Chapter Text
Megan’s laugh dissolved into another kiss, this one hungrier, messier, as though she couldn’t get enough. Yoonchae pressed her back into the bed, bracing herself on one elbow, the other hand sliding carefully along Megan’s side. The warmth of her body, the way she arched into her touch, sent sparks racing through her veins.
Megan tugged at the hem of Yoonchae’s shirt, half teasing, half desperate, breaking the kiss only long enough to whisper, breathless, “Can I…?”
The question lodged in Yoonchae’s chest. She nodded, too quickly, too eager, and Megan grinned against her mouth before pulling the fabric up. The brush of fingers on bare skin drew a sharp inhale from Yoonchae, her body trembling under the new sensation.
Their kisses turned slower for a beat, softer, like they were learning each other—mapping lips, teeth, tongues with deliberate care—before heat swallowed them again. Megan rolled them suddenly, flipping Yoonchae onto her back with a low laugh, straddling her without breaking contact.
Yoonchae’s hands clutched her hips, grounding herself, pulling her closer until there was no space left. Every shift, every press of Megan’s weight, made her heart stutter harder.
She dragged her lips down Yoonchae’s jaw, her neck, leaving the faintest sting of teeth that made Yoonchae gasp, grabbing fistfuls of her shirt. “Megan…” she whispered, voice breaking.
That sound—it undid Megan. She pressed back up to kiss her again, almost frantically, like she couldn’t decide where she wanted her more. Their laughter spilled out between gasps, messy and dizzy, as if the rush of the night still hadn’t caught up to them.
When Megan finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, hair mussed, lips swollen. She hovered close, eyes wide and vulnerable now, her voice low. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”
Yoonchae’s chest heaved. She didn’t look away, didn’t falter. Her hand slid up to cup Megan’s face, thumb brushing across her flushed cheek. “Don’t stop.”
Megan kissed her again, softer this time, almost reverent. The chaos of the party, the noise outside, the whole world—they both forgot it existed. In that quiet, dim dorm room, it was just them: tangled limbs, whispered laughter, and the rush of something bigger than either of them had expected.
Megan’s kiss lingered, soft at first, but Yoonchae pulled her closer with a sudden, desperate grip—fingers tangled in her shirt like she couldn’t bear the thought of space between them.
“Don’t stop,” Yoonchae breathed again, but this time it was ragged, pleading. Her lips found Megan’s jaw, her throat, each kiss messier than the last.
Megan shivered, her hands bracing on either side of Yoonchae, but when Yoonchae tugged at her, guiding her down, she didn’t resist. She melted, pressing herself fully against her, heat and heartbeat against heartbeat.
The air between them was sharp with urgency—clothes shifting, whispered names tumbling out half-formed, laughter catching in gasps. Yoonchae kissed her like she was afraid Megan might vanish if she stopped, her desperation clear in every tug, every broken sound.
Megan gave in, answering her need with just as much fire. “Okay,” she whispered against her lips, voice shaking, “whatever you want.”
The rest blurred: tangled limbs, the soft thud of the mattress, the room filling with nothing but muffled laughter, stifled moans and whimpers, the rustle of sheets. Time slipped away again.
Morning sunlight cut sharp through the blinds, striping the room in pale gold. Yoonchae stirred first, groaning quietly as she shifted under the sheets. Her body felt heavy, deliciously sore in places she wasn’t ready to think about.
Beside her, Megan sprawled half off the bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, her hair a chaotic halo around her face. She blinked awake slowly, groaning into the pillow.
“God, I feel like I got hit by a truck,” Megan mumbled, voice scratchy.
Yoonchae smirked, rolling onto her side to watch her. “That’s your fault.”
Megan peeked up through her lashes, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Mine? Pretty sure you tackled me first.”
“You didn’t complain,” Yoonchae shot back, cheeks warming despite herself.
Megan laughed, flopping onto her back. “Nope. Definitely didn’t.”
The room settled into easy silence, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of campus waking up outside. For a moment, it almost felt normal—until Megan spotted her phone on the nightstand.
She reached for it, hesitated, then froze mid-motion. Her grin faltered.
Yoonchae frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Megan grimaced, pulling her hand back like the phone might bite her. “If I check it, I’ll see a hundred texts. And at least half will be from people who saw us leave together last night.”
Yoonchae rolled her eyes, but her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You love the attention.”
Megan peeked out from the blanket, grinning. “Okay, maybe a little.”
But Yoonchae’s amusement faded when her gaze drifted to the other bed again—perfectly made, untouched. Her chest tightened, and she bit her lip.
Megan noticed instantly. “What?”
Yoonchae sighed. “Sophia. She never came back. She’s gonna kill me when she sees… all this.” She gestured vaguely at the bed, the tangle of clothes on the floor.
Megan smirked, eyes glinting. “Kill you, or congratulate you?”
“Kill me probably,” Yoonchae said firmly, though her cheeks burned. “She probably had to sleep in your dorm with Lara because I used ours for—well—this!” She cut herself off, tugging the blanket higher over her shoulders. “And…”
Megan leaned in, eyebrow raised. “And what?”
Yoonchae hesitated, then mumbled, “She’ll see.”
“See what?” Megan teased, inching closer until Yoonchae swatted at her.
Her answer came out so soft it was almost a whisper. “The hickeys.”
Megan’s laugh filled the room, low and delighted. She tipped her head to admire her handiwork, grinning wider. “Oh, you’re doomed. No turtleneck in the world’s gonna save you.”
“This is your fault,” Yoonchae jokingly shoved Megan away. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m serious, she’s going to make fun of me forever.”
Megan pried her hands away, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Relax. You pull off flustered—it’s cute.”
“That’s not helping,” Yoonchae muttered, though her lips betrayed her with the smallest smile.
Megan stretched lazily, finally reaching for her phone. “Don’t worry. If Sophia’s mad, I’ll take the blame.”
Yoonchae blinked at her. “You’ll what?”
“Obviously.” Megan smirked, unlocking her phone. “I’m the bad influence here. I’ll charm my way out of it.”
Yoonchae laughed despite herself, tension easing, though she still tugged the collar of her shirt up to her neck, as if that would magically hide the evidence.