Suzuki いちご

Hi strawberries! I'm Suzuki. I plan to write various fanfiction on kpop×reader

WHAT EXACTLY AM I WRITING:

katseye, le sserafim, illit, twice, nmixx, newjeans, ive, aespa, babymonster, kiss of life, and other girl groups. fluff, smth cute, oneshot, drabble, headcanons, a female reader is highly desirable ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

WHAT EXACTLY AM I NOT WRITING:

xlov, and any boy group because I don't follow them and I don't know anything. I'm not going to write smut, erotica, nsfw, everything related to 18+, au with magic, heavy angst. Also, I don't write big fanfiction in several parts, just because I'm too lazy to post it lol ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚

GAEUL × FEM! READER

SUMMARY: Student notices that a new classmate with a frighteningly gentle look always turns out to be nearby and the more she wants to be closer, the more difficult it is to understand whether you want to escape or stay.

WARNING: stalking, violation of personal boundaries, elements of psychological tension, angst(I'M SSRY😭) The author's native language isn't English. Sorry for any possible mistakes.

You noticed her in the first week of March. The days were still cool, the scent of cherry blossoms hung in the air, and the university campus in Seoul was coming back to life after winter break. The new art student was tall, with long ash-gray hair tied in a low ponytail, and a cold, studying gaze. Her name was Gaeul. She kept to herself, yet somehow always ended up wherever you were.In the library, when you were looking for a book on Korean art history, she sat at the neighboring table, running her finger along a page but looking at your hands.

In the student cafeteria, where they served bibimbap and tteokbokki, she took the same salad as you and sat where she could see your profile. You chalked it up to coincidence. Could happen to anyone, right? But the coincidences became too frequent.

One day, you dropped your hairpin. It was expensive, vintage, with mother-of-pearl inlay, bought in Insa-dong. You searched for it for half an hour, scoured the entire building, but never found it. The next day, when you opened your locker in the gym changing room, there it was.

Clean, as if it had just been polished, and pinned to it was a small note folded into a triangle. In blue ink, in neat handwriting, it read:

"You always look perfect, but with it, even more beautiful. I couldn't help myself I took it as a keepsake. But then I realized it's your happiness, so I returned it <3"

Your heart pounded wildly. You spun around, but the hallway was empty. Only at the far end, beyond the glass door leading outside, did a shadow flicker. A familiar silhouette with long hair, vanishing the instant you turned your head.

You didn't tell anyone. Were you scared? No. More like… curious. Someone found you so beautiful that they followed your every move? It was intoxicating.

The next three weeks became even more intriguing. Gaeul no longer hid. She appeared in your life drawing class just as the April sun was streaming through the studio windows. The instructor introduced her as a talented sophomore repeating the course to strengthen her foundation because she'd missed the fall semester due to family issues. But you knew the truth. Family issues were just a cover…She sat directly across from you. You were drawing a plaster vase with dried cherry blossom branches; she was drawing you. You couldn't see her paper, but you felt her gaze gliding over your neck and shoulders.

"You have a beautiful grip," Gaeul said quietly, leaning toward your easel. Her voice was low, velvety, with a slight rasp. It sent goosebumps across your skin. "You hold your brush like you're afraid of hurting the paper. I hold mine like I want to pierce right through it. We're just perfectly complementary, aren't we!" She smiled, and in that smile was innocence and madness and a piercing tenderness all at once.

You tried to joke back, but the words stuck in your throat. Gaeul ran her finger along your arm, leaving a barely visible trail of blue watercolor paint just like the note on the hairpin.

"Leave it," she whispered. "Blue suits you."

That evening, back in your rented room in a small studio you found a photo on your pillow. Of you. You were asleep in it… last Wednesday, you thought, curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cat-eared blanket. You distinctly remembered pulling the thick curtains shut. Someone had taken it from outside, through the tiny gap between the drape and the wall. Or… someone had been inside?!

On the back, in the same neat handwriting, written in gel pen:

"You look so peaceful when you sleep. I stood and watched you for two hours. I'm sorry I couldn't resist coming in. I just wanted to fix your blanket you'd kicked it off in your sleep. You deserve only the best. P.S. I left before you woke up. Don't worry. I didn't touch anything, just looked."

