#yoonchip

you threw your head back against your couch, groaning at yourself. you've been immersed in your college essay for the past three hours.

three whole hours.

three whole hours, and your college essay still sat unfinished—no title, no conclusion. Just a blinking cursor at the end of a paragraph that felt like it was going nowhere.

the screen cast a dull glow against your face, reflecting faintly on your glasses as you stared at the document.

It was supposed to be about you.

and somehow, that made it harder.

your eyes skimmed over what you’d already written—your journey, grades, achievements, competitions, stories you’ve told well enough for people to believe in you.

you knew how to write about everything you’ve done.

just not who you were.

a deep exhale left you as you leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, fingers loosely clasped together.

you’ve never really believed you could be loved without something to offer.

ever since you were a kid, people called you precocious. smart. promising.

you know, words that sounded nice. words that stayed with you. and you used to think that it fueled you.

sophomore year, you've given it your all—competitions, sports—but you've never really known who you were underneath those things. especially at times when you weren't the best. the compliments vanished, turning into, 'what happened?'

and you didn't know. because you've never known yourself in the first place. you've never known what you like, what you love, because you've always followed the pattern of being perfect. you didn't know what you are without everything. you didn't know what your life was without all those titles.

and you still don't. you still don't know who were you—without all of this.

you wonder if you ever will.

your gaze flickered back to the screen.

the cursor blinked.

waiting.

you exhaled sharply, reaching forward to save the document before snapping your laptop shut a little harder than necessary, then checking the screen if it cracked—you can't afford to lose it right now, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn't.

you stand up, stretching out a body that’s been stuck in one position for the past three hours. your eyes drift to the window. rain tapped steadily against the pavement outside. cars passed in blurred streaks, headlights reflecting off wet asphalt, people hurrying under umbrellas like the world hadn’t paused just because you felt stuck. everything was happening while you stay still and stuck inside your own head.

that's why you can't really stop, can you?

"god, i need coffee." you pinch the bridge of your nose before grabbing your jacket, glancing at yourself in the vanity mirror. a beige tank top, loose pants, round glasses, and a messy bun that was… well, messy. hey, it's still a bun. you slip on your jacket, grab your wallet and an umbrella, and decide to just walk to the coffee shop.

after five minutes, you reach it, shaking off your umbrella before stepping inside. the coffee shop is buzzing with people, warm light spilled from inside, the low hum of conversations mixing with the sharp hiss of the espresso machine. the smell of coffee hit you instantly. it was rich, comforting, almost enough to settle your thoughts.

almost.

fuck, there's so many people, you think. whatever. you're here anyway.

the café is big, right in the middle of the city, so of course it’s packed on a rainy day.

you let out a sigh before shaking off the water from your umbrella, putting it on the rack beside the door before waiting in line.

when it's your turn, you're quick with your usual.

"hi, one iced caramel macchiato, less ice, and can you use almond milk? venti, for y/n. thanks."

you smile at the cashier before paying through Apple Pay.

you find a seat by the window, closing your jacket as the drops of water on you was met with the cold ac. you stare outside, the essay still heavy in your mind before your fingers already reached for your phone.

scrolling.

mindless.

like something might suddenly appear and fix everything.

something.

I need something.

your eyes drifted to the rain outside.

or someone.

you scroll through your phone mindlessly, hoping for something—anything—to spark the motivation to finish your essay, when you hear your name being called along with others'. they seem to have a lot of staff to call a lot of people at the same damn time.

"Jerome?"

"Khloe?"

"Y/n?"

"Yoonchae?"

"And, Percy?"

you stand up, but there are like bazillion people grabbing their drinks, so you wait. when the crowd clears, only one cup is left—iced caramel.

you take it and sit back down with a small huff.

your eyes land on the name written on the cup—Yoonchae?

"is my name that bad to be misspelled like this—"

"hi."

your head snaps up.

a girl is standing beside you—blonde hair, a jersey under a jacket, oversized pants, slightly awkward posture like she’s not sure if she’s in the right place.

"hi?" you ask, confused.

"i think you got my drink," she says with a timid smile.

"oh, you're Yoonchae?" you ask, showing her the cup.

"yes."

her voice is soft. direct.

"you're y/n?" she places the cup with your name on it gently on your table.

"yeah, thank you," you nod, handing her the coffee. your fingers brush for a second longer than necessary.

there was a brief silence when you thought she'd leave.

"can i sit here? are you with someone? it's just really crowded. no more seats," she asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

you look back up at her, "oh no, yeah, for sure. i'm not with anyone," you nod.

god, not right now. you can't be distracted right now.

there was silence before she spoke.

