it, something shifted. something warm and unsure and a little bit dizzy.

y/n had been on her radar for a while, if she was being honest. megan wasn’t the type to crush easily, but there was something about her. it started with a film. some sci-fi action thing that megan only half paid attention to until y/n showed up on screen and suddenly everything was more interesting. after that, it was interviews. behind the scenes clips. a fan edit that popped up on her for you page one morning and made her miss a whole subway stop because she got too caught up in it.

and now this.

megan opened y/n’s instagram without really thinking. her thumb hovered over the follow button. she stared at it for a long second, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

she didn’t press it.

not yet.

instead, she set her phone down on the floor beside her and let her eyes drift to the ceiling. her heart was beating faster than it had any right to.

“gorgeous,” she murmured under her breath, voice barely audible. “fun. wants to be friends.”

maybe she could work with that.

‎ 

sleep didn’t come easy to her that night.  before she knew it, the night shifted to morning and she had to get up. the studio called her name, as it seemed to relentlessly the past month and some change. 

sophia, daniela, and yoonchae were already mid-run-through when megan walked into the practice room, the tail end of the “gnarly” chorus echoing faintly from the speakers. sophia’s voice cut clean through the track, daniela’s movements sharp and deliberate. yoonchae was quiet, as usual, but every step she made was crisp, clockwork precise.

megan had barely stepped into the center of the room when she heard it.

“so.” lara didn’t even look up from where she was sitting, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her palms. “anything you wanna share with the class?”

megan blinked. “what?”

manon turned her head slowly from where she was sitting several notches away, a teasing gleam in her eyes. she answers as if it’s obvious. honestly, it really was. “y/n.”

megan tensed immediately. “oh god.”

“yup,” lara said, like she had been waiting all morning for this. “you’ve been blowing up on stan twitter since seven a.m. and don’t think we didn’t notice how fast you saved that clip on the shared account”

“i didn’t save it,” megan muttered, grabbing her water bottle a little too fast. “i just… happened to see it. once.”

“megan,” manon said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “you’ve been quiet all morning. the last time you shut the fuck up was when you saw scarlett johanson do the splits in that one captain america movie. don’t lie to us.”

lara laughed under her breath. “she said you were gorgeous, wanted to be friends. oh, how romantic. i bet you probably watched it ten times over.”

“i did not,” megan said, practically choking on her water. “i just didn’t expect it, okay? i wasn’t mentally prepared.”

“mentally prepared for what?” manon said, raising a brow. “a compliment? you’ve been in magazines. people compliment you all the time.”

“not her,” megan said, before immediately realizing what she’d just admitted out loud. she froze. “i mean. not like. you know. never mind.”

lara clapped once, too loud. “that’s it. someone get her phone. we’re crafting a dm.”

“absolutely not,” megan said, panic already bubbling in her chest. “i’ll die.”

“what are you gonna do?” manon said. “wait until she magically appears in the dorms living room?”

megan buried her face in her hoodie. “maybe.”

“this is tragic,” lara said. “you have the golden opportunity of a lifetime and you’re out here acting like she’s a tax bill.”

“can we please change the subject,” megan mumbled, voice muffled in fabric.

“nope,” manon said, standing up and walking towards her. “group vote says you’re dming her.”

lara held out a hand. “seconded.”

from across the room, daniela raised a hand mid-step. “thirded.”

megan didn’t even look up. “yoonchae. please. save me.”

yoonchae just gave a small shrug, barely breaking from the choreo. megan groaned into her sleeve.

yep. she was on her own. not even sophia batted an eyelash, the filippinas glossy lips tilting up into a small grin where she was by the mirrors. 

megan sat down cross-legged on the floor with her phone clutched in both hands like it might explode. her back was hunched, eyes glued to the screen, and the expression on her face hovered somewhere between total focus and a full-blown identity crisis.

“you haven’t even opened instagram yet,” manon pointed out, sitting behind her and peering over her shoulder.

“i’m getting to it,” megan muttered.

lara flopped down next to her with a dramatic sigh. “this is painful to watch. if you go any slower, we’ll be here until yoonchae turns twenty-seven.”

megan unlocked her phone with a resigned swipe. “what do i even say? like. what do people say when they’re trying not to sound weird?”

lara took a breath. “okay. let’s start simple. ‘hi y/n, thanks for saying i’m pretty on tv—”

“i’m not saying that.”

“‘you have great taste in women’—”

“lara.”

“‘let’s be friends (or more if you’re free saturday night)’—”

megan covered her face with both hands. “why did i think listening to you was a good idea.”

manon leaned her chin on megan’s shoulder. “fine. try this. ‘hi, this is super random but i saw the clip from weekly idol and just wanted to say thank you. that was really sweet of you. hope we can meet someday!’ short, polite, friendly. not scary.”

megan peeked at her. “…that’s not terrible.”

lara squinted. “it’s boring.”

“it’s safe,” manon said, grabbing megan’s phone and typing it out with quick thumbs. “she’s not asking her to elope, she’s just acknowledging it.”

megan took the phone back and read it over like it was a contract. “…what if she doesn’t reply?”

“then you delete your account and we pretend this never happened,” lara said. “easy.”

“lara,” manon sighed.

megan stared at the message for a long moment. her thumb hovered. then tapped. then hovered again.

“just hit send,” daniela called from across the room, not even looking up from her stretching. “we can feel your hesitation from over here.”

“seriously,” sophia added, “you’re vibrating.”

megan sucked in a breath through her teeth. and then, with her eyes closed and her stomach in her shoes, she hit send.

silence.

lara let out the longest, slowest gasp. “it’s done.”

manon patted her back. “you’re very brave.”

megan immediately flopped backward onto the floor like she’d just run a marathon. “i need to lie here forever. let me perish in peace.”

lara just grinned and offered her a thumbs up. “she’s gonna love it.”

megan covered her eyes. “i hate everything.”

never in a million years would she have expected that one simple action to change everything. 

__

the cafe was warm in that familiar, lived-in kind of way. wood-paneled walls framed by climbing ivy, soft light filtering through dusty windows, and the scent of espresso baked into the air like it had nowhere else to go. outside, a quiet drizzle tapped at the glass, slow and steady, painting the sidewalk in watercolor streaks. inside, the soft clatter of dishes and hum of conversation made everything feel just far enough from the noise of your schedule to breathe.

you were at a small table near the back, the kind that rocked a little if you leaned on it wrong. yunjin sat across from you, one leg thrown over the other, straw bent at an aggressive angle in her lemonade. beside her, sungchan had his jacket slung over his chair and a look of mild betrayal on his face as he stared down at the salad yunjin had goaded him into ordering.

“i’m just saying,” she said, picking a piece of arugula off his plate like it belonged to her, “you can’t order a burger four days in a row and then complain about your skin breaking out.”

“it’s called balance,” sungchan muttered, dragging his fork through the greens with the resigned air of someone deeply offended by roughage. “i had a banana this morning.”

“oh wow,” she deadpanned. “one whole banana. call the olympic committee, this man is the pinnacle of health.”

he gave her a flat look. “didn’t you eat instant tteokbokki at two in the morning and then text me about your stomach cramps like it was my fault?”

“okay, first of all, you’re my emotional support contact when i make poor life choices. second of all, i still looked hot while doing it.”

you blinked slowly, chin in your hand, eyes fixed on the screen of your phone where the message sat.

hi, this is super random but i saw the clip from weekly idol and just wanted to say thank you. that was really sweet of you. hope we can meet someday!

megan had sent it two nights ago. you’d seen it the moment it came in, heart tripping over itself in the dark quiet of your bedroom. you didn’t answer. not right away. you told yourself you were busy, that you had scripts to review, meetings lined up. you told yourself it wasn’t ghosting if you intended to respond eventually.

but even now, hours and hours later, you were still here. still staring. still unsure what to say.

you had never been this nervous to talk to someone before.

“okay, this is depressing,” yunjin said, snapping her fingers in your direction. “hey. eyes up. you look like someone just broke up with you via powerPoint.”

sungchan leaned in a little, squinting at you. “are you sick? you’re weirdly quiet. usually you’d be insulting us by now.”

“i’m not sick,” you said quickly, locking your phone and setting it face down on the table. “just… thinking.”

“thinking about what?” yunjin asked, tone tilting toward nosy in that way only close friends could get away with.

you hesitated.

“oh my god,” she gasped. “you’re in love.”

“i’m not in love,” you said, too fast, which only made sungchan snort into his water.

“that’s what people say right before they confess they’re in love,” he said, dabbing at his chin with a napkin like he hadn’t just inhaled half a slice of garlic bread. “who is it?”

“nobody,” you said.

yunjin leaned forward with the exact expression of someone who knew they were right. “it’s megan, isn’t it?”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to. the look on your face gave you away.

sungchan let out a low whistle. “oh. that megan. the ‘gorgeous, fun, would love to be friends’ megan.”

you groaned, resting your forehead on your palm. “do you all memorize everything i say or are you just stalking my interviews for sport?”

“yes,” they said at the same time.

“okay but seriously,” yunjin said, nudging your phone with one perfectly manicured finger. “she messaged you, right?”

you nodded.

“and you didn’t reply because…?”

you sighed. “i don’t know. because it’s her. because i don’t want to mess it up. because what if she’s just being nice and this whole thing is way more casual to her than it is to me?”

sungchan tilted his head. “you mean what if she’s cool and normal and not secretly writing fanfiction about you the way you’re doing about her?”

yunjin grinned. “do you want us to help you write back? or are you planning to keep having an existential crisis over a very cute dm?”

you glanced at the screen again. your reflection looked back at you in the black glass, soft and unsure.

“i’ll write back,” you said quietly.

“good,” yunjin said, leaning back in her chair with a pleased expression. “because if you didn’t, i was gonna pretend to be you and do it myself.”

“you’re terrifying,” sungchan said, which she accepted as a compliment.

you looked back at the message one more time. your heart was still beating a little too fast, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. maybe it meant you actually cared. that it mattered.

you took a breath. opened the keyboard.

and started to type.

your fingers hovered for a second too long over the keyboard. the blinking cursor stared back at you like it knew you were stalling. you could feel yunjin’s eyes on you, sharp and expectant, like she might actually snatch the phone from your hands if you hesitated any longer. sungchan, mercifully, had gone back to his salad, occasionally picking at it like it was an alien lifeform.

hi megan! sorry for the slow reply, things have been a little hectic lately. i saw your message and honestly it kind of made my whole week lol. thank you for reaching out :)

you paused. read it again. deleted the smiley. retyped it. added a second sentence.

i’d really love to meet too if you’re ever free.

then you stared at it some more.

“this is painful,” yunjin muttered. “just hit send. what’s the worst that could happen?”

“she leaves me on read and i spontaneously combust from shame,” you said flatly.

“dramatic,” sungchan mumbled, chewing like a cow. “but valid.”

“she won’t leave you on read,” yunjin said, more gently this time. “she messaged you first. that counts for something.”

you looked down at the screen one last time. your thumb hovered over the send button. your stomach turned a slow, clumsy flip. and then, before you could second guess yourself again, you pressed it.

message sent.

you didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.

“there,” yunjin said, smug now. “look at you. being brave.”

“i already regret this,” you mumbled, locking your phone again and pushing it away like it might explode.

“do you want a cookie?” sungchan asked, peering at the dessert menu. “i feel like this moment deserves a cookie.”

you blinked at him. “why do you always want to eat after stressful emotional events?”

“because i am a man of simple needs,” he said, deadpan. “and also because cookies are comforting.”

“he’s not wrong,” yunjin said, flagging down the waiter with the kind of unearned confidence that came from growing up with three older siblings and no shame. except, she didn’t. “three chocolate chip, please. and a round of iced americanos. she’s going to need the caffeine.”

you sank back into your seat, still feeling the rush of adrenaline buzzing under your skin. outside, the rain had picked up a little, streaking the windows like silver threads. inside, everything smelled like sugar and espresso and something warm baking in the oven.

you didn’t know if megan would reply. maybe she’d be busy. maybe she’d forget. but for now, you’d done the hardest part.

you’d answered, and that felt like enough for today.

that was, at least, until your phone chimed.

the sound sliced through the moment like a needle popping a balloon. all three of you froze. your eyes shot to the screen where the notification banner was still lingering like a ghost.

megan skiendiel: that sounds perfect :) when are you free?

yunjin let out an actual gasp, loud and dramatic enough to make the table behind you glance over. sungchan dropped his fork.

