rosachae

[rosachae]

hi everyone, just wanted to give a headsup that ‘safe’ (karina x reader) will now be a 3 part story instead of two. part two will be coming sometime this week. thank you for your patience and support!

[rosachae]

oHMyGOd saur u dont just write fics u create ART like literal MASTERPIECES im not well holy shit its so beautiful

i love you, you’re so cute. thank you so much ♥️ this means the world, seriously

[rosachae]

ii. too couture | daniela avanzini x reader

⁍ song: fame is a gun - addison rae ⁍ requested: yes! this is part 2 to 'it's couture'. please be sure to read the first part before reading this one. ⁍ genre: fashion designer AU, manon x daniela and lara x y/n if you squint. ⁍ a/n: sorry for the delay in getting this out, i've been particularly busy lately. i hope this is what you were looking for! ⁍ w.c: 10.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

daniela avanzini and y/n couldn't stand eachother. period. when lara raj, a big name model, hires both of them to style a head turning dress for the upcoming met gala, daniela starts questioning her own emotions. especially when she sees her rival in a stunning wedding dress.

the last thing daniela thought she would carry home from the met gala, tucked between the weight of borrowed jewels and the polite exhaustion that came from too many cameras, was the way her stomach had started to twist at just the thought of you. it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. not with you. for so long you had been a thorn in her side, a sharp reminder that no one could get under her skin quite the way you did. but somewhere between the champagne toasts and the hush of the car ride back to her hotel, your name had taken up space in her head in a way that felt dangerously sweet. it reminded her of a version of herself she thought she had left behind years ago when she was eighteen and foolish enough to wear her heart on her sleeve for anyone dazzling enough to notice. back then she had been an apprentice designer scrambling behind a famous stylist her parents had begged favors for, too eager to prove herself and too naïve to guard her heart. she still remembered the ache that bloomed when she spent long hours fitting dresses on manon bannerman, hollywood’s flawless golden girl, so stunning daniela had convinced herself it meant something real when manon laughed at her jokes or let their shoulders brush backstage. she’d learned the hard way that you never fall for someone who can fake affection as easily as they cry on cue under studio lights. for years she’d held that lesson close, a shield she thought you’d never crack. but now here you were, a thought lodged in her chest, turning her steady heartbeat reckless. she hated how much she wanted to see you again, how the memory of your sharp words made her smile when she should have still been angry. something in her was shifting, loosening all the rules she had set for herself. 

daniela had always been a smart girl. sharp enough to spot the trap before she stepped into it, careful enough to keep her heart tucked away where no one could bruise it. so why, all of a sudden, did her mouth go dry the second she saw you standing there in that goddamn wedding dress all those days ago? for as long as she could remember, all you stirred in her was anger, the kind that burned through her veins like cheap liquor. every time your eyes met hers across crowded dressing rooms or dimly lit after parties, every time you threw her that smug grin that made her want to throw her drink at you just to wipe it off your face, she told herself she hated you. she clung to that anger like armor, because it was easier to be furious than to admit that underneath the arguments and pointed insults, something else had been waiting. she’d been too quick to snap, too easy to provoke, and you had always known exactly which buttons to press to watch her unravel. 

despite everything— the biting words, the nights she’d spent replaying your arguments like they were some twisted game she kept losing— daniela had to admit it to herself. not even the lara raj could compare to the way you looked when you wore that dress. even when lara walked the carpet in it, drenched in diamonds and framed by the kind of spotlight that turned her into something untouchable, every curl of hair set perfectly, every inch of fabric clinging just right, every angle caught by cameras that adored her— she wasn’t you. even lara, with all her flawless poise, couldn’t touch the way you looked in that moment. that dress belonged to you, like it had been waiting for your body to bring it to life. you were radiant in a way that made her forget why she ever wanted to stay angry.

when she finally stepped into her suite, the events of the afterparty clung to her mind in such a way it was debilitating. 

the met gala afterparty was the kind of place that smelled like spilled champagne and the pheromones of people with egos too big for their own bodies. the music was too loud, the floor sticky under thousand-dollar shoes, but none of it matters when daniela’s pinned in the corner by a railing older than most of the influencers packed around it, cold stone pressing her spine straight while her glass sweats in her hand, untouched and useless. she couldn’t bring herself to even take a sip when her eyes instinctively drifted towards the door at the sound of your voice over the commotion. 

she watched you walk in, draped so easily on lara’s arm, the two of you cutting through the soft buzz of the room like you owned it. she hated how good you looked together, how easily lara could pull laughter from your mouth and tilt your smile toward the light as if she had every right to it. but almost as soon as you arrived, lara was swept away. she tossed an apologetic grin over her shoulder as a cluster of supermodels surrounded her like moths to a flame. it left you standing alone, fingers grazing the edge of your clutch as you scanned the room like a predator hunting for something familiar. daniela told herself she didn’t care, that she was perfectly content half-hidden behind the marble monstrosity some designer thought passed for décor, that she wasn’t holding her breath as your eyes skimmed the crowd. but then you found her, like you always did, like you knew exactly where she would be pretending not to wait for you. and before she could look away, your mouth curved into that smile she hated and wanted in equal measure, the one that promised trouble she’d gladly let herself fall into.

for a moment you both just stand there. it was almost funny, how despite all of the moving bodies in the room, you gravitate towards each other. you stand there by the door, hip cocked, mouth set in that tight line that’d gotten sharper since copenhagen. but daniela’s the first to open her mouth. 

“nice work not making a fool of both of us tonight. i know how much you just adore fucking something up somehow. did you botch the hem on your side of the dress on purpose, or were you just letting everyone see how sloppy you really are under the lights?” daniela’s voice dripped with the kind of sharpness she usually saved for incompetent interns and botched fittings, but with you it always came out meaner, hotter, tinged with something she didn’t want to name.

you threw your head back and barked a laugh, that rough, too-pretty sound that made her stomach twist even when the words that followed bit just as hard. “it’s adorable you think anyone’s looking at the hem when they can’t tear their eyes off your smug face. you could wrap her in duct tape and they’d still write you up like you invented couture. all this undeserved confidence must make you so tired.”

“jealousy’s not your shade,” daniela shot back, her words as smooth as they were poisonous. “makes you look desperate.”

you didn’t flinch. instead you leaned in just enough for her to catch the smug curve of your smile, the one that always made her teeth grind.

“yeah? well at least i’m not lurking in a corner like nosferatu waiting for someone to glance my way.”

the insult slipped out of you so easily, so casual and cruel it almost made her laugh. instead, she held your stare, jaw tight, telling herself she wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing just how close you always came to getting under her skin. the bass shudders through the wall behind daniela, rattling her glass, her bones, everything she’s spent all night bracing tight. 

“ironic coming from you. you can slap makeup on a pig all you want, doesn’t make it any less vile. who are you trying to impress, huh? lara?”

“who’s jealous now?”

“i’m not.”

“sure about that? you sound pretty defensive for someone who’s so above it all.”

daniela’s mouth twitches, almost a snarl. the air tastes like sweat and cheap perfume. somewhere behind you, someone laughs too loudly, but all she can hear is the blood pounding in her ears. 

maybe it’s the atmosphere of the party, fumes running high. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her right now, like you’re daring her to do something reckless. she speaks before she fully registers the words leaving her mouth, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise.

“careful. keep looking at me like that and i might think you want something you’re too scared to ask for.”

you freeze, eyes flicking down to daniela’s mouth, then dragging back up to hers. your pulse slams against your throat. you stand closer now, and neither of you moves to break it. the music behind you feels muffled, the whole room shrinking down to the heat between your chests.

you shift closer, just enough that your breath brushes daniela’s jaw when you lean in, voice soft and vicious all at once. for half a second daniela swears she feels your lips ghost hers. warm, promise and punishment wrapped in silk and teeth. she smells the alcohol on your breath. it made sense, then, why you were being so brazen. liquid courage was one hell of a companion.

but then someone across the room shouts your name, loud enough to snap the moment in half. you pull back so quickly it’s like you were never there at all. daniela peers over your shoulder and recognizes the caller immediately, some drunken celebrity you worked with during that winter campaign in twenty-twenty-four, all slurred charm and clumsy waves. before she can say a word, you beat her to it.

“enjoy the party, avanzini.” you spit the nickname like poison, soft enough only she can hear. then you turn, weaving through the press of people, already several feet away when you toss the last word over your shoulder. it’s a hiss, half-laughed, slurred mean and low.

“bitch.”

then you’re gone, swallowed up by flashing bulbs and greedy eyes, leaving daniela standing there alone, jaw tight, the taste of what almost was burning on her tongue.

daniela snapped herself back to reality with a sharp shake of her head, a bitter grimace twisting her lips as she dragged a shot glass and a half-empty bottle of tequila across the coffee table. it scraped against the surface with a sound that grated her nerves just the same. she sank into the familiar sprawl of the couch, the one that had known her at her worst, her loudest, and her most unbothered. she kicked her heels off without grace, letting them thud somewhere on the floor like forgotten thoughts.

the penthouse felt unchanged, like time had decided to wait at the door. same view, same walls, same luxury glossed in night lights and silence. yet she felt like a stranger haunting her own space. the suite she had bought without hesitation, once meant to be an escape, now felt like just another place she no longer belonged to.

it hadn’t always been like that. the last time she had stood in that exact spot, she’d been pacing furiously, practically yelling down the phone at her manager because of some stunt you had pulled backstage. her blood had been boiling, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. she had called you every name in the book and had meant every one of them.

but now, she couldn’t even look at you without her breath catching. my, how the tables had turned.

something about your presence made her nervous in a way that felt childish, unfamiliar. her body had once known exactly how to respond to you. fists clenched, jaw set. now, she just froze. everything inside her stalled. her heart beat out of rhythm, and her mouth went dry before a single thought could form, let alone a sentence.

the daniela who used to spit your name like venom wouldn’t have hesitated to knock your teeth in. but that wasn’t the daniela sitting here now. this one could barely hold her glass steady.

she tipped the shot glass back and let the tequila burn a path down her throat. the taste felt wrong, jarring, like her body no longer knew what to do with it. or maybe it was her. maybe she had become the thing that didn’t fit. everything about her felt foreign now, especially when you were in the room.

__

two weeks later, it was paris, and the air inside the old opera house buzzed with something electric. money, caffeine, ambition, and barely-contained panic hung so thick in the atmosphere, you could gather it by the handful, stitch it into a gown, and send it down the runway as haute couture. every corner of the building pulsed with nerves and power, the kind of pressure that made even seasoned veterans forget how to breathe.

daniela had the closing slot. the crown jewel of the show. the last look. the final walk that turned rising stars into legends or burned them alive under the lights. it was the headline moment, the one they would write about in glossy spreads and breathless reviews. she hadn’t left the backstage area in three days. she lived on espresso and adrenaline, hair pulled tight, sleeves perpetually rolled, voice sharp and relentless as she barked out commands in three languages. she floated between fittings and last-minute adjustments like a general on the eve of war, while her assistants tried their best not to cry on the organza. every misplaced pin, every loose hem, every smudge of lipstick was a threat to perfection, and daniela didn’t tolerate threats.

you, however, were supposed to be somewhere else. 

you had a pop-up showcase nearby, tucked inside a converted gallery space with wine so sour it made your teeth ache. your name was painted in bold, deliberate strokes on the glass door. it was supposed to be your night. your statement. your moment to steal the spotlight, even if only for a few hours. but you couldn’t help yourself. the very second you caught wind that daniela was in the same city, you jumped into action.

you didn’t need to say anything at all for a certain model to read the look on your face as you clutched your phone in an iron grip, stalking the headlines surrounding daniela’s hype. 

“y/n, you can’t seriously be thinking about ditching your own showcase just to go embarrass this girl.”

megan skiendiel was all mischief, her voice laced with disbelief. she stood backstage beside you, dressed in one of your latest creations, a silken, asymmetrical masterpiece that caught the low light just right. she looked like a walking editorial spread, but the furrow in her brow told you she wasn’t thinking about the cameras. she was watching you.

you began working with each other not long after the met gala, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. megan was one of lara’s friends, if not her best friend, and from the moment she laid eyes on your work, she was completely taken. she was captivated in that effortless, magnetic way models sometimes are when something speaks directly to their ego and their aesthetic at the same time. she wanted to be styled by you immediately, said it with a kind of breathless certainty that didn’t leave room for negotiation, like it was already inevitable. and if you were being honest with yourself, the idea that both renowned models—lara and megan—chose to work with you over daniela filled you with a particular kind of coy smugness, the kind that curled in your chest like smoke and laced your smile with something just a little bit mean. it was the kind of satisfaction you didn’t bother hiding, the kind you took a certain petty pleasure in flashing directly in daniela’s face. and you had, more than once. 

you shake your head at the chinese girl, slipping your phone into your pocket. “embarass makes it feel like something petty. i’d prefer to think of it as doing a service to the world by curbing a bitches ego.”

megan opens her mouth to respond, but whatever words she had fell on deaf ears. you’d already made up your mind.

in hindsight, maybe you should have stayed. maybe slipping out just before your own curtain call wasn’t the smartest move. maybe circling daniela’s venue like a shark scenting blood wasn’t the most rational response, but the pull had been too strong. self-restraint had never been your strong suit, and whatever shred of it remained dissolved the second you caught sight of her. you told yourself it wasn’t personal, that it was just business, just strategy. but the truth was in your footsteps, in the way you moved past the velvet ropes like you belonged there, like the building had been waiting for you. you couldn’t resist slipping into the mouth of the machine she had built—not from grit, not from hunger, but from access and timing and every door that had opened for her without her having to knock. and there you were, backstage, minutes before her closing walk, bargaining with a frazzled stage technician and pressuring him into leading you to the cue rig like you had every right to be there. maybe you did. maybe that was the point.

the cue rig was hidden behind a blackout curtain near the house lights, a tangled nest of wires and timers calibrated to perfection, all designed to flood the runway with light the moment daniela’s final showpiece made its entrance like some divine blessing. in theory, it was simple. one wire pulled loose, a slight reroute in the system, just enough to kill the spotlight at the exact wrong moment. just enough to leave daniela floundering in the dark while the audience murmured and the cameras kept rolling. just enough to make her stumble, even for a second, and give the press something to chew on. except maybe you should have taken an extra second to actually look at the stage technician, because if you had, you might have noticed the oversized intern assistant badge clipped crookedly to his polo. the moment he pulled the fuse, eager and a little too proud of himself, the entire grid buckled—chaining straight back to the same circuit that powered your pop-up venue. when the lights cut out mid-finale at daniela’s show, half the audience gasped in unison, phones flying up like vultures catching scent of a spectacle. but three streets away, your gallery was swallowed by the same blackout. your models stood frozen, half-pinned into raw silk, barefoot on cold concrete, blinded while editors fumbled through their bags for flashlights and muttered sharp little insults about amateur hour under their breath.

the lights stuttered back to life just in time to catch the worst (or rather infuriatingly, best) possible angle. daniela’s final gown still shimmered under the backup spots, the model pivoting with practiced grace, unbothered, untouched. the moment had fractured, but only slightly, just enough to be spun into some bold statement on restraint. avant-garde minimalism, intentional disruption, whatever the press needed it to be. but your showcase was finished. not in a blaze of brilliance, but in a slow, flickering death. half the front row was already uploading blurry shots of half-finished corsets and exposed seams, captions dripping with irony about the edgy girl genius who couldn’t keep the lights on.

you wanted to claw your own face off. wanted to find daniela in some endless marble hallway, grab her by the wrist, and spit every ounce of blame straight into her mouth, whether she swallowed it or not. but more than anything, you wanted to vanish. crawl inside the blackout you accidentally created and stay there, wrapped in silence, until the next season rolled through and erased your name from its memory. but the worst part (the part that twisted in your gut and stayed there) was knowing she wouldn’t forget.

by the time you made it back to your studio that night after the chaos had dulled and the worst of the noise faded into background static, the first thing that left your mouth was a groan. not from exhaustion, but from the weight of it all. megan’s stare had carved itself into your brain, sharp and unrelenting. she hadn’t said anything when you returned to the gallery, but she hadn’t needed to. her eyes had done enough. that quiet judgment, that look of someone who knew you had no one to blame but yourself, hung over you even now.

if there was one thing you knew to be true about yourself—undeniably, unshakably true—it was that you were stubborn. hardheaded, even. self-reflection had never come easily. introspection was a mirror you usually turned away from. and yet here you were, pacing your own studio, sick with regret and shame, feeling like your insides were folding in on themselves.

why did you always go too far? why did the line between ambition and sabotage blur the moment daniela’s name crossed your mind? why did it feel worth it, even for a second, to put your own career on the chopping block just to prove a petty point?

there had to be something broken in you. something misaligned. something not quite right in the way you lost control the moment she entered the picture. it wasn’t just resentment. it was hunger. it was that awful, aching sense of unfairness every time you saw her at the top, gliding through prime event slots and front-page features like they were handed to her on silver trays, while you bled for table scraps. it wasn’t just jealousy. it was fury. the kind that made you want to set fire to anything that shined too easily on her skin.

you left your phone buried somewhere under your coat and ignored every ping and buzz that came through it. the night stretched around you like a punishment. you wandered the studio in slow, deliberate silence, dragging a cart behind you filled with the wreckage. gowns crumpled, fabric torn from panicked hands during the blackout, beads loosened from rushed dressing, stitches pulled where they shouldn’t have been touched. the air was still, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your chest.

only one light stayed on, casting a soft pool above your workbench as you gently laid each piece out, smoothing the creases like an apology. your fingers moved carefully, reverently, as though tending to wounds. it was just you, the silence, and the broken pieces of what should have been your night.

the last thing you expected that night was the sound of footsteps. soft, deliberate, the quiet clink of shoes moving across the studio floor without hurry. it was subtle at first, so faint you almost thought you imagined it. you hadn’t heard the studio door open, hadn’t heard the building’s security guard call your name from downstairs like he usually did before letting someone through. the silence had been absolute until it wasn’t.

for a moment, you told yourself it was probably your manager coming to talk damage control, or maybe an overzealous intern hoping to earn favor by offering late-night help before your next showcase. you were already bracing for a conversation you didn’t want to have. instead, it was neither. 

“you’ve got nerve, y/n.”

it was 1:47 in the morning when daniela walked into your studio, unannounced and silent, like she belonged there. her hair was down for once, loose curls falling around her shoulders in soft contrast to the tension that lined her face. the sleeves of her linen shirt were shoved up past her elbows, and the skin beneath her eyes was bruised with exhaustion, but her gaze still held the same brutal clarity it always had. she moved with that same effortless precision, not a hint of hesitation in her step, as if she had rehearsed this moment somewhere in the back of her mind long before tonight. she wasn’t entirely sure what brought her to your studio that night. she told herself it was convenience, that she happened to be nearby, that her flight back to new york wasn’t until the weekend and she had nothing better to do. she even convinced herself, for a moment, that she just wanted to watch you squirm. maybe humiliate you a little. maybe enjoy the sight of you eating the consequences of whatever petty sabotage you had tried to pull during her show. but that wasn’t the truth, and she knew it.

the truth settled in her gut the second she saw the first few posts trickle in online. your name, dragged through the dirt. images from your showcase, models caught mid-step, lighting flickering, chaos bleeding through every frame. she saw the headlines spiral into jokes, the tone turn cruel. instead of feeling victorious, instead of the rush she usually got from watching you falter, all she felt was something cold and uneasy curling at the base of her spine. she didn’t feel smug. she felt sick.

no matter how she tried to brush it off, to tell herself it was just curiosity or schadenfreude, the truth clung to her like static. she was there because something in her couldn’t bear to see you crumble like that. not you. not like this.

she didn’t bother knocking. she stood near the entrance, watching you from a distance with the quiet patience of someone who had come here for a reason and wasn’t in a rush to leave.

you looked up the second her voice cut through the quiet, every nerve in your body snapping to attention. the warning bells in your mind were deafening. your eyes darted toward the door, and in the same breath, you made a mental note to fire security the moment the sun came up. useless. absolutely useless. frustration simmered under your skin like a fever, crawling higher with every second she stood there.

still, despite the shock, despite the twist in your gut, you scoffed.