You crumpled the photo but didn't throw it away. You hid it in your desk drawer, under lock and key, among old receipts and cosmetics. Somehow, it had become your secret.

You started noticing that you were scanning the crowds for her. It was a sickness you didn't want to cure.

The day came when Gaeul stopped hiding entirely. It happened at the end of April, during Punchwichon the traditional flower festival. She approached you in the park as you sat on a bench by the pond, reading a book and sipping boba tea. She sat beside you, too close, almost touching your thigh, and brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"You let me in" she said, without greeting, staring at the cherry blossom reflection in the water. "I… I can feel it. You're not angry. I know you reread my notes at night. I see the light in your window until three in the morning. You think about me all the time, don't you?" You tried to stand, but her hand gripped your wrist. Not painfully but with such insistence, as if she were holding a fragile porcelain cup. "Are you scared?" she asked, and in her dark eyes, little shards of ice danced. "Or do you like it? Be honest, Y/N. I can smell a lie from a kilometer away." "Gaeul, this… this isn't normal," you breathed, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. "You can't just follow me around. That's stalking. People get arrested for this." She laughed. Her laugh was quiet, mesmerizing. "It's not stalking, Y/N. It's art. The art of seeing. Only I see the real you.

"Everything finally flipped on Friday, the last day of April. You were returning from an evening supplementary lecture on the philosophy of art, which had dragged on until nine. A cold, nasty rain had set in over Seoul, and you took shelter under the awning of a bus stop, staring at the wet asphalt. The glass of the bus shelter had fogged up from your breath, and suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a message appeared, traced by a finger in the condensation:

"Don't turn around. Just smile for your beloved."

You froze. Your heart plummeted somewhere down to your stomach. Blood rushed in your ears.

"Surprise," came a voice right by your ear, cutting through the sound of rain. You smelled vanilla mixed with wet leaves, and felt hot breath on your neck that sent shivers down your spine. "You thought I'd let you walk away today? You don't even know what you want, Y/N. You're afraid to admit it even to yourself. But I know. I know that inside you lives the same darkness that lives in me. You're just too scared to pull the trigger. I'll do it for you." Gaeul took your hand, and you didn't resist. She led you to a black SUV parked in a shadowy alley between two old buildings. The door opened; the cabin smelled of dried lavender, expensive wood, and something familiar, something like home. "Get in," she said softly, holding the door. "I won't hurt you. I give you my word. I just want you to be where I can see you. Always. Every second. I've been suffocating without you for four months, and I can't breathe from a distance anymore…"

You got in. Why? Maybe out of morbid curiosity. Maybe from mental and physical exhaustion after the past month. Or maybe because a part of you really did want this.

WARNING: light angst, idiots in love, cringe behavior. The author's native language isn't English. Sorry for any possible mistakes.

SUMMARY: A girl has been texting a mysterious online friend for months, unaware that the stranger who keeps staring at her on the bus every morning is the same person.

Seoul was suffocating from the heat. The July air was thick and sticky, like syrup, and even the shadows cast by the high-rise buildings offered no escape from the scorching heat. The bus, crawling through the morning streets of Hongdae, reeked of sweat, fried oil, and strangers perfume. The air conditioning was barely working, and the only relief came from the open windows, through which hot wind blew in, but it only stirred the stale air without bringing any coolness.

Y/N sat by the window somewhere in the back. Headphones in her ears played some indie playlist, but she barely heard it. All her attention was fixed on her phone screen. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She was texting him. The one she only knew as @.matchaa_minto. They'd met six months ago in a fandom chat. First, funny memes, then long late-night conversations, then it became something she couldn't go a day without. Moka. That's what she called him, was the perfect conversationalist. He understood her from half a word, listened attentively without interrupting, to her complaints about professors and sleepless nights over term papers. He knew she was afraid of thunderstorms, that her favorite cartoon was "Adventure Time" and that she dyed her hair purple because she'd once bought that dye by accident and fell in love with the reflection in the mirror. And he wrote her things that made everything inside her turn upside down.

Yesterday, she was complaining about another pointless art history test, and he wrote:

@.matchaa_minto: "You know, you're like a warm light in a window, visible from afar. Just thinking about you warms my heart. You simply exist, and that's enough to make my day better."

She reread that message about twenty times. Her heart was pounding at an incredible speed. She wanted to reply with something witty, but instead, it came out..

@.Y/N: "You're too sweet. You're gonna give me diabetes lmao"

@.matchaa_minto: "You're the one who makes me this way."

And at that moment, sitting in that stuffy, fume-filled bus, she realized it for good. She was head over heels in love with a person she'd never seen. With a face she'd made up herself.In the real world, on that same bus, there was another person..Moka. The real Moka. Y/N saw her every day. Every morning, exactly at 8:10 AM, she'd get on the bus at the Hongdae station stop. Small, with dark hair tied in a messy ponytail, and huge eyes that were always fixed on the floor. She always looked tired, as if she hadn't slept in days. Sometimes there were dark circles under her eyes, and Y/N knew it was because of training. Everyone knew trainees live in hell. But that wasn't the point. The point was that Moka was constantly staring at her. Every morning. Every single day. She'd sit in the seat next to her if it was free, or stand nearby if it wasn't. And she'd stare. Without looking away. So intently, so intensely, that Y/N would get goosebumps running down her spine. And they weren't the kind of goosebumps you get from pleasant excitement. They were goosebumps of fear and irritation. She felt like she was under a microscope, like an exhibit in a museum. And that gaze... it was too heavy for such a fragile-looking girl. It was terrifying.

One day, Y/N, unable to take it anymore, called her friend on the bus and, without any shame, said loudly enough for Moka to definitely hear:

"Can you imagine, this weird girl is staring at me again. She's such a creep. She just stands there and gawks at me like I'm an alien. It makes me so uncomfortable. What does she even want from me?!"

She said it on purpose. She wanted Moka to hear and stop this whole circus. She heard.

Moka blushed deeply and, turning to the window, stopped looking at her. But her glances, thrown furtively, were full of bewilderment and confusion. This irritated Y/N even more. The only place where Y/N could breathe freely was her phone. Her correspondence with @.matchaa_minto.

Today was a special day. The day she'd been waiting for three whole months. They'd agreed to meet. Matchaa_minto had written to her yesterday:

@.matchaa_minto: "Hey, Y/N? I want to meet. Let's meet tomorrow at six. At that coffee shop near your university. I'll be waiting. Please come."

And she agreed without hesitation, because she wanted it more than anything in the world. She wanted to see him.

Y/N spent a long time choosing what to wear. She settled on a light blue dress that matched her purple hair perfectly. She wanted to look perfect.

That day on the bus, Moka was staring at her with particular desperation. As if she wanted to say something but couldn't. As if she was deciding something for herself... Y/N caught her gaze and demonstratively turned away to the window. "Idiot," she thought to herself.

The coffee shop was small but very cozy. The smell of freshly ground coffee mixed with the aroma of vanilla and pastries. Y/N loved this place and visited it daily.She arrived ten minutes early. Her heart was pounding like crazy. She nervously fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance, peeking through the windows. And then she saw Moka. The girl was sitting at a table by the window. She wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She was staring blankly at one spot and nervously twisting a paper napkin in her hands. Two cups of caramel latte sat on the table.

Y/N froze. Suddenly, the world around her collapsed.She couldn't believe her eyes. It was her. MOKA FOR GOD'S SAKE. And she was Matchaa_minto. Her gentle, understanding, perfect internet friend.She walked into the coffee shop. The door chime jingled, announcing her arrival. Moka looked up and their eyes met. Y/N saw Moka go pale. Saw the despair in her eyes. She tried to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat.

"Y/N..." Moka breathed out. It wasn't a question.

"It's you?" Y/N's voice trembled. "Matchaa_minto? It's you?"

Moka was silent. She just looked at her with such pain, such pleading, that Y/N's insides dropped. And then she understood. All these months. All the warm words. All the "good nights." All the confessions. All of it was said by her. The one she was afraid of. The one she ran from every morning. But she loved her! She loved her words. She loved her soul. She'd fallen in love with a person she'd never seen, and now that person was trapped in the body of that same "creep" from the bus.

"No" Y/N whispered, backing away. "No, not you. Please. Anyone but you." She turned and ran out of the coffee shop, nearly knocking over a waiter. She ran down the street, not looking where she was going, tears streaming down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. She ran until she had no strength left. She ducked into some alley, crouched down against a wall, and sobbed out loud.