“no way,” yunjin hissed, already leaning across the table to see. “no actual way. she replied that fast? is she a robot?”

you didn’t say anything. you just stared. your heart had lodged itself somewhere in your throat, beating so hard it made your ears ring. megan had replied. not just replied but enthusiastically. and with a smiley. the exact one you had almost deleted from your own message.

“hello?” sungchan waved a hand in front of your face. “earth to y/n. what did she say? is it something scandalous? are we finally getting to live vicariously through your love life?”

you shoved your phone toward them without speaking.

yunjin read the message out loud like it was a line from a sacred text. “‘that sounds perfect. when are you free.’” then she looked up at you with her mouth already forming a wicked grin. “she wants to hang out. like, actually hang out. she’s asking you out.”

“not asking me out,” you said quickly, the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “just… asking when i’m free.”

“same thing,” sungchan said, picking his fork back up and pointing it at you like it was a weapon. “in celebrity speak that is basically a confession of love. i’ve seen the charts.”

“you made those charts,” you reminded him.

“and they’re scientifically sound.”

“okay but seriously,” yunjin cut in, phone still in hand, “when are you free? do you have a day off coming up?”

you blinked, trying to force your brain back into scheduling mode. “uh… friday afternoon? maybe?”

“perfect,” she said, already typing something. “tell her friday. tell her you’re free after lunch. keep it casual. breezy. like you’re not obsessively analyzing every possible outcome of this conversation.”

you shot her a look. “i am obsessively analyzing every possible outcome of this conversation.”

“which is why you need us,” sungchan said with his mouth full of cookie. “we’re here to keep you from imploding.”

your phone buzzed again.

megan skiendiel: i’m free friday after seven. wanna grab coffee? i can send you a spot i like

you didn’t even get a chance to reply before yunjin squealed.

sungchan raised both hands to the sky. “oh my god. it’s happening. it’s actually happening.”

you stared at the message, barely breathing, heart thudding like a drum inside your chest.

coffee. with megan.

you were either about to make a new friend or absolutely ruin your entire life trying.

weirdly… you couldn’t wait to find out which.

__

friday showed up before you were ready for it.

“i feel like a dad on prom night,” sungchan said, flopped across your couch like a man waiting for judgment day. he hugged a pillow to his stomach like it might shield him from the chaos. “except hotter. and younger. and not emotionally repressed.

“you’re eating chips with your shirt inside out,”chaewon deadpanned, looking sungchan up and down judgmentally.. “you look like a walking identity crisis.”  

then she turned, peering around the corner into your bedroom.

“y/n, i can’t believe you’re finally going on a date. talk about a breakthrough.”

yunjin sat cross legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t the one who casually mentioned your date in front of everyone. the very second chaewon heard, she practically chomped at the bit, begging yunjin to bring her along to watch it all unfold. to say your love life was a spectacle among your friends would be an understatement.

“for the record,” you called from your room, still getting ready, “i said no to bringing chaewon.”

“for the record,” chaewon shouted back, “we overruled you. this is a democracy.”

“it’s so not.”

you stepped out, halfway dressed, holding up two completely different tops.

“black or white?”

“ooh,” yunjin said, squinting like she was inspecting a rare museum artifact. “black is hot. white is sweet. depends on the vibe you’re going for.”

“the vibe is ‘i want to look cute but not like i tried too hard because if i think about this too long i will throw myself into traffic’.”

“black,” chaewon and sungchan said in unison.

you sighed and nodded, disappearing back into the room. the air buzzed with the sound of sungchan crunching loudly and chaewon whispering to yunjin like they were spies on a mission.

“lets make a bet. ten dollars says she has a breakdown before she even leaves the house.” chaewon whispered.

“twenty says she embarrasses herself throwing up in megan’s car.” yunjin whispered back.

“guys,” you said, poking your head out again. “i can hear you.”

“we know,” they all said at the same time.

your phone dinged again.

megan skiendiel: on my way. i’ll be at your door in a minute. also, did you know your bellhop likes our music? he almost fainted when he let me up lol

you stared at the message for two full seconds before the others caught the change in your face like wolves spotting weakness. you barely had time to blink before the room exploded.

“oh my god,” sungchan shot up from the couch like someone yelled ‘fire!’. the chip bag in his hands crinkled louder than a car alarm. “was that her? is she outside? do we hide? do we have a code word if things go sideways?”

“wait, she’s coming up here?” chaewon gasped, already rising with a dramatic flair. “this place is a disaster zone!”

“i cleaned for you people,” you hissed, throwing a pointed look at the water bottles on the coffee table and the lone sock draped suspiciously over the lamp.

“yeah, and we immediately undid all of it,” yunjin said, waving a hand at the chaos like it was a museum exhibit. “you’re welcome.”

sungchan grabbed his phone, replacing the cushion he clutched. “this is it. our little baby’s first date.”

“shut up,” you muttered, cheeks heating like you’d just been called out in front of the world. “and put that damn phone down. if i see you take even one photo, i’ll beat your ass. besides, it’s not a date.”

three pairs of eyes locked onto you in unison.

“coffee with the girl you’ve been thinking about nonstop for two weeks,” chaewon said, crossing her arms with the confidence of a daytime talk show host.

“wearing the ‘hot top’, nervous enough to sweat through your socks,” yunjin added, giving you an appraising look.

“with three unpaid emotional support staff waiting at home,” sungchan finished, voice thick with mock solemnity.

your gaze snapped back and forth between the three of them, and you cringed inwardly. okay, they were right. this was definitely a date.

then, knock knock knock.

you froze for a second, heart thudding so loud you were sure they could hear it in the next room. you opened the door, and there she was.

megan stood on the other side like a vision in the hallway light, hair catching the glow just right, a smile that was equal parts warm and mischievous.

behind you, the trio froze mid-move like they’d just been caught doing something they definitely shouldn’t. they exchanged shiteating grins that barely hid how badly they were eavesdropping. yunjin quickly pulled out her phone like she was suddenly very interested in something, but her eyes kept darting toward the door. chaewon leaned against the wall, looking way too relaxed for someone who was clearly dying to say something, and sungchan sprawled on the couch with the kind of lazy cool that screamed i’m totally innocent. when megan’s eyes flicked over to them, they all waved with big, overly casual smiles like innocent bystanders who just happened to be hanging out, except no one was buying it.

but then megan’s eyes locked onto yours and suddenly everything else around you faded into the background. your breath hitched without warning and your brain scrambled like it was trying to process a beautiful glitch in reality.

you’d only ever seen her through a screen before. live streams where she smiled like the sun was just for her, short clips where she moved with effortless grace, and that one quick instagram deep dive you’d done when she messaged you. but now, here she was in real life, and she was something else entirely.

her skin caught the soft light of your penthouse, glowing like it had its own quiet radiance. her eyes were bigger and deeper than you expected, dark and shimmering like they held a secret you wanted to know. the way her hair fell in loose waves around her face softened her sharp cheekbones and made her look both fierce and kind at the same time.

she wasn’t just pretty. she was the kind of stunning that made you forget words and wish you could rewind the moment just to stare a little longer. standing there, frozen with your mouth slightly open, you realized this was the first time you were seeing her. not a filtered version, not a quick snapshot. but the real her. and it was breathtaking.

“hi,” megan said, and the word came out with a lopsided grin that cracked through the tension in your chest like sunlight through a fogged-up window. her voice was warm, lilting, a little too casual for someone who had just walked in looking like a daydream in denim baggy jeans and a bomber jacket. she rocked slightly on her heels and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, like she was fighting the urge to do a small nervous dance.

“hi,” you replied, except it sounded more like a squeak than anything human. your throat betrayed you. of course it did.

then her eyes flicked over your shoulder, and that grin stretched even wider.

“hey guys!” she waved, cheerful like she’d just walked into a party of old friends instead of three people very poorly pretending to mind their own business. “love the casual surveillance vibe you’ve got going on in here.”

“we’re chill,” sungchan said, lounging so awkwardly on the couch he almost slid off it. 

“so chill,” chaewon added, nodding solemnly from her place at the wall, where she’d become one with a houseplant.

“this is how we always sit,” yunjin said, phone upside down in her hand, gaze glued directly to megan’s face. “completely normal. zero eavesdropping. you can’t prove otherwise.”

megan let out a laugh, scrunching her nose as she looked back at you. “your friends are amazing.”

“they’re something,” you muttered, grabbing your bag before your legs could decide to walk without you.

“so,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck and bouncing slightly on her toes. “you ready? or do you need a few more minutes to, like, peel them off the furniture?”

you gave a quiet laugh, trying not to show that your hands were already clammy. “nope. ready.”

megan smiled again. softer this time. like she was seeing you for real. “cool. let’s go, then.”

and with that, you stepped out into whatever this was going to be, your heart doing cartwheels the entire way.

‎ 

truthfully, megan’s car wasn’t what you’d expected. some part of you, the part still convinced the universe had a twisted sense of humor, had pictured something absurd. maybe a crop duster or even the rusty tow truck from cars. something loud. chaotic. entirely un-date-like. instead, it was a sleek black suv. understated but sharp, just like her.

from the passenger seat, you couldn’t help sneaking glances. megan’s focus was fixed on the road, her jaw tense, her hands gripping the wheel like she was bracing for impact.

“you look nervous,” you said, a little too gently.

“o-oh, well. you know.” her voice cracked slightly as she coughed into her shoulder, eyes flicking toward you before immediately darting back to the windshield. she gave you a crooked grin, brief and almost sheepish. “i am. honestly, i feel like i’m going to vomit.”

you laughed before you could help it. light, surprised. “vomit? that’s dramatic.”

“i mean, maybe,” she said, her eyes narrowing playfully for half a second before softening again. “it’s just… i didn’t expect to actually be here. with you. not in a bad way. in a surreal way.”

you felt the flush creep across your cheeks before you even registered it, a warmth that pooled somewhere in your chest. still, you tilted your head toward her, teasing. “i can’t tell if you mean that as a compliment or not.”

megan practically panicked. “no! no, no no, not at all. god, please, that’s the silliest thing i’ve ever heard.” her words came out too fast, tripping over themselves. she shook her head like it would help untangle the knot in her thoughts. “i’m just nervous, okay? i keep overthinking it. like, what if i say something dumb, or do something weird, or—”

her voice dropped slightly, and she added, almost under her breath, “you’re so pretty i can’t think straight.”

then she froze, eyes widening as if realizing she’d said it out loud. her face goes red, a grimace pulling across her lips. she lifts a hand off the wheel to gently facepalm herself, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “please ignore me. i’m begging,”

you could only watch. you don’t know when the fond grin crossed your lips. when your heart skipped a beat, when her endearing clumsiness had you relaxing in your seat. perhaps knowing that she was just as, if not more, nervous as you made you feel relieved. after a beat, you laughed. soft. her eyes lit up as she glanced at you from her peripheral, the short noise drawing her from her thoughts.

“you’re fine,” you said, quiet but real. “i’ve been looking forward to tonight too.”

“really?”

“yeah. do you think i’d let my friends invade my house all week just for fun? they’ve been insufferable, harassing me all week. i guess i maybe haven’t made it all that secret that i’ve been interested in you for a while.” then you shake your head. “interested in meeting, that is.”

this time it was megan’s turn to crack a stupid grin.

whatever nerves you felt immediately disappeared the longer you talked to each other. truth be told, you were worried whether you’d get along as well as you hoped you would. part of you worried that once you saw each other, it’d be awkward. quiet. instead megan somehow managed to fill the silence with conversation. she asked about your family, about your day, about your friends. in turn you asked about hers.

she laughed at something you said. not even something that funny, really, just a small comment about the gas station snacks you liked. but the way she laughed, like she meant it, like she wasn’t just being polite, made your chest feel lighter. her voice filled the car, soft but certain, and the road hummed under the tires like it was part of the conversation.

you glanced over at her. she was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. her thumb tapped along to the music playing low through the speakers. some indie band neither of you had heard before but had both agreed sounded “pretty good.” it was easy. easier than you expected.

you didn’t have to think too hard before speaking. there was no second guessing. no awkward pauses that made you reach for your phone or pretend to check the map. she asked about the book in your bag and you told her it was something you started three times but never finished. she admitted she did that too, more often than she’d like to admit. you both laughed again.

the sky outside started to shift, the blue softening into a hazy gold. you weren’t sure how long you’d been driving, only that time felt different in the car with her. stretched out. slowed down. kinder.

it didn’t take long for her to park outside a cafe, but neither of you moved to get out. instead, you agreed to order to go. that’s how you ended up here. still in her car, windows slightly cracked, the warm scent of coffee filling the space between you. your drink sat snug in the cupholder, hands curled around it for warmth, and a half-eaten bagel rested in your lap. just outside the windshield, the lights of seoul shimmered across the han river, soft and golden against the night.

she didn’t seem in any rush to leave, and neither were you.

after a long sip of coffee, the next question came out without much thought.

