Chapter Text
The dance studio always smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and nervous sweat. Jeong Yoonchae had grown used to the scent over her months as a trainee, but something about today made it feel more suffocating than usual. Or maybe it was the way Megan Skiendiel stood just a few feet away, stretching casually like they weren’t about to be pitted against each other in another evaluation round.
Yoonchae kept her eyes on the floor as their names were called out for the same group. Again. It was starting to feel deliberate at this point, as if the trainers wanted to watch the two of them go head to head, week after week.
She glanced up, just in time to catch Megan looking at her. Not glaring. Not even smirking. Just looking, like she was trying to figure something out.
Yoonchae quickly looked away.
They weren’t enemies, exactly. They didn’t scream at each other in the halls or spread rumors or roll their eyes when one entered the room. No, their rivalry was quieter. Subtler. It started with harmless comparisons during evaluations, with trainers saying things like, “Yoonchae, you should study Megan’s stage presence,” or “Megan, match Yoonchae’s control.”
It escalated slowly.
A side comment here. A passive-aggressive compliment there. And now, it had reached a point where the air between them practically crackled whenever they were in the same room.
The first real moment of tension came after one of their practice sessions.
“Nice cover during the last chorus,” Megan said, tossing her a water bottle from across the room. Her voice was sweet, too sweet. “You almost made it look easy.”
Yoonchae caught the bottle, her grip tight. “I know” she replied coolly.
She turned her back before Megan could say anything else, but she heard the quiet chuckle anyway. It made her spine straighten.
Their interactions grew more frequent over the next few weeks. They were always being assigned to the same projects. Same groups. Same vocal units. Yoonchae suspected it was Sophia’s doing, she was close with most of the trainers and had a mischievous streak. She wouldn’t put it past her.
And Megan, for her part, never passed up an opportunity to tease.
“Your eyeliner’s smudging,” Megan said once during a recording session, leaning close to whisper it in her ear.
Yoonchae flinched. “I know.”
“You sure? You’re kind of cute when you get annoyed.”
Yoonchae walked out of that room without answering, cheeks warm.
When the duet project was announced, the room buzzed with excