Chapter Text
By the time Megan shut the door behind her, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
It left her all at once and she leaned back against the door for a second, staring up at the ceiling like it might give her answers.
Holy crap.
She’d actually done it. She had actually asked Yoonchae out.
The thought made her chest flutter again, equal parts exhilaration and terror. Which was ridiculous, really. Megan had asked people out before. She’d survived awkward confessions, soft rejections, even the occasional dramatic fallout. Emotional wreck? Yes. Consistently nervous? Absolutely.
But this had been different.
She pushed off the door and crossed the apartment, letting her bag slide to the floor. It wasn’t until she collapsed onto the couch that she noticed the ache in her shoulders, the soreness in her calves, the dull throb behind her eyes. Rehearsal had wrung her out more thoroughly than she’d realized.
Yoonchae had said they could try.
Megan rolled the words over in her mind, like they might change shape if she looked at them long enough. She wasn’t sure what try meant exactly…but it hadn’t been a no. It had been hesitant, careful, thoughtful.
Closer to yes than no.
Before she could spiral too deeply into interpretation, the sound of oil sizzling and vegetables hitting a cutting board cut through her thoughts.
She lifted her head toward the kitchen. Lara stood there, humming softly, phone propped against a spice jar with a recipe video paused mid-frame. Her hair was twisted up in a towel, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, spatula in hand. She looked like she’d wandered into her own cooking show without realizing it.
Megan smiled faintly and sank back into the couch.
She unlocked her phone.
No notifications.
Of course not. It hadn’t even been an hour since rehearsal ended. Yoonchae was probably showering. Or eating. Or doing something impossibly responsible, like responding to emails.
Megan: Hey! Did you get home safe?
She sent it, stared at it.
Then deleted it.
Stupid. She’d practically walked Yoonchae to her door. Of course she was fine.
She drafted a new message.
Hi. Just wanted to say thank you for talking earlier.
Erased. It sounded too much. Too desperate.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
Megan startled so hard she nearly dropped it.
Yoonchae: Yes, thanks to you. How about you? Have you eaten yet?
Megan’s fingers flew over the screen before she forced herself to stop. Slow down. Think.
Thanks to you...what did Yoonchae mean by that? Was it sincere? Teasing? Sarcastic? Was she being politely called out for hovering?
She typed back anyway.
Megan: Not yet. I’m hoping Lara will share whatever she’s making. If not, I’ll probably throw together some stir-fry. Have you eaten?
She winced as she sent it. Great. Now she sounded like a freeloader.
Before she could spiral further, Lara glanced over her shoulder. “I can hear you thinking from over here.”
Megan looked up. “What?”
“Your brain,” Lara said lightly. “It’s loud tonight. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Totally.” Megan smiled in what she hoped was a convincing way.
Lara raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. She turned back to the stove, stirring thoughtfully. “Just saying: if you don’t sleep all night overthinking something again, rehearsal tomorrow is going to be brutal.”
Megan huffed out a laugh. “I think my brain’s just going a hundred miles an hour.”
“That’s rough,” Lara said, pulling a tray from the oven. She plated the food with care, then paused, glancing back at Megan, softer now. “You know, if something is bothering you…”
Megan shrugged. “I think today just caught up to me.”
Lara nodded, accepting it the way she always did. “Well. I’m stress-cooking. There’s extra if you want Indian food later.”
Megan smiled. “Thanks.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Yoonchae: Not yet. I might make some noodles later.
Megan’s fingers hovered.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Lara had settled in with her plate, scrolling through her phone, fully absorbed. Megan, still on the couch, inhaled slowly.
Now or never.
Megan: I was thinking… we have half of Thursday off this week, right?
She stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding.
Seconds passed.
Yoonchae: Yes. We do.
Megan swallowed.
Megan: If you want… we could do something that day. Maybe watch a show at my place? No pressure at all.
She barely had time to regret it before Lara laughed suddenly.
“Sorry,” Lara said. “TikTok got me.” She looked over. “What’s got you so worked up?”
Megan let out a breathy laugh. “Considering quitting my emo phase.”
The lie slipped out easily.
“Ooooh,” Lara teased. “Major life decision. What inspired this?”
Megan gestured vaguely. “TikTok comments. People hate my pink highlights.”
“Don’t listen to them.” Lara met her gaze seriously. “You’re a baddie. You can look emo if you want.”
Megan smiled. “Thanks.”
Lara rinsed her plate. “Also, the stylists picked that look. Good luck convincing them to change it before the comeback.”
Megan’s phone buzzed.
Yoonchae: I’d like that. Does 3 PM sound good?
For a moment, Megan forgot how to breathe.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading upward until her face felt hot. Lara’s earlier words echoed faintly in her head—big life developments. Maybe this counted.
She was Megan Skiendiel. Pop star. Katseye member. Alleged baddie…She shouldn’t be terrified of a date. Besides, Yoonchae had said yes. Twice
Megan: 3 sounds good.
Megan had thought asking out Yoonchae would feel life-altering.
Instead, life stubbornly continued.
With the U.S. tour looming two weeks away, practice ramped up mercilessly. Gone were the days of wrapping up by seven. Ten at night felt optimistic now.
They were all exhausted. Megan especially felt foolish for planning a date in the middle of it all. She hoped—quietly, desperately—that Yoonchae wouldn’t regret saying yes once Thursday arrived.
The next morning, Megan tried to greet her.
Yoonchae gave a polite nod and kept walking.
No smile. No pause.
Huh.
Maybe she was in a rush.
Megan told herself not to read into it. Emphasis on told. Rehearsal demanded everything from them—stamina, focus, discipline. It was about pushing bodies past comfort, about muscle memory and breath control and burning out for the sake of precision.
After their first brutal run-through—eighteen songs of singing, dancing, tumbling—they finally broke. The group shuffled toward the studio kitchen, gasping for air. Forty-five minutes. That was all they got.
Megan did her best not to let her eyes linger at Yoonchae.
Yoonchae looked like she wasn’t even trying.
Yoonchae ate half a granola bar without glancing up. She gave Megan polite nods. Nothing more. Not ignoring her, but distant enough that Megan wondered if the conversation from two nights ago had been a hallucination.
The worst part was how normal Yoonchae was with everyone else. She accepted Sophia’s hugs. Let Lara lean dramatically against her shoulder. Snapped back playfully at Daniela.
Megan understood the logic. Their contracts didn’t explicitly forbid dating, but the implications were obvious. The backlash. The risk. Not just to them but to all of Katseye.
Still, it stung.
By the end of the day, they’d barely spoken.
Megan was halfway to collapsing into bed when her phone chimed.
Yoonchae: You looked tired today. Are you okay?
Megan blinked, rereading it.
Megan: Yeah. Just tired.
A pause.
Yoonchae: …
Yoonchae: I’m sorry if I seemed cold. I thought it’d be better if we acted normal around the group.
Megan stared at the message. She sighed. Yoonchae’s actions made sense but her feelings seemed resistant to logic that day.
Megan: Guess I need to work on my acting skills. Yours were Oscar-worthy.
Yoonchae: Honestly, you were doing fine. I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t made a face when we ran into each other earlier.
Megan groaned softly into her pillow.
Yoonchae: If we’re still good, I’m looking forward to our movie date tomorrow.
Her heart skipped.
Megan: We’re good. I just let my anxiety win. Looking forward to tomorrow :)
She fell asleep smiling.
Megan had vacuumed the living room twice.
Not because it needed it. In fact, Lara had already asked her earlier if she “caught sudden OCD” and asked if it was contagious. Megan just needed something to do with her hands. Something repetitive.
Something that gave her the illusion of control over a night that felt terrifyingly out of her control.
She stepped back and surveyed the room like it was a stage she was about to perform on.
The couch pillows were aligned too neatly. The blanket was folded instead of casually draped. Snacks were arranged on the coffee table with an almost anxious symmetry, like an offering instead of something meant to be eaten.
This is normal, she told herself. People clean for dates. People want things to be nice.
She checked the time on her phone. Too early.
She checked again anyway.
Her heart lurched painfully when the doorbell rang.
Megan froze for half a second too long before forcing herself into motion. She wiped her palms on her jeans, smoothed the front of her shirt, and opened the door.
Yoonchae stood there with a small paper bag in her hands. Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, posture relaxed but reserved. She looked calm—in a way that made Megan feel like she was standing in front of a still lake, unable to tell how deep it went.
“Hi,” Yoonchae said.
“Hi,” Megan replied, too quickly, the word jumping out of her chest.
Yoonchae stepped inside, glancing around the apartment. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary, taking everything in.
“Wow,” she said after a beat. “It’s… really clean.”
Megan laughed, sharp and a little breathless. “Yeah. I—uh. I cleaned.”
Yoonchae smiled, small and polite. Not the teasing one Megan liked. Not the one she sometimes caught during late-night rehearsals.
“I brought snacks,” Yoonchae added, lifting the bag slightly, like she needed justification for existing in the space.
“Oh. You didn’t have to,” Megan said immediately, already reaching for it. “But thank you. That’s really nice. I mean, n-not that you bringing snacks is nice, I just—sorry.”
She hated how every sentence sounded like it came with an apology attached.
They sat on the couch with a careful amount of space between them. Not far enough to be intentional. Not close enough to feel comfortable.
Megan was acutely aware of where her hands were. On her knees. Then folded. Then awkwardly clasped together. She resisted the urge to tuck her legs under herself, worried it would feel too intimate, too fast.
She queued up the K-drama Yoonchae had mentioned rewatching—something Megan had deliberately committed to memory, because remembering things felt like proof she was doing this right.
The opening theme played.
Megan waited.
She waited for a comment, a reaction, a joke. Something to hook onto.
Yoonchae watched quietly, chin resting against her knuckles, eyes focused on the screen.
Megan laughed softly, filling the silence. “I still don’t understand why this guy is so popular,” she said, nodding at the male lead. “He barely even moves his face when he smiles. Honestly, without the tears, I can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing.”
Yoonchae hummed. “Mm.”
That was it.
Megan smiled anyway because smiling was better than panicking.
She kept talking.
She commented on the dramatic music cues, pointed out predictable tropes, made light jokes she’d half-rehearsed earlier while pacing her kitchen. She tried to sound effortless, like this was natural, like she wasn’t monitoring Yoonchae’s posture and breathing and expression for signs of boredom.
Yoonchae listened.
She nodded. She smiled in the right places.
But she didn’t lean closer.
She didn’t tease Megan back.
She didn’t offer stories of her own.
Every time Megan glanced over, Yoonchae’s body was angled toward the screen instead of toward her. Not closed off necessarily. But not open either.
Maybe she’s just tired, Megan thought. Or nervous. Or trying not to make things weird.
Or maybe she’s realizing this was a mistake.
Halfway through the episode, Megan became painfully aware of how loud her own voice sounded in the room. How it seemed to echo once it left her mouth.
She stopped mid-sentence, heat creeping up her neck.
Yoonchae glanced at her. “Sorry... what were you saying?”
“Oh,” Megan said quickly. “Nothing. It wasn’t important.”
Yoonchae hesitated, like she might say something else. Instead, she just nodded and turned back to the screen.
They watched in silence.
The silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t comfortable either. It just existed, untouched, stretching longer than Megan knew what to do with.
Her thoughts spiraled.
Yoonchae was bored. She was just being polite. She doesn’t know how to leave without hurting Megan’s feelings.
Megan shifted, inching a little closer, testing the space.
Yoonchae didn’t move away.
But she didn’t move closer either.
The neutrality felt louder than rejection.
By the time the episode ended, Megan felt wrung out.
She paused the screen too abruptly. “Okay! Um. Dinner.”
In the kitchen, everything fell apart.
The recipe she’d practiced betrayed her with cruel efficiency. The sauce thickened too fast. Something burned slightly. Megan muttered apologies under her breath like the ingredients could hear her.
“I can help,” Yoonchae offered, stepping closer, sleeves already pushed up.
“No!” Megan said immediately, too fast. “I mean no, I’ve got it.”
Yoonchae paused.
She didn’t seem irritated. Or disappointed. She looked like she was thinking
“Okay,” she said softly, stepping back.
Megan felt it immediately. The way the air shifted. The way Yoonchae gave her space without protest.
They ate at the table, the food passable but clearly not what Megan had imagined. Yoonchae thanked her sincerely, which somehow made Megan feel worse.
They did end up talking but only about safe things.
Schedules. Rehearsal. A funny mistake Daniela made last week.
Nothing that lingered. Nothing that risked anything.
Yoonchae checked the time.
“I should head back soon,” she said gently.
Megan nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Of course.”
They stood by the door, the night ending without ceremony. Megan hesitated, then leaned in for a hug that lasted barely half a second.
“Thank you,” Yoonchae said. “For tonight.”
“Yeah,” Megan replied, forcing a smile. “Thanks for coming.”
After the door closed, Megan stood there, staring at the empty space.
Her apartment felt too quiet. Too clean.
She sank onto the couch and pressed her palms into her eyes.
That was bad.
Later, lying awake, Megan replayed everything. Every joke that landed wrong. Every moment she filled silence instead of letting it breathe. Every time she’d chosen control over connection.
Her phone buzzed.
She reached for it slowly.
Yoonchae: I got home safe. Getting ready for bed.
Megan gave the message a heart emoji. Then she exhaled.
Megan: I’m happy you came tonight. Sorry about the awkwardness.
The typing dots appeared. Disappeared.
Her heart thudded.
Yoonchae: I’m sorry too. I was really tired and I think that made things awkward. It didn’t go how I expected.
Megan swallowed.
Then another message.
Yoonchae: But I liked being with you.
Megan stared at the screen, warmth blooming painfully in her chest.
Yoonchae: Do you want to get Starbucks on Friday at 10 AM next week?
Megan buried her face into her pillow, hope returning quietly.