“how long are you in korea for this time?”

“another week, give or take,” she said, eyes flicking to the skyline, like she was already counting down.

“do you miss home?”

“i do. yeah. i miss my car, mostly. it’s my baby. a bmw m3.”

you looked at her, eyebrows raised. “whoever handed you the keys to a sports car must have had a serious lapse in judgment. you drive this suv like you’ve got a personal vendetta against the speed limit.”

she let out a laugh, head tipping back slightly. “what can i say? i like to go fast.”

“sure. until we’re airborne.”

“oh, come on,” she grinned. “you weren’t complaining when you were riding shotgun, all cozy and content, full-on passenger princess mode.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “i was holding onto the door for dear life.”

“you were vibing,” she said.

“i was surviving,” you shot back, but it was playful, light.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was the kind that settled easy between two people who’d already found a rhythm.

megan reached for her own cup, nearly knocking over the paper bag between you in the process. the bagel inside gave a sad little flop onto the console. she froze.

“whoops. that was... not smooth.”

you laughed, nudging the bag gently back toward her. “you’re a menace behind the wheel and a danger to pastries. noted.”

she gave you a sheepish smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “yeah, i’m really killing it tonight, huh?”

“actually,” you said, voice a little softer, “i’ve had a really nice time.”

she blinked at you, surprised. “yeah?”

you nodded, looking out toward the river before meeting her eyes again. “i was kinda nervous. not because of you, just... sometimes people are different in person. it doesn’t always click.”

megan was quiet for a second, then gave a small, crooked smile. “i was worried about that too. i overthink everything. i even tried to pick a good playlist just in case the conversation died and we needed... filler noise or something.”

you laughed. “is that why i’ve been listening to three hours of sad indie girls?”

“they’re emotionally articulate,” she said, pretending to be offended, but her grin gave her away. “besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

you leaned back against the seat, stretching your legs out a bit. “yeah. it really did.”

the city lights danced in her eyes when she looked at you, soft and a little uncertain, but there was warmth there too. the kind that made the car feel smaller, safer.

“you’re easy to talk to,” she said after a moment, quieter than before.

you smiled, heart tugging just slightly at her honesty. “so are you.”

a comfortable silence settled again, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it. the engine ticked softly as it cooled, and in the background, another melancholic song hummed through the speakers.

“i was gonna try and act all chill and collected,” megan said eventually, gaze fixed on the skyline. “but then i fumbled, almost crashed into that curb, and now my bagel is probably in pieces.”

“you’re doing great,” you said, trying not to smile too much. “like, truly elite first impression.”

she turned to face you, eyes bright despite the dim light. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

and just like that, the nerves that had once lingered in the corners of your chest felt like a distant memory.

__

after that night in the car, things shifted. not in a big, dramatic way. no sudden declarations, no fireworks. just small things. steadier things.

your conversations moved from instagram dms to real texts. it felt natural. seamless. one day she asked for your number like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t already been in your head more than you cared to admit. and you gave it without hesitation, like it wasn’t a risk. like you already knew she’d treat it right.

when she left korea, it was quiet. no big goodbye, no emotional scene. she texted you from the airport, a blurry photo of her and a coffee she swore was going to keep her awake through the flight. from there, the messages kept going. even with the time difference, she found time to talk. random updates. sleepy selfies. voice notes with a little static in the background because she always seemed to be walking somewhere, or in a van, or waiting backstage. sometimes she’d send a song with no context. sometimes just a “this reminded me of you” followed by a meme that made absolutely no sense.

you talked about everything and nothing. the shows she was doing. the tiny hotel rooms she was crashing in. how much she missed sophia’s dog, chanel. how lara had started sleep talking again. how yoonchae had near cried when she had to say goodbye to her parents again when they returned to california.

you told her about your week, the upcoming film you’re wrapping up shooting, your friends, the late-night ramen run that ended in rain and ruined shoes.

some nights, the conversations lasted until one of you fell asleep mid-text. other nights, it was just a good morning or goodnight, quick but never careless.

somehow, she made the space between you feel smaller.

it didn’t take long for others to start noticing your budding friendship, either. 

if there was one thing you should know about megan skiendiel, it’s that she’s stubborn. fiercely so. once she feels something, she clings to it with both hands. no disguises, no apologies. she doesn’t know how to be subtle and doesn’t try to be. her heart shows up before she even walks into the room.

and lately, her heart had a habit of mentioning you. probably more than it should have.

the first time was during a casual sit-down with a popular youtuber. the question had been harmless enough.  “did you meet anyone interesting in korea?” 

megan didn’t even blink before your name tumbled out of her mouth.

behind her, manon practically doubled over laughing while lara muttered something about “bad timing” and “inside jokes.” the clip went viral within the hour.

eyekons weren’t buying the act. they knew.

especially after that solo live.

‎ 

megan sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching her legs over the coffee table as she adjusted her phone. It’d been a long day. dance practice ran overtime, vocal lessons left her voice raw, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed. but she had promised her fans a live, and the guilt of leaving them waiting weighed heavily on her.

she brushed  her hair back as the screen flickered to life. a wave of comments flooded in immediately, the chat scrolling too fast to keep up.

she smiled, a familiar warmth settling into her voice. "hi, everyone. It's been a while, huh?"

the dorm was quieter than usual. yoonchae and daniela were still at the studio, finishing up some recording. lara, sophia and manon were off doing who knows what. 

megan answered questions between sips of water, laughing as fans teased her. she talked about her love for food, and her habit of getting lost in airports. the conversation was easy, natural. she talked about practice, her favorite songs lately, and the games she'd been playing. it felt comfortable, like a casual late night talk with friends.

then, suddenly, the energy shifted. the comments exploded into chaos. fans were spamming messages faster than she had ever seen before.

"wait, what's happening?" she mumbled, eyes flicking over the chat, trying to make sense of the flood of messages.

then she saw it. a single line of text that had a dumb grin permanently etching itself across her face. 

y/n:  have you ate today? you look so cute with those glasses on! 

her eyes scanned the screen again just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. but no. it was still there. your name. your message.

she dropped her hands into her lap and beamed, full teeth, no restraint. her cheeks were already tinged pink, and now they burned. she didn’t care.

“hi, y/n,” she said, voice soft but electric. “you’re really here, huh?”

the chat lost its mind. it was like someone had thrown gasoline on a bonfire. hearts, exclamation marks. 

megan didn’t even try to hide it.

“i wasn’t expecting that,” she said, practically bouncing in place now. “like, i thought maybe you’d be busy or… i don’t know, being famous and cool and doing actor things.”

she laughed a short, nervous little burst,  then leaned closer to the screen, like it might bring her to you.

“i did eat, by the way. i wasn’t gonna wear the glasses, but my eyes were tired and they help with the light. but… i’m glad you think they look nice.”

it wasn’t subtle. none of it was subtle.

she was glowing. lit from the inside out with the kind of joy that couldn’t be faked. and even though thousands of fans were watching, even though the chat was an overwhelming blur of reactions and chaos.  for that brief moment, it was like no one else existed. no one but you. 

‎ 

the third, perhaps most notorious time, was two weeks later.

‎ 

it was meant to be a harmless segment. a fluff piece for some new cosmopolitan youtube show. the kind with silly games and awkward dares and an entire soundboard dedicated to exaggerated gasps. katseye had been invited to promote their upcoming showcase, and the host had them lined up in pairs, facing each other in a game of “who knows who better.”

megan had been paired with sophia, which was dangerous from the start. the two had a history of throwing each other under the bus for the sake of comedy, and neither had a filter to speak of.

“okay, last round,” the host grinned, holding up a cue card. “this one’s just for fun. megan, sophia — name one person your partner talks about way too much.”

“oh no,” sophia said instantly, already grinning like the cat who got the cream.

megan groaned, head falling back dramatically. “don’t do this to me.”

“i have no choice,” sophia replied solemnly. “i’m under oath.”

the buzzer sounded and both girls scribbled their answers down on whiteboards. megan wrote slowly, trying to be clever, trying to think of a joke that would dodge the obvious. but when the timer buzzed again, she sighed and held it up.

so did sophia.

your name. in big, bold letters. twice.

the studio burst into laughter, and the host clutched his chest like he’d just witnessed the reveal of the century.

“wow,” he said, eyes flicking between the two of them. “not even a hesitation.”

“because it’s true,” sophia said, smug. “she’s in her ‘y/n era.’ we’re just living in it.”

megan was pink from ear to ear, trying — and failing — to hide behind her board. “that’s not true. okay, maybe a little true.”

“a little?” manon called from off-camera. “girl, you made us watch one of her movies three nights in a row.”

“it was for the plot,” megan shot back.

“uh-huh,” daniela deadpanned. “plot named y/n.”

the clip made the rounds before the show even finished airing. fancams popped up with captions like “megan being the president of y/n’s fan club for six minutes straight” and the internet did what it does best. spiral.

‎ 

through it all, megan didn’t deny a thing.

she couldn’t. not when her whole face lit up like a summer skyline every time your name came up. not when her bandmates had stopped teasing and started treating your existence as something inevitable, like the rising sun or the way manon always stole everyone’s chargers.

 by then, you weren’t just someone she mentioned.

in an industry known for silence, for secrecy and statements about “valuing privacy,” hybe was practically rolling out a red carpet. in korea, relationships in the spotlight were often treated like scandals waiting to happen. but the western fans? they were eating it up. every clipped interview, every suspiciously timed instagram like, every passing mention of your name on a live. it was all free press, and hybe knew it.

so they leaned in. quietly, strategically. no denials. no damage control. just subtle nudges that said, yeah, keep watching.

and it was driving her crazy. 

__

you weren’t exactly sure when it happened. when the feeling settled in your chest and decided to stay. maybe it had been there all along, hiding underneath the comfort of familiarity and the ease of your friendship. or maybe it grew slowly, in the quiet moments you never thought to mark.

it could’ve been during the weeks she was gone, promoting outside of korea. the distance was supposed to make things simpler. safer. but instead, it just made her absence louder. knowing you were still the first person she messaged in the morning and the last one she talked to before sleep made your chest ache in a way you didn’t have a name for yet.

or maybe it was that one night, the one where you called her just to vent about a costar who had spent the entire day getting under your skin. you were halfway through a breathless rant when you noticed it. the way she was watching you through the screen. how she wasn’t just nodding politely or checking her phone or letting her attention drift. she was listening. really listening. her eyes softened when you got frustrated, lit up when you said something funny. when your voice cracked just a little from tiredness, she didn’t interrupt. she just stayed with you. present and still. like holding space for you was the most natural thing in the world.

and somewhere in all of that, it hit you.

you were in love with megan skiendiel. painfully. undeniably. fully.

at first, you were terrified. quietly, achingly scared. because what were you supposed to do with a feeling like this? loving megan had crept up on you, soft and slow, the way a sunset slips past the horizon before you even realize it’s gone. and now that it was here, fully formed and impossible to ignore, you didn’t know how to carry it.

megan had become a constant. someone who felt less like a friend and more like a fixture. someone you could turn to at any hour, knowing she’d listen without judgment, laugh at your bad jokes, sit in silence if that’s what you needed. she never made you feel like too much or not enough. she just saw you. and the last thing you wanted was to ruin something that good with feelings you didn’t know how to manage.

so you kept it quiet. buried it under casual texts and late-night calls. told yourself it wasn’t the right time. told yourself maybe it didn’t need to be said at all.

but then the girls were coming back to korea. six months had passed since their last visit, and the moment megan found out they’d be landing soon, she called you. not texted. not waited. called.

you’d picked up on the first ring.

and now, you were standing at your front door, fingers still curled around the handle, staring at the very girl who had been living rent-free in your head for months.

before you could even speak, megan threw her arms around you. the force of it almost knocked you back a step. her dark brown hair smelled like travel and lavender shampoo and something unmistakably her. she held you like she’d been counting down the days to this moment. like she’d been holding her breath all the way across oceans and could finally breathe again now that she was here.

her arms were warm and tight around you, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. and for the first time in weeks, your heart didn’t feel so loud.