Moka remained sitting at the table. She stared at the cooling lattes and felt the world shatter into a million pieces. She wanted to run after her. To scream that it wasn't like that. That she was afraid of her down to her very bones because she was too beautiful. But the girl just sat there in silence. She knew she'd ruined everything.

At home, Y/N locked herself in her room, collapsed onto her bed, and cried into her pillow. She hated Moka. If she were the Moka Y/N knew, she would have fallen in love with her at first sight. She was already in love. But this fear... this disgust... they overshadowed everything.

Her phone vibrated. She picked it up, sobbing.

@.matchaa_minto: "Y/N, please. Let me explain. You misunderstood everything..."

@.matchaa_minto: "I was just terribly shy. I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't know how to approach you. You're too beautiful, Y/N. I was afraid you'd push me away."

@.matchaa_minto: "Please don't leave. You're my whole world. I don't want to lose you. I... I won't survive this."

She read it and threw her phone against the wall. A minute later, she picked it up, checked if the screen was cracked, and, still sobbing, started typing.

@.Y/N: "You're an idiot! You're just a damn idiot! How could you stay silent?! Did you think I'd guess?! Did you think I'm a psychic?! I thought you were the one!"

@.Y/N: "I hate you! I HATE YOU!"

@.Y/N: "You have no idea what I'm feeling!"

She was typing. Again and again and again.

@.matchaa_minto: "You're right. I'm an idiot. I should have told you. But I couldn't. I was scared. I know how stupid that sounds... I was afraid you'd see me and be disappointed. That I wouldn't be like I am online. I ruined everything myself. I'm truly sorry. Please, Y/N, let me make it right. Give me a chance."

@.matchaa_minto: "Please..."

Y/N stared at the screen. The tears had dried, leaving salty trails on her face. She felt emptiness in her heart. She loved Moka. She truly loved her. And she hated her. She walked to the mirror, looked at her tear-streaked face, and realized she didn't want to lose her. She wanted to give her a chance. She wanted to understand. She wanted to try.

She sat back on the bed and picked up her phone. Her fingers were trembling.

@.Y/N: "You know what. Tomorrow. At eight in the morning. At our stop. You'll walk me to the coffee shop and buy. Me. A caramel. Latte. And, maybe, I'll forgive you. Maybe. If you stop being an idiot and be the Moka I know. Just don't you dare hide behind a screen."

@.matchaa_minto: "Okay! You have no idea how happy I am. Good night, Y/N."

Y/N put her phone on the nightstand, turned on her side, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a new day. And, perhaps, everything would work out. She desperately wanted to believe it, because, despite the pain, despite the resentment, she still loved her.

GUYS U CAN'T IMAGINE WHAT MY NEW WORK WILL BE ABOUT... Maybe I'll break my promises.. but I'll try not to do that.

While I was writing this work, Weezer's Go Away was playing in my head. I think it fits haha

by the way, keep going with your best works in the future! love you! 🫶🏻

-☘️

Of course sweetiee. I was very pleased with your words💕

LILY × F! READER

WARNING: The topic of bullying is mentioned, if it's hard for you to read something like this, please refrain. The author's native language is not English. Sorry for any possible mistakes.

SUMMARY: A rough Friday brings y/n to door and sometimes, the simplest moments say the most.

Friday had been particularly tough. For Lily, and for y/n.

Coming home after work, Lily settled onto the couch and started scrolling through comments under various posts about the group on Twitter. Her girlfriend was supposed to be back from university classes soon.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Lily opened it and saw her downtrodden girlfriend on the doorstep. The singer quickly took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

Brewing her some green tea with apple and cinnamon flavor, Lily sat down on the couch next to y/n, stroking her hair.

"Babe? What's going onn?"

"Nothing serious, you don't need to worry about it, you have enough of your own problems."

"Heey... You know, I'm always ready to put aside everything I'm doing, I'm always ready to listen to you without judgment or rush if you need that. There's nothing more important to me than being there and listening to you. I'll always have time for our conversations, because what happens in your life truly matters to me. I'm absolutely always ready to listen to you."