“wow,” you said, your voice dragging rough against your teeth. “look who crawled in from her ivory tower. you lose your driver or something?”

daniela didn’t bother replying. not out loud, anyway. she crossed the studio like it belonged to her, heels muffled against concrete, and let a bolt of duchess satin fall onto the table with enough force to jolt the scissors. it landed like a statement, all sheen and weight, catching the low light and throwing it back in silver and cream. showroom grade. untouchable. something that didn’t belong here, not among the scorched muslin, tangled threads, and the wreckage of your last six hours.

you didn’t ask where she got it. didn’t need to. wouldn’t have mattered even if it had fallen off the back of a delivery truck.

“get out,” you said, snapping the words sharp as the seam ripper you raised like a threat. your hand was tight around the handle, knuckles pale, the edge trembling with how close you were to unraveling. “take your savior complex and that overpriced bolt and get the fuck out.”

“no,” daniela said, cool and unbothered, voice smooth like silk drawn taut between fingers. she peeled the plastic from the fabric with a flick of her wrist, eyes skating over your disaster zone of half-stitched panels, scorched edges, and dreams gutted under fluorescent lights. “move.”

“no.” you planted yourself in front of the table like you were shielding something sacred. “i don’t need your charity, avanzini. go micromanage your interns or ruin someone else’s night.”

she stepped in until there was barely space to breathe, her brow lifting, mouth set in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t far from it either. the air between you buzzed, electric and suffocating, charged by the kind of tension only two people who knew exactly where to cut could build.

“here i am trying to be nice after your bullshit tonight, and this is how you’re acting?” daniela said, reaching across the table to shift a stack of pattern pieces with one finger, like the mess offended her. she didn’t look at you when she said it. she was too busy surveying the damage you’d done, her mouth tight with judgment, with something almost like pity.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you kept your voice flat, eyes locked on her hand as it hovered too close to your work, too close to the fragile edge of your patience. you crossed your arms to hide the way your fingers curled into your sides, defensive.

daniela scoffed, low and sharp, before turning to face you fully. her eyes found yours and didn’t let go. “oh, don’t give me that, y/n.” she stepped closer, each word gaining weight as she moved, as if the accusation could press you into the floor. “you and i both know that only you have the balls to try something so stupid and come out on the other end of it a joke.”

she was close now, and it felt like standing in the blast radius of something too polished to be safe. heat coiled behind her teeth, frustration slipping through the cracks of that poised exterior. her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut. she wasn’t here to yell. she never needed to.

you scowled. your body was thrumming, barely contained. it didn’t make sense. no text, no knock, no call ahead. just her, waltzing in like the locks meant nothing and the rules never applied, like the studio you bled into wasn’t yours to defend.

“how the hell did you manage to slip past security? i should have them come in here right now and remove you. or do i have to do that myself, since clearly they’re so fucking incompetent?” your voice was sharp, trembling at the edges with the kind of fury that only came when logic failed to explain the situation in front of you. you’d given strict orders, locked every door behind you, made sure no one without clearance so much as breathed near your workspace. and yet, here she was. 

“clearly even your own people value my name enough to let me do whatever the hell i want.” daniela didn’t flinch. if anything, she looked more amused now, like your outrage only confirmed what she already knew. “maybe it’s time for you to get it through your thick skull that there’s nothing you can possibly do to ruin me.” her voice was low, venomous, but laced with that signature smugness, like this was a game she’d already won before you’d even stepped onto the board.

“i fucking hate you.” the words left you like steam through clenched teeth, bitter and boiling, not nearly enough to match what was clawing under your skin. your hands were fists at your sides now, not from fear, but the unbearable need to keep yourself from being violent. 

“that’s fine by me, corazón. now drop the attitude and let me help you.”

you stared at her, blank and disbelieving, your mind struggling to catch up. help you? after everything? after the mess you had made of the night, the blackout, the fallout, the whispered accusations already curdling online? it didn’t track. nothing about this moment did. not her presence, not her calm, not the fact that she stood here in your studio like she belonged, unarmed but still so insufferably composed. you shook your head once, like the motion alone might wipe her from your sight, like it could banish the way her pet name had landed heavy in your chest and knocked the breath out of you.

before you could find the words to shove her back, before you could twist your frustration into something clever and biting, she spoke again. her voice was quieter this time, stretched thin with exhaustion and something else that pricked at the edges of your composure.

“move.”

you surprise even yourself when you let the latina place a hand on your shoulder, firm as she shoved you gently to the side. you didn’t recognise yourself. didn’t recognise the way your breath hitched when her palm met your shoulder, or how you felt your stomach drop when she hummed, pleasantly surprised by your sudden agreeableness. 

“good girl.”

in just an instant, your scowl returns and your guard envelops you whole again.

“you’re annoying,” you snap, watching as daniela unrolls the satin, fingers steady, movements sharp and precise like she’s cutting open an artery. “you think you can just waltz in here and fix it all because you have deep pockets and zero shame?”

“yes,” daniela says, doesn’t look up. she’s already got her chalk out, marking the salvage line with short, ruthless strokes. “also because i’m better at this than you when you’re four cups of stale coffee away from a psychotic break.”

“fuck you,” you spit, but it’s half a laugh this time, half a sigh you try to swallow back down. you watch daniela work, the way her knuckles ghost your fabrics like she owns them, like she owns everything she touches. “seriously. fuck you.”

“later. hold the edge.” 

somehow, impossibly, you listen. it makes no sense to you. your pride is still raw, your ego still aching, but your feet carry you sideways, clearing space you swore you wouldn’t give her. daniela steps in without hesitation, her eyes already on the fabric, not on you, as if this were any other late-night work session and not the aftermath of mutual sabotage and public disgrace. she doesn’t gloat. she doesn’t explain. she simply reaches for a pair of shears and begins to cut.

your hands move before your mind catches up. fingers brushing hers when you both reach for the same tailor’s chalk, an unintentional contact that sparks something low in your chest. it’s too much and not enough all at once. you feel the static bite beneath your fingernails, and it lingers as you pin a hem, her knuckles brushing yours again. the air between you is charged, thick with everything unsaid. it isn’t forgiveness. it isn’t even truce. it’s something stranger. something stitched from spite and precision and the twisted satisfaction of knowing that when the two of you work, you work.

you fall into rhythm, not speaking, not needing to. the silence isn’t gentle, but it’s familiar. sharp like scissors, taut like thread. every motion between you choreographed by long practice and longer resentment. she smooths out the bodice while you adjust the neckline, your arms brushing again, the fabric trembling between you as if it knows it’s being shaped by hands that might strangle each other on any other day.

once, you graze her wrist, more forceful this time, a careless reach for a needle that leaves your fingers skimming along the edge of her skin. she doesn’t flinch. she doesn’t move away. her mouth twitches at the corner, betraying something. a smile? a sneer? you can’t bring yourself to look directly at her, because you’re not sure which would be worse.

time slips around you unnoticed. the windows stay dark until they begin to bloom with early light, soft and diluted, the kind of light that makes ruined things look whole again. exhaustion clings to you like gauze, but you don’t stop. not until daniela makes the final stitch, her hands steady, her breath barely audible. she ties off the thread like it’s a promise you’ll never hear out loud.

you press your palms against the edge of the worktable, every muscle humming, your head heavy with fatigue. the mess of unfinished garments still surrounds you, but the piece in front of you gleams in the low light, sharp and alive and better than anything you thought you’d pull from the wreckage.

you glance at daniela from the corner of your eye, and she’s already looking at the dress, not at you, her expression unreadable. it still makes no sense. not her presence, not her help, not the way she didn’t flinch when you snarled, or the way she didn’t gloat when she could have.

“you’re still an insufferable bitch,” you say, quieter now, your voice rough but no longer sharp. it comes out softer than you meant, like the fight had drained out somewhere between the pleats and pinned hems.

daniela doesn’t answer right away. she finishes threading the last needle into the cushion beside her, then finally looks up. her eyes catch yours, steady and unreadable, but there’s something behind them that isn’t entirely cold. “good,” she says, tone even and dry. “i’d hate for you to forget who you’re dealing with.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat in it. she’s smug and stubborn and arrogant in all the ways that used to drive you crazy. but tonight, somehow, she showed up. your hands found a rhythm with hers almost immediately, like you had when you were working together on lara’s met gala dress. as much as you hated to admit it, as much as it chafed your pride to even think it, the two of you fit. not in the way you wanted, maybe not in any way that made sense, but you did. your talents overlapped where they needed to, your instincts balanced each other, your silences filled the gaps where words would only get in the way.

you didn’t want to rely on her. you didn’t want to need the help. but for a few hours in the stillness before dawn, with only thread and fabric between you, you worked like a team.

it drove you crazy. 

__

you knew the paris incident would slow things down for a while. there was no denying the weight of public humiliation, not when your name had been passed around social media like a punchline, mentioned in the kind of group chats that held just enough influence to ruin someone quietly. you had expected a lull in your momentum, expected to be sidelined for a beat or two. what you hadn’t expected was the silence to stretch into a week, a full seven days of feeling like the world had already moved on without you.

what surprised you even more was daniela. her sudden appearance at your studio that night still played over in your head like a scene out of a film that made no sense. the way she rolled up her sleeves and worked beside you in silence, the way her eyes flicked across your designs without mockery, the way she didn’t gloat. you never asked why she came, and she never offered a reason. the next morning, she left before the sun had fully risen, without a goodbye. the only trace she left behind was the stitching on one of your garments, her signature clean lines woven into the fabric like a watermark.

you didn’t hesitate. the moment she was gone, you sat at your workbench with a seam ripper and tore through every thread she touched. not out of spite, but because you couldn’t stand the feeling that something so inherently hers existed inside something that was meant to be yours. her uncharacteristic generosity haunted you, filled your chest with a pressure you didn’t know how to shake. it felt like a trap, like some slow-burn sabotage dressed up as grace.

so when the news came—when the email landed in your inbox letting you know that, despite everything, you had secured a last-minute slot at an exclusive upcoming showcase—your first instinct wasn’t relief or pride. it was suspicion. and that suspicion turned into anger the second you saw the list of names involved in curating the lineup. daniela avanzini’s name sat at the top, right where it always seemed to sit, threaded through the event like an invisible hand pulling strings.

you didn’t waste time. by noon, you were stomping your way up the steps of daniela’s studio in prague, barely registering the chill in the air or the protests of her assistant trying to intercept you. your fists were clenched, your jaw tight, and your expression carved with a fury so pointed it could cut through glass. you didn’t care about appearances. not now. not when every instinct in your body screamed that she had manipulated this, that she was playing a game you hadn’t agreed to be part of. and you had no intention of being her pawn.

daniela heard you the moment the heavy studio doors swung open, your voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. it echoed across the high ceilings, sharp and full of purpose, trailing just behind the hurried footsteps of her assistant who was already pleading for you to calm down, to wait, to reconsider barging in unannounced. none of it slowed you. each stomp of your shoes on the polished concrete floor grew louder, more pointed, and daniela didn’t need to lift her head to know exactly who was coming.

she stayed where she was for a moment longer, hands still resting on the edge of her workbench, eyes scanning the neat row of fabric samples she had been sorting before you arrived like a storm. her jaw tightened, not in surprise, but in quiet resignation. she had been expecting this. not the exact hour, not the precise day, but the inevitability of your arrival had lingered at the back of her thoughts from the moment she attached her name to the event’s advisory panel. she knew you would see it, and she knew exactly what it would stir in you.

as your voice rose again in the front corridor, this time louder, angrier, she let out a long, steady breath. the kind that came not from irritation, but from anticipation. the kind of breath someone takes before facing a wave they know is going to hit hard. daniela straightened slowly, her fingers brushing down the front of her shirt as if smoothing out the fabric could also smooth out whatever tension was about to explode between the two of you.

she didn’t move to intercept you. didn’t bark at her assistant to let you through or to push you out. she simply waited. because this was always going to happen. because she knew you well enough by now to recognize that fury was just another way you processed confusion. and she had made a decision that she didn’t regret, even if she knew you would.

daniela had landed yet another avant-garde finale for prague fashion week. your name, however, wasn’t on the list. not as a guest, not as a feature, not even as an afterthought. your seat had been quietly pulled from the table long before the invitations were printed. there was no official rejection, no neat line in an email citing scheduling conflicts or creative divergence. just silence. the kind of silence that speaks louder than any denial. the kind that comes from backroom conversations and private emails marked confidential. the kind that hinted at someone’s grudge still simmering beneath a polished smile. your exclusion wasn’t an oversight. it was deliberate.

daniela told herself it had nothing to do with her. she had no hand in your erasure, no reason to lift a finger, not after what had happened between you. not after the sabotage, the fallout, the absolute mess you left for her to sweep up in paris. but the truth clung to her ribs like splinters, impossible to ignore. when she saw the lineup and noticed your name absent, something in her twisted. it wasn’t satisfaction. it wasn’t vindication. it was closer to guilt, though she hated to call it that. it tasted metallic in her mouth, bitter and heavy, the same way it did the first time she saw your dress on a runway, fearless and infuriating and electric. so she made the call.

it was late, and she didn’t think it through, not really. she called a producer who owed her, someone whose silence could be bought with a favor and a memory of a shared weekend in milan neither of them would ever admit to. she didn’t just ask for you to be put on the guest list. she asked for a slot, a real one. your name printed in ink, your designs closing the side showcase that trailed behind hers, just far enough apart to be deniable but close enough for you to be seen. she brokered it like a secret, and the producer took it like a bribe. no one needed to know. no one would know.

except now, clearly, you did.

when you finally shoved your way into her space, the echo of the door slamming back against the wall rang sharp through the studio. daniela looked up with a slow turn of her head, the motion unhurried, deliberate, as if she had expected this moment down to the second. you crossed the threshold like a storm, footsteps hard against the polished floor, energy vibrating with fury. it was almost poetic, really. a week ago, it had been her standing in the doorway of your studio, unexpected and uninvited, arms full of fabric and arrogance. now, the roles had reversed, though the tension in the air was the same—cuttable, thick, laced with something old and unresolved.

your expression was thunderous, eyes narrowed and mouth already twisted with disdain, your fury barely restrained. it wasn’t just the kind of anger born from a bruised ego or professional slight. it was deeper than that. older. you looked like someone who had been betrayed, and who hated how much it still mattered.

“you think i’m your fucking charity case now?” your voice hit the room like a slap, torn at the edges from shouting or maybe just from everything you had swallowed in the days leading up to this moment. “you think i need your pity?”

daniela didn’t flinch. she didn’t even blink. instead, she lifted one hand and gave a small, dismissive wave toward her assistant, who had been hovering a few paces away, clutching a clipboard like it might protect her from what was about to happen. the girl opened her mouth, clearly caught between professionalism and panic, but daniela didn’t even glance her way. the message was clear. leave.

the assistant left with hurried steps, her soft apologies trailing behind her like smoke, and then it was just the two of you, sealed off from the rest of the world in a silence that buzzed.

you stepped farther into the studio, every movement sharp and calculated, like you were walking into a fight you’d already half lost. you slammed the door shut behind you without ever taking your eyes off her. daniela watched you carefully, arms crossed over her chest, gaze unreadable. she didn’t speak right away. she never did. instead, she studied you the way she might study a fabric swatch, trying to determine whether it would hold its shape under pressure or fall apart at the seams.

the pause stretched out, long enough to turn your rage into something brittle. but you couldn’t stop now. you had come all this way. you were running on adrenaline and pride and whatever fragile thing was left between you that still made all of this feel personal. so you kept going. of course you did. 

“you don’t get to do this,” you snapped, stepping closer, voice low now but no less volatile. “you don’t get to swoop in, fix things behind the scenes, and then pretend like we’re fine. like i owe you something.”

daniela tilted her head slightly, one brow lifting. “i never said you owed me anything.”

“bullshit,” you said, teeth bared behind the words. “you did this to feel better about yourself. to look down at me from whatever marble balcony you’ve built with your connections and your legacy and your glossy magazine spreads. and then, what, toss me a bone? say, oh, poor thing, she can’t keep her career from bleeding out, maybe i’ll toss her a bandage and feel righteous about it?”

daniela’s mouth thinned to a line. she didn’t rise to the bait like you wanted her to, didn’t meet your anger with more fire. instead, her voice came out level, almost surgical. “it wasn’t pity,” she said. “it was fairness. you deserved that slot, and everyone with eyes and half a brain knows it.”

you laughed, loud and joyless, the kind of laugh that hurt on the way out. you wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, smearing a streak of makeup like ash across your skin, like a soldier painting their face before battle. “you don’t get to decide what i deserve,” you said, eyes flashing. “you don’t get to buy me a seat at the table and expect me to say thank you for the scraps off your plate.”

daniela pushed back from the desk, the scrape of the chair legs loud against the floor. she stepped around it with careful control, approaching slowly, like one wrong movement would shatter whatever brittle tension held the two of you in place. now she was close enough to see the tremble you hadn’t meant to show, the flicker of something vulnerable tucked between your fury. your jaw was locked tight, but the skin at your throat betrayed you, the fluttering pulse giving you away.

“i didn’t buy you anything,” she said. her voice was low, steady, but each word felt like a blade. “i didn’t give you charity. i balanced the fucking scale. you want someone to be angry at? be angry at the people who act like your name doesn’t belong next to mine when it always has. since day one. and you know it.”

you didn’t blink. didn’t move. but you saw it then, the flicker in her expression. the slip. something aching, something almost human, almost soft. the word caring hovered just behind her teeth, stuck on the back of her tongue like a bruise she couldn’t bite down hard enough to hide. it twisted there, caught between breath and confession, and even though she swallowed it whole, you saw the ghost of it all the same. the way her lips faltered, the way her eyes looked anywhere but yours for half a second too long.

“say it,” you said, voice tight with something that wasn’t quite anger anymore. you took a step closer, closing the gap between you until there was barely room to breathe. “say what you actually mean. stop hiding behind your diplomacy and your power plays and your fucking curated morality. say it plain for once.”

daniela’s throat worked around the weight of everything she couldn’t quite give language to. her jaw tensed, her breath unsteady now, her hands clenched so tight the knuckles turned pale. she looked at you like she was standing on the edge of something, like one more push would send her over.