“you smell different,” megan mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder.

you blinked, startled. “um. thanks?”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still resting on your waist. “not bad different. just… like laundry detergent and success.”

you snorted. “you’ve been on korean air for fifteen hours and that’s what you open with?”

“i missed you too,” she said, and there was no hesitation in it. no theatrics. just honesty, plain and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

you felt the corners of your mouth twitch, trying hard not to smile like a complete idiot. “i figured. what with the fifteen missed calls.”

“okay, first of all,” she said, stepping fully into the apartment now, shrugging off her jacket, “ten of those were because i forgot the time difference and thought you were ghosting me.”

“you forgot the time difference?” you repeated, crossing your arms with a skeptical look.

megan turned around, eyes wide and unconvincing. “yes?”

you stared.

she caved. “no. i panicked. sue me.”

you closed the door behind her, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you like it,” she said without missing a beat, flopping dramatically onto your couch.

you didn’t deny it. instead, you walked over and stood behind the couch, arms draped loosely over the back as you looked down at her.

“so what’s the plan now that you’re back?” you asked.

megan grinned, tossing her head back to look up at you. “coffee. your favorite ramen place. a movie i’ll definitely talk through. and if you’re really lucky, maybe i’ll even let you win at mario kart.”

“bold of you to assume you’d be letting me win,” you said.

“bold of you to think you could beat me,” she fired back, eyes sparkling.

you met her gaze, heart stuttering, voice softer now. “i’m really glad you’re here.”

her grin faltered just a bit, and something gentler settled into her expression. “me too,” she said. “more than you know.”

for a moment you just stared at her, the moment truly settling in. you really did miss her. texting and phone calls were one thing, but seeing her in person was another. her goofy smile, the way she locked in like she didn’t just drop the funniest bomb known to mankind, the way she laughed as if she didn’t care who was watching. she was just one girl and yet, she consumed the space so beautifully without even knowing. 

you almost did it then. almost opened your mouth and let the words tumble out. but you didn’t. instead you settled on a small smile. 

you were about to ask megan if she wanted water when your phone buzzed against the counter. you didn’t need to look to know who it was. you’d spent the entire night before (and entire day honestly) lighting up your text chain with yunjin. sure enough, when you unlocked your screen and peered down, there she was. 

yunjin [7:13pm]: is she there yet or did she ghost you after all that build-up

yunjin [7:13pm]: respond right now or else i’ll think you confessed and blacked out from emotional overload. 

you rolled your eyes and typed back quickly with one hand while grabbing two glasses with the other.

you [7:14pm]: she’s here. no blackouts. yet.

yunjin [7:14pm]: yet???  i’m counting the minutes. btw u should ask her to come to the party tn. i think sungchan wanted to introduce u to someone too, so ur contractually obligated to show up. 

the idea of sungchan wanting to introduce you to someone made your blood run cold. the last time that happened, you ended up stuck in a corner with shindong rambling about crypto, diet tips, and the “glory days” of SM for thirty painfully long minutes.

still, you swallowed the groan bubbling up in your throat and slipped your phone into your pocket before yunjin could fire off something even more unhinged. when you turned back toward the living room, megan had curled herself sideways into the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, her head tilted back like she was trying to make sense of the ceiling tiles.

“was that yunjin?” she asked, grinning like she already knew the answer.

“unfortunately.”

“what’d she say? wait, don’t tell me. something dramatic, slightly invasive, and definitely teasing.”

you handed her a glass of water with a dry look. “spot on. she wants to know if you’re real or just a figment of my imagination.”

megan raised an eyebrow. “and what did you tell her?”

“that you’re here.” you smirked. “look at miss nosey over here.”

she raised both hands in mock surrender, barely hiding her smile. “hey, what can I say? i’m working on a phd for not being able to mind my own damn business.”

you laughed, shaking your head. the kind of laugh that came easily around her. and then, remembering the rest of yunjin’s message, you leaned your weight against the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly on the cushions.

“she’s throwing a party tonight,” you said. “something about celebrating a new album drop. you should come. bring the girls.”

megan sat up a little straighter, sipping her water with the kind of dramatic flair that made you snort. “a party? are there going to be snacks?”

“probably.”

“alright, i’m in. but only if there are snacks and minimal small talk. and maybe karaoke.”

“so you want snacks, bad lighting, and a mic. noted.”

“see, you get me.” she beamed, already reaching for her phone. “i’ll text the girls. we’ll make it a proper entrance.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. your heart was too full for your own good. “god help us all.”

__

the drive over was chaotic in the way only megan’s presence could make it. she’d managed to wrangle sophia and daniela into coming, predictably the two most likely to say yes to the word “party” before even hearing the rest of the sentence. manon and lara had tapped out almost immediately. yoonchae hadn’t even bothered pretending she was considering it.

megan drove, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other dancing over the radio dial every five seconds. you sat in the front passenger seat, watching her in the glow of passing streetlights.

sophia leaned forward from the back. “so, y/n,” she started, voice thick with mischief, “how’s it feel being megan’s favorite girl?”

“sophia,” megan warned without looking away from the road.

daniela snorted, flinging a gummy at the back of megan’s head. “what? it’s true. we’ve heard more about y/n in the last six months than we have about anyone else.” then she turned to you, leaning forward besides sophia. “i was starting to think she made you up.”

“my god, you guys are worse than lara and manon.” megan muttered, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. she glanced at you, caught the smile playing on your lips, and groaned. “you’re both so annoying.”

“say you love her and we’ll shut up,” daniela sang from the backseat.

“i will crash this car,” megan said flatly, but her ears were pink.

you turned in your seat, raising an eyebrow at the two girls behind you. “this what you do on every drive?”

“only when the company’s good,” sophia grinned.

by the time you walked up to the le sserafim dorm, the music could already be heard before you even reached the front door. the air outside buzzed with voices and laughter. 

you barely had time to step over the threshold before you heard it. 

“there she is!”

yunjin materialized out of the crowd like she owned the place. which, sure, she basically did. it was her party afterall.  she practically skipped the last few steps toward you. before you could get a word in, she grabbed your hand, pulled you into a hug that was half tackle, half dance spin, and leaned back to look you over. “hi, hello, love you, you look disgustingly hot—don’t even try to run, i’ve got plans for us tonight.”

you barely had time to laugh before she clocked the girls behind you. “megan!” she called, eyes lighting up as she pulled you into the house. “and you brought the fun ones! hi, sophia. hi, daniela.”

“you act like we don’t always show up,” sophia said with a grin, accepting the hug yunjin offered.

“it’s not a real party unless daniela’s threatening to outdrink everyone,” yunjin replied.

“not a threat if it’s true,” daniela said, winking.

megan held up her hands in mock surrender. “i told them to behave.”

“why would you do that?” yunjin laughed. “no, i want full chaos tonight. come find me later, i’m kidnapping y/n for a minute.”

you looked back at megan just as yunjin tugged you into the crowd, her hand firm in yours. megan simply grinned, the light catching her face just enough to make your heart skip.

and then the music swallowed you whole.

some part of you couldn’t help but feel a little bit annoyed. truth be told, you’d have rathered been home with megan. caught up on lost time and put on a movie. maybe stepbrothers, because you know it’s one of her favorites from one of your many late night conversations. 

instead, you were here. loud music, dim lights, and the kind of packed crowd that made it hard to think. it wasn’t awful. yunjin’s parties never were. her friends were warm and welcoming, even if chaewon had greeted you with a smug “so where’s megan?” the second you walked in. but still, your eyes kept drifting.

you caught sight of her across the room, laughing at something sophia said, a hand tucked into the pocket of her baggy jeans. daniela was already halfway into a dance battle with some guy in a bucket hat. megan wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. she was just… being. but somehow, that was enough to pull your gaze every time.

you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you. tried to lean into the easy rhythm of old friends and new music. but your mind had already wandered. back to the idea of megan beside you on the couch. back to her laugh. back to the quiet. back to her. always her.

eventually you took a step back when the cup yunjin shoved into your hands was getting empty. 

“gonna get a refill.” you shouted lamely over the music. you didn’t wait for her to respond before you were stalking your way to the kitchen. 

it was in that space you were able to truly look around. you didn’t miss the curious glances shot your way, no, that would’ve been impossible. it felt incredibly vain to acknowledge that you were an idols idol, but you knew. 

you were halfway refilling your cup with some kind of soju concoction when a voice cut through the air. 

“y/n!”

you looked up and immediately locked eyes with a familiar pair of browns. a tall, handsome figure weaved through the crowd toward you, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes just enough to make him look like he hadn’t planned a single part of his night. sungchan grinned, all coy charm and childish mischief. you groaned the second he pulled you into a rough side hug, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to his clothes like cologne. still, your arms came up automatically, returning the hug without a second thought. for all his nonsense, sungchan had always been a good friend.

“i want to introduce you to someone.”

you turned just as sungchan stepped aside, and there she was. karina.

you had never met her in person before, but you might as well have. her face was everywhere. it lit up across high-rise billboards in gangnam, looping through luxury brand ads on the subway monitors, popping up on your explore page whenever you so much as breathed near the fashion or idol tag. you remembered the way jaewook had bragged about her back on set a year ago when the dispatch article dropped. he had shown his phone to his costar like it was breaking news, grinning like he had just won something. you had rolled your eyes, walked off to get coffee, and told yourself it wasn’t your business. it wasn’t, until now.

karina was even more stunning in person. her beauty wasn’t the kind that made a scene or demanded attention. it just existed, like it belonged there. her gaze met yours and stayed, unwavering.

it wasn’t rude, or even intense in a threatening way. just… focused. present. like she wasn’t just seeing you but actually registering you.

you were suddenly very aware of your posture, your hands, your everything.

“it’s so nice to meet you!” she called over the music, her voice warm and clear even with the bass thudding through the walls. she stepped just a little closer, enough that you could hear her without leaning in. “i love your stuff. seriously. i’ve been asking sungchan to introduce us for ages, but he’s always chickened out at the last second.”

sungchan made a wounded noise, hand over his chest like she’d just stabbed him, but before he could fire back, wonbin came stumbling past, arm slung around his neck with all the grace of a wrecking ball. they disappeared into the crowd in a tangle of laughter and chaos.

you rolled your eyes and turned back to karina, only to find that her gaze hadn’t left you once. her eyes held yours with that same calm, curious steadiness, like she wasn’t in a packed party but somewhere quieter. somewhere smaller.

you offered a small smile. “likewise. though to be fair, i think he just gets intimidated around pretty girls.”

her lips curved. “pretty, huh?”

you blinked, brain catching up three seconds too late. “oh god, sorry. i don’t know why i said that. yunjin handed me a cup earlier and i don’t even know what was in it. she could’ve poisoned me for all i know.”

karina laughed, the sound easy and low. “knowing her, it’s probably something criminal. you’ll wake up with a hangover and a new life philosophy.”

you laughed too, but it faltered slightly when she leaned in, just enough for her shoulder to brush against yours. it was nothing, a light touch, but it grounded you instantly.

“don’t worry,” she said, voice softer now, “i think you’re pretty too.”

your heart stuttered.

you opened your mouth, but whatever you meant to say vanished the second her smile deepened.

“not to be dramatic or anything,” karina said, lifting her cup for a slow, nonchalant sip, “but i think we’re being watched.”

you blinked. “watched?”

“mhm. i can feel her eyes burning holes into the back of my head. like a laser pointer. i’m actually a little afraid to turn around.”

you tilted your head, letting your eyes scan the room until you found her. megan, standing across the floor. at some point sophia had shoved her cup into megan’s hands and joined daniela on the dance floor. the chinese girl clutched the cup in both hands like it might leap out of them if she didn’t keep a death grip on it. her expression was neutral, but her stare? not subtle.

you cleared your throat. “who, megan? no, no, she’s—”

“look at the way she’s holding that cup,” karina cut in, a grin already pulling at her lips. “you’d think she just watched the most annoying man on earth walk in and ruin everyone’s mood.”

you huffed. “reminds me of a certain six-foot-something actor with a god complex.”

karina snorted, her eyes flashing with recognition before she laughed for real this time, head tipping back for just a second. she knew who you were talking about almost immediately. the one man you had in common besides sungchan happened to be her very tall (very annoying) ex. 