"so uhm. what are you?"

you look at her, blinking. your mouth opens, closes, then you tilt your head slightly.

"what… am i?" you repeat slowly.

"oh, sorry," she chuckles nervously. "like uhm, are you a student?"

"oh." you nod as it clicks. "yeah. just graduated. i'm 19."

"i'm 18," she replies softly, sipping her drink.

"that's nice," you say, already drifting back to your phone, feeling a bit awkward.

"i like your keychain," she adds, pointing at the guitar keychain hanging from your jacket's pocket.

"do you play guitar?"

"oh, no. i just thought it's cute and super cool. do you want to look at it?" you shut your phone off to unhook it, offering it to her. "i mean it's kinda funny that i don't, but i love people that do.

"i play guitar," she says, taking the keychain from your hand, your fingers brushing that made you so nervous.

oh.

“you do?” you look up, asking in awe. “like electric or acoustic?”

“both.”

“oh shit. that’s so cool.”

“yeah. i’m in a band. we play sometimes,” she says, handing the keychain back to you.

of course she is.

you shake your head. “you can keep it. i have another one at home.”

she plays guitar? that pretty? it’s pretty much impossible for this girl to have no boyfriend—

“are you sure?” she asks with a small smile.

“yeah, definitely,” you nod, chuckling. “it’ll match you more than me anyway."

“thank you.”

“mhm.. you’re very pretty," you blurted out with a small smile before you realized it, then your smile dropped.

"wait no, well, i mean—like, yeah. you are,” you stumble through the compliment, smiling nervously.

she smiles, her eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest feel weird. her expression is so soft you almost forget how to breathe. she toys with the keychain like a kid being offered candy but too shy to fully accept it.

“thank you, y/n.”

“yeah—well, you must have a boyfriend then?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

shit.

“boyfriend..?” she repeats, blinking.

“i-i mean, not to invade or anything, it’s just— you’re very pretty to like… not have any— not that I’m thinking otherwise—” you ramble.

“i like girls.”

oh.

what.

you girl kisser.

“what?” you say, eyes widening, mouth slightly open.

“yeah,” she says simply. then, a little quieter, “and… uhm, I was thinking if we could have each other’s numbers… if that’s okay.”

she hooks the keychain onto her jeans, looking back up at you a shy smile plastered on her face.

uhh.

“yeah. absolutely.”

you exchange numbers, your fingers slightly clumsy as you type. after that, she tells you she has rehearsals for her band’s performance on Friday and needs to go. she bids you goodbye, then—unexpectedly—she pats your head.

and your brain short-circuits.

someone asked you out. someone asked for your number. and she’s exactly your type. is this a dream or are we being schizophrenic?

as soon as you get home, you bury yourself under your covers, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally attacked you.

“oh my god, i can’t be distracted right now. i need to finish my essay. why’d you come right now?” you groan into your sheets.

you rant to yourself for a good thirty minutes about how this will absolutely derail your focus and how absolutely gorgeous she is before finally getting up to make dinner.

while stirring your mac and cheese, your phone chimes—and you practically sprint to it.

hi

it's yoonchae.

are you free friday?

i forgot. it's tomorrow.

can you watch me play during out first date?

would you want that?

you smile before you can stop yourself. which is absolutely against your will.. absolutely..

hi, yes of course :)

just send the address

you better play good 🫣

after a minute, your phone chimes with another reply.

i play well.

i will pick you up tomorrow. send me your address.

“first date,” you mutter under your breath. “sophia, it’s my first date. like, i know i’m a hopeless romantic, but she’s like so pretty though, and she plays guitar you know like argh." you tell your best friend over the phone as you stir the pasta in your bowl.

“well, good luck with that." she chuckles. "and good luck with your essay. have you finished it yet? don’t you need to submit it by saturday?” she added, seemingly having more care about that.

fuck.

“yeah, i know. i’m almost finished though. i just… don’t worry.” you try to sound convincing.

well, i guess first date isn’t as big as college, right?

the next day, you try your best to finish the conclusion, but your brain feels completely fried. you keep typing, deleting, rewriting—words collapsing into each other until you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.

"oh my god why am i so brain dead right now?" you huff, " what time is it?"

before you realize it, you only have an hour left to get ready before Yoonchae picks you up.