“you deserved it,” she said. the words came out cracked, scraped raw from someplace deep. “just this once. you deserved it.”

the silence that followed was thick and oppressive, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. it settled between you, heavy and suffocating, wrapping itself around your limbs until neither of you could move.

you didn’t say ‘thank you’. didn’t spit another insult or storm out and slam the door. you stood there, breathing shallow, mascara smeared under your eyes, your stare locked on her like a spotlight. like if you looked long enough, hard enough, you could peel her open and read the truth etched into her bones. the truth she still wouldn’t give you. the truth she wasn’t ready to name.

daniela steps in close, so close the warmth of her breath threads through the fabric at your shoulder, subtle and unnerving. she doesn’t speak, not right away. instead, she lingers in the hush between words, her eyes dragging down to your hands: hands that tremble in that careful, controlled way you think no one ever notices. but she sees it. of course she does. she’s always seen too much when it comes to you. maybe that’s what drives her mad.

she wants to resent you for it, for the way you still manage to twist yourself into something vulnerable without even meaning to. she wants to shove you away and shake you by the shoulders and ask why the hell you still get under her skin like this, after everything. but most of all, she wants to reach out. wants to feel you. wants to know, for sure, that what’s burning in her chest is mirrored somewhere in yours.

it’s reckless, the way her fingers drift toward you, light as a secret, brushing just barely along the inside of your wrist. the skin there is warm and thin, and when she touches it, she feels the pulse hammering beneath the surface. it jumps like a live wire against her fingertips, like it knows her, like it remembers. like her own heartbeat is answering to yours.

she lets her hand linger, just enough to feel it again, to be certain.

“you drive me insane,” she says, and this time, the words don't hit like a weapon. they slip from her lips low and wrecked, frayed at the edges with everything she’s spent years trying to press down into silence. it’s not the kind of thing daniela says. not to you. not to anyone. it’s too soft. too honest. but it’s out now, trembling between you like something sacred and dangerous, and she doesn’t try to pull it back.

you feel it before you understand it, the slow churn of something tectonic shifting beneath your feet. the moment doesn’t crack open like lightning. it stretches instead, long and taut, the air thick with the weight of everything that’s been unsaid and everything that cannot be taken back. her words settle over your skin like the echo of heat after a flame has passed too close, like the trace of a bruise that hasn’t fully surfaced yet. the room seems to fold in on itself, pulling the two of you into the center of something quiet and enormous. you are aware, all at once, of the way your own breathing has changed, shallow and cautious, like the wrong inhale might unravel the fragile, impossible thing that just entered the space between you.

she’s watching you, and you know it without needing to see her eyes. you can feel the weight of her gaze like pressure against your collarbone. your throat tightens, your spine refuses to settle. your heart beats so loud it drowns out the silence. still, you don’t move. still, you don’t speak. you just stare at her like she is the answer to a question you never wanted to ask but have spent years quietly repeating.

because you understand. god, you understand. because it has always been like this. sharp words and long stares. near-misses that weren’t really accidents. the way she always walked one step too close. the way your voice always turned to ash around her name. you’ve spent so long pretending not to feel it that now, with it staring you in the face, you don’t know what to do with your hands. with your mouth. with your want.

because she isn’t the only one who’s been driven mad by this thing between you. you’ve been carrying it too. tucked beneath your ribs, buried beneath every insult and every stolen glance, growing in the dark. 

every fight, every ruthless critique, every time her name landed on the same lineup as yours and her eyes found you across the room like a loaded weapon—sharp and certain, like she knew exactly where to hit to make it hurt—all of it had built to this. the hours spent battling each other from opposite ends of runways and boardrooms, backstage chaos and whispered sabotage. every time she looked at you like you were a threat, a challenge, a mirror she never asked for but couldn’t stop watching. you had called it hatred. you’d spat that word in conversations and monologues and journal pages you never let anyone read. maybe it was hatred, once. or maybe it was just the easiest word for a feeling you didn’t know how to name.

and now, standing here in the charged silence of her studio, all that old language feels useless. it falls apart in your hands, fragile as tissue, unable to hold the weight of this moment. because daniela is looking at you in a way you’ve never seen her allow herself to. like she’s tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of pretending there wasn’t always something molten and dangerous smoldering beneath every word between you. like whatever lines you both spent years drawing have all finally blurred past recognition.

“daniela…” your voice cracks around her name, brittle and unsure. but then she’s moving. slow, deliberate, like she’s giving you time to stop her. her hand grazes your jaw, barely there, a whisper of contact that sends sparks ricocheting down your spine. she’s so close you can taste the peppermint on her breath, see the tremble behind her carefully guarded expression.

“tell me to stop,” she says, voice hushed and wrecked, but you don’t.

you should. you should slap her hand away, turn and leave and slam the door behind you. you should remind her how many times she’s burned you, how many wounds she’s left behind without once looking back. but your body betrays you. you lean in, and that’s all she needed.

the kiss is all teeth and bruised mouths and years of things unsaid, of nights spent imagining this exact moment with equal parts hunger and hatred. she grabs at your shirt like she’s trying to tear it off or maybe hold herself together. her hands fist the fabric near your collarbone and yank you closer until there’s nothing left between you. your bodies slam together with the force of it, chest to chest, hips aligned, like instinct is doing all the work now. your hands drop to her waist, squeezing hard, dragging her flush against you like you’re terrified this will end before it really starts.

you groan into her mouth when she bites your bottom lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your knees weaken. she tastes like something sweet gone bitter, like lipstick and adrenaline and the remnants of every time she’s glared at you across a runway or a bar or a dressing room and made your blood boil.

she presses you back into the wall with a roughness that leaves your head spinning. your nails scrape along the curve of her back through her shirt as her thigh pushes between yours, hot and demanding. you rock forward without thinking, chasing the friction, the contact, the heat. it’s clumsy but deliberate, every move a challenge, a dare, a demand. her kiss deepens, rougher now, her tongue sliding against yours like she’s trying to make you forget every reason you ever hated her. you both taste like frustration, like desire twisted up in fury,like something that was never supposed to happen but always, always would.

her teeth drag across your jaw as she pulls away just enough to speak, her breath hot against your skin. "is this what you wanted?" she murmurs, voice low and smug and soaked in the kind of confidence that makes your stomach flip. "all that yelling just to get my mouth on you?"

you glare at her, or try to, even as your hips tilt forward, searching for more of her thigh. "don't flatter yourself."

she laughs. actually laughs. it's a low, rough sound, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "oh, corazón," she purrs, the word laced with mockery and something darker beneath it. "i don’t need to. you're doing it for me."

you shove at her shoulder, more for show than to make her move, but she doesn’t budge. she presses in harder instead, thigh dragging upward with slow, punishing pressure that knocks the breath right out of your lungs. your head tips back against the wall, a hiss slipping between your teeth.

"fuck, daniela."

"mm. that’s better," she says, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, soft and infuriating, like she’s rewarding you for breaking. "you sound prettier when you stop pretending you don’t want this."

"you’re such a bitch," you gasp, because you hate how good she feels. how good she knows she feels.

"and you're wet for it," she whispers, voice thick with amusement. her hand slides down your torso, slow and sure, fingers skating over the waistband of your pants. "so who's really winning here?"

you grab her wrist, not to stop her, just to feel her there, to pretend like you’re still in control. "this doesn’t mean anything," you manage, though your voice shakes.

her mouth finds your throat, open and biting, a mark blooming beneath her lips like a bruise. "keep lying," she says, her hand slipping beneath your waistband now, her smile pressed to your skin. "but i’ll make you beg anyway."

here, now, pressed up against you with her lips swollen from kissing, her breath shallow and uneven, daniela didn’t look untouchable. her hands were still clenched in your shirt, knuckles white with tension, like letting go might shatter something between you. her eyes, usually so unreadable, flickered with something wild and unscripted. she didn’t speak again. she didn’t need to. her silence roared louder than any insult she had ever thrown your way. and you felt it, deep in your chest, that low hum of something shifting. for the first time, she wasn’t the daniela everyone else got. she was something only you got to see. 

daniela avanzini had never felt like more of an enigma than she did in this moment now.

[rosachae]

guys, we hit 1k notes for the first time. i’m so beyond thankful for all of your support on this fic. i appreciate all of you 💓 so exciting

idol | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: radar - lil hero ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: idol!megan x actor!reader. slowburn fluff, jealous megan, loser!megan ⁍ a/n: thank you for requesting this, anon! sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ w.c: 17k ⁍ warnings: curt language, a little bit nsfw(?), more so just suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n, an up-and-coming actor in korea, casually let slip on a variety show that she might have the *tiniest* crush on a particular girl group member, megan skiendiel. lucky for her, she was already on megan's radar.

“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.

[rosachae]

IM A HUGE FAN OH MY GODKDKKKEKDJXJS

aw haha, cin this is very cute. so happy to be moots!!!

[rosachae]

missing my favorite author rn 💔💔💔

i love you anon ♥️ i’ve been so busy!! but i’m alive!!!

[rosachae]

i just finished reading safe and… oh my god. i loved it so much and it’s written so beautifully!! so excited for pt2

i’m so beyond glad you liked part one! i’m hoping to get part two out as soon as i can, just ironing out kinks at the moment. thank you so much for your support

[rosachae]

just wanted to say i LOOOVE venom dani hehe and your writing!!! love your works so so much the detail and thought process is so beautiful omggg

hi panda! thank you so much, you're so sweet. i'm so glad you liked that venom fic! that's honestly so great to hear. i don't hear this a lot about that particular one!

[rosachae]

┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 . / pt ii.

   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you and sophia mutually decided to be just friends, which is totally fine, and there aren’t at all any lingering feelings! (and truly, it’s really none of your best friend's business if you and your team-captain-turned-situationship are secretly still in love with each other, but certified girlfailure megan skiendiel feels like it’s her duty to do something about it.)

            ˎˊ˗  🌌  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

         ➴ genre + wc: 8k, slow burn, angst and fluff, LOTS of mutual pining, ice queen sophia but she's a lil softer this time, reader is STILL a big dork.

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫ + understand - keshi. ♫

            ┈─★ a/n: the promised sequel <3 luv luv luved wriitng for my fav leader. hope u enjoy!! ps. vball!megan's fic next!!

end of winter in malibu is undeniably gorgeous. considering you moved here at the very end of summer, getting a chance to see it in the cooler temperatures was a beautiful experience. but with january comes spring, and with spring comes rebirth, and you can’t help but feel like a new semester is exactly what you need.

you’re in the passenger’s seat as megan drives down the highway towards the airport. you can both feel the anticipation. you’re on a mission— the two of you are about to be someone’s personal taxi, and the car buzzes with the excitement of welcoming her home.

you peek at the girl. megan is one of the best things that had come out of your transfer to msu, quickly becoming one of your favorite friends as you took her under your wing. she makes a face like she’s thinking too hard, and you immediately jump in to see what’s on her mind.

“hey,” you poke her arm gently.

“hi,” she says back, her eyebrows furrowed.

“what’s up?” you ask, sensing something off with her.

megan blinks once, letting out a quiet sigh. “y/n, i’m really sorry for last semester.”

you pause. megan has apologized before, for the way things played out, for the things she mentioned (or left out) but you can tell it still gnaws at her. 

“nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her, reaching out to pat her arm. you look ahead at the beautiful sunset on the edge of the road as the airport gets closer and closer. “i’m grateful you were honest with me. saved me a lot of heartbreak.”

“i feel like i ruined things,” megan breathes, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the road.

“never. our friendship is better than ever.” you nod confidently. “both you and me, and me and sophia.”

her name finally comes out of your mouth, and it feels like the sun rises. your skin warms.

“i’m sorry again,” megan sighs. “me and my stupid big mouth...”

“stop it,” you press, shaking your head. “we love you, megan.”

you see the compliment lighten the weight on her shoulders. her eyes light up cheerfully. “you really do love me? is that why you keep looking out for me? wow. i never connected the dots.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you laugh. “you know the world is a better place with you in it.”

she beams back at you as you guys pull into the parking lot of the airport. cars honk around you, people reconnecting with their loved ones, tired bodies all getting into their cars. 

as if your eyes are magnets to her, you spot the purple suitcase and the black baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. you’d recognize her amongst a million people if you had to, you know that with certainty.  

“mommy’s home!” megan chirps excitedly. you laugh and shake your head as she leaps out of the car and  sprints ahead, nearly getting hit by the incoming traffic, body buzzing at the sight of her captain.

you cross and follow quickly behind megan, who is already vibrating with excitement as she leaps into sophia’s arms. sophia lets out a grunt and drops her bag onto the ground, freeing up her hands to catch the oversized girl in her arms. you shriek with laughter at the sight, megan wrapped around sophia’s torso like a little kid, watching as sophia nearly topples over but manages to keep them both up.

her skin is more tanned, kissed by the sun no doubt, her eyes less tired than you remembered them being. after your team won their championship, you and the girls all pitched in to surprise your devoted captain with a flight back home for winter break for all her hard work the whole season. 

megan lets go of sophia and grabs her suitcase from her, racing to go lead you all to the car and get you guys back to campus.

you and sophia stand face to face. something deeply warm comes over you as you both pause to take each other in, as if you weren’t facetiming every night, as if she wasn’t texting you updates of everything as it went on around her. sure, you and sophia were never more than a few hours without talking, but now she’s here, in the flesh, and that’s something your body is still clearly adjusting to.

“how was it being back?” you ask.

“perfect,” sophia smiles gently. “my mom couldn’t stop crying every time she looked at me. i am grateful to be here, though.”

“five weeks is a little long to run away for, don’t you think?” you tease her, pushing her in the arm playfully.

“too long, agreed,” she nods back, before quickly flashing you her teeth. “you’ll have to come with me next time.”

you feel your heart thud in your chest. you nearly scream at yourself, don’t start, as if you have any control over it. this is just how sophia is— she seems moody, she seems intense, but she’s actually a huge sweetheart, super considerate, super charming, super witty, with super pretty sad eyes and super soft lips…

you blink again, trying to re-focus on the conversation at hand. megan is throwing the suitcase in the trunk and eagerly beckoning for you guys to get in so you can start the drive back to campus and see the rest of the girls.

“everyone’s still in one piece,” you pivot quickly, eager to shift the conversation.

“how many times did megan almost die?” sophia arches a brow, sliding into the backseat.

“nine,” you tattle on her instantly. 

“not even!” megan whines as she turns on the radio, starting the drive. she rattles them off, counting on her fingers. “there was the snorkeling incident, the food poisoning incident, the bus incident…” 

you lean in as megan continues her rambles, whispering quietly to the brunette. “missed ya. i think things will run a little smoother now that you’re back.”

“missed you too.” sophia smiles softly, her eyes searching your face. “a lot.”

“...and the second snorkeling incident. that’s only eight!”

you pause and try to recollect whatever she had just listed that you’d missed. “actually, you forgot the superglue incident.”

“i don’t want to know about the superglue incident,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the seat. 

“no, it wasn’t even my fault dude! manon dared me that i couldn’t squeeze a whole bottle of superglue out in less than a minute, which is so stupid ‘cause those tubes are so tiny, so we went to the dollar store and picked up a bunch to test it out, and then…”

you look over to smile at sophia, only to realize she’s already smiling at you. 

-

“dani almost got arrested, and now yoonchae’s starting to practice with the team so she’s ready for next year when she joins, so that means i’m not gonna be the youngest any more, and then there was manon and lara almost fighting over the same girl until they realized she was straight and just queerbaiting them…”

megan doesn’t even pause to take a breath. 

the girls all meet you in the parking lot of sophia’s dorm, cheering on their leader to welcome her back after so much time spent apart. sophia rolls her eyes at the grand gesture but makes it a point to hug each of them, clearly having missed her team. a handful of you guys cram into her dorm, megan and lara helping with her bags up the stairs, trying to squeeze the 7 of you in her tiny dorm room.

“sounds eventful,” sophia blinks, taking out her clothes from the suitcase.

the girl nods, sitting on sophia’s bed, before motioning over to you casually. “oh, and y/n also didn’t go on any dates.”

“megan!” you say her name sharply, as dani bursts into laughter behind you. 

“what?” the youngest blinks innocently. “it’s true! you were too busy keeping me in one piece.”

sophia grins, tilting her head over at you curiously. “is that so?”

“we’re not talking about it,” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks burn.

you’re about to call megan out for her putting you on the spot, but the girl gets that same look in her eye from earlier, like she’s about to say something, and beats you to it.

“can we all hang out here?” she asks eagerly. “please? i missed being one big happy family.”

sophia looks around at the 7 of you squished up in her room. “meg, sleep where exactly? the balcony? there’s only one bed.”

“we can all cuddle on the floor,” megan offers, her eyes lighting up.

as much as the idea of spending the night on the ground does not excite you, you know sophia is lowkey just a giant softie for her girls, and relents nearly instantly. less than 20 minutes later, all of you are making a giant blanket pile, surrounded by pillows and each other, crammed together like sardines. megan is happily in the middle of the mix, beaming brightly as sophia turns off the lights.

“good night everyone,” megan announces. “i love you all so much.”

manon throws a pillow from her side of the floor. “meg, girl, please shut up.”

you laugh and turn on your side, realizing somehow, you’ve ended up next to someone you have far too much experience sleeping next to. 

sophia’s eyes are already closed, facing you, her arm tucked underneath her head. she looks so precious and cozy, dozing off with quiet breaths escaping her perfect lips. you can feel the warmth radiating off her body, and if you wanted, you might even be able to touch her. but this isn’t a version of sophia that you should touch, and you have to remind yourself of that as you close your own eyes and try to drift off to sleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed between the snores and the breaths, but amongst the silence, you hear a grumble.

“psst. anyone?”

you stifle a laugh. of course it’s megan.

you open your eyes only to realize sophia has an eye cracked open. you smile as you realize she looks absolutely over it. 

“your daughter won’t go to sleep,” she whispers, half-groaning, hoping the girl in question won’t hear you guys.

“she was yours first!” you argue back.

“she likes you better,” sophia grins.

“i’m hungry,” megan whines once more. “will one of you, ideally both, please feed me?”

you click your tongue. so much for not getting caught.

“rock paper scissors?” you offer, holding up your hand to sophia.

she wrinkles her nose and laughs. “you’re going to read my mind somehow and i’ll be the one stuck ordering way too much food on uber eats and she’ll somehow still end up hungry.”

“scared to lose, laforteza?” you stick your tongue out at her challengingly.

sophia smiles, holding her fist up.

“not to you,” she says softly, and you two start your silly little competition to see who’ll be stuck feeding your teammate’s voracious appetite. 

-

and just like that, it’s like she never left. 

you and sophia do everything together. from the moment you wake up, your first text is to sophia, who is usually already up and ordering you both a coffee. you meet for class, walk across campus together, you text during your lecture about whatever stupid little things come up, you have meals together, meet up with the girls together. literally every waking moment is spent with sophia laforteza. 

it’s confusing, sure, but neither of you are willing to rock the boat by bringing up what happened. your kiss, the way it was so close to evolving into more, the secret sophia had kept from you. it was still a sore spot for you, but the fact that sophia is willing to gloss over it as if it had never happened in order for you guys to stay comfortable with each other feels like a blessing in disguise.

you and sophia’s friendship has a second chance to go uninterrupted, and you’re not about to risk that for any reason whatsoever. 

you’re at the gym with sophia when she steps away to go refill your water bottle for you. you insist it’s not necessary, but by the third time you’ve sipped from sophia’s stanley, she’s making fun of you and snatching your bottle up to go fill it at the water station. 

you’re putting in your numbers into your fitness tracker when a figure interrupts, clearing their throat politely in front of you. you assume it’s someone wanting to use the equipment you’re on, and you look up ready to apologize, but your stomach drops as soon as your eyes land on the person waiting.