“right. i forgot you know jaewook.”

you raised an eyebrow. “unfortunately.”

“hey,” she said, still grinning. “he’s not that bad. underneath all the bravado he’s actually kind of sweet.”

“sure, you don’t need to convince me.”  you shrugged, completely deadpan. “if the dick’s bomb, it’s bomb.”

karina choked, hand flying to your shoulder as she doubled over in disbelief. she was laughing harder than before, and you felt a little thrill run down your spine at the sound of it.

when she straightened up again, she wiped at her eye and shook her head. “you’re going to wake up tomorrow and regret ever opening your mouth.”

“without a doubt,” you said, already sipping to forget.

“i think i want some of what you’re having,” karina said, eyes glittering with mischief as she swirled the liquid in her cup. “it’s my cue to go find the woman of the hour. but before i do…”

she leaned in, slower this time. you thought she was going to say something else right away, but then her mouth dipped lower, her breath warm as it ghosted the curve of your jaw. you stiffened in surprise, the proximity making your pulse stumble. her lips came dangerously close to your ear, just barely brushing your skin when she spoke.

“that girl. megan.” her voice dropped to something sly and sweet. “she wants you. it’s written all over her face. she hasn’t stopped staring since i walked over. so how about you use some of that liquid courage and do something about it?”

your breath caught, cheeks burning with the kind of heat no drink could explain. karina pulled away just as slowly, and her smile was soft but wicked. it said a hundred things at once. 

 i’m glad we met, good luck out there, don’t screw this up.

then she was gone, slipping into the crowd like she had always belonged to it. her red solo cup bobbed above the sea of people as she drifted toward the corner where yunjin and chaewon were doubled over in laughter.

you didn’t even have time to process it before someone else stepped into her place.

megan.

her arm brushed yours, then stayed there, her hand wrapping gently around the bend of your elbow. she was close. so close. close enough that you could smell the perfume on her skin,  something cool and soft, mint layered with warm vanilla. it hit you all at once that it was yours. a bottle that had disappeared from your vanity six months ago before katseye left korea. and now here it was, clinging to her in the most dizzying way.

your body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the music or the alcohol. your eyes traveled up, taking in the sheen of sweat along her collarbones and the way her skin glowed under the lights. her crop top clung to her in all the right places, her stomach taut from dancing. you could still see the echo of her movement in the way her breath rose and fell, chest barely brushing yours.

you finally looked at her face again. she was already staring.

her eyes were darker than you remembered, shadowed and unreadable, fixed on you with something that felt like pressure and want and restraint all tangled up into one look. her lips were drawn in a line, neither smiling nor frowning, but firm with intent.

the air between you thinned.

you weren’t sure who would speak first. or if either of you had to. not with the way the tension folded in and around you like the bass from the speakers. not with the way her fingers curled just slightly against your arm, like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“oh. hey. you doing okay?” you asked, voice raised slightly over the music pulsing around you.

megan didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed locked on yours for a beat too long, and just when you thought she might finally say something, her gaze dropped. slow and deliberate. it traced the line of your jaw and landed just beneath your ear. her expression shifted. something flickered across her face, subtle but sharp. a furrow of her brow that sent a wave of nerves crashing down your spine.

before you could speak again, she brought her thumb to her lips and wet it. then, without hesitation, she reached forward and pressed that same thumb to your neck. her touch was warm, careful. a soft swipe against your skin.

your breath caught.

“she left lipstick on you,” she murmured, quiet but clear enough to cut through the noise.

your hand shot up on instinct, palm flattening over the spot just beneath your ear. you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, blood rushing too fast under your skin.

“o-oh. yeah. was an accident,” you stammered, the words clumsy as they left your mouth.

megan didn’t respond right away. she just hummed.  low, unreadable. then her hand slid down from your elbow, fingers grazing your forearm like she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to hold on or let go. eventually she settled, her grip tightening just enough that you felt the weight of it. like an anchor. like a warning. like something unspoken passing between the two of you that neither of you had the guts to name.

not yet, anyway.

for a long second, she just stood there, saying nothing. she didn’t blink, didn’t move. only stared.

you shifted on your feet. “did… did i do something wrong?”

her voice was steady, but low. “let me drive you home.”

you blinked. “oh. okay.” it came out softer than you meant, a whisper carried easily between you. she heard it all the same.

‎ 

you weren’t sure how much time passed between then and now. one moment you were alone in the kitchen of yunjin’s dorm, the next megan was muttering something to sophia and daniela under her breath,  a rushed string of syllables that made them blink once, twice, and nod. she grabbed your hand without waiting for an answer and pulled you toward the door. you felt the weight of every pair of eyes that followed you on your way out. yunjin’s brow arched with thinly veiled amusement. sungchan mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “what did you do.” and karina… she didn’t say a word. she just winked.

now you were in the passenger seat of megan’s car, the inside dim and quiet save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft patter of rain beginning to hit the windshield. your buzz had all but faded, replaced by something heavier, something laced with nerves. megan’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. the jaw that was so often relaxed with laughter and teasing was now set and stiff.

you turned to face her fully. “megan. what’s going on with you?”

she didn’t look at you. her gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead as if it held all the answers she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

“when did you and karina get so close?” she asked, too casual to be convincing.

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “are you jealous?”

there was a beat of silence. then she scoffed. 

“no!…. yes. fuck, y/n, i don’t know. i don’t know what i feel. all i know is that seeing her in your space like that just— it just drives me crazy.”

the car hummed beneath you, megan’s hands gripping the wheel like she was holding onto something more fragile than the leather beneath her fingers. she floored it the moment she pulled onto the main road. fast, reckless as always. the first time you rode passenger princess in her car, you practically grabbed onto the seat for dear life. except tonight, you didn’t even mind. you couldn’t look away. her jaw clenched tight, the faint pulse at her temple a rhythm you felt in your own chest.

the car sped down the dimly lit road of your penthouse’s underground parking, tires echoing against concrete walls. megan didn’t slow until she pulled into a quiet corner, the only sound the engine’s low hum. just the two of you now.

her jaw was tight, eyes sharp. “karina,” she spat, voice low and rough. “she was all in your space like she owns it.”

you met her glare, feeling the heat rising between you. “megan, i just met her.”

 her hand clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white.

“yeah, well, she sure didn’t act like it,” megan bit out. “in your ear, touching your arm like you’ve been hers for years. you think i didn’t see the way she looked at you?”

you blinked at her, pulse quickening. “why does it even matter?”

megan turned to you then, full body, her eyes blazing. “because it does. because you’re not just some friend i joke around with anymore, y/n.”

the silence that followed was thick, pressing. you stared at her, at the curve of her jaw clenched in frustration, at the way her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a sprint. her brows were furrowed, but beneath the frustration was something else. something that made your stomach twist and your fingers curl tight around your seatbelt.

“megan…”

she exhaled hard, dropping her head back against the headrest for a second like she was trying to force the words out. then her voice came, rough and low. “i can’t stand seeing someone else touch you like that. it makes me feel like i’m gonna lose my mind.”

you reached out, hand hovering before it found hers on the console between you. her fingers twitched under yours, like she was deciding whether to pull away or pull you closer.

“you’re not gonna lose your mind,” you said quietly. “you’re just finally saying what we’ve both been thinking.”

she didn’t reply. didn’t need to. you swallowed, heart hammering. this wasn’t the easy conversation you’d expected. it was raw, jagged, real. her eyes locked onto yours, wild and fierce. for a moment, you could almost feel the weight of everything she hadn’t said hanging between you.

without warning, she leaned in, closing the space with a fierce urgency. her lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, like she needed to prove something. your breath hitched, caught off guard but all in.

it was messy, desperate, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission. your hands found her hair, pulling her closer. she growled low, the tension snapping as the lines between friends and something more shattered.

it was a blur after that. megan barely killed the engine before the two of you were out of the car, walking fast and too close as you made your way through the quiet underground garage. her hand hovered at your back, not quite touching, but you could feel the heat of it through your shirt. the elevator ride was silent, charged, her reflection burning holes into yours through the metal walls.

the second your door swung open, you were on her again. the lock clicked behind you as you pressed her up against the door, mouths crashing together like you’d both run out of time. your hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, greedy for skin. she kissed you like she needed you to breathe.

“y/n,” she breathed out, but whatever she was going to say got lost in the next kiss, your name drowned out by the low thud of her back hitting the hallway wall.

you didn’t even think, just grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the bedroom, feet stumbling, laughter breaking through the tension for a split second. she followed without hesitation, eyes locked on you like she was trying to memorize the way you looked at her now. 

as soon as you hit the threshold of the room, your mouths found each other again. she kicked the door shut behind her without looking, hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt like she’d waited too long for this. 

she pulled away after a moment to simply stare. 

megan looked at you. the kind of stare that could melt ice. her gaze traces the lines of your body like she was hungry, yet still she said nothing. she swallowed, her lips pursing together as she weighed her own thoughts in her mind. her eyes trailed up and down before finally they settle themselves again on yours. it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she was thinking in this very moment. you could practically read her through her silence. the way she practically itched to say something funny, to break the tension with a lighthearted joke in true megan fashion. but she couldn’t. her body was reacting as much as yours was. she trembled slightly, her chest rising up and down as if she was struggling to take in air. but it was pure anticipation. when she talks her voice is careful, hesitant, like she was afraid that one wrong word would break the quiet you slipped into. 

“how do i tell you that i want you without making a fool of myself?”

your breath hitched when suddenly she moved. she took a step closer, and instinctively you take a step back. the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you’re falling back. the only thing you can do is sit stupidly and stare up at her as she stares down. she was already tall, but now she loomed over you. 

she was so unlike herself. just ten minutes ago she was fumbling over her own feet, giggling between kisses as her fingers clumsily trailed up and down the warm skin on your back. now, she was confident. like she was looking at you through the lens of someone who realized in the span of a quick ten minutes that they were standing before something holy. 

you hum. “you say it. tell me, megan.”

she doesn’t hesitate. she nudges your legs apart so she’s standing between them now, your legs trapping her in. her hands instinctively raise to the back of your head, one idly playing with the baby hairs on the nape of your neck while the other gently grabbed your chin. she didn’t ask, just simply gripped your chin between her thumb and index finger and tugged. she leaned down slightly , so close that you could feel her hot breath hitting you. when she talks, her voice is quiet. 

“i want you, y/n.”

she moved one inch closer, and her lips brush yours. it was faint. a feather light touch, but it sent shivers down your spine all the same. her eyes dropped back and forth between your eyes and your lips, the grip she had on your chin tightening momentarily before she let go. her hand lazily drifted down from your face and to your chest, fingertips just lightly grazing your skin. and then, she moved the other hand. the hand that once played with the hairs on the back of your neck now moved to the front, fingertips dancing along your throat. she hums. her voice dripped like venom, tantalizing and dangerous all in the same breath. 

“you have no idea how bad.”

you swallow, and megan feels it against the hand she held to your neck when her fingers gently reach out and clasp. nothing tight. but she doesn’t say anything. she simply stares. her eyes dark, her face unreadable save for only the pure want clear in her words. through the grip on your throat, you reply. your voice fell to a whisper, though just as confident as her own. 

“then show me.”

she didn’t need to be told twice. the grip she held on your neck tightened just slightly before she relented. her lips which once grazed yours finally surged the small distance. she kissed you, every emotion she pushed to the back of her mind finally coming out in full force. she tilted her head, a soft sigh of relief escaping her when you met her kiss with equal fervor. 

this was it. the moment where finally, she’d let herself cave. the moment where megan would lose her inhibitions and finally be true to both herself, and to you. being so close to you in this moment made her full body vibrate. you were intoxicating, and she was addicted.

 megan deepened the kiss, her tongue gently swiping across your bottom lip. when you don’t open your mouth, she bites your lip. taking advantage of the gasp you let out, her tongue darts in. without words, her intentions were clearer than daylight. 

she wanted you, and she wanted bad. 

the grip on your neck only tightened until eventually you needed to pull back for air. a string of saliva coated your lips when she pulled back, her grip on your throat relaxing. but she doesn’t mind. she lets you breathe, feels your chest rise and fall beneath her full hand as she trails open mouthed kisses down from your swollen lips to your jaw, and then your neck. she littered kisses around the area her hand clasped around only moments ago, soothing the dull feeling of a phantom grip. 

through your haze and a short gasp, you couldn’t help but tease her. 

“who knew you had that in you, huh, skiendiel?”

megan answered with a simple bite to your neck. a nibble, soothed over with a faint swipe of her tongue immediately after. it was enough to shut you up, if even for a moment. she hummed. 

“can’t help myself. you’ve no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this.”

this time it was your turn to raise a hand and gently play with her hair, her mouth still working at your jaw and throat. you sigh, your fingers clasping around a clump of her dark hair. you shake your head. 

“what, are you trying to tell me this is the only reason you asked for my number all those months ago?”

she knew you were joking, that you were being facetious. still she couldn’t help but frown. she dropped fully to her knees now between your legs, still fully trapped by your legs on either side of her. from this angle as she pulled away from your neck, she looked up at you through her sleepy eyes and pink bangs. 

“maybe this part was wishful thinking. but no, not the only reason.” her hands trailed down again, finding your skin beneath your shirt. her hands were so numbingly cold despite the warmth in her gaze. her hand pressed against your lower stomach, feeling the way your abdomen clenched slightly against her cold palm. she looked at you with her half lidded eyes and all you saw was sincerity. she continues. 

“you’ve no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when you’re you. but fuck, look at you now.” her other hand reaches for the hem of your shirt and now she tugs, her touch gentle despite the bite in her words when she says her next words. “you’re mine, baby.”

the words set something off in you. something that lit a fire in the deepest pits of your stomach, begging to be addressed. and megan knew it. 

and so, she did. 

__

you weren’t sure at what point you fell asleep. all you knew was that when you woke up, you were in your own bed. the blankets were pulled up beneath your chin but it wasn’t their warmth that clung to you like it was moulded for your body, and yours only. 

your eyes trailed over to the sleeping girl besides you. megan’s arm wrapped around your torso, holding you close. her bare body pressed against yours had a chill running down your spine. you could already feel the hickeys forming on your neck, the bruises on your thighs. you could feel the phantom feeling of her nails scratching down your back and her coaxing whispers lingering in your ears. 

megan had practically transformed into a completely different person. the memory of her eyes, dark and dangerous, had you inadvertently shifting closer to her. the slight movement was enough to wake her. a deep, sleepy groan pulled from her lips as she subconsciously nuzzled herself closer into you. when her eyes fluttered open and they landed on you, the difference was night and day. 

she was nervous. shy. she practically hid her face in your neck only to turn red in embarrassment when she was met face to face with the marks she left on your throat. when she speaks her voice is low, awkward. 

“i-i, uh, you know. i’m so sorry. too much? probably. oops.”

despite the situation, you couldn’t help but laugh. the sound alone made her groan, her head digging even deeper into you as if the action alone would hide her from your teasing. a classic ‘if i can’t see you, you can’t see me’ kind of thing. 

“it’s okay, megan.”

she looked up at that, her cheeks still flushed red. but there was no mistaking the way her shoulders relaxed. she looked back at you and it’s then the events from the night before seemed to finally settle in. it’s in this lighting that you realized, again, just how gorgeous she is. the way her hair framed her face even when she was ridden with bedhead. the way her soft lips pouted involuntarily, the way her sleepy eyes looked up at you through her lashes. she was so, unbelievably beautiful without even needing to try. you couldn't help but wonder if she knew this as well as you could see it. 

with a newfound sense of confidence, she suddenly leaned forward. her lips found yours and unlike the fit of messy kisses she gave you the night before, now she takes her time.  when she pulls away, pink dusts her cheeks. 

“i can’t believe we did… that.”

you raise a brow. “oh? pray tell why you’re so surprised.”

megan’s eyes practically blow wide. “seriously? you’re not even the slightest bit shocked and overwhelmed and- a-and, i don’t know, lowkey kinda freaking the fuck out? i mean jeez. you’re you!”

before you can reply she’s already continuing. her arm around your torso tightens, a look of pure shock and elation cemented across her face. 

“do you have any idea how scared it makes me knowing that you’re practically in a league of your own? i mean, shit, you walk into a room and everyone stares. i walk in and everyone waits for me to break my own leg! you’re you. and i’m me. and this just doesn’t make any sense, a-and-“

you turn slightly so you’re facing her fully, her arm around you not slipping but loosening just enough. you shake your head, a hand reaching up gently to swipe her hair from her vision. her pink bangs covered her eyes just slightly, hiding the state of pure frazzle in their depths. you can’t help but chuckle softly. 

when your lips tilt up at the corners, a small grin gracing your face, megan stopped rambling. she was so, completely, irrevocably enamored by you in a way that it hurt her brain. 

when you leaned forward just enough to seal her lips with your own, her breath catches in her throat, silenced. for a moment you both lay there. her arm around your torso now moving to lightly grip your waist, her fingers digging in just barely as if she was grounding herself in the moment. your hand cupped her jaw, the kiss deepening just a second longer. when you pull away, her eyes are blown wide. she stares back at you in equal parts awe, and fear. she was completely undone by you. 

“relax.”

the simple word was all she needed. she nodded her head stupidly and obediently, her lips pursing so tight together as if you’d given her a command she’d follow til her last breath. 

your grin softens into a small smile. “you’re such a loser, megan.”

megan grimaced. the kind of look that was half part an awkward smile, and half part an embarrassment pout.  she burrows her head into your chest with a drawn out groan. she feels the way your body vibrates when you chuckle, hears the way your heart skipped a beat with her ear pressed to your bare chest. and in that moment, she decided. 

no amount of embarrassment would ever outweigh the pride she felt in knowing that it was her you were holding that very morning. 

__

a month passed. 

megan hadn’t planned on going live. it was one of those quiet nights that felt heavier than it should have. the dorm was calm. daniela had vanished into her room with a face mask and a bowl of cereal. sophia had crashed early. the silence made everything feel louder.

so she pulled on an oversized hoodie (your hoodie) and went live from her bed. nothing fancy. just her and her phone, legs tucked under her, the soft yellow light from her nightstand casting a warm glow across the screen.

“hi,” she said, voice soft with that slight rasp it always had when she was winding down. “i couldn’t sleep.”

the chat exploded immediately. hearts, greetings, inside jokes, fans asking about everything from what she had for dinner to her favorite stage outfit from the last comeback. she answered a few, laughed quietly when someone asked if lara still sleep-talked. her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the sleeve of her hoodie as she scrolled.

“what’s the weirdest dream you’ve had recently?” she read aloud, smiling. “okay, so i had this one where i was back in high school, but for some reason all the desks were made of jello, and sophia was my teacher? yeah, no idea. my brain is a strange place.”

another wave of hearts. more laughing emojis. the mood stayed easy, casual, soft around the edges.

then came the question. fast, buried in a sea of others, but megan’s eyes caught it and held.

“who’s that in the background?”

she blinked.

then turned, just slightly, to glance behind her.

there, on the edge of the bed, barely in frame, was you. hoodie half-zipped, face makeup-free, curled against a pillow and blinking slow from the comfort of just having woken up from a nap you hadn’t even meant to take.

megan looked back at the camera, lips tugging into a smile that was both shy and completely unbothered.

“guess the secret’s out,” she said, voice low but steady.

the chat exploded again, this time in full-blown chaos. some fans caught on immediately. others were in denial. a few begged her to clarify, but she didn’t.

instead, she leaned back against the headboard, reached over, and laced her fingers with yours. you blinked blearily, took a second to realize what was happening, then gave a soft laugh.

“hi,” you murmured, just loud enough to be heard. “sorry, i kind of knocked out.”

“it’s okay,” megan said, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “you’re cute when you sleep.”

the live didn’t last much longer after that. she answered one or two more questions, gave the usual love you guys and get some rest, then signed off.

but the clip stayed. it spread fast, faster than either of you expected. screen recordings, gifs, screenshots, fan theories shifting into confirmed realities. by morning, your names were trending side by side.

and just like that, it wasn’t speculation anymore.

it was real. it was official.

it was you and her. finally.

the gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the two seventh years curled up in the mismatched armchairs closest to it. the hour was well past curfew, the other students having drifted off to their dormitories with tired yawns and unfinished essays. someone had left a chessboard halfway through a match on the table near the window, the black queen kept pacing back and forth like she was losing patience.

megan was halfway through her third stolen treacle tart from the kitchens, crumbs dotting her jumper, her legs swung over the side of the armchair in a fashion that suggested she’d long ago given up on dignity. lara sat opposite her, textbook open on her lap, quill tucked behind her ear, trying and failing to focus on the finer points of sopophorous bean extraction.

“you what?” lara blinked, squinting as if megan had just confessed to beheading a unicorn.

“i didn’t mean to!” megan said, through a mouthful of tart. “i only went to ask hagrid for advice, you know? about the niffler i’ve been working with. the little lad’s been getting all fussy lately and i thought maybe he needed a new trinket, something shiny and special, but i wasn’t sure what to give him.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “and instead you—accidentally—discovered hagrid hiding a dragon?”

“technically, i discovered hagrid hiding a sick dragon,” megan clarified. “there’s a difference.”

lara set her book down slowly, like it might try to run if she wasn’t careful. “merlin’s beard, meg.”

“i knocked!” megan insisted. “he just didn’t hear me, and when i poked my head in, he was halfway through the floo network—kneeling in the fireplace, talking to someone in dumbledore’s office, i think—and when i said ‘hiya’, he got such a fright he bashed his head on a hanging pan and yelped like a kicked kneazle.”

“did he say anything? about why he had a dragon?”

megan’s eyes gleamed, the way they always did when she was sitting on a secret just a bit too big for her pockets. “well, after he put out the fire on his sleeve and stopped panicking, he said dumbledore’d asked him to look after it. just for a short while. didn’t say why, and i didn’t ask. you know hagrid—said too much already, looked like he regretted it immediately.”

lara exhaled slowly. “and you told me?”

megan grinned sheepishly. “you’re my best mate. if anyone’s gonna get expelled with me, it ought to be you.”

lara groaned and leaned back in her chair. the firelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, flickering against the worn tapestries. “so what are you going to do?”

“he asked me to help,” megan said, quieter now. “the little one’s ill. he said it wasn’t eating properly, and there’s this weird shimmer all over its scales, like—like glitter, but not. it’s not in any of the textbooks, and you know i’ve read all the ones in the care of magical creatures section twice over.”

“since when do you turn down an excuse to break into the restricted section?” lara teased.

“i would, but—” megan hesitated. “you know reading’s not… the easiest. i get there in the end, but it’s slow, and i don’t want to muck this up. not when there’s a living, breathing dragon depending on me.”

lara studied her for a moment, then smiled that all-knowing sort of smile megan had learned to dread. “well. there is someone who might be able to help.”

megan’s stomach did something traitorous. it flipped like a pancake on a hot griddle. “don’t say it,” she muttered.

lara raised her brows innocently. “i haven’t said anything.”

but megan knew. of course she knew.

there was only one person in this castle who lara could possibly be talking about. one person who read so much it looked like she absorbed knowledge through osmosis. one person who brewed potions with the precision of an unspeakable, took notes in three colours, and had a voice that always sounded like she was explaining something worth listening to.

y/n.

of course it was y/n.

“she’s in our year. clever. kind. smells faintly of ink and lemon balm—”

“lara.”

“and she just happens to have rescued your potion in sixth year before it turned into a sentient blob and started cursing in latin—”

“i said don’t,” megan groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

lara beamed. “you’ve been enamored with her since the moment she touched your cauldron.”

megan groaned again, louder this time. but she wasn’t wrong. not really.

megan remembered it all too clearly. sixth year, late winter, cold in the dungeons. her potion a catastrophic mess of purple fizz and what she thought was a good idea involving powdered moonstone. snape had just started his usual round, already eyeing her like she was a flobberworm on his carpet, and she’d been seconds away from a detention so long it’d have carried over into adulthood.

and then—y/n. soft-spoken, quick-handed, calm like a winter pond. she’d leaned over, said, “you’ve just over-infused it. here,” and adjusted the temperature with a flick of her wand. no judgment. no fuss. just a quiet smile.

and somehow, even with her heart thudding like a hippogriff on cobblestones, megan had watched y/n toss in a twist—something small, deliberate, something that made the potion fizzle out with a hiccup and a dramatic puff of green smoke. just a little something to throw snape off, because he would’ve absolutely known immediately that megan didn’t do it herself. she was far too messy.

megan had passed. barely. but it was enough. the worst part of the debaucle, however, had to be the way y/n smiled at her afterwards. not a smirk. not a tease. just warm and soft, like she saw something worth seeing.

safe to say, megan had been doomed ever since.