In this silence, broken only by the soft clinking of a spoon against the edge of a cup, time seemed to stand still. In moments like these, when dusk gathered outside the window and soft light spread through the room, it became obvious how rarely people allow themselves to be truly honest. They're used to wearing their "armor," smiling when they're uneasy inside, and answering "everything's fine" on autopilot. But now, looking at each other, they felt a strange, almost forgotten calm.

It's an amazing feeling — knowing there's someone next to you whom you don't have to pretend to be strong in front of. In their little sanctuary, words ceased to be just sounds, becoming something tangible. On evenings like this, a need awoke to shed the weight they'd been carrying for so long.

Looking at the candle flame, one of them realized: sometimes you just need to exhale. She wanted to share what had been hidden for years in the farthest corners of her memory. Not to ruin this evening, but because right here, in this sincerity, she finally felt protected enough not to be afraid of her own vulnerability.

After sitting in silence for a while, y/n finally spoke.

"It all started so long ago... I think, in middle school... Now I'm sitting here, in the warmth, with this tea, but... I still feel that cold. The people there... they were just unbearable. Like.. Real beasts in human form." A sob. "Every single day, every morning I woke up with one thought: how am I going to survive this hell? They didn't just insult me, they reveled in humiliating me, as if it were some kind of game, finding new ways to trample my soul." A heavy, trembling sigh.

"One time... they locked me in a cramped, stuffy storage closet. I spent almost a whole day there, in complete darkness, listening to them laughing outside the door, their footsteps echoing in my head." A sob. "I screamed, tearing my nails against the door, begging to be let out, but all I heard in return was mocking laughter. It was so cold in there, I was shivering, curled up in a ball, feeling so worthless..." A sob. "I still remember that suffocating smell of dust and hopelessness."

Suddenly y/n fell silent. Her voice trembled treacherously, and her eyes slowly filled with hot, burning tears that she could no longer hold back.

It seemed that this cold, ingrained in her very being, would never let go. The moment she allowed herself to relax even for a second, a wave of old fears would wash over her again, making her heart clench with a sense of impending doom. University, a place meant to be a fresh start, had turned into an arena for the same games. Cynical glances, whispers behind her back, biting comments disguised as jokes — it all struck with renewed force, wounding deeply and painfully.

"They... they think I'm not like everyone else," her voice broke again, turning into a quiet sob. "They pounce on any weakness I show, every single time, like hungry beasts. I try to hold on, I swear, Lily, I try not to show how much it hurts, but..." Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving wet trails. "The posts on social media... they're like poisonous arrows. Every morning I check my phone with fear, expecting a new blow, a new wave of hate."

Lily held her tighter, pulling her close. "Shh, shh, my dear," she whispered, stroking her tangled hair. "I know how much pain you're in right now, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this. But please remember that you're not alone. I'm right here with you and I'll stay by your side, no matter what. You don't have to deal with everything on your own — I'm ready to support you, listen to you, be there in silence or talk to you for as long as you need. You're so important to me, you're valuable, and your feelings matter. Even if everything feels too heavy right now, that doesn't mean you have to go through it without support." Her voice was full of tenderness and peace, like a warm blanket shielding from the biting wind.

The girl buried her face in Lily's shoulder, letting the tears flow freely. Here, in this gentle embrace, the whole world with its cruelty receded. Words of comfort, soft touches, the feeling of complete acceptance — this was what she had been missing so much. Every word from Lily, every gesture was infused with love, healing wounds that seemed like they would never heal.

"I know you're strong," Lily said softly, kissing her temple. "Much stronger than you think. And know that no matter what happens, I'll always be here. We'll get through this together." And in that moment, surrounded by such genuine care, the girl felt the icy shell around her heart begin to melt, giving way to a timid but undeniable sense of hope.

Her breathing steadied, and her tears gradually stopped, leaving only a slight dampness on her cheeks. She lifted her head, meeting Lily's gaze. There was still pain in her eyes, but now gratitude and a timid glimmer of trust were mixed in.

An hour later, the girls were still sitting on that couch.

"Oh my goood babe, who's your favorite Disney character? Mine is Mulan. She was the first Asian princess I ever saw on screen, and I'm sure many other girls felt the same, and I love the idea of challenging gender roles. And I also love the music... Umm.... I really liked so many of the stage looks for ENTWURF... It's hard to choose, but I'd say my favorites are the bright green one and the denim-leather look from the promo shoot.. Haha"

"Jiwoo's was better!"