“marquise, hi,” you breathe.

she smiles kindly, almost too kindly to be real. “hi y/n.”

your skin crawls at the idea of them together, made-up scenes flashing in your head. of course you know what marquise looks like. you had gone crazy while sophia was gone over break and done some digging of your own. neither of them had any photos up together any more, and sophia didn’t follow marquise any more, but marquise still followed sophia, as well as most of your other teammates. 

“what are you doing here?” you ask, feeling your throat go dry.

“looking for sophia,” she answers. her voice is soft, gentle, almost too perfect. you see exactly why her and sophia would make sense together. she peeks around. “have you seen her?”

as if on cue, you hear that familiar voice behind you, coming to your rescue.

“marquise, i asked you to wait until y/n and i were done hanging out,” sophia grits.

“okay, that was my mistake. i didn’t realize you guys were still together,” the girl holds her hands up innocently, and you can tell she’s sincere in her apology. she never once gives you a dirty look. “you texted me that like two hours ago, i just assumed, i’m sorry soph. i’ll wait somewhere else.”

you get an overwhelming sense of dread, not wanting to cause further issues, you figure it’s a better option to just bite the bullet and excuse yourself. 

“it’s totally fine, you must be super tired, marquise.” you grab your gym bag and nod at the captain. “soph, i’ll see you.”

she stares at you, and you nod back reassuringly. the exchange makes her shoulders soften ever so slightly, but she still looks at her ex with extreme apprehension. you wave to marquise awkwardly, eager to get out of there, and escape to your dorm, praying whatever conversation these two have leads to some kind of decent outcome. 

(plus, what’s the worst that could happen? they decide to give things another try and end up falling in love all over again in front of your very eyes?)

you take a long, hot shower as soon as you get home, falling back onto your bed in exhaustion. you debate calling up one of the girls to hang out, but you decide to bear through this on your own, opening up tik tok to distract you.

luckily, your plan works, because a mere hour later, you’re getting an incoming facetime call from captain crunch ☀️.

“hey,” you greet, instantly seeing the distress written all over her face. you feel your heart drop in concern. “sophia, how’d it go? are you okay?”

“can i come over?” she asks instantly, her voice hard. 

you let out an aching breath, realizing her pain. “soph, you don’t even have to ask.”

there’s a pause, her breathing heavy, before she hangs up. she’s at your door less than 10 minutes later, racing immediately to your bed and pulling her knees to her chest. you know it’s stupid, but you immediately rush to wrap her in a hug. she tenses, but quickly melts into you, hugging you back with her fingers gripping your hoodie.

“she apologized. for everything.” she finally says after a beat. her voice is neutral, like she’s reading something out of a book. “said traveling made her reflect.”

“i mean, i get it,” you shrug, feeling her grip you even tighter, her chin in your shoulder. you rub a soothing circle into her back. “you broke up with her over text. she expected to come home and fix things and you shut that down.”

“you’re such an empath,” sophia laughs, and the sound rumbles through her chest as she sniffles. 

you smile, squeezing her gently. “you are too.” 

sophia pauses, and you can tell she’s debating sharing something. before you can beg her to not leave you in the dark, she surprises you.

“she wanted to get back together,” she says, keeping her face hidden in your shoulder. “to try.”

“oh.” you feel a lump form in your throat. your worst fear feels like it’s facing you in the eyes, but this isn’t about you, this is about being there for your best friend. “what’d you say?”

she takes a deep breath, her nose poking into your neck. the brief touch of her skin against yours makes your chest thud. 

“things ended for a reason,” she says curtly. “no need to try again.”

you feel yourself let out a breath of relief. 

“short, simple, to the point. so efficient, soph,” you tease.

you feel her smile against your shoulder, and she pulls away. she looks lighter now, the distress melting from her features. you smile back at her, looking down at your phone for the time.

“soph, should we get something to eat?” you ask.

she wrinkles her nose, tilting her head to sniff herself. “i need to shower first. she caught us post-cardio.”

you nod.

“i’ll wait for you.”

sophia looks at you, her eyes shifting with something familiar in them, and her lips part to say something. you wait, curious as to what she has left to say, but nothing comes out. she stands there, frozen, as if something is stuck in the back of her throat. you feel your heart break, hoping you can relieve her of some of the weight she carries on those shoulders of hers.

“shower here,” you reassure her, standing up and sliding your shoes on. “i’ll go get the girls. we’ll meet you at the dining hall?”

“the girls,” she echoes, smiling down at the floor. you wonder if she’s got something else to add. forever gracious, forever composed, she nods. “group dinner, yeah, that’s perfect. see you in a few, y/n.”

-

manon and lara meet you outside, and megan is quick to join. dani texts to say she’ll save you guys a table. 

“i feel like it’s driving me crazy. i haven’t been used to having sophia on campus again and now her ex is back too?” you groan, after telling the girls about your run-in with marquise.

“that’s gotta be the msu curse,” megan shakes her head.

“i hate when you drop lore that i should know about,” you groan, feeling your eyes go wide. “please tell me about this before i go insane.”

“it’s a stupid superstition,” manon laughs. 

“at msu, something horribly bad happens every year,” lara informs you.

megan holds up her fingers as if to count them. 

“two years ago, marquise broke her hip.”

she folds a finger down.

“last year, you guys got into your fight.”

then she points to herself.

“who knows what might happen this year?” her eyes go wide. “if you play volleyball for msu, he curse is alive and well, and ready to fuck you up.”

lara shoves her, laughing wildly. “shut up bro, you’re stressing y/n out. look at her face.”

“she deserves the warning!” megan huffs.

“okay, let’s be done talking about it, please,” you plead.

“gladly,” manon grins, wiggling her eyebrows. “y/n, the season being over means you have more free time.”

you wrinkle your nose at her. “what are you implying?”

“you could go on a date. people have been asking about you,” lara jumps in.

“not interested,” you immediately shake your head.

“you don’t even know who’s been asking about you!” lara cries.

“i don’t need to know.” you shake your head again. “not interested.”

you won’t admit it to yourself. there’s only one person worth focusing that on, and there’s no chance there.

before they can keep egging you on (or expose your lingering feelings) the familiar voice cuts in from behind you.

“what are we talking about?”

you let out a sigh of relief. sophia immediately comes up alongside you, and you smell the coconut and mango of her shampoo radiating off her freshly-washed hair. bare-faced, and skin still pink from the hot water, she still looks absolutely stunning. 

“hi leader,” manon beams.

megan, seemingly clueless but always somehow having your back, simply beams at the captain, sparing you from having to get called out.

“we’re talking about the cyclones curse.”

“oh god, you guys and your spooky stories.” sophia rolls her eyes and pushes megan playfully, walking past her to start in the direction of the dining hall. “are we going to dinner or what?”

you beam and motion for her to keep walking. “lead the way.”

she grins back at you and pauses, gesturing for you to step ahead of her. “nope, after you.”

megan eyes you both curiously, suspiciously, from the corner of her vision.

-

ever since the incident with marquise, megan has been weird.

you and sophia are fine, better than ever, if anything, but you’ve noticed something is off with the ginger girl. she’s always been a little eccentric, but now she’s acting uncharacteristically needy, and for whatever reason, the only people who can ever seem to come to her rescue have to be either you, or sophia laforteza. 

and as of recently, it’s been both, for some reason, at the same time.

megan calls you up out of nowhere late one night when you’re watching another episode of your favorite netflix show. your eyes are heavy, and you’re about to fall asleep, but you know megan is relentless, and if you don’t pick up, she’ll call you until you do.

you pick up, and she wastes no time even greeting you.

“y/n. i’m feeling stressed out.”

“go to sleep, meg,” you groan sleepily.

“come over.”

“megan, what? i’m already in bed,” you shake your head, turning over onto your side.

“please, i need the moral support,” she pleads.

“to sleep?” you question suspiciously.

“yes, to sleep.” she insists, her voice softening playfully. “come hug me?”

you laugh, already picturing the girl’s silly face. “what are you, three? ugh, i’ll be there soon. you better not fall asleep before i get there.”

you can practically hear megan smiling from the other end of the line as you get your shoes on and slip out the door.

you make it to megan’s dorm and knock on the door. there’s a rustling sound from inside, and before you know it, the door swings open.

much to your confusion, you stand face to face with sophia laforteza.

“oh hi,” you greet, quickly stepping back to make sure you had walked to megan’s room, not sophia’s by accident. but no, room 414, residence of megan skiendiel. you’re not mistaken.

“hm.” sophia looks you over quickly, before calling out over her shoulder to the girl still inside. “megan? why is y/n here?”

the girl in question bounces up to the doorway, her giant grin nearly taking over her face. she pushes past sophia to reach for your hand, yanking you into her room. “‘cause i invited her, duh.”

“you invited me,” sophia reminds her, crossing her arms over her chest. she looks unamused, but not annoyed— the look she tends to reserve for megan exclusively.

the ginger beams. either she doesn’t notice sophia’s displeasure, or she flat out does not care.

“slumber party!” she chants, motioning to the way she has her bed set up to face the tv, three pillows lined up neatly. the implication is clear: megan planned this.

“meg, you do know y/n and i hang out plenty outside of class?” sophia laughs, shaking her head.

“do you guys still have slumber parties?” the girl quips back, pointing to the bed and insisting you hop in.

you pause, looking nervously between sophia and megan’s bed. sure, when you guys traveled for games, sharing a room with her had quickly turned into sharing a bed, and at a certain point, your hangouts would usually end in the two of you falling asleep side-by-side. but since the season ended, you two have been extremely careful not to cross that line again, sophia always heading home before she gets too sleepy.

“i mean, not this semester. soph just barely got back...”

megan nods as if you’ve proven her point. “then let me have this!”

“you are something else, skiendiel,” sophia shakes her head, but you see the smile on the corner of her lips.

“please don’t make me run laps, oh leader…” megan pleads playfully, wiggling under the blankets and reaching for the remote. “i just wanted to be in the middle again. can you blame me? you guys are like, my favorite people. please? pleasepleaseplease…”

“shut up,” sophia rolls her eyes, but she’s getting under the covers as well, wiggling in onto the side closest to the wall. “pick a movie.”

you laugh and follow her lead, ending up on the other side of megan. the ginger beams widely as you and sophia both get cozy, the three of you squished like sardines in the tiny dorm bed. sophia crosses her arms, clearly unamused, but you don’t mind. falling asleep in her presence again is a small gift you’ll take happily.

-

friday night, nothing to do, and your hands are much too quick to dial her up.

(arguably, she’s just as fast to pick up, but that’s not an issue you’re willing to unpack right now.)

“hi you,” she chirps, her voice instantly melting you into a puddle.

“are you going to that party lara’s been talking about?” you ask, already smiling down at the ground from her greeting alone. “the one off campus.”

she pauses. “are you?”

“you answer first,” you laugh.

“only if you do.”

“only if i answer?”

“only if you go.”

your heart thuds at how confident she sounds, how certain.

“deal,” you smile. “what, you need your emotional support libero there that bad?”

“you’re the only one i trust to help me keep an eye on everyone,” she laughs.

“ah, i love being your special helper,” you tease her.

“come on,” sophia chuckles. “i’ll see you in five. we can share an uber.”

and you do meet her in five. and you do share an uber. and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, so effortlessly gorgeous in a simple tee with a jacket and some jeans, her hair falling in perfectly tamed cascades over her shoulders. as it always has, and likely as it always will.

you follow each other through the house party, and even though the idea was to find the other girls, you’re too caught up in your own conversation to even bother looking for them. it’s nearly painful for you, how easily you two can get lost in your own little world, but it feels so inevitable. you don’t know how anyone could stay away from her— the inevitable pull that is the gravity of sophia laforteza, the warmth in her smile, the sheer strength of her presence enough to overwhelm you, to keep you in her orbit, to keep you circling around her as if it’s the only thing you’re capable of doing.

you wonder then, if you’ll be happy with it. if friendship with a force like sophia will ever feel enough, knowing now what her lips taste like and seeing a glimpse of her most intimate thoughts. yes, things are different now, but she still trusts you. still opens up to you, still seeks you out, still makes you feel seen. you’ve resigned yourself to accepting that that will be it. your friendship with sophia will have to be enough.

the two of you are laughing in your own little bubble when a girl, clearly a little tipsy, gets a little too close, stumbling into you. sophia eyes her hesitantly, but before you can check to see if the girl is okay, she’s shrieking at the top of her lungs, her eyes going wide.

“oh my god, y/n.” the girl blinks, stumbling to her feet. “this is crazy!”

another two or three girls catch up to her, and you feel sophia tense. you’re not quite sure what’s going on, but you know for certain that you don’t recognize this girl who somehow recognizes you.

“i’m super sorry, how do i know you?” you ask gently, trying to not come across as rude.

two of the girls behind her look nervously amongst themselves, but the first girl simply keeps rambling as if she’s known you her whole life.

“oh my god, we play for UCLA, silly!”

“no way,” you hear sophia breathe behind you, her body instantly tensing. she stands up to step beside you, her body rigid as she puts some space between you and the first girl.

you’re not quite sure where her hostility is coming from— the girls seem harmless, and you never ended up joining them, so what’s the harm?

the girl curls her lip into a dramatic pout. “ugh, y/n, you didn’t want to join us? we could have been besties.”

you laugh gently, shaking your head. “thanks, but i’m happy where i am.”

“we wouldn’t have hurt you, you know?” she continues, her eyes pleading and sincere as she reaches out for your hand. “we would have been excited to have you.”

you’re about to laugh at the gesture, a drunk girl lamenting her missed friendship with you, but you’re shocked when sophia pushes the girl’s hand away, scowling at the group.

“you guys are psychos,” she hisses quickly. “i know about last year.”

you’re about to ask sophia what her deal is, but the girls’ faces all shift instantly. falling, hardening, narrowing their gazes at her. whatever sophia is talking about, it’s clearly a sore subject.

“that was an accident,” one of the girls says coldly, but sophia refuses to back down.

“accidents don’t blind one of your teammates in one eye,” she spits angrily, and you gasp hearing exactly the extent that the ucla team was infamous for. “that girl is never going to play again.”

the first girl, who seems truly sincere, gives sophia a pleading look. “they investigated it. it was honestly just a freak accident. we were playing a prank and it went wrong. pranks have never gone wrong for you guys?”

you turn to sophia, grabbing her by the wrist, your eyes wide in disbelief. “how did you know that?”

sophia finally snaps and takes your hand, shoving past the girls to pull you outside, away from the chaos of the party, away from the other girls’ prying eyes. her eyes are frenzied, her cheeks flushed from her anger, her lips parted as she tries to steady her breathing. you guys find a quiet corner in the backyard and she sits you down to talk.

“i asked around about their team. i know some other captains. the ucla pr team tried to keep it hush-hush, but word gets around when captains get in trouble. it’s insane that they can still play, i mean it’s so unfair and completely unethical—” she rambles, her voice raising with every sentence, and you realize your hands are still linked. 

“soph,” you cut her off gently, squeezing her hand, your voice soft. “soph, it’s okay.”

“i fucking hate them,” she finally spits out. it’s not often that you hear her swear, so the emphasis is enough to really drive the point home for you. she pauses, her voice softening, realizing she’s rambling angrily. she gives your hand a quick squeeze back, her head dropping. “i’m so glad you didn’t go with them.”

“me too,” you smile softly. “i’m right here, with you.”

she lets out another breath, running a hand through her hair. “i hope they fucking rot. can’t wait to beat their asses next season. god.”

“leader, you’re being a little too psycho,” you laugh, letting go of her hand to poke her cheek playfully. “earth to leader!”

but sophia doesn’t match your tone. she takes your hand once more in yours, her eyes burning with something so intense, it makes your heart ache. her dark gaze pierces into you, her tone dropping into something low. 

“y/n, you were always meant to be a cyclone,” she emphasizes.

“i agree,” you smile, cradling her hand in yours. “i was always meant to be here.”

“with me,” sophia breathes quietly.

you nod. “with you, soph.”

-

weeks go by, and a part of you is finding it easier and easier to ignore the gnawing feelings clawing through your chest. as long as you focus on the day by day, and don’t picture any part of the future or what it might look like with sophia, you’re totally fine.

yes, you guys are basically attached at the hip, and neither of you goes more than a few hours without texting each other, and yes you know her like the back of your hand and she knows you just the same, but it’s not your problem to unpack that right now. that’ll be a future you problem. for now, your sole focus is to just enjoy your life, pass your classes, and not make any decisions you’ll regret. 

so when megan invites you to go on a “best friend date” to a super nice restaurant just off-campus next to the beach, you figure it’ll be the perfect opportunity to spend a night focusing on something other than school and your soul-crushing devotion to sophia laforteza.

you don’t usually have a lot of excuses to wear your semi-formal clothes, but megan insisted you both go all out, so there you are, sitting on a bench outside the restaurant, waiting for the ginger to show up as she texts you that she’s a few minutes out.

and yet again, for what seems like the millionth time that semester, the too-familiar voice is over your shoulder.

“why are you so dressed up?”

you look up, and feel your breath hitch in your throat. she looks like an absolute angel, a floral purple top flowing off her shoulders, her hair in those perfect waterfalls down her back, her makeup done and her lips so shiny you swear you could see the sun beam off of them.

“why are you?” you barely manage to stammer, the smile coming out before you can even register it. 

“i’m here for-“ she starts.

“megan,” you both say at the same time. 

it clicks. of course it would be megan.

“where the hell is she?” you laugh. 

as if on cue, sophia’s phone rings. the brunette picks up and puts it on speaker, giving you an eyeroll as megan’s voice rings out.

“sorry guys! literally shitting myself right now. like it’s soooo bad. ah, ouch, darn.” she’s not even trying to convince you at this point, her rambles rattling like she’s trying to get a script out. “you have no clue, gotta sit this one out. huge bummer, sorry!”

“how did you know we were together?” sophia arches a brow. 

“i have both your locations.”

“were we both supposed to be your date?” you question.

“guess you’ll have to be each other’s date!” she chirps, much too giddy for someone who is supposedly that sick. “sorry again guys. take lots of pictures. love you tons!”

before sophia can reprimand her, the phone beeps with the call ending. she rolls her eyes and looks to you, and you simply smile back at her.

fucking megan. 

“how was she gonna afford a restaurant like this?” you laugh, as sophia holds the door open for you. you both take it in— a gorgeous restaurant with high ceilings, a live piano, even a crystal chandelier.

“i was going to pay for her. i assumed that’s why she invited me,” sophia shakes her head, following behind you.

“oh no, totally. i assumed the exact same thing,” you laugh.

the host nods politely and beckons for you both to follow him. “your reservation, ladies.”

you end up at a table right next to the window, the view of the malibu shoreline just over your shoulders. it’s breathtaking in a way you feel like you almost don’t deserve. the table has a tall candle and a single rose placed between you two, and everything about it screams romance. you feel stupid for not looking it up sooner— how would megan possibly have gotten away with claiming she wanted a casual friend date with you at this gorgeous, insanely romantic spot? it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing the girl has ever done, sure, but you can’t believe your girlfailure of a best friend was capable of getting both you and sophia to show up and fall victim to her plan so easily.