“so,” lara said, all casual, “you’re going to ask her for help.”

megan stared into the fire, its gold glow making the shadows dance along the common room walls. she chewed on her lip.

“maybe,” she said. “but not because i’ve got a thing for her.”

lara snorted. “sure.”

“it’s because of the dragon.”

“right.”

“and maybe the thing. a little.”

megan had never been more aware of how often someone could be around and still utterly unreachable.

y/n was everywhere that week. tucked in corners of the library with parchment spread like wings around her. walking with manon and sophia through the courtyard, laughing at something too clever for megan to understand from a distance. perched in the great hall, always surrounded by ravenclaws with opinions too large for their own tables.

manon she recognized immediately—ravenclaw quidditch chaser, fifth fastest in the school, and the reason megan had ducked just in time during last week’s match when a bludger came flying through the stands. she still had the grass stain on her jumper. and sophia—sophia wore her prefect badge like it had been pinned there at birth, always polished, always impeccable. she was the one who confiscated exploding ink in ancient runes last month and offered the culprit a sternly-worded study schedule in lieu of detention.

and then there was y/n. quiet, composed, radiant, unbothered. every time megan even considered talking to her, she suddenly forgot how mouths worked.

“just ask her,” lara had said, for the third time in as many days. “she doesn’t bite.”

“you don’t know that,” megan had argued. “she’s a ravenclaw. they read everything. she probably invented a spell for efficient biting.”

still, megan tried. kind of.

she loitered near the arithmancy corridor. circled the greenhouse after herbology like a lost niffling. even sat at the very end of the gryffindor table during breakfast, dangerously close to the ravenclaw end, pretending to read the daily prophet upside-down while y/n chatted two seats away.

there was one near-success. megan had caught y/n alone for a moment, manon and sophia flanking her behind just several feet away, but it was enough. she sat on the far side of the great hall, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her usual fortress of books conspicuously absent. megan had approached. slowly. like one might approach a hippogriff, if said hippogriff had excellent cheekbones and a devastatingly kind smile. y/n looked up just as she reached the table, and immediately her eyes lit up. that smile, warm and curious, touched her lips.

megan opened her mouth. but, it wasn’t anything intelligent that came after.

“so… do you come here often?”

pause. megan almost shat bricks. she fought the urge of facepalming herself, internally cursing whatever compelled her to ask such a dumb question. what in merlin’s flaming trousers was that?!

behind y/n, manon choked into her juice silently. y/n, to her credit, looked amused. a soft laugh slipped out, gentle. nothing cruel like megan half expected, nothing she knows a slytherin would have given her. 

“i do,” y/n said after a moment, that same smile still curling her lips. “for the past seven years, actually.”

megan stammered something about porridge. or possibly the weather. maybe both. then she turned on her heel and walked away with the mechanical stiffness of someone who’d just miscast petrificus totalus on themselves.

she was halfway up the marble staircase when she hissed under her breath, “i’m a menace to society.” and that, she thought, was the end of that.

but hogwarts had a wicked sense of humour.

two days later, megan found herself in filch’s office. or more specifically, sneaking into filch’s office. which, in hindsight, was mistake number one. daniela avanzini’s stink pellet had been confiscated in charms, and megan had sworn on her pumpkin pasty she’d get it back. it was a matter of principle. and possibly revenge.

she meant to cast accio.

instead, she cast depulso.

filch’s desk exploded in a small but theatrical burst of ink, old quills, confiscated dungbombs, and a surprisingly elegant set of enchanted dentures. megan shrieked. bolted. tore down the corridor with filch’s furious howling echoing behind her and mrs. norris hissing somewhere too close for comfort. she took a sharp left—then a right—then another left—then, in a moment of desperation, vaulted through a tall arched window beside the entrance hall, not quite realizing it led directly out into the courtyard below.

“oof—bloody hell—bugger—”

thud. megan lay sprawled in the damp lawn of the courtyard, winded and blinking at the clouds above her. she considered simply staying there. becoming one with the moss. maybe she could claim to be part of a herbology project.

above, the window creaked. filch and mrs. norris peered down at her, unimpressed. filch squinted. and then, miraculously, he chuckled. chuckled. he walked away without another word, an aura of ‘serves you right’ in his pleased saunter. megan sat still, a short groan tearing from her throat, lost in a daze of processing what she’d done. she’s snapped out of her stupor when a voice sounds nearby.

“that was… a lot.”

she turned her head. and of course—of course—there was y/n, sitting with a book in her lap, looking down at her with a mix of surprise, concern, and an expression that could only be described as politely suppressed laughter.

y/n stood, closing her book with a soft snap. she approached, hesitating just a moment before extending a hand. “are you alright?”

megan blinked up at her. everything slowed. the haze of embarrassment, the grass in her hair, the sting in her elbow—none of it mattered. it was y/n. kind and radiant and real, her hand outstretched like this wasn’t the most mortifying thing to ever happen to megan in her seventeen years. she reached for it.

“i’ve been better,” she admitted, letting y/n pull her upright.

y/n gave her a quick once-over. “nothing broken?”

“just my dignity.”

y/n laughed. megan might’ve died and gone to heaven.

“not your first dramatic exit, i take it?”

“not even my first this week,” megan muttered, brushing herself off.

a leaf flew from her sleeve and hit y/n in the shoulder. megan cringed, apologetic, however y/n just smiled and flicked it away.

“so,” y/n said, “was that all just for fun, or…?”

“actually,” megan said—before she could lose her nerve again—“i was looking for you.”

y/n blinked, a little surprised. “me?”

“yeah. i, um. need your help. with something magical. and weird. and possibly not entirely allowed.”

y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “go on.”

“i can’t really say what it is. not yet. but i need information. and you’re, like… really smart. and good at things. and nice. and—books. you like books.”

“i do like books.”

“so… would you maybe help me?”

y/n studied her, thoughtful. and then she nodded. “alright. where do we start?”

__

they slipped into the library just after supper under the very flimsy excuse of “last-minute studying.” or, well, that’s what megan muttered to the fat friar when he caught her pacing outside the entrance like a wind-up toy with a broken gear. the truth was—she was nervous.

not about the library. and not even about what she was going to ask y/n. but about being with y/n. for longer than three minutes. without combusting into a tragic little firework of feelings and sweaty palms.

this was their first real thing. not a pass in the corridor. not an accidental brush of hands during herbology cleanup. a proper, intentional, capital-T Thing. together.

as soon as they stepped through the library doors, madam pince’s beady eyes lifted over the edge of her spectacles. they landed on y/n first. and, of course, they softened in their own pince-way. pince gave her a nod, almost respectful. like y/n was some kind of sacred academic artifact. then her gaze slid to megan. the scowl appeared instantly. forged in stone. eternal.

megan flinched on instinct. she knew exactly why.

it wasn’t her fault. not technically. she hadn’t meant to send an entire stack of spellbooks flying into madam pince’s head last month. she’d just wandered in, sneezed—violently—and that was that. her whole body jolted like a hexed marionette, and the books collapsed like a game of wizarding dominoes. right onto pince’s noggin.

the memory still gave her phantom sneezes.

but y/n, calm as ever, simply offered the librarian a polite smile and started toward the back tables. megan followed in her wake like a very guilty, very lovestruck puppy.

“no funny business,” pince barked from across the room, breaking her own strict silence policy as if it were nothing. she simply did not trust the gryffindor. not even in the slightest

“no ma’am,” megan winces, already holding her hands up.

“and no sneezing!”

“that was one time—”

“the entire shelf collapsed!”

“technically,” megan muttered, “it fell with passion.”

y/n bit back a laugh as she nudged megan gently toward a quiet corner, where the light fell in warm pools across the wooden floor and the smell of old parchment hung thick in the air.

megan flopped into a chair and waited for pince to disappear behind the tall shelves before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “okay. how much do you know about dinosaurs?”

y/n blinked. “you mean the ancient muggle reptiles?”

megan grinned, wiggling her brows. “no no—i mean dragons.”

y/n leaned back slightly, brow raised. “ah. the wizarding dinosaurs.”

“exactly,” megan said. “but like, the real ones. not just textbook death statistics.”

“those statistics are there for a reason.”

“sure, but hear me out—maybe they’re just really misunderstood.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. “they breathe fire.”

“so do some gryffindors after too much pepper imps. that doesn’t make them evil.”

y/n snorted, but said nothing. and then, megan started to ramble.

it began with a casual thought about care of magical creatures, but spiraled—spectacularly—into a half-breathless monologue about how dragons got a bad rap, how it was all human error, how maybe if people stopped poking them with sharp things, they’d be less inclined to torch everything in sight.

“they’re just animals,” she said, hands waving to emphasize every point. “scary, sure, but also majestic. and a bit lonely. like… ancient. wise. brilliant, really. if they weren’t so busy being hunted or chained up, maybe they’d be—i dunno—more like companions. or partners. or, like, big winged—”

she stopped abruptly.

y/n was staring at her. not in confusion. not in judgment. but rather, interestingly enough, in awe. megan felt her face flushing when she noticed. she could’ve sworn she detected the faintest sliver of something soft behind her eyes.

“what?” megan whispered, blinking.

“nothing,” y/n said. then, a little gentler, “you’re cute when you ramble.”

megan short-circuited. she made a sound like a deflating balloon and buried her face in her arms.

y/n giggled. “so, what exactly are we looking for?”

megan peeked up. “dragon anatomy. possibly illness. definitely not for a test. totally not suspicious.”

“totally.”

they found a thick, worn copy of fires and flares: an in-depth look at draconian digestion tucked between two mislabeled transfiguration manuals. it looked older than the castle itself, bound in cracking leather with dragon-hide edges that shimmered faintly when touched. y/n handled it with expert care. megan fumbled it like it was made of treacle.

“right,” megan said, shouldering her bag. “now comes the hard part.”

“what’s that?”

“sneaking this past madam pince without shoving her foot up our rears.”

hagrid nearly dropped his teacup when he opened the door.

“blimey,” he rumbled, blinking down at the both of them. “yeh brought company.”

“this is y/n,” megan said, gesturing quickly. “she’s nice. and also very smart. please don’t worry.”

y/n offered a polite wave. “hello, professor.”

“just hagrid’s fine,” he beamed, already stepping back. “well, don’ just stand there—come in, come in.”

the hut was warm, the hearth crackling with a low fire, and the smell of cinnamon toast wafted in from a plate sitting on the table. fang wagged his tail sleepily near the corner, but his ears perked up when y/n walked in.

“she’s good with dogs,” megan whispered proudly.

hagrid scratched his beard, a little awkward. “’fraid it’s not dogs i need help with this time.”

he led them around to the back of his hutt, just near the fireplace, where a medium wooden crate was partially obscured by a heavy wool blanket. inside, curled like a sleepy ember, was the sickly form of a very small, very iridescent dragon. its scales shimmered with a pale, opalescent gleam—faint blue and green along the spine, and silver near the wings. its eyes were half-lidded, breath coming in slow wheezes.

y/n’s expression shifted instantly. from calm, to cautious.

“oh,” she said. “that’s… not legal.”

“not permanent!” hagrid hurried. “jus’… holdin’ him. on a favour. dumbledore’s orders. very hush-hush.”

“of course,” y/n muttered. “why wouldn’t it be.”

“he’s not been eatin’ right,” hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck. “wanted meg ter take a look. but maybe yeh could help too.”

y/n crouched near the crate. the dragon lifted its head weakly. she didn’t flinch, though megan saw the way her shoulders tightened.

“this is an antipodean opaleye,” she murmured. “young. male, i think.”

“aye. haven’t named him yet. didn’t seem right.”