“oh shit, it's 5 already?!” you rush to the shower, washing up quickly, but thoroughly before doing your makeup the way you usually do. you pick an outfit that doesn’t scream stress, or that you’ve been fighting your own brain for the past 48 hours and is seemingly more stressed than you've been when you were tasked to define yourself in three words.

a light yellow colored long sleeve that hugs your curves just right and a long white skirt that compliments the color of your top.

at 6:05, there’s a knock on your door.

you grab your purse, slip on loafers with a slight platform so you don’t feel too small beside her, then hurry downstairs. you take a breath, fix yourself one last time, and open the door.

she’s wearing glasses now—thin frames that suit her face too well—a tank top under a maroon leather jacket, and trousers that fit her just right.

“wow, you look amazing,” she says as you step out.

“you look good, yoonchae. like, very,” you respond with a small smile trying not to stare too much before walking beside her down the steps, her subtly guiding you.

she leads you to a small café-bar about twelve minutes away. she pays for the Uber, and soon you’re there.

as soon as you arrive, she’s greeted by a few of her friends. she guides you to a seat that looks like it was already reserved, then leans down slightly, voice brushing your ear.

“i’ll play in two minutes. stay for me.”

"already?" you asked in a whisper-back.

"mhm. then we can go on with our date."

then she disappears into the crowd.

when she comes back, her jacket is gone. she’s on stage now, adjusting a black electric guitar with red straps. she tests the tuning, glancing at you briefly, then nods like a quiet signal a big smile on her face.

her band starts.

and right at that moment, it feels like everything else fades out.

they play Still Into You by Paramore, and for some reason, it feels like the whole room disappears. she looks so so effortless standing there, so sure of herself in a way that makes your thoughts go completely quiet.

you forget about your essay. you forget about expectations.

you fucking forget about everything except her.

after a few songs, she smiles, bows, and runs off stage—straight down toward you.

she was holding her jacket before sitting beside you with a huge smile on her face.

“am i good?”

“well, you do play well,” you tease her before wiping the sweat off her forehead with a tissue. “seriously, you’re amazing.”

“thank you,” she mutters before taking a sip of water.

“since when have you played guitar?” you ask as you look down at the menu.

“uhh, since i was 14,” she answers, shifting her chair a bit closer so she can look too even though she has her own, now sitting so close beside you.

“wow, fourteen? i wish i could’ve explored like that when i was fourteen.”

“why? what do you mean?” she asks, looking at you while you keep your eyes on the menu.

“i mean… i was taking care of my brother back then. uhm.. he had leukemia. and i was also a scholar at this private school so i practically had to school home, school home,” you say quietly.

“oh. well, it’s never too late. you can explore now. life doesn’t move that fast.”

“it does,” you mutter, swallowing.

you glance at her. “you know, he used to say he wanted to learn guitar too. play songs for us."

“i can teach him,” she says softly, a small smile forming as she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“mhm,” you look into her eyes. “i wish you could.”

“what do you mean?”

you inhale deeply before letting it out slowly. your voice shakes slightly. “well… he didn’t survive,” you said quietly.

“and I was at a competition when he died.”

Silence.

“I told myself I’d never mess up again after that and i forced myself to just go do everything. that I can't stop because if I do, I'll feel everything like that again.” you look back at her.

she’s already looking at you—really looking at you. her expression softens, brows slightly drawn together, like she’s holding your words carefully.

“doesn’t mean you have to stop feeling,” she mutters.

“life is moving too fast, but you can slow it down.”

you let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. it’s not mockery, just exhaustion and confusion mixing together.

“how so?”

“by living. by feeling. by being. you don’t always have to go hard on yourself. yes, it was unfortunate… and i’m sorry,” she whispers.

her hand finds yours, squeezing it gently.

you don’t pull away.

“i just… i don’t know what i can do. i don’t know what i am without these big milestone things. and it made me lose my brother too. and because of that, every single thing i’ve worked hard on feels worthless. they don’t see me as the same person i don’t even know anymore.” you explain through with a shaky voice.

“you don’t always have to know what’s gonna happen,” she says softly. “you don’t always know what’s coming. but like in a story… you write it and you go on. but in your story of life, you don’t skip to the end, and you don’t restart. you talk like, like you’re trying to define something that’s still becoming.”

“you have a way with words,” you whisper, looking into her brown eyes.

god. is this still a distraction?

“i just understand,” she says simply. “you’re you. and it’s your life. you don’t need people to like you only for what you do or define you for what you didn't and could've done. you just live… and people will love you for who you are. just like i would do.”

“we’ve barely known each other, and it's our first date." you roll your eyes weakly, sniffling.