“this place is so nice,” sophia breathes, taking a seat across from you.

you stare quickly at the menu that your server sets down in front of you, sophia thanking him quickly with a smile. 

you blink over at the captain. “not gonna lie… i’m lowkey scared of the menu.”

she laughs, her features softening. “i pick something for you and you pick something for me?”

“you’re on,” you beam.

you chat mindlessly after you order and it feels easy, too easy, to fall back into this with sophia. to start imagining what it could be like to do this more often, to see her dressed up, to wonder what she’d look like if she’d dressed up for you, to tell her she’d be perfect even in her shorts and her favorite hoodie. you get lost in her dark brown eyes, in the way they crinkle when she smiles, in the way she laughs with her whole chest, so loudly sometimes, people stop to turn and look at her.

you don’t care. you get it. sophia is worth stopping the world for, just to admire.

your server places your dishes in front of you both, and you immediately look up at the captain. you see her eyes widen with excitement. 

“why’d you pick this for me?” she asks quickly, looking up at you as the server walks off.

you smile. “just thought you’d like it.”

“why?” she presses.

you pause, trying to dive in deeper, but there’s no better explanation than just the simple truth.

“i guess i just know you.”

she smiles back at you, something warm behind her eyes.

“funny. that was my rationale too.” 

-

you two waste the night away enjoying your dinner. she insists on paying, forever the gentlewoman, and you two step outside just as the sun has disappeared over the skyline. 

“we’re across the street from the beach,” she points out, motioning to the sand.

“at night?” you question.

“we can just walk,” she offers.

you nod, smiling. “okay. i’d love that.”

you always see sophia shift when you guys get to the sand. you remember her mentioning about how it reminds her of home. you wonder if you’ll ever get a chance to see it through her eyes.

you both take off your shoes, dipping your toes in the tiniest of waves that reach up to meet the sand. you’re walking side by side, the salt in the cool air filling your lungs. sophia’s hair never falls out of place even as it shifts in the breeze, forever perfect, as she always has been.

“y/n,” she says quietly. 

“sophia,” you answer, poking your tongue out at her playfully in response.

she smiles, but her face falls slightly as the silence goes on. her gaze drops to the sand, her brows furrowing. you can sense it. she’s trying to get the words out.

“i um…” she starts, clenching her jaw to try and conjure the right words for what she’s seeking.  “i’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to try.”

her apology catches you off guard. you guys haven’t talked about it since it happened, and you knew that was part of the agreement. you traded it off— sacrificing closure to maintain your friendship.

“don’t think about that,” you reassure her, reaching out to brush her arm gently. “it’s okay.”

she shakes her head, and you notice her lip trembling through it all. “it’s my fault though, i know it is.”

“don’t carry that with you,” you insist, giving her arm a squeeze. “i’ve had the best few months since then all because you’re in my life. i’m so lucky either way.”

“no, i feel the same way. i just thought you deserved an apology.” she looks at you, her eyes soft, and lets out a deep breath. “i went about it so, so wrong.”

you feel something shaking from deep inside you, something repressed unlodging itself from deep within your chest. you try to will it away, insisting on focusing in the moment. sophia is fixating, you know she is. this isn’t about you, this is about supporting sophia. you remind yourself of your purpose and insist on moving forward.

“you’ve already apologized. i forgive you,” you tell her gently. “forgive yourself, soph. we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

she nods, but the look in her eyes tells you she has more to say.

“y/n…” she starts.

the shaking within you stops, something snaps. you can’t do this. you’re not strong enough for whatever comes next. you need to focus on the right now, on the day to day. not on the lifetime ahead of you and wondering if you’ll still orbit around the sun that is sophia laforteza, at the center of your galaxy.

“sophia, please. let’s not do this again.” your voice is shaky, trembling as you stop her. “i can’t risk it.”

you look up, and her eyes are round, her brows furrowed, the concern written all over her face. she nods slowly, empathetically, kindly.

“i understand.”

“thank you, soph,” you breathe, stopping to catch your breath. she stops with you, and you figure you owe her at least a small explanation. “you’re my best friend. you have no idea how bad it’d hurt to be without you.”

silence. you’re met with gnawing, clawing silence. 

you can’t tell if she’s thinking or if you’ve said enough. you chose your words carefully, certain to ensure you wouldn’t cross any lines that you couldn’t come back from, and you feel confident knowing you guys will be okay. your friendship will remain in tact. you’ll get to keep her in your life. it’s fine, you think. you’re okay with this, with the silence, with the uncertainty, as long as it guarantees today with sophia. you’ll take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute if you must.

a hand reaches for you. a single, shaking hand.

sophia, perfect, confident sophia, who never cracks under pressure, reaches a trembling hand out to you, taking your hand in hers.

“y/n.”

your name sounds so beautiful coming out of her mouth, gentle, sincere.

“yeah?” you’re too scared to look at her, but she insists.

she ducks her head down, tilting slightly, forcing your gaze to meet hers. her words come out slowly, nervously, like she’s been holding onto them in her coat pocket and is now unfolding them, hoping they still work.

“i’d like to try.”

you blink, uncertain of what you’re hearing. “what?”

“maybe it would be worth it to risk it all.” her voice is shaky, but her eyes never leave yours. dark, sincere, intense. all the things you know of sophia to be true, laid out bare before you. “if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that there’s beauty in trying over and over.”

“soph…” you start, but she cuts you off with a shake of her head.

“you tried for me. even when i pushed you away, you kept trying, and in the process, i fell in love with you.” she pauses, as if she’s said something wrong, but instead of overthinking it, she simply presses on, eager to get it all out. “that’s got to be worth something. you know it, and i do too.”

your head is spinning. nevermind what sophia is suggesting, nevermind the way she’s holding your hands, nevermind what she’s confessing. you’re too scared of the what-if’s to even let yourself glimpse into the future. 

“soph, what if we—” you start, but she cuts you off once more.

“i think the ‘what if’s’ are irrelevant. you saw something in me that i couldn’t. and i know i hurt you, and i made you distrustful of me, but i see something that you can’t. i see something so incredibly beautiful if we’re both willing to take that risk. can you see that?”

she pauses, deliberating, before her hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding it in her palm. the crash of the waves behind you makes your pulse ring even louder in your ears, the contact nearly setting you on fire.

“i’m asking you to see what i see,” she tells you, her eyes burning into yours. “take a chance. let me show you.”

“sophia,” your voice is shaking, your pulse throbbing throughout every vein in your body. your body screams out to be close to her, and you can’t think of anything else. 

“i want to kiss you,” she blurts, almost exactly like the first time, her hand tightening against your cheek, her gaze scanning every inch of your face. “i want to fix everything that i got wrong the first time around.”

it strikes you then. the gravity you feel, pulling you towards her at any given chance. is there any possibility she was being pulled to you too? does the sun simply pull, or does it dance, watching the celestial bodies spin around it? does the sun let itself be lonely at the center of it all, or does it shine to pull someone in, to warm them, to give them a place to bask in the light? 

could sophia need you, just as much as you realize you need her?

“i’m going to want to keep kissing you,” you admit, letting the last of your apprehensions melt away. “so you’ll have to be okay with that.”

“i’m willing to try,” she nods eagerly, her lips curling up into a smile, her other hand coming up to take both your cheeks in her palms. “and i’ll keep trying until we get it right.”

the gravity takes over between you both. slowly, gently, and with the waves lapping at your feet, the world stands still as you get a second chance at a first kiss with sophia laforteza.

-

sophia’s hand never leaves yours as you stroll into the dining hall for breakfast with the girls the next morning.

you sit side by side, megan and manon both glued to their phones as they play battleship against each other. megan doesn’t notice the hand holding. megan doesn’t notice the fact that sophia is wearing your hoodie. megan doesn’t even notice that you guys are sitting side by side, leaning against each other. 

you realize you may have to ramp up your pda to get her attention. 

“hold on,” you grin, motioning to sophia, before you plant a gentle peck on her cheek.

the smacking sound is enough to snap megan out of her fixation on the phone, her eyes darting to the two of you instantly.

“woah!” she screeches, jumping up to nearly stand on the chair. “bro, what the fuck! was that tongue?”

“megan, it was a kiss on the cheek,” sophia rolls her eyes, and you burst out laughing at how megan always manages to get underneath the captain’s skin.

“are you guys trolling me?” the ginger narrows her eyes, glancing around at the rest of the girls, who all stare back at her innocently. she glares at you, before pointing to sophia. “no way. kiss on the lips right fucking now.”

sophia shakes her head, clearly not eager to play any of megan’s weird games, but you grin and reach for the captain anyways. she grumbles for a brief moment, but she appeases you, and you feel her perfect lips curl up into a smile as they meet yours. it’s quick, tender and gentle, but it’s enough to leave megan with her chin nearly glued to the floor as her mouth drops in disbelief.

“since when?” she barks irritatedly. 

“since last night,” manon sing-songs, grinning devilishly. “what, you don’t check the group chat any more?”

megan furrows her brows, snatching up her phone instantly before her eyes blow wide. “oh what the fuck? you guys removed me from the groupchat?!”

“okay, who did that?” sophia rolls her eyes, glaring at the rest of the team as dani and lara burst out laughing. “no, not funny, now she’s gonna whine about it for the rest of our lives.”

“are you fucking kidding me?” megan rants, throwing her hands up into the air. “do you know how much effort i put into setting you guys up? do you know how many plans i schemed to make sure you guys ended up together? i was literally prepared to do this until the day i fucking died.”

manon claps her hands, motioning between you and sophia. “well, as of last night, they’re official.”

“how the fuck am i last to know?” megan whines, tossing her head back. 

“if it’s any consolation, i actually think you were first to figure it out,” sophia admits.

she wraps an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her. you hope you’ll get lucky enough to spend a lifetime basking in her warmth. she looks down at you and smiles. you smile back. 

your favorite view, up close, hopefully forever. 

[rosachae]

for some reason, whenever i see bitches and courtrooms, my mind automatically sings words, words, words by bo burham

LMAO i forgot about that video, that's so funny. thank you for the laugh anon

[rosachae]

Is my ship sailing yet 🛳️

i'm gonna need you to be more specific anon

[rosachae]

hi.. i love you.. thank you..

i love you

[rosachae]

j’voulais juste savoir si ça te dérange pas si j’cause en français dans ta ask ? J’ai vu que tu parles un peu, mais j’sais pas trop si t’es à l’aise ou pas

frenchy anon 🛹

ne vous inquiétez pas 😄 that’s fine! that’s kind of you to ask, thank you. i think it’s definitely broken from spending too much time around english speakers and too little around family (français du côté de mon papa) but i can read it just fine. si ça se trouve ça me donne une bonne excuse pour m’entraîner à écrire lol

[rosachae]

Hi first time anon here, I absolutely LOVE your work especially part one of Rewind. that wonder girls song you added lives in my mind rent free everyday lwk also i love your world building sm like i think youre so good with slowburn. probably the best slowburn writer ive seen lets bffr. i will be back again to harass you

Fellow frenchy anon 🛹

hello! thank you so much, that’s honestly so sweet to hear. there’s so many phenomenal slowburn writers that i’m glad you think i do a solid job. i’ve said this in the past, but i know that’s not always everyone’s cup of tea. you’re always welcome back!! i love interacting with everyone

[rosachae]

I cannot wait for bitches and coutrooms pt 2 im so excited!!!

that’s so nice to hear! lowkey i’ve been stressing over it for so long trying to work out the little details. it will be coming soon™️

[rosachae]

𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗨𝗽𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗙𝗶𝗰𝘀

Kim Chaewon

rewind | kim chaewon x reader, AU part one

it's 1987 and you're living the life your parents planned for you. you're about to graduate high school, working part-time at the local bowling alley, and edging closer to an arranged marriage with the son of your parents' practice partner. everything feels mapped out and inevitable. but, then you miraculously meet kim chaewon: the supermodel who died in 1984. needless to say, your world was about to be turned upside down.

Sakura

Huh Yunjin

Kazuha

i will not be taking requests anymore for the foreseeable future. in light of lacking motivation to write, i’d like to get back to my roots of writing about things i’m passionate about.

ps; eunchae is tagged in this post, but i will not be writing for her. she is young, and i do not feel comfortable writing for her.

[rosachae]

rewind | chaewon x reader, part one

⁍song: rewind - wonder girls ⁍genre: non!idol AU, ghost!chaewon. angsty, fluffy, heavy slowburn! ⁍a/n: this is the first part of a multipart series. ⁍w.c: 14.3k ⁍warnings: mentions of death, uncomfortable family dynamics, mentions of homophobia. ⁍synopsis:

it's 1987 and you're living the life your parents planned for you. you're about to graduate high school, working part-time at the local bowling alley, and edging closer to an arranged marriage with the son of your parents' practice partner. everything feels mapped out and inevitable. but, then you miraculously meet kim chaewon: the supermodel who died in 1984. needless to say, your world was about to be turned upside down.

seoul, 1987

somewhere near the han river, a truck rumbles down a side street with its radio still playing, the tail end of cho yong-pil’s voice fading beneath the squeal of tires and the hiss of brakes. across the road, a row of vending machines flicker under a line of apartment balconies, one of them buzzing louder than the others. someone leans out their window to shout at a kid balancing on the back of a bike, and the boy only laughs, too fast for the scolding to catch up.

storefronts are open late, spilling light onto the sidewalks where kids in puffer jackets linger around payphones and newsstands. the corners of posters curl in the heat, faces of celebrities smiling from behind smudged glass. kim wan-sun in sequins. lee moon-sae in his round glasses. everyone looks a little too perfect in still photographs, like they don’t sweat or get tired or feel anything heavier than the heat of walking a red carpet. near the bus terminal, a woman in heels walks quickly, arms full of groceries, her hair held in place with more hairspray than structure. a cassette player clipped to her purse clicks softly as the song changes. she doesn’t notice. the streets are far too loud. 

on the roof of an old building, a group of students pass around a bag of tteokbokki wrapped in newspaper. they talk about their finals like they’re still far away. someone swears they saw cho yong-pil outside mbc last week. someone else says they heard he’s getting married. no one agrees, but the debate passes time while the sky shifts. it’s been doing that lately, turning pink at the edges before evening settles in, folding itself into the windows like steam off rice.

beneath it all, the buildings lean close together, cracked paint and rusted rails giving every street a sense of being halfway between old and new. payphones ring and no one answers. school uniforms hang on laundry lines. people keep moving. songs keep playing. posters get torn down and replaced.

in the middle of it all, a girl was going to meet a ghost. she just didn’t know it yet.

the light in your room is soft and warm, slipping through the gauzy white curtains your mother said made the place look unfinished. everything glows faintly under the late afternoon sun, and the dust in the air floats like glitter, stirred gently by the slow rotation of the ceiling fan.

outside, the city is a soft noise in the distance. it’s spring now, warm enough to open the windows, cool enough that your arms still get goosebumps if you sit too close to the glass. somewhere nearby, a bus rumbles by. a dog barks twice, sharp and rhythmic. you hear the clink of metal as someone adjusts a drying rack on their balcony. there’s a faint whistle too, thin and familiar, maybe from the rice cake vendor who usually stops in front of the building across the street around this time.

your vinyl player clicks. side b of the bangles tape starts with a soft hiss and pop, warped slightly from overuse. you stole it from sakura’s cousin last summer during a sleepover and just never gave it back. they both know, but neither of them have mentioned it. the sound isn't perfect anymore, but the songs feel embedded in your bones now. they play like background noise in your body.

kazuha is stretched out across your bed with her chin propped in her hands and her legs swinging slowly behind her. your mother would probably say something about posture if she saw. the vogue korea magazine in front of kazuha has been open to the same page for at least ten minutes. her hair is still damp from her earlier shower, leaving a dark spot on your pillow, and she smells like your shampoo because she never brings her own. you haven’t said anything about it and you’re not going to.

“god, you’ve played this tape so many times the vocals are starting to fade,” kazuha says without looking up.

“it’s not fading,” you reply. “you just have no taste.”

“your dog is disgustingly pampered,” sakura adds from the floor. she’s sitting cross-legged with hotdog curled up contentedly in her lap. the brown dachshund lies on his back, belly exposed, eyes barely open. his paws twitch with each pass of her thumb behind his ears. she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt with some baseball team’s logo and a red smear from her lollipop stains the corner of her lip.

you still remember the day your dad brought hotdog home. you were fourteen, in your defense, and absolutely horrific with names. you reach out and give him a quick scritch, then drop your hand and lean back in your chair with a small sigh.

“he’s well-adjusted,” you say.

“he tried to bite the milk delivery guy this morning,” sakura says.

“he did bite him,” kazuha adds.

you shrug. “he knew something we didn’t.”

kazuha glances up and arches a brow. “is this your way of validating your complicated non-feelings for he-who-will-not-be-named?”

“ah yes,” sakura says. “hotdog and his divine ability to sniff out men like soobin and all their pressed linen and moral purity.”

the mention of soobin drags a groan out of you before you can help it. it scratches up from somewhere deep, like it’s been sitting there all week waiting for someone to say his name. “exactly,” you say, emphatic and in no means trying to hide your frustration. 

soobin was nice. frustratingly nice. the kind of polite that made adults beam and strangers trust him with directions. you knew that. you weren’t denying it. he held doors open and remembered birthdays and complimented your mom’s banchan like it was his job. maybe kindness came easy to him.

but none of that changed the way your parents kept trying to fold him into your life like he already belonged there. like your future had a shape and a name and a boy who always did the right thing. and maybe it wasn’t even about him. maybe it was about them. the way they kept pushing him into your orbit like they were waiting for gravity to do the rest.

if you were being honest, too, your heart soared everytime hotdog seemed to pick up on your emotions (or lackthereof) and bark when the korean boy would come around. 

sakura lets out a soft laugh. “soobin’s not that bad. he bowed to your mom. he called your dad sir. he helped your grandmother into the car.”

“he also said my room had character,” you mutter. “like it’s a haunted rental property.”

truthfully, it bothered you more than it should have. it wasn’t even your idea to let him in. your mother had hovered near the door, chirping something about being polite, and before you could protest, he was already trailing behind you, his shoes still wet from the rain.

your dresser was clean but scratched along the edges, the varnish rubbed off from years of use. a few stickers clung stubbornly to the sides, mostly band logos, one faded photo of lee moon-sae ripped from a magazine and tucked beneath the glass of the top drawer. the desk beneath your window was tidy, every object placed with a kind of casual precision. stacked tapes, a portable cassette player, two sharpened pencils in a ceramic cup from your elementary school art project. your headphones were coiled neatly beside your mirror, which had a crack along the bottom from when you dropped it last year. it still worked, just split your reflection in two if you leaned too close.

your room wasn’t anything remarkable. not really. but it was yours.

“come on,” sakura rolls her eyes. “you’re not interested. we get it. you don’t have to keep setting him on fire with your eyes.”

“he’s just trying too hard,” you say. you lean back and let your chair creak under your weight. “and everyone loves that. my mom keeps calling him a gentleman.”