“so?” megan asked, voice soft as she watched y/n crouch near the crate again. “what’s the verdict?”

y/n glanced at her. “i’m no dragon doctor but he’s clearly not well. looks like some kind of mild respiratory infection? probably from the cold. these dragons are used to warmer climates—he shouldn’t be this far north, not without enchantments.”

hagrid scratched his head. “blimey. knew summat was off. poor lad’s been coughin’ like a cat with a hairball.”

“what have you been feeding him?”

“oh,” hagrid said. “er… i may’ve given him a bit o’ mutton stew.”

“of course you did,” y/n muttered, standing slowly. “he’s too young for raw meat. his jaw hasn’t developed fully.”

megan elbowed her gently. “you do realize he’s doing his best, yeah?”

“his best could’ve exploded this hut.”

“but it didn’t,” megan said, grinning.

hagrid cleared his throat. “right, well. hate ter leave yeh girls with him, but i’ve got a quick errand in diagon alley. just a meetin’—nothin’ yeh need worry about—strictly confidential—dumbledore business—oh, i shouldna said that—”

“go on, hagrid,” megan said, already waving him toward the door. “we’ll be fine.”

“just for an hour or two,” he said, shuffling for his coat. “keep the fire goin’, and don’t let him out the crate. oh—and mind the tail. he’s swingy.”

he left in a thunder of footsteps and the door thunked closed behind him, leaving a slightly nervous silence in his wake.

megan, of course, bounded straight to the crate.

“alright, you little biscuit,” she whispered, crouching beside it. “time to make a new friend.”

the dragon—small, shimmering, and vaguely sneezy—lifted its head at her voice. it let out a breath that sounded a bit like a deflating kettle, then rested its snout back on its forearms.

“pip,” megan said suddenly. “he looks like a pip, doesn’t he?”

“you’re naming him?”

“someone’s gotta. you can’t just go around calling a dragon ‘the dragon.’ that’s cruel. what if he has an identity crisis?”

y/n stood, stepping away from the crate. she leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“you really like magical creatures, don’t you?” she asked.

“mmhm.”

“even the ones that could eat you?”

“especially those.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “and why’s that?”

megan sat back on her heels, tugging at her sleeves absently. “i dunno. they’re just… honest. they don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. if they don’t like you, you know. if they do, you’ve earned something real. and they’re smart, too. smarter than most people give them credit for.”

pip snorted softly.

megan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, glinting bauble—a broken earring she’d found outside the charms corridor. she held it out carefully. pip blinked at it once, then nudged it into his bedding with something like contentment.

“you know,” y/n said after a long pause, “there’s a reason dragons are highly classified creatures. the ministry regulates every known species. not just because they’re rare—because they’re unpredictable. they attack unprovoked. they hoard gold. they set things on fire.”

“so do some politicians,” megan said. “should we crate them too?”

y/n blinked, then laughed—genuinely laughed—and megan’s heart nearly stopped.

“okay, but,” y/n continued, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, “they’re also territorial. and deadly. and illegal to breed. i’m just saying… you have a very romanticised view of them.”

megan shrugged. “maybe. or maybe i just believe they’re capable of more than what the ministry says.”

“that’s very gryffindor of you.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not. just… idealistic.”

“and you’re a realist.”

“someone has to be.”

megan grinned at her, eyes crinkling. “we balance each other out.”

“do we?” y/n asked, tone teasing.

“absolutely,” megan said. “you’re the brains. i’m the charm.”

y/n snorted again. “you fell out of a window this morning.”

“with charm,” megan insisted.

pip let out a soft growl-sneeze, and both girls turned their attention back to the crate.

y/n moved a little closer, kneeling beside megan. their shoulders brushed.

“he really is beautiful,” y/n murmured. 

they sat like that for a while. no more arguments. just quiet understanding and the flicker of firelight casting gold along the floor.

__

they’d been spending more time together.

not always in the library. not always in hagrid’s hut. sometimes it was quiet walks around the lake, with their shoulders brushing and conversation drifting between nonsense and dragons. sometimes it was scribbled notes passed in class, ink-smudged and full of half-spelled jokes. just yesterday it was y/n sitting beside megan in the quidditch stands, scarf pulled up to her nose, pretending she understood the rules as manon zipped past overhead, a hufflepuff chaser hot on her tail.

of course megan noticed the glances. the way y/n’s friends looked at her—pointed, curious, smug. how manon wiggled her brows with absolutely no subtlety, how sophia giggled behind her hands. how lara, the worst of them all, blew dramatic kisses from across the great hall like she was in some kind of romantic play. megan rolled her eyes. every time.

 the truth was… she didn’t mind. she didn’t care.

she was simply enjoying herself. the time. the company. the girl.

she liked the way y/n’s eyes lit up when she solved something difficult. the way she tilted her head when she was curious, or how she’d go quiet—not awkward, just thoughtful—when she was really listening. she liked how y/n never made her feel small for not knowing something, never laughed when megan tripped over her words or misread a line or forgot what she was saying halfway through a sentence. and more than anything, she liked how being around y/n made her feel… steadier. like maybe she didn’t always have to fill the silence with a joke. like maybe it was okay to just be.

megan didn’t say any of this out loud. of course not. but it lived in the way her gaze lingered a little longer than it used to. in the way she started showing up to classes early,  just in case y/n did too. in the way she started carrying sugar quills in her pocket—y/n’s favorite—like it was no big deal.

y/n learned, in bits and pieces, that megan had tried to do the research herself. she just… struggled. not because she didn’t care—she did, fiercely—but because reading long passages and deciphering thick magical texts was hard. harder than it should’ve been. megan never said it out loud. she didn’t need to. y/n just knew.

she started reading things aloud when they studied. doodling diagrams instead of writing long explanations. pointing things out in books with gentle, quiet patience, like it was the most normal thing in the world. like it wasn’t a big deal.

megan noticed. of course she noticed. and she didn’t say anything either.

she just let herself fall harder.

eventually, after about six near-catastrophic experiments, they landed on a plan for pip. a potion. a tonic, technically. brewed to soothe his respiratory tract and reinforce his magical immune system. it required one semi-illegal root and two very expensive herbs. y/n brewed it in an empty classroom after hours. megan stole half the ingredients from snape’s cupboard.

“he definitely knows,” megan whispered as they made their way to hagrid’s hut the next afternoon.

“he always knows,” y/n replied, tucking the warm vial into her satchel. “we’re just pretending he doesn’t.”

hagrid opened the door before they even knocked. “girls!” he beamed, ushering them in with a wave of his enormous hand. “pip’s been waitin’ on yeh!”

the little dragon looked marginally better. still a bit sniffly, but more alert, with clearer eyes and fewer wheezes. he perked up when megan crouched beside him and gave a happy little huff.

“you’re going to feel loads better,” megan said softly, crouched beside the crate. “my ravenclaw brewed you a magic smoothie.”

the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

my ravenclaw. her mouth clamped shut a beat too late, like her brain had only just caught up with her heart. it wasn’t meant to be a claim. then she glanced sideways.

y/n hadn’t flinched. hadn’t stiffened or laughed or even blinked in surprise. instead, there was a tiny, knowing smile at the corner of her mouth. just enough to send megan’s heart skittering sideways. she turned back to pip with a flushed face and a half-choked breath.

“it’s not a smoothie,” y/n muttered, kneeling beside her. “and don’t let him drink it too fast.”

megan held the bottle steady while y/n carefully fed pip the potion in slow, measured drops. he scrunched his nose, blinked a few times, then settled back into his crate with a content sigh.

hagrid sniffled. “bless yer hearts,” he said gruffly, wiping at his eyes. “he’s been like a sack o’ sad potatoes all week, but look at him now.”

y/n smiled politely. megan beamed. hagrid nodded to her with a fond grin.

“yer girlfriend’s got a smart head on ’er shoulders.”

megan choked on absolutely nothing.

“she’s not—I mean—we’re not—I—”

but y/n didn’t even flinch. didn’t so much as glance in megan’s direction. she just tilted her head and said, smooth as honey, “thanks, hagrid.”

megan, meanwhile, went so red she could’ve powered a lighthouse. she kept quiet through the rest of the visit, nodded mutely as hagrid patted their shoulders and called them “a right clever pair,” and barely squeaked out a goodbye before they slipped out the door and back into the fading afternoon.

they made it halfway up the hill toward the castle before megan finally remembered how to breathe.

the path was quiet, the grass still damp from morning mist. birds chirped somewhere above, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender, and megan was actively trying to avoid combusting on the spot.

y/n, mercifully, didn’t let her spiral in silence forever.

“you know,” she said gently, “i’ve been thinking about what you said. about dragons being misunderstood.”

megan glanced over, still sheepish. “yeah?”

“you were right.” y/n nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “they’re dangerous, sure. but so are a lot of things. doesn’t mean they don’t deserve patience. or care.”

megan’s heart skipped. “told you so.”

“don’t push it.”

they walked a little farther. their arms brushing. once, then again. y/n’s sleeves were pulled down over her hands, but megan still caught the quiet way she fidgeted with the hem of one.

“i’ve really enjoyed this,” y/n said, almost too casually.

megan blinked. “what?”

“us. this whole… project. spending time together.” her voice was soft, but steady. “it’s been… really nice.”

megan’s stomach did a backflip. “yeah. yeah, it has.”

a pause. a breath. then y/n leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek—quick, careful, but certain.

megan stopped walking. just—stopped. like someone had hit pause on her entire nervous system. her heart launched itself somewhere into her throat. her brain made a sound like a fizzing cauldron. and before she could even think about it—before she could stop herself—her mouth moved on its own.

“i’ve been in love with you since potions class last year!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the quiet path.

silence.

y/n turned to look at her, wide-eyed—but not shocked. if anything, she looked like she’d been waiting. like she’d heard something she already knew and was just happy to hear it out loud.  she stepped closer. close enough for megan to see the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the blush rising on her cheeks, the spark of something warm and bright that had nothing to do with the sun.

“really?” she asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

megan nodded. “yeah. i mean. obviously.”

y/n laughed, quiet and bright and just a little breathless. then, without hesitation, she reached out and laced their fingers together, her grip warm and certain.

“finally,” she murmured, tugging megan gently forward.

and then—just like that—she kissed her. not on the cheek. not a quick, shy thing. but a real kiss. sure and steady and soft enough to make time tilt sideways. megan’s breath hitched. the world around her blurred into background noise. all she could feel was the press of y/n’s mouth against hers, the way her nose brushed lightly against megan’s, the way her free hand curled at the edge of her sleeve like she was afraid to let go. it was sweet. and it was clumsy. and it was absolutely perfect. megan felt something behind her ribs detonate in the best, most dangerous kind of way.

she kissed her back, eyes fluttering closed, every nerve in her body buzzing like she’d swallowed a snitch.

when they finally pulled apart, y/n was smiling. so was megan. helplessly.

they stood there for a beat, forehead to forehead, hearts racing.

“so,” megan said, breathless. “do we… tell the dragon first? or our friends?”

y/n snorted. “we’ll flip a coin.”

they kept walking, hand in hand, a little dazed, a lot delighted—like two girls who’d just wandered into the happiest kind of trouble. they walked the rest of the way back to the castle hand in hand. cheeks flushed, minds spinning, steps lighter than air, and absolutely no idea what they were going to tell their friends.

but for once, that wasn’t a problem to solve. not right now.

right now, there was just the girl.

Yu Jimin/Karina

existentialism - Karina x Reader | AU

y/n is an idol in a struggling group from a nearly forgotten company. karina, an amateur photographer, accidentally captures her most unguarded moment onstage. as their lives begin to intersect through late-night messages and fleeting encounters, both must confront what it means to be seen. not as a persona, but as a person beneath the facade.

safe - Karina x Reader

y/n is the 6th member of le sserafim, and an incredibly skilled dancer. when she's set to perform a special stage with karina, she finds herself growing closer to the girl in ways she'd have never imagined. the problem is, sometimes things don't work out the way you want them to.

Aeri Uchinaga/Giselle

risky business - Giselle x Reader | AU

aeri uchinaga and y/n attend rival schools, but neither of them pay much mind to the rivalry that defines their social worlds. in truth, they couldn't care less. sometimes, emotions hit harder than the fear of judgment. some connections are just too hard to ignore.

Kim Minjeong/Winter

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Ning Yizhuo/Ning Ning

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