“well, i’d love to know you—and love you more.”

the night that followed was the best you’ve ever had.

the way she comforted you—gently, without pushing—felt unfamiliar in a way that didn’t scare you. she made you laugh until your stomach hurt. made you cry, not because of achievements or pressure, but because someone finally saw you. she made everything feel softer, like the storm inside your head had finally slowed down.

you didn’t know what this was.

and maybe that was the point.

you realized that you weren't fully honest with yourself. you weren't always sure, weren't always confident, didn’t always know where your story was heading.

you kept trying to force yourself into a title—something clean, something final. but a title is supposed to tell people what a story is about.

yours wasn’t finished yet.

so you realized that you had to stop defining yourself by being perfect or good… because you still had more to become.

that’s why,

Some Stories Don’t Need Titles Yet. — Y/n L/n

hi :)

figured i'd let u read my essay

you made me realize a lot of things tonight, like a lot

and I don't want it to be the last night that i would.

second date? :)

you closed your phone for a minute staring at the ceiling before it chimed again, "she's still awake?"

it’s beautiful. just like you.

and you tell me i have a way with words when you write so well.

i guess i can take some credit.

second date it is. 🫡

yes, i woke up from your notification. but i will sleep now. good night 😴

the weeks flew by, and on your fifth date, yoonchae asked you to be her girlfriend. you couldn’t have been happier.

you got accepted into your dream university, with her by your side.

“hi,” you smile as she opens the door.

“i missed you. sorry i’ve been busy, the band’s getting bigger,” she says, pecking your lips before pulling you inside and guiding you to the couch.

“it’s fine. uni is killing me though,” you laugh, taking off your coat before sitting beside her.

she immediately kisses you again—deeper this time, like she’s been holding it back all day.

“i’ll update more, i promise,” she murmurs against your lips.

“it’s okay, chae,” you whisper back. “i know you’re busy. it’s okay. as long as you come home to me… and we’re together.”

“i love you so much, you know that?”

“i do,” you smile. “i love you. so damn much.”

you kiss her again.

she laughs into it, soft, a little breathless, before pulling away just slightly, her forehead still against yours.

“you’re really clingy,” she mumbles, smiling.

“you started it,” you whisper back.

“no i didn’t.”

“you literally did.”

she rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling as she reaches for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“come on,” she says.

“where?”

“i don’t know. somewhere.”

"my feet hurts. i walked here." you groaned at her.

you let her pull you up anyway.

"come on, you're lazy." she teased before grabbing her jacket, interlocking her hand with yours again.

the city outside is still alive, lights reflecting off wet pavement, the faint sound of music from somewhere down the street. it’s late, but it doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore. it just feels open.

you walk beside her without thinking too much about it.

for once, you don’t feel like you’re chasing anything.

you stop at a convenience store, and she insists on buying snacks even though you argue about it the whole time. “you’re literally broke,” you say in a laugh as you guys walked through the aisle.

“i have money,” she argues.

“for guitar strings, not snacks.”

“same thing.” she shrugged before grabbing a bag of chips.

you stare at her. she grins. well, you lose.

you end up sitting on the curb outside anyway, plastic bags between you, sharing random food like it’s a ritual neither of you talked about but both agreed on.

she leans her shoulder against yours.

“you’re quiet,” she says.

“i’m eating.”

"no, you're thinking. you’re always thinking.”

you hum. “not always.”

“liar.”

you bump her shoulder lightly.

she laughs, then steals a a chip from your bag like she didn’t just accuse you of anything.

and right there you've never felt more relieved than ever. because there's no pressure to turn yourself into something understandable—she already understands you without the need to define what anything is supposed to be.

just her beside you, annoyingly present.

you glance at her.

she’s looking at the street, humming something under her breath, swinging her foot slightly against the pavement like she has nowhere else to be but here.

just this.

the two of you.

you.

and maybe that’s enough.

because you used to think life had to be something already finished to matter, something polished, named, graded, understood.

with her you realized that, some things are allowed to stay unfinished, some just as is.

some stories are still being written while they’re being lived.

you don’t need to know what you are yet.

you just need to keep going.

and you think,

maybe that’s what people meant when they said “now.”

not something you explain.

just something you live in.

"you're thinking again." she looked at you, meeting your eyes that was stuck on her as your thoughts consumed you.

"becuase i have a brain." you chuckled but you leaned your head on against her shoulder.

"Yoonchae," you mutter in a low hum.

"hm?" she responds, wrapping her arms around you.

"i love you."

AN: guys should i do a part two, this is longer than i intended it to be but i loved the dynamic. it's kinda rushed too and I'm telling yall that i was smiling and all at myself as i wrote this, i feel schizophrenic.