“i think you’re finding every reason in the book to convince yourself he’s secretly a bad guy,” sakura chimes. “you’re just painfully, obviously gay.” she grins, then taps hotdog’s paw like it’s a game show buzzer. “final answer.”

you don’t respond right away. the sun has shifted again and a line of light is now stretched across the floor, catching the edge of the mirror. your reflection flickers at the edge of your vision.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “i know.”

truth be told, all three of you did. hell, maybe even hotdog. you told them a while ago, just after your freshman year when you were still coming to terms with your own sexuality. you’d just seen grease for the third time and found yourself looking at olivia newton-john one too many times. the admission felt heavier at the time. you told them in a panic, fearing the dogma that plagued nineteen-eighties korean society (and perhaps always would). against all odds, they accepted you. now it just sits between you like an unspoken acknowledgment. 

hotdog whines dramatically and stretches one paw into sakura’s knee. she rubs his belly without missing a beat. the silence that settles afterward is calm. from the apartment next door, you can hear the clatter of pots and pans, someone getting dinner started. a warm smell drifts in through the open window. rice, garlic, something sizzling in oil. it wraps around the room slowly. 

after a beat, you sigh. 

“his parents are coming over again this weekend,” you say, peeling at the edge of your pencil eraser.

“again?” kazuha groans, finally placing her magazine down to entertain the conversation.

“they’re bringing wine this time,” you say. “like that changes anything.”

“maybe it’s a special wine,” kazuha offers. “marriage wine.”

you throw your pencil at her with a scowl, the thin object just narrowly missing her face and instead bouncing off her shoulder.

your parents talk about your future like it’s a destination you’ve already agreed to. law school. med school. something with an office and a title. they act like they’re offering options, but they flinch every time you hesitate. every meal is another quiet rehearsal of the same plan you didn’t write.

you look up at the ceiling and count the fan blades turning. four. five. six. still spinning.

as if she read your mind, kazuha hummed. she knew you well enough to know that the idea of marriage, or truthfully anything remotely close to soobin, made you sick to your stomach. you were still young, afterall.  

“have you given any more thought into what you want to do after you graduate?

you sit with the question for a moment, turning it over like a stone in your palm. you think about how often you’ve avoided it, dodged it in conversations, buried it under jokes or shrugged it off like it wasn’t pressing. but it always comes back. it’s always waiting.

“i don’t know,” you say. somehow, that feels more honest than anything else you’ve said all day. 

kazuha doesn’t press you. she just nods like she understands, like she’s been waiting for that answer all along. sakura doesn’t say anything either, but her hand shifts a little closer to yours on the floor, close enough that her pinky brushes the edge of your hoodie. hotdog snorts in his sleep, one paw twitching.

you think about saturday. the dinner your parents have been orchestrating like it’s some kind of royal summit. the wine, the good chopsticks, the careful glances passed across the table like coded messages. the way soobin will smile at you, probably because he doesn’t know any better. the way your mother will look at you every time you hesitate, waiting for you to become the version of yourself she thinks you should be.

you’re not looking forward to it. not at all.

but you’re used to doing things you don’t want to do. you’ve gotten good at surviving them, at least on the outside. you suppose you’ll take it one step at a time. of course, first things first, you just had to make it to saturday.

__

sure enough, saturday came faster than you expected. your house never feels smaller than when guests are over.

your mother’s been in a full-blown cleaning spiral since noon, scrubbing corners no one ever looks at and adjusting the same vase on the console table three different times. she brought out the porcelain dishes that usually stay behind glass and bought a table runner that still smells faintly of the department store. light pink, gold trim, too bright for the room but exactly her idea of elegance. your dad even dusted the old calligraphy frame in the hallway, the one no one’s read since it was hung. the good soju got moved to the cabinet by the window. the candles were lit despite the ceiling light being more than enough. she said it was for ambience. it just made everything feel like a play you forgot the lines for.

thankfully, you didn’t need to stick around and hear their nonstop jabberings. you had to work. 

the bowling alley at night never felt quite right. during the day it was loud and bright, full of families and birthday parties and little kids in light-up sneakers. it smelled like shoe spray and spilled coke and hot oil from the snack bar, and no matter how many times you swept, there were always crumpled napkins stuffed under the plastic benches and crayon drawings left behind on the score sheets. but after nine, when the neon signs still buzzed but the lanes sat empty, the place turned into something else entirely. too quiet. too big. like it was remembering what it used to be before people started showing up.

outside, it’s pouring. not just rain, but the kind that pounds the pavement and turns windshields into warped, useless glass. you can hear it, even in here. the steady hiss and slap of it hitting the roof, the occasional gust of wind rattling the glass doors up front. water streaks sideways across the big windows, catching the pink and blue glow of the signage in smudged, dripping lines.

you’re standing behind the counter, elbows on the sticky laminate, watching the clock click one slow minute closer to closing. it’s 7:57. you told your parents you’d be home before nine and in time for dinner, but truthfully, you found yourself dreading leaving. the place is almost dead. just two middle-aged men finishing a quiet game on lane seven and a teenage couple loitering near the claw machine. there’s an empty slushie cup on the floor by the shoe return and someone drew a dick on the napkin dispenser again. you make a mental note to clean it, then immediately decide to leave it for the morning shift. 

your manager had left two hours ago. didn’t ask if you were okay to close alone, rather just tossed you the keys and disappeared. his car’s not even in the lot anymore. just yours, parked crooked under the one working streetlamp, being pelted sideways by rain that doesn’t seem like it’s letting up anytime soon.

you’re tired. not just physically, though your shoulders ache from running shoes back and forth all evening and your feet are sore in your beat-up sneakers. it’s a deeper kind of tired. the kind that wraps around your ribs and settles into your spine, turning everything slightly foggy. tonight’s shift had been monstrous. a birthday party of ten-year-olds had shown up late, dragging a dad who looked half-asleep and a mom who immediately ordered four rounds of fries and then disappeared into the bathroom for forty-five minutes. the kids screamed for three straight hours. one of them tried to crawl into the ball return. another spilled sprite across two lanes and walked away like it wasn’t his problem. the whole ordeal loops in your head. the smell of fake cheese and wet socks. the sound of kids shrieking every time a pin fell. the soda fountain that made a choking noise every time you tried to fill a cup. 

kazuha had come by at some point, dropped off a bag of tteokbokki, and left just as quickly. you’re in hell, she said. i’m leaving. you didn’t argue. she, and sometimes sakura, usually stopped by while you were working for a quick game on their favorite lane. clearly, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that today wasn’t one of those typical days. 

now the place is finally winding down. the couple by the claw machine gives up and disappears out the front doors, holding hands like they weren’t just pretending not to. the two men finish their game, nod in your direction without a word, and head out into the rain, already soaked by the time they reach their car.

you press the button on the control panel and the lanes begin to power down, one by one. each screen goes black with a little beep, and the lights above the pins blink out like tired eyes finally closing. the hum of the machinery fades into a soft, uneven whine, then stops altogether. you flick the switch behind the counter to turn off half the overhead lights, and suddenly the whole alley feels colder. emptier.

you glance toward the parking lot. it’s nearly invisible through the rain, the windows streaked and blurry. the flickering streetlamp casts a warped circle around your car, but everything beyond it disappears into darkness. the cat that usually curls up on your manager’s hood isn’t there tonight. nothing is.

you can hear the vending machine in the lobby buzzing like it’s on its last breath. the ceiling fan squeaks as it turns, slower now, and your shoes make a sticky squelch with every step you take on the soda-stained floor. closing always felt a little eerie. like the building was waiting for something. like the night wasn’t finished with you yet.

you collect the leftover score sheets, ballpoint doodles of anime girls and curse words in the corners, and wipe down the ball racks. the paper towel roll rips wrong again and you use too much cleaner because it smells sharp and sterile, and for a second it reminds you of your mom’s clinic. the way the air there always smelled like lemon and latex and things you couldn’t say out loud.

in the back, the break room is still pathetic. the fridge hums unevenly. the corkboard hasn’t changed since you started. your cup, the one with a small crack by the rim and your name on it in fading marker, is still in the sink. you take a drink of water and stare at the wall for a moment too long.

the clock ticks over to 8:00.

you step back into the main room, palm still damp from the cleaner, dragging it down the thigh of your jeans as the keys in your apron pocket jingle against your leg. just one more walk around. that’s your ritual. make sure no one left their wallet in a rental shoe, check the bathrooms for stragglers, unplug the claw machine because it makes that awful mechanical wheeze if you leave it overnight.

you’ve barely made it past lane nine when a sound slams into the front of the building. a single, echoing bang. like someone throwing their weight against the glass.

you jump.

at first, you think it must be thunder, the kind that comes a few beats after lightning. or maybe the wind throwing something heavy into the door. an umbrella, a trash bin, one of the metal signs from the sidewalk. but then you see it.

a girl. thin and hunched, pressing against the glass like the storm itself spit her out. her hands fumble with the door, shaking, and when she manages to push it open, the wind howls in behind her, carrying sheets of rain and the cold bite of the outside.

your body reacts before your brain does. you freeze. every hair on your arm lifts. the air rushes in too fast, too cold, too wrong.

she steps (more like stumbles) inside dripping wet, completely soaked from head to toe, clothes plastered to her skin like she’d been underwater. her shoes make a squelching sound on the tile, and her breathing comes in short, sharp bursts. it sounded like she’d been running or crying, or perhaps even both. 

you don’t move. you don’t speak. your mouth opens slightly but no sound comes out. the part of your brain that’s supposed to be polite, customer-service friendly, can’t catch up to the part that’s screaming what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. then, finally, you move. 

“are you okay?”

her eyes sweep the alley like she doesn’t recognize it. like she doesn’t know where she is. her lips part, but she doesn’t answer right away. she’s shaking. not just from the cold, but something akin to shock. 

“i… i don’t know,” she says. her voice is soft, hoarse. “where am i?”

you take a step closer with your palms raised slightly, the red flags sounding around the girl as loudly as the rain pelting outside. for all you knew, she was some soaked runaway who’s about to collapse. 

“hey, it’s okay.” you say carefully, gesturing around to the bowling lanes behind you. you drift off slightly to fumble behind the counter for a towel, the one usually kept just under the desk for spills or melting ice or whatever disasters plaguing the snack bar. you hold out the clean cloth for her to take. “you’re gonna get hypothermia or something,” you continue, voice still thin. “here.”

she looks at it for a second like she doesn’t understand what it is. then, slowly, she takes it. her fingers brush yours. they’re freezing.

you don’t ask who she is. you want to. but something about the moment feels too delicate, like if you ask too much, she might shatter. she wraps the towel around her shoulders and just stands there, dripping onto the floor.

“do you want to… sit down?” you offer. “i can make tea. or there’s a heater in the back.”

she nods, but she doesn’t move. you watch her lamely a moment longer, heart pounding so hard it’s all you can hear.

you lead her back to the employee lounge and she sinks into one of the mismatched plastic chairs around the folding table your manager bought secondhand, the kind that wobbles if you lean on it wrong. the fridge hummed with a low, steady buzz that blended with the sound of rain tapping against the narrow window above the sink. the kind of quiet ambiance you usually found yourself sleeping to, oddly calming and all. you rinse out your old mug and set about making tea like it’s muscle memory. your hands move faster than your thoughts, opening cabinets, filling the kettle, clicking on the burner. while it heats, you crouch down by your bag and pull out the hoodie you stashed before leaving home, a faded windbreaker that used to be a shade of blue but now just looked sad and gray. it smells faintly of laundry detergent and whatever was in your bag last week.

you’ve done this before. not exactly this, but close enough that your body knows what to do. you think about the time sakura showed up at your door, mascara smudged as she cried over a failed date with her crush of the month, kang taehyun. you made tea then, too, and put on the latest indiana jones movie just to distract her. the color on the magnavox was so washed out and low definition you doubted tv would ever stick around long enough to become more than a fad, but it did the trick. she fell asleep before the credits rolled.

by the time the tea was ready and you turned around to set the mug down in front of her gently, careful not to startle her, it’s only then did you really see her. her hands were buried deep in her pockets, and the towel you’d given her had slid to her lap, damp and forgotten. she was still shivering, the kind of chill that doesn’t leave just because you dry off. you sank into the chair across from her and it hit you all at once just how far away she seemed, like even though she was sitting right there, some part of her hadn’t made it inside with the rest. she was lost faraway in her own thoughts. still, you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue.

“what’s your name?”

she lifts her head slowly, as if the question takes a moment to settle. when her eyes finally meet yours, something stills in your chest. there’s a softness to her gaze, something uncertain and unsteady, but even in her confusion she seems to be studying you as much as you’re studying her.

her face is beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel ordinary. every feature looks impossibly deliberate. her lips are small and full, her cheekbones smooth and high, and her skin carries a kind of soft, luminous quality that no lighting could fake. the cold has left a faint flush on her cheeks, but it only adds to the contrast against the pale line of her jaw. her hair is still wet from the rain, strands clinging to her neck and falling in loose pieces across her forehead, but it doesn’t make her look messy. it makes her look cinematic. like someone you’re not supposed to meet in real life. she looks like someone you would see in a commercial or a music video, paused mid-frame. someone who belongs in front of a camera or beneath stage lights. her beauty is immediate, the kind that makes you pay attention without meaning to. if you had seen her in a magazine, you would have remembered the page. if you passed her in the street, you know you would have turned to look again.

she watches you without flinching, quiet but steady, her expression unreadable. and for a second, as your heart stumbles in your chest and your breath catches somewhere behind your ribs, you wonder how a girl like this ended up here, dripping water onto the floor of a run-down bowling alley like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

then she speaks, her voice as frail as her quiet beauty. 

“…kim chaewon.” 

the first thing chaewon remembered when she came to was a blinding, bright light shining straight into her retinas. it was harsh and hot, the kind of light that pulsed in her vision long after it was gone. her mind raced between the last memories she had, the blinding flash morphing into mementos of standing on the red carpet while paparazzi yelled her name. it was everywhere, strobing in bursts, coming from the cameras that surrounded her like gnats, popping off one after the other while she stood and smiled, her lips curved into that polished shape she had practiced until it no longer felt like a lie. she remembered the flashbulbs catching in the corner of her eyes, the way they reflected off the sequins of her dress, the way her stylists beamed from ear to ear as they watched her. 

then her mind jumped, the image shifting towards something warmer. she remembered hugging her mother between shoots, her arms too thin but still strong, her perfume light and familiar in a way that made everything else bearable. her mother had stroked her hair gently, murmured something about how proud she was, how beautiful she looked, how tired. she remembered the hum of the studio around them, the low shuffle of crew members, the makeup artist softly reminding her not to cry because it would ruin the liner.

after that, it starts to fall apart.

the memories shift and smear like water on ink, like someone shuffled them out of order or smudged the edges until all that was left were glimpses. she tries to recall the last thing, the actual last thing, but it’s like reaching into murky water. she knows there was a night. she knows she had been alone. there had been music, maybe, or a television left on low, the blue light flickering across the walls of a room she doesn’t think she’d ever seen before. and then nothing. not even pain. just absence.

when she opened her eyes again, it wasn’t gradual. it was instant. like someone slammed her into the present and forgot to explain how she got there.

she felt hollow. like her bones were made of fog. like she was wearing her own skin wrong. and when she opened her mouth to speak, the words came out slow and unfamiliar, as if someone else had used them first. now, sitting there in that plastic chair before you, she can’t remember what she’s supposed to do. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t know how she’s here.

but then her eyes flick past you and land on the refrigerator behind your shoulder, locking onto the calendar hanging there, still sealed to september. it’s barely been used, just a generic pharmacy one stuck in place with a chipped smiley-face magnet, the kind your manager picked up for free and forgot about. you watch her pupils shift, her focus harden, and suddenly her whole body goes still.

her face tightens. not the way someone tenses in discomfort, but the way someone braces for impact. her mouth moves before the words form, like she’s not even sure she wants to say them out loud.

“what year is it?”

the question hits you sideways. you blink, caught off guard, your thoughts scrambling for context that doesn’t exist. your mouth opens, but all you manage is a confused, uncertain, “what?”

“the year,” she says again, this time faster, the words tumbling out too quickly, like she’s trying to outrun something. “what’s the date?”

you answer before you have time to think, the response instinctive, flat, a reflex you didn’t know you had. “september fourteenth. nineteen eighty-seven.”

she doesn’t speak. she doesn’t breathe. she just sits there, soaked through, staring at the fridge like it’s something that just betrayed her. her hands are shaking again, worse than before, fingers twitching slightly like her body’s not sure what to do with itself. she’s blinking hard now, trying to ground herself in something, anything, but her eyes are glassy and wide, and it’s clear that whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this.

you freeze. not because you’re afraid, but because none of this makes sense. hell, you don’t even know the girl. you want to ask what’s wrong, want to do something, but all you can do is sit there, stomach turning, because suddenly the quiet hum of the fridge and the rain outside felt too loud. suffocating. something was wrong and for the first time since she arrived, you’re starting to realize just how wrong.

but before you can ask anything, she speaks quickly. her words tumble from her lips so quickly it’s like she’s ripped off a bandage. 

“i think i died.”

you wanted to laugh. you almost did, truth be told. the last thing you expected to come out of the small girl's mouth was a sentence reserved for inpatients at the local hospital. you’ve watched enough bad movies and heard enough classmates fake illnesses to get out of tests to know when someone’s full of it. this, unfortunately, felt like a textbook example of something someone says after hitting their head a little too hard. you open your mouth, then close it again, because what the hell are you even supposed to say to that?

“right,” you say eventually, dragging the word out. “you’re dead.”

chaewon nods quickly, eager. 

“like… actually?”

her expression falters just slightly, the absurdity of the situation clear on her own conscience. still, she nods vigorously. “unless you’re fucking with me and it’s still eighty-four, yes!” 

you stare at her, wide eyed and all, not bothering to hide the pure doubt cementing its way across your face. you continue after a long beat, leaning back in your chair a little. “i’m not saying i don’t believe you. i’m just saying this all feels very… well, dramatic. that’s a pretty big statement to throw at someone who just finished wiping coke off a shoe rack.” then you tilt your head, skeptical. “are you, like… on something?”

“what? no. no, i don’t do drugs,” she says, her voice cracking slightly as she tries to collect herself. “why would you even think that?”

you blink and gesture around the room lamely as if her question didn’t even dignify an answer. she opens her mouth, then closes it again, clearly at a loss. her hands flutter uselessly at her sides, like she’s not sure whether to argue or run.

you lift your hands in an attempt to soothe the blow, grimacing tightly. “i was just asking. you look kind of… not okay.”

“i am ‘not okay’,” she snaps, voice high and thin now. “i’m very, very not okay!”

“okay,” you say again, softer this time. you shift in your chair, unsure whether you should stand or stay where you are. “do you want me to call someone for you? a friend, or a relative, or i don’t know. someone who can come get you?”

chaewon scoffs, short and sharp, like she can’t believe she’s hearing this. if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure why your questions bothered her so much. maybe it was the way you looked at her as if she was crazy. maybe it was the fact that perhaps, she very much was. 

when chaewon doesn’t reply, you sigh. 

“look, i don’t want to assume anything,” you say carefully. “but you walked in here soaking wet, shaking, asked me what year it was like you’d forgotten it, and now you’re acting like i’m the crazy one for asking if you’re okay.”

“because you’re not listening,” she snaps, loud enough to startle you. her eyes are sharp now, locked on yours. “i’m not drunk. i’m not high. i’m not confused or lost or having some kind of breakdown.”