"O? Seriously?"

"Lol ya"

Now I want to write something about Jiwoo because she's my fav

I hope you enjoyed what I wrote. You can always ask me for anything haha

WARNING: —

After a brutal six-hour rehearsal, Megan walks into their shared apartment to find Y/n already waiting on the kitchen floor with two bowls of instant ramen and a playlist of songs they both know by heart, ready to spend the rest of the night doing absolutely nothing important.

At twelve o'clock sharp, the door swings open. Y/n, looking down from her phone, sits on the couch, as if expecting something. She already knows the reason for the noise outside: slow, heavy footsteps that carry with them a sense of anticipation. Megan, as usual, hasn't gotten up from her desk, preferring to move slowly around the room, as if hypnotized.

The door opens, bringing into the hallway not just a person, but the embodiment of fatigue. Megan, wrapped in a black hoodie, her hair disheveled. Y/n puts her phone aside and stands. "Eating?" she asks, fully aware of the lie.Megan, exhausted beyond words, quickly takes off her sneakers, crossing one foot over the other. She completes the task in ten seconds, not wanting to waste energy bending over. Her bag lands on the floor by the entrance, and Megan, fully dressed, heads to the kitchen.

She utters the words about her death, hitting her head on the table. Her voice is muffled and hoarse. It seems she hasn't even had a drink of water for the last three hours. Y/n doesn't comment. She opens the refrigerator, takes out vegetables, a can of stewed tofu, and rice from the rice cooker, which she cooked at eight o'clock that night. Megan could have arrived at eleven, or she could have arrived at twelve—the rice was still waiting. While Y/n cuts cucumbers and carrots, all you can hear is the knife on the cutting board and the quiet hum of the range hood.

Megan doesn’t move, just lies with her head on the table and stares into space. “Today was sooo hard,” she says finally, without even lifting her head. “Same. Five hours straight and I can’t feel my legs anymore.” Y/n doesn’t say “everything will be fine” or “you need to rest.” She simply places a plate of rice and vegetables in front of Megan and puts some stewed tofu on top. Then she sits down opposite her and begins to eat from her plate in silence. Megan lifts her head, looks at the food, then at Y/n. Her eyes are tired, but something warm appears in them—maybe gratitude, maybe relief. “You still haven’t eaten without me,” she says, picking up her chopsticks. “I was waiting,” Y/n shrugs. “It tastes better together.”They eat slowly. Megan chews slowly, like she doesn't have the strength to even do that, but her plate is gradually emptying. Y/n fills her with water from the pitcher, and she drinks it in a gulp.

"Your t-shirt is torn babe", notices Y/n nodding over his shoulder. "Take it off and I'll sew it up." "Right now?⁩⁩ ", "RIGHT NOW" Y/n gets up and goes to the closet for — You look so much like my mom lol, — Megan chuckles but softly without any sarcasm.Y/n looks up and replies seriously "Your mommy wouldn't make you a T-shirt at one o'clock in the morning because she sleeps. I'm awake. "

While Y/n is sewing, Megan looks down at her hands. Familiar, relaxed movements: the needle goes in and out of the fabric smoothly. Megan notices Y/n doesn't have a manicure — she knows that t doesn't do it because it makes sense to spend money if you still don't look at your hands.Megan puts her head on Y/n's shoulder she doesn't even flinch, used to it.⁩⁩ "Thank you sweetie", softly says Megan "For what?" "What was I waiting for" "I always wait," Y/n replies, pinning the last stitch. " It's not a merit. " After finishing, she hands Megan her T-shirt. Ta takes it, runs her finger along the seam. "You can do this better than stylists in a company," says Megan. "Hire me," seriously answers Y/n but there is laughter in her eyes.Megan puts on a t-shirt and suddenly grabs Y/n by the wrist. "Are you serious girl?" — she asks, with a slight tilt of her head. Y/n freezes for a second, then slowly stretches and kisses the corner of her lips. Just like that, short, rambling as if putting a seal. "Seriously," she replies. "Now go to bed babe. Tomorrow you have rehearsal again at eight o'clock in the morning, I know." Megan sighs but her eyes are smiling. " You know everything." Y/n pulls her hand from the kitchen.