Manon: Compliment me.

Yoonchae: You have eyes.

Manon: Yeah, that works.

---

Yoonchae: So, what's for dinner?

Manon, staring at the food they burnt: Regret.

---

Yoonchae, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Manon.

Manon, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

---

Yoonchae: Manon, I got suspended from school…

Manon: WHAT?!?! What did you do?

Yoonchae: My teacher pointed at me with a ruler, and he said “there is an idiot at the end of this ruler”.

Manon: And…?

Yoonchae: I asked which end…

Manon, unable to contain their laughter: Okay, you just made my day.

---

Yoonchae: *eating a cinnamon roll*

Sophia: Cannibalism.

Yoonchae: *confused chewing noises*

---

Sophia, handing out popsicles: Which flavor do you want?

Yoonchae: Blue flavor!

Sophia: Uh, you mean Blue Raspberry?

Yoonchae: Blue flavor! Blue flavor!

Sophia: Blue is not a flavor!

Yoonchae: BLUE FLAVOR!

---

Sophia: *Locks Yoonchae in the car.* Act like a child, get treated like a child.

Yoonchae: What? Isn't it illegal to leave a child locked in a car?

---

Sophia to Yoonchae: Turn that frown upside-down!

*a little while later*

Sophia: What are you doing?

Yoonchae, trying to do a handstand: You told me to “turn that frown upside-down” but it’s not working .

---

Yoonchae: Anything else?

Sophia: Yeah. Stay away from me!

Yoonchae: Alright. See you in the room we share.

---

Daniela: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Daniela: *turns around and helps Yoonchae through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Yoonchae.

Yoonchae: Okay.

---

*Daniela and Yoonchae are in a mirror maze*

Daniela, seeing Yoonchae: C'mon, you got it! Almost through!

Yoonchae: I see you! *runs straight into a mirror, shattering it*

Daniela: *screams*

---

Yoonchae: Given the circumstances, I will let you hug me for four to five seconds.

Daniela: Forty five seconds?!?

Yoonchae: No! I said four TO five seconds.

Daniela, hugging Yoonchae: Too late.

---

Yoonchae: What’s sexting?

Daniela: I'm not having this conversation with you.

---

Yoonchae: All snacks are gone.

Daniela: I AM LITERALLY RIGHT HERE?!

---

Yoonchae, upon learning how Daniela did a magic trick: So you’re not magic?

Daniela: Well, not really.

Yoonchae: You’re just a liar.

---

Yoonchae: You’re giving me a sticker?

Daniela: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Yoonchae: I’m not a preschooler.

Daniela: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Yoonchae: I earned this, back off!

---

Lara: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff.

Yoonchae: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

---

Lara: As a responsible adult-

Yoonchae: *chuckles*

Lara: … As a responsible adult—

---

Yoonchae: *sighs*

Lara: You bored?

Yoonchae: Yeah.

Lara: Wanna start drama for no reason?

Yoonchae: I thought you’d never ask.

---

Yoonchae: N... No!

Lara: A fair rebuttal. However, consider this counterpoint: Y... Yes???

---

Yoonchae, gently nudging Lara aside with their foot: Lara, move out of the way so I don’t trip on you.

Lara, their eyes enormous: You kick Lara? You kick their body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Yoonchae! Jail for Yoonchae for one thousand years!

---

Megan: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness—

Yoonchae: Hi.

Megan: *melts down in a flustered heap of softness*

---

*During a game of Hangman*

Yoonchae: Nope, there’s no Q. You lose.

Megan: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something!

Yoonchae: I already added a belt, four earrings and an extra arm! YOU LOSE!

---

Yoonchae: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Megan!

Megan: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

---

Yoonchae: You're not my friend anymore.

Megan: I was your friend?

---

Megan: iuegrukfhoeuhfeoruhf

Yoonchae: What is that?

Megan: it’s a keyboard smash

Yoonchae: How do I do it?

Megan: just press anything

Yoonchae: 7

---

Megan, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?!

Yoonchae, standing in front of Megan: *bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen*

Megan, crying: Please...stop...

---

Yoonchae: Awww, why don't you like cats, Megan? They're just snuggly buddies! They have toe beans! They make a little blep! What's not to love??

Megan: I don't know Yoonchae, I just prefer to be conscious instead of dead on the floor.

Yoonchae:

Megan: I'm ALLERGIC.

---

Yoonchae: All of your existences are confusing.

The Group: How so?

Yoonchae: Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to any of you upsets me.