“fine,” you say again, because it’s the only word your brain’s willing to offer. “you know what, sure. maybe you think you died. maybe you just got lost. maybe you were, like, in a hospital for a long time and your brain got scrambled.”

chaewon hums softly, like she’s thinking that over. “maybe.”

you start to say something, maybe suggest calling the police or an ambulance, anything, but the words catch in your throat when she reaches for the cup of tea. you feel your eyes widen in disbelief as you see what unfolds as clear as day. no strings, no tricks of the light. just as she brushes the warm ceramic, the cup doesn’t even move as her hand drifts right through. 

you stare at the table, your eyes zeroed in on her hand as you blink once and then twice. you lean forward slightly, squinting like that’ll change what you just saw. she freezes, hand hovering inches above the cup now like she’s afraid to try again.

you raise your own hand, point slowly. “did you… did you just… ”

you watch her try again. the same thing happens. her hand flickers, transparent for half a second, and slips through the cup like a bad magic trick. you shove back from the table so fast your chair screeches across the floor.

“nope,” you say, voice higher than usual. “nope. absolutely not.”

chaewon blinks up at you, a little startled. “i didn’t mean to—”

“no no no,” you wave your arms, pacing away like the air might be safer. “you cannot come into my workplace, soaked from the rain, say you died,  then phase through matter. that is not the kind of shit i signed up for!”

“it’s not like i did it on purpose!” she says quickly, holding her hands up, her own panic clear in her own voice. you look at her again, and for a second she really does look sorry. confused, too. maybe even scared. she’s staring at her own hands now like she doesn’t trust them either.

“okay,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “okay, let’s go back. rewind. you’re—what? dead? a ghost?”

maybe it was around the third time chaewon tried and failed to touch the cup. maybe it was when you held your head in your hands, slapping your own forehead to wake yourself from the mess you found yourself in. but the panic you felt morphed into something much heavier the moment your eyes caught the time on your wrist watch. everything inside you dropped straight to the floor.

8:52.

you bolted upright. your heart picked up speed in that sickening, cold way that had nothing to do with ‘ghosts’ and everything to do with your parents. you couldn’t even find it within yourself to care about how batshit insane the current ordeal was when your mother’s annoyed face crossed your mind. 

“shit. shitshitshitshitshit.”

chaewon flinched at your sudden movement. “what’s wrong?”

“you mean besides whatever bullshit this is? i’m late!” you stammer, patting your pockets for your keys. “i was supposed to be home fifteen minutes ago.”

chaewon blinked, still seated. “okay?”

“not okay. very not okay. there’s a dinner. a big dinner. if i’m not there, my parents will actually kill me.”

you grabbed your bag and haphazardly did a mental checklist of everything you were supposed to do before closing, the irony of your words not lost on you. you weren’t even dressed right. you were in your bowling alley shirt and faded jeans and smelled like fryer oil. your parents were going to love that.

only, when you walked out of the staff lounge quickly and without looking back, putting as much space as possible between you and whatever kind of crazy you’d just left behind, you didn’t get far. something stopped you. it was like hitting an invisible wall, some barrier that caught you mid-step and shoved you back toward chaewon. the girl stood in the doorway with a look of shock etched across her pretty face. it was like the universe had decided you weren’t allowed to leave her. the air shimmered as you hit the ground, landing hard on your back. a groan slipped out as you stared up at the ceiling, winded and stunned.

you lay there for a second, trying to make sense of what just happened. the floor felt cold beneath you. your ribs ached. everything about this moment felt stupid and impossible, and still, somehow, it happened.

“what the hell was that?!”

chaewon reaches out and helps you to your feet. her touch is careful, steady, but you flinch anyway. not because of her, not really, but because everything around you feels too fragile to trust. your heart is still racing, your thoughts scattered like broken glass on the floor. you can’t wrap your head around any of it, not the rain, not the ghost, not the girl who appeared out of nowhere with a name you never expected to hear again. your brain is begging for answers and your body is just trying to keep up.

you want to scream. or curl up in the supply closet and pretend this night never happened. you want to believe it was a dream, that you’re just tired or hallucinating from too many shifts and not enough sleep. instead, you push the panic down. you swallow it whole and take a step forward.

this time, nothing stops you.

no invisible force, no electric jolt, no strange resistance pressing back against your body. just the echo of your shoes on the polished floor and the quiet hum of the vending machine behind you. you pause, eyes scanning the alley. the same familiar layout greets you like nothing ever happened. the lanes sit in still silence. the servers desk is cluttered with paper cups and spare pencils. the arcade glows faintly at the back of the room, still powered but empty. bowser grins from his cabinet screen, oblivious to the chaos you’re barely holding inside.

you glance over your shoulder, your face stricken with shock mirrored on the other girls face. the girl retracted into herself after you shook off her help, standing still like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. her eyes follow you with quiet caution, but she doesn’t speak.

you look back at the alley, then down at your hands. you still feel the echo of that barrier you slammed into earlier, the sharp reminder that something about this girl had changed the rules. but now, with her behind you, the path is clear.

you take another step. nothing. it clicks then. whatever this is, whatever she is, you’re not going anywhere without her.

chaewon looks at you, eyes wide. “i think… i think you’re stuck with me.”

“so what,” you say, a little dazed. “we’re tethered now? like… magically leashed to each other?”

chaewon blinks. “i guess so.”

you let out a humorless laugh and drag a hand down your face. “this just keeps getting better.”

“i didn’t do it on purpose!” she snaps, defensive now, like she’s already bracing for the worst part of your reaction.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you march toward the front doors and grab her wrist on instinct, not bothering to ask. there’s no time. you start moving, locking up the alley as you go. she stumbles behind you, startled, and lets out a quick “hey!” before yanking her hand free. the look she shoots you is sharp, but she still falls into step beside you.

you sigh. “...come on,” you mutter before you can talk yourself out of it.

“what?”

“you can’t stay here,” you say, voice flat. “and in case you haven’t noticed, i really need to get home. i can’t deal with my mother and the ghost of a dead girl in one night, so please, don’t argue with me. come with me.”

she pauses, then nods once, slow and quiet. she doesn’t argue. she knows just as well as you do that this isn’t really a choice anymore.

your whole body throbbed with the kind of dull, lingering ache that made every movement feel heavier than it should have. your ribs still remembered the floor, your skin still felt the chill of that invisible barrier, and your brain (already stretched thin from the chaos of your shift) was now desperately trying to organize a night that refused to make any sense. you were the kind of person who needed explanations, who clung to logic like a lifeline. you didn’t believe in ghosts, in spirits, in anything you couldn’t hold in your hands or trace back to science or stress or sleep deprivation. but tonight had unraveled everything you thought you knew, and the thread was still pulling. you knew now wasn’t the time to question it, though. not when you could already picture your mother pacing near the dining table, wine glasses out, voice clipped with impatience. not when you knew the dinner you were supposed to be at was soon to start, and the version of yourself that your parents wanted was probably being mourned in your absence.

you didn’t say a word as you locked up the bowling alley, hands moving out of habit as you shut down machines, flipped switches, and double checked the door with haste. chaewon hovered close behind, silent except for the occasional squish of her shoes against the wet floor. the sleeves of the windbreaker were too long and the hem nearly brushed her knees. the hood hung low over her eyes, casting her face in shadow, but she didn’t complain. not once. she didn’t ask questions or look back at the alley, didn’t hesitate when you finally pushed open the front door and led her into the storm. outside, the rain hit like a wall.

it was relentless. thick, heavy drops slapped against your skin, soaked through your clothes in seconds, turned the air itself into something that resisted every step you took. chaewon followed without a word, but you didn’t miss the pampered look of displeasure etching clear across her face. she didn’t ask where you were going, didn’t flinch when you unlocked the passenger side and shoved the door open. she just got in, quiet and damp, her mind clearly running at a million miles per minute.

you climbed in after her, slammed the door shut, and sat there for a moment, hands gripping the wheel. the rain pounded against the windshield, loud and steady, and the wipers struggled to keep up. 

you didn’t look at her. you didn’t need to. she was there, sitting beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you both knew though, clear as day, that it was anything but.  

__

you sped the entire way home, tires slicing through wet asphalt, the windshield wipers dragging across the glass in a frantic rhythm that only seemed to add to the mess unraveling in your mind. your hands stayed tight on the wheel, knuckles pale, shoulders drawn up like tension alone might keep everything from falling apart. every turn felt too sharp, every red light felt like a warning. your brain raced to keep up, cycling through excuses, half-truths, whatever might sound close enough to believable. by the time you pulled into your driveway, your stomach was twisted into something tight and electric. the house looked warm, peaceful even. light poured from the windows in a soft, steady glow. inside, shadows moved calmly behind the curtains. everything looked composed. perfect. like the kind of life you were supposed to want.

you parked too fast, tires bumping against the curb, and before you could think you reached over and grabbed chaewon’s wrist a second time. she didn’t pull away this time, but you could tell she wanted to by the firm press of her lips. she scowled but followed you out of the car anyway.

“just let me talk, okay?” you whispered, voice flat, as you cracked the front door open.

you both stepped inside quietly like you were sneaking in. the heat of the house hit you first, followed by the smell of food. then, as your luck would have it, a blur of brown fur shot into the hall.

hotdog tore across the floor, nails clicking frantically against the tile as he launched himself toward you. his tail was stiff, his body tense, barking sharp and quick like he was defending the house from an intruder. he skidded to a stop between you and chaewon, planted his feet, and barked again, louder this time. the fur on his back stood up in a line. his whole body shook with the effort of it.

“hotdog, stop,” you muttered, dropping into a crouch. you scooped him into your arms before he could lose his mind completely. he squirmed, legs kicking, chest heaving with each bark. even as he started to settle, his eyes stayed locked on the space next to you.

chaewon stood just behind, hood still up, her eyes wide. she blinked at the dog, expression unreadable. “you named your dog hotdog?” she deadpanned, voice dry.

you didn’t look at her. “don’t start with me.”

hotdog gave a low grumble in your arms, ears still pinned, his gaze glued to her like he could sense something you hadn’t named yet. you stroked his fur gently, trying to calm him. he stayed tense. didn’t take his eyes off her for a second.

sure enough, whatever caution you had clung to on the drive home dissolved the moment your mother turned the corner, her heels sharp against the hardwood, her expression already halfway to furious at the sound of hotdog’s barking.

“you’re late,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air before you even had the chance to close the door behind you.

you flinched instinctively. behind you, chaewon stilled, shrinking back a half-step like the force of your mother’s tone alone had pushed her there.

“sorry!” you blurted, too fast. “we—we ran into traffic. and rain. a lot of rain.”

your mother came into view fully then, standing at the end of the hallway with her arms crossed and a look that could peel paint. her makeup was untouched, her pearls resting perfectly at her collarbone. everything about her screamed control. perfection. presentation. she looked at you, head tilting ever so slightly, and her face shifted into something unreadable.

“we?” she repeated, the word cold and careful.

your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. you stand there, caught between the warmth of the hallway light and the cold dripping off her stare. you feel chaewon behind you then, so close you swear you hear the soft hush of her breath, but when you glance back at her, your mother’s eyes follow and the confusion settles deeper into the lines of her face.

you swallow, letting the truth slip down like something bitter, realizing now that maybe chaewon stands here only for you. was it possible that no one else could see her…? besides for hotdog, it seems, though you could recall reading somewhere that animals were always more sensitive to these things.

after a beat of awkward silence, your mother sighed. she didn’t buy your excuse anyhow. you could tell from the way she pressed her lips together.  “change your clothes,” she said crisply, like she was doing you a favor by letting you live another few hours. “quickly.”

you nudged chaewon toward the stairs with a wordless tilt of your head, the weight of the dinner still pressing against your spine like a too-tight collar. she moved without protest, her presence trailing just a step behind you as you climbed each step with the hush of your mother’s voice echoing faintly from the dining room. when you reached your room, you slipped inside first and pushed the door shut until the latch caught soft and final. the sound almost felt like relief. you stayed there for a second, your back pressed to the wood, chest rising and falling like you were trying to slow your pulse down by force alone.

gently, you set hotdog on the floor and watched him shake out the tension like it belonged to him too. his tiny paws clicked across the old hardwood as he made a slow, deliberate circle around chaewon. he sniffed the cuff of her jeans where the rain still clung in faint, damp patches. he stayed close, tail stiff, the soft huff of his breath the only sound besides the quiet hum of your ceiling fan overhead.

chaewon didn’t flinch away from him. she let him trail her steps as she turned her head to take in the four walls you called your own. her eyes drifted over the cracked dresser with its peeling varnish and the stickers pressed stubborn along the edges. she lingered on the vinyl player by your desk, the stack of tapes half-tucked under a notebook with your scrawled half-thoughts and old pencil marks. she catalogued all of it in the soft, searching way someone might study a museum display of an ordinary life they could never quite touch.

when she turned back to you, there was no judgment in her expression. no faint curl of distaste at the way your laundry basket overflowed with half-folded sweaters, no poorly hidden pity for the single wilting plant on your windowsill that never got quite enough sun. if anything, there was a flicker of something else behind her eyes. a kind of quiet surprise, maybe even envy, though she did not say it out loud. like she had never stood in a room where things were loved so imperfectly and left exactly as they were.

hotdog settled by her ankle, nose pressed to her shoe as if confirming some truth only he could smell. he let out a soft, low whine before rolling onto his side, belly exposed, eyes half-shut but still trained on her.

you pushed off the door and crossed your arms loosely over your chest, the wordless question you’d been turning over finally slipping free. “so. it’s just me, huh?”

chaewon blinked, slow, as if you’d pulled her from whatever thought had been holding her still. “what do you mean?”

you gestured loosely at hotdog, now busy pawing at a stray thread on her cuff, then at the closed door behind you where the world beyond still bustled. “my dog sees you. i see you. but my mother just looked right through you like you weren’t standing three feet away.”

chaewon’s lips parted like she might say something simple to smooth it over, but nothing came. instead she just shrugged, the jacket slipping off one shoulder where it dwarfed her frame. “i guess you’re the only one who can.”

the words dropped between you with a weight that felt heavier than the room itself. your breath caught in your throat, caught on the fact that whatever this was had found you of all people to hold onto. you watched her fingers brush the corner of your scratched-up desk as if she was testing whether she could feel it at all. her touch hovered, inches above the wood, her eyes flicking to yours with a question you weren’t sure either of you could answer.

you let out a breath, your laugh small and a little helpless as you glanced at the old posters peeling at the corners. “figures. out of everyone in this city, you get stuck with the kid who names her dog hotdog and still has stickers from elementary school on her dresser.”

chaewon looked at you then, really looked, and something in her face softened at the edges. she didn’t smile exactly, but she tilted her head like she was seeing you clearer than you’d seen yourself in weeks. her eyes drifted back to your cracked mirror, the one that split your reflection but never bothered you enough to replace. “it’s… nice,” she said, voice quiet but certain. “your room. it’s different from what i’m used to.”

you let out a small breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. for a moment you just stood there, the soft hum of the ceiling fan filling the spaces where your thoughts couldn’t reach. then it hit you all at once, that tight knot in your chest that said you didn’t know anything about her. not really. not this girl who’d appeared at your work dripping rainwater and impossibility, who now stood in your room like she belonged in it somehow.

“what are you used to?” you asked before you could stop yourself, voice soft so it didn’t break whatever fragile calm had settled between you.

chaewon’s eyes flicked back to yours, her lashes still damp from the storm that hadn’t quite left her. she let out a slow breath, brushing her fingers along her sleeve like she was grounding herself in its borrowed warmth.

“i’m a model,” she said after a moment, almost too casual, like she was stating the weather. “i mean, i was a model. for a few years. mostly print. some commercials.”

your brows knitted together, the tiny piece of trivia slotting somewhere just out of reach. “like… for magazines?”

chaewon gave a small nod, turning her head away to look at your cluttered desk as if it might hide her from the weight of the admission. “yeah. magazines. catalogs. ads for things no one needed.” her voice thinned with the shape of the memory. “hotels. designer clothes. sometimes cars.”

you blinked at her, your fingers frozen halfway through unbuttoning your work shirt. you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be changing for dinner until the faint echo of your mother’s voice carried up the stairs, a clipped call for you to hurry. you cleared your throat and turned your back to her, tugging your shirt over your head and reaching for the neat blouse your mother had pressed that morning. behind you, you heard chaewon shift her weight, her footsteps soft as she angled herself politely toward your window, giving you what little privacy she could.

you fumbled with the buttons, your mind racing to match her soft, half-murmured facts with the faint echoes of a name you hadn’t thought about in years. you’d been young then, three years ago, but not too young to remember. kim chaewon. the name folded open inside you like a page you thought you’d torn out long ago. you remembered the grainy black-and-white headlines on newsstands near the bus stop, the way your parents whispered about it at the breakfast table. tragedy, the word used like a period in every hushed conversation. too young. so sudden. you remembered kids at school passing around clippings torn from tabloids that your teacher snatched away when she saw them.

you pulled your sweater over your head and turned to face her, your breath catching sharp in your throat. “chaewon,” you said carefully, testing the shape of her name now that it meant something more than just a soft syllable in the air. “the chaewon? you’re– you were everywhere. you— god, you were on billboards. people wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

chaewon turned her head to glance at you, her eyes wide but unreadable. for a second she just stood there, caught in the middle of your too-small room with your dog curled up on her foot like he trusted her with every secret you’d ever whispered to him. she looked smaller suddenly, like the name you’d just spoken pinned her back into something she couldn’t step out of.

“at one point in time.” she said quietly, voice barely above the hum of the fan. 

you swallowed, the shock of it catching on your tongue. “the news said you died. it was everywhere. nobody really knew how. they just said it was… ‘natural’. but everyone, my mom, the neighbors, the press– they all said it didn’t make sense. that someone like you couldn’t just–” you trail off, the final word hanging between you tensely.

chaewon’s eyes flicked down to her hands, her fingers curling around the edge of your desk like she needed to hold onto something real. “i don’t remember dying,” she murmured, and the words seemed to hang in the soft dusk of your room, trembling in the stale air like something fragile you shouldn’t breathe too hard on.

you opened your mouth to ask more, to pull the edges apart and peer into the dark places where answers might be hiding, but your mother’s voice sliced up the stairs again, sharper this time. company’s waiting. you felt it like a tug at the back of your neck, the reminder that there were expectations waiting for you just outside your bedroom door.

you let the questions settle back down in your chest, unfinished and heavy. chaewon didn’t look at you. she traced her finger absently over the corner of your cracked mirror, her reflection fractured in three places, none of them quite her.

“we’ll talk later,” you said, softer now, almost a promise as you grabbed your brush from the nightstand. you caught her watching you in the glass as you smoothed your hair down, her eyes still wide with something you couldn’t name.

hotdog whined softly, like he understood too. like he was reminding you that no matter how many answers you didn’t have yet, she wasn’t leaving your side anytime soon.

you square your shoulders, forcing your feet toward the door, and pretend you couldn’t feel the weight of her quiet steps behind you as you headed back down to the part of your life that still feigned to make sense.

you hear the doorbell before you fully leave your bedroom. hear the way your parents argue over who was going to open the door, the way your dad cleared his throat before finally being the one to do it. you walked down stairs just in time to see the family of the hour. soobin is there, dressed like a model student, holding a bottle of fruit wine in both hands. his parents stand behind him, smiling the way parents smile when they’re here for something more than dinner.

“good evening,” soobin says, bowing. “thank you for having us.”

your mother is already there, moving like clockwork. “of course. come in. we hope you’re hungry.”

behind you, chaewon murmurs.  “what is this, a dinner or a business proposal?”

your legs carry you to the table like they’ve rehearsed it. you sit between your father and soobin, who smiles like nothing’s awkward. like he doesn’t know what he’s walked into.

the table is covered in unnecessary cutlery and dishes that haven’t seen daylight since new year. your mother ladles soup with all the care of a surgeon. you say thank you. you nod when soobin’s father brings up grades. you try to meet soobin’s eyes, but the sickly feeling rooting in the pit of your stomach overpowers any instinct of forcing niceness. 

chaewon lingers just beyond the archway, eyes sweeping the room. she lets out a quiet laugh when hotdog growls low, the small dog eyeing soobin down when he edges too close to you at the table. almost instantly, he reins it in when your father whistles a warning and instead pads over to chaewon’s side. the two move slowly through the dining room, taking in everything with careful, measured steps. it almost surprised you how quickly the dog took to the dead girl.

“it smells lovely,” soobin’s mother says with a soft smile after a beat, her kind old face glancing between everyone seated around her, none the wiser to the ghost prodding at her faux diamond necklace.

“bulgogi and japchae,” your mother replies, her tone stiff with pride. “i wasn’t sure what your son liked, so i wanted to keep it traditional.”

“everything looks wonderful,” soobin says, his voice soft with sincerity. he means it, of course he does, which somehow makes it worse. you resist the impulse to roll your eyes, settling instead for a tight, polite nod. “thank you again.”

you weren’t sure just how the topic broached what your plans were after highschool, but lower and behold, it was inevitable. after several more beats of muted conversation, your dad clears his throat, the deliberate kind that always signals he’s about to launch into something. 

“we’ve always believed in building a strong academic foundation,” he begins, folding his napkin with unnecessary precision. “especially now, with college on the horizon. we’ve been looking into programs at seoul national. their pre-med track is exceptional.”

you keep your eyes on your plate, chewing slowly, as if that’ll somehow delay the rest.

“she’s always been very disciplined,” he adds. “science has always come naturally to her. she thinks analytically. she’s focused. driven.”

chaewon moves while he talks. slow and curious, like she’s floating through a museum of someone else’s life. she passes the bookshelf in the corner, brushing her fingertips across the dusty spine of a photo album no one’s opened in years. her eyes catch on the family portrait from your first birthday. your mother in shoulder pads, your father smiling like a man who never lets go of the steering wheel. then she stops in front of the fish tank. the one your dad insists makes the room feel “balanced.” a single goldfish circles the plastic castle inside, its path tight and repetitive. chaewon leans in, watching it loop again. and again. and again.

by the time she circles back to you, your dad’s still going. something about internships. something about “laying the groundwork for future success.”

chaewon crouches just enough to speak near your ear. her voice is low and dry, her words softened by the clink of silverware and the low murmur of soobin’s mother pretending to care.

“your dad just said ‘strong academic foundation,’” she whispers. “does he know he sounds like a fucking brochure?”

you don’t answer. instead, your fork hits the plate harder than you mean to. the metal clinks sharply against ceramic, and a few grains of rice scatter across your placemat. the sound cuts through the conversation just enough to turn a few heads. you mumble an apology you don’t mean. your mother’s smile doesn’t falter, but it tightens at the corners, thinning like a thread pulled taut. without missing a beat, she slides the conversation right back on track.

“tell them what you’re planning to study,” she says, like it’s already been decided.

you swallow, suddenly hyper aware of the way soobin’s knee almost grazes yours beneath the table. “i’m not sure yet.”

“nonsense,” your mother chirps, her tone too light to be casual. “she’d make a wonderful doctor. like me. like her father.”

soobin’s parents nod as if on cue. polite, approving. 

“structure is important,” your mother continues. “especially now. at this age, you need a path.”

“structure,” chaewon repeats softly, still lingering just behind your chair. “they say that like it’s freedom. like they don’t know it can be a cage.”

you glance sideways. she’s not looking at you. she’s watching your parents, eyes narrowed, unreadable. your fork is still in your hand, untouched. you haven’t taken a bite in minutes. the japchae’s going cold. you drop your gaze, try to focus on your rice like it might anchor you, like it might give your hands something to do other than tremble.

you stop listening and the table blurs. someone’s saying something about university rankings. someone else mentions mock interviews. your mother laughs, that high, measured laugh she saves for people she’s trying to impress. your appetite vanished somewhere between “discipline” and “structure,” and it’s not coming back. you stare down at your plate, the clink of silverware and careful small talk swirling around you like static. it’s loud, but none of it means anything.

chaewon shifts, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. her presence felt like a weight pressed into the air beside you. quiet, uncertain. maybe she’s thinking. maybe she’s afraid to speak.  maybe she’s wondering how a house this full can feel so empty. she stays beside you, folded in on herself like she’s trying not to take up too much space. her hands rest gently in her lap, unmoving, her posture stiff with restraint. but then, when you turn to glance at her, your breath catches in your throat because she’s already looking at you. her gaze was steady and searching as if she’s trying to decode something written in the fine lines of your face, in the way your fingers tense and curl against the edge of your chair.

her expression is unreadable but soft, and for a moment, it is all you can see. everything else– the table, the noise, your mother’s relentless script of discipline and direction, soobin’s too-polite smile, the clink of glass and the scrape of silverware against porcelain– it all falls away. the room dulls at the edges, the world pulls back, and it’s just her, sitting in your windbreaker like it was made for her, the fabric loose across her frame but somehow still perfect, the sleeves falling just past her wrists, the collar slouched against the slope of her neck, making her look at once impossibly casual and devastatingly beautiful. her hair has started to dry, no longer clinging to her skin like it did when she first walked in from the rain, and now it falls in soft waves around her face, framing her cheekbones and catching the warm light of the chandelier overhead in a way that makes her look untouchable, unreal, like something conjured from the space between memory and longing.

even with the weight of whatever she’s carrying, even with the exhaustion that shadows her eyes and the quiet grief tucked into the corners of her mouth, there is a kind of stillness to her that steadies something in you, a strange and startling calm that wraps around your ribs and presses into the noise like a hand over your heart. and in that moment, nothing else matters. not the dinner, not your parents, not the future laid out for you like a paved road you never asked to walk. because all you can see is her. you almost facepalmed yourself for failing to see just how breathtakingly gorgeous she was when she stepped into the bowling alley.

your mother started asking soobin’s mom about his younger sister, but you don’t pay it any mind. you can’t find it within yourself to follow along with the conversation, not when beauty incarnate stood right there in front of you for (quite literally) only your eyes to see. they fill the air with words. nice ones, smooth ones. the kind that coat everything in a layer of gloss. but you knew better. 

chaewon purses her lips, weighing her words carefully, before finally she sighs.

“you know,” she starts, quiet. “i don’t think i ever had a dinner like this. even at the height of it. even when i was doing seven commercials a month. we always ate in pieces. my mom would cook, then rush out to a shift. or she’d reheat something while i was going over scripts. everything was fast. always between something else. i used to wonder if maybe we were doing it wrong. if we were supposed to be like this.”

she looks at the table, at the steam curling from the japchae, at the careful way your mother placed each side dish like it mattered. there’s something in her face. not longing. not envy. just the soft ache of distance.

“now i’m not so sure,” she adds. “this doesn’t feel like love either.”

you glance up, and her eyes are already on you. she’s not smiling. but there’s something open in her expression. something unguarded.

you nod, just a little, as faint as you could make it without seeming crazy. but then you hear your name. your mother, noticing the stillness, leans in slightly. her smile is smooth, practiced, all porcelain polish and no warmth. it doesn't reach her eyes. she folds her napkin neatly and sets it beside her plate.

“you’re being very quiet tonight,” she says, low and clipped. “is something wrong?”

you lift your eyes from your plate and force a smile, but it doesn’t sit right. it stretches wrong across your face, too stiff, too thin, the muscles in your cheeks pulling with effort. “just tired,” you say after a beat, careful not to sound defensive. “long shift.”

soobin, ever the polite guest, jumps in before the silence can settle too long between the clink of chopsticks and the gentle murmur of background conversation. “she’s been working a lot lately,” he says, offering a nod and a soft smile that makes your stomach twist. “saving up on her own.”

your father lets out a short, approving hum, the kind that says he’s only half-listening, already preparing his next line in this carefully orchestrated performance. “that’s a good habit,” he says, reaching for the side dish closest to him. “discipline is everything, especially at her age.”

your mother sets her chopsticks down with practiced elegance and folds her hands neatly in her lap. she doesn’t look at you, not exactly, but rather toward the center of the table as if she’s addressing the collective presence of soobin’s family, as if this is the part of the script she’s been waiting for. “we’ve always taught our daughter to prioritize the things that matter,” she says, her voice taking on the softened cadence she reserves for guests. “work, school, family. she knows how important it is to be reliable. to show up. no matter how she feels. especially when she doesn’t feel like it.”

and that’s when it happens.

a breath, sharp and sudden, cuts through the space beside you. the faintest rustle of fabric, like someone moving too quickly or trying not to at all. you glance to your right and find chaewon completely still, frozen in place like a photograph caught mid-fall. her posture, which had been relaxed in a tense sort of way all evening, is now rigid. her spine pulled tight. her shoulders drawn in. her hands tremble faintly in her lap, knuckles pale where she’s gripping the edge of her seat, fingers twitching as though they don’t know whether to hold on or let go.

her face is a mask of nothing, which is somehow worse than anything else. it’s not calm. not composed. it’s the kind of emptiness that comes right before something shatters, the moment where a crack forms just beneath the surface and no one sees it until it splits wide open.

“chaewon?” you mouth.

she doesn’t answer. doesn’t look at you. her eyes are wide but distant, fixed on something far past the dining room walls, something you can’t see. she tries to leave, her steps slow and uneven, like she’s walking underwater. but just as she crosses the threshold of the dining room, her body halts abruptly, jerking as if she’s walked straight into glass. it’s the same barrier. the same invisible line that stopped you cold at the bowling alley, the one that pressed into your chest like gravity gone wrong. you can almost feel it resonate again, faint and low, like the air itself is rejecting her. she flinches. it’s small, but enough. enough to see that she’s not okay. not even close.

your heart lurches, the rest of the room fading into background noise. you cough, quick and sharp, a weak excuse for your sudden movement as you push back your chair. the legs drag against the polished floor with a screech that silences at least half the table.

“bathroom,” you mutter, barely audible, already moving.

you feel your mother’s eyes on your back immediately, her stare like a blade. narrowed, questioning, already preparing a quiet reprimand for later. you don’t look at her. you keep walking.

chaewon is already disappearing down the hallway by the time you’ve fully risen from your chair, her frame drawn tight, shoulders hunched with a stiffness that looks like she’s trying to outrun the room she just left. her steps are uneven, unsteady. not frantic, not dramatic, but the kind of movement that betrays just how close she is to falling apart. without hesitation, without stopping to care what your mother might whisper later or how soobin’s parents might interpret your sudden absence, you follow her. you trail the ghost down the hallway and into the narrow bathroom at the end, the door still cracked slightly from her entrance. the moment you step inside, the air changes, cooler somehow. quieter, as though the walls have pulled in to hold your secrets. the muffled drone of dinner conversation fades the instant you push the door closed behind you, cutting off the soft clatter of dishes and the cadence of your mother’s voice talking about something else that doesn’t matter. you turn the lock, the quiet click sounding far too loud in the stillness.

chaewon is standing in front of the mirror, motionless, her eyes locked on her own reflection like she’s not sure whether to recognize it or be afraid of it. the harsh fluorescent light washes over her skin, casting pale shadows beneath her eyes and along the sharp line of her jaw. you take a step closer and only then do you notice her breathing. shallow. ragged. her chest rises and falls too quickly, and one of her hands is braced against the sink as though it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. all at once, you feel the weight of it settle into your chest again: the impossibility of her. the rules that seem to shift every time you think you’ve figured them out. she can touch some things– your jacket, a doorknob, the floor beneath her feet– but not others. her body is there, and yet not. she can open a door but not hold a cup. she casts no shadow, but her presence fills the room like she’s the only real thing inside it. she shows up in mirrors, but only to you. and you wonder, briefly, what that says about you.

but there’s no time to unravel that now. not when she’s standing there, trembling. not when her fingers curl tightly around the edge of the sink like she might shatter it. not when the reflection looking back at her isn’t one of composure or clarity, but of a girl caught between memory and something much harder to name.

“what happened?” you finally found your voice, tentative. you watch as she lifts her hand to her chest like it hurts. her fingers twitch against her collarbone. she doesn’t speak right away. when she finally does, her voice is distant. hollow.

“i remember.”

you stay quiet, but your eyes betray you. you lean forward again, enraptured by the words yet to leave her lips. she looks past you, eyes unfocused as she continues.

“just before everything went dark. there was this shoot. a long one. we were supposed to wrap up late, but they asked me to stay after. just me. no crew.” she swallows. “i told my mom i was tired, that something felt off. but she didn’t listen. she said i was being dramatic. that i should be proud they wanted more of me. she told me to be polite, to do what they asked, to show them i was serious about my career. anything beyond that didn’t matter.” she blinks, her voice cracking as she gripped her chest tighter. the memory came back to her in a sudden sharp, fragmented burst. your mothers words echoed through her mind, a trigger of the events which happened before her death. chaewon shakes her head. “i remember walking into a room with the lights already on. i remember the couch. it was this ugly green. i remember someone closing the door behind me. and then—” her whole body flinches.

“then i remember nothing.”

you step forward, slowly, not entirely certain what compels you to move except for the quiet understanding that staying still feels more unbearable than reaching out. your hand rises almost instinctively, hesitating in the space between you, fingers just barely hovering near her arm as though touch alone might anchor her back into her body. you don’t know if she’ll recoil or disappear or pass through you like steam. you don’t even know if she’ll feel it. but still, you reach.

there is something in her eyes that unsettles you. it’s not only fear, though fear is present. it’s not only grief either, though that lingers too, threaded through the silence between her breaths. it’s something else entirely, something heavier and quieter, the kind of emotion that doesn’t have a name but sits beneath the skin like a bruise that never faded. her voice cracks slightly as she speaks, so soft that you almost lean in without realizing it. 

“i didn’t fall asleep. i didn’t get sick. they took something from me,” she says, her eyes fixed on the mirror, as though looking at her own reflection might help her believe it. “and no one ever found out because i was gone before they could ask.”

you don’t say anything in response. you don’t move. because what could you possibly say to that, when every word you might offer feels small in the face of what was being uncovered? all you can do is stay with her in that space, your hand still hovering near, your presence the only thing you have left to give.

she leans back against the wall, sliding down until she’s sitting on the tile floor, knees drawn up like she’s trying to make herself disappear. she stares at her hands.

“i think that’s why i’m still here,” she says quietly. “not because i died. but because no one ever knew what really happened to me. not even my mom.”

you know what she’s suggesting without her needing to speak the words aloud. the possibility that maybe, she didn’t just die of ‘natural causes’. that perhaps it was murder. that perhaps the very reason she was here, was because you were the one to help her unearth the truth.

the bathroom hums with a low, steady quiet, the kind that fills in the spaces where words might have gone. your hands are cold when you finally lower yourself to the floor beside her, the tile firm beneath you, the silence thick enough to press against your skin. when chaewon leans into your shoulder, slow and careful, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed to, you don’t flinch. you don’t move away. you let her. and somehow, that feels like the only right thing in a night that has unraveled every definition of what right is supposed to mean.

you stay like that. minutes pass, or maybe more. the shaking in her hands gradually eases. you feel the weight of her head against your arm and realize she’s still here, still tethered to this moment, and somehow, so are you. you stare down at your own hands, resting limply in your lap, and notice they are trembling even though the cold has long since stopped biting at your skin. the bathroom feels too still now. too quiet in a way that makes your thoughts fold inward and ricochet back against the inside of your skull. it’s the kind of stillness that amplifies everything, the kind that leaves no room to hide.

you feel like you’re about to break open. not from fear exactly, and not even from confusion, but from the sheer pressure of trying to make sense of what is unfolding around you. your parents are just a room away, probably setting out dessert on the table you helped polish last weekend. you can picture it clearly, persimmon cookies arranged in neat rows on the white ceramic tray. they’re entertaining a boy you barely know, a boy they want to see beside you in photographs and future plans. and yet here you are, on the floor of your own bathroom, next to a girl who shouldn’t exist.

you cover your face with your hands and groan. “i’m going insane.”

chaewon shifts. you can feel her eyes on you. “you’re not.

“then what is this?” you drop your hands and look at her, eyes wide. “because none of this is normal. you’re not normal. i can’t even explain this to myself, let alone anyone else. and now you’re, what, unlocking repressed memories in my parents’ guest bathroom like this is some horror movie side plot?”

chaewon flinches, just a little. you exhale, long and shaky, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. just…” your voice wavers. “i don’t know what to do with any of this. i don’t know why you’re here. i don’t know why i’m the one who can see you.”

chaewon’s voice is quieter now, as if the weight of the evening has pressed the words out of her gently, almost like an apology. “you don’t have to help me.”

you look up at her. really look. there’s a stillness in her face that doesn’t ask for anything, but you can feel it all the same. the waiting, the guarded edge of hope she’s already prepared to let go of. maybe it’s the exhaustion dulling your thoughts, the hours of pretending everything is fine when it never has been. maybe it’s the pressure of a dinner table you fled from, still humming with conversation about a life you never chose. or maybe it’s just the expression on her face. the one that screamed her desire for answers, her want for closure. because almost immediately, you shake your head with a resigned sigh.

“no,” you say, slower now, more grounded. “i’ll help.”

chaewon blinks, startled by how easily you said it. like she wasn’t expecting you to mean it.

“if someone hurt you,” you continue, your voice gaining shape as you speak, “if someone killed you, then you deserve to know why. even if none of this makes sense. even if i feel completely fucking insane trying to make sense of it.”

her lips part like she wants to respond, but all she manages is a whisper, so faint it nearly disappears between you. “why?”

you run a hand over your face, pressing your fingers into your temple like it might ease the slow pounding behind your eyes. “because you’re in my house,” you say, eyes still closed. “you’re in my life now. and whether i asked for it or not, it’s happening. from the looks of it, that’s just something i need to deal with. if helping you gets you out of my head sooner, then… fine. i’ll do it.”

chaewon nods, once. solemn and still, like she’s trying to commit your words to memory in case you change your mind. “okay,” she says, and it’s barely a breath.

you lean back against the bathtub, the cool porcelain grounding you for the first time all night. you let your eyes slip shut and exhale a shaky breath.

“what the fuck is my life,” you mutter, more to the ceiling than to her.

chaewon doesn’t answer, but when you glance at her from the corner of your eye, she’s watching you with something quieter than hope but warmer than fear. her shoulders have dropped a little, her posture no longer folded entirely inward. for the first time since the moment she stepped out of the storm and into your world, she looks like she’s beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, she’ll get the answers she’s looking for after all.

you just had no idea what your first step would be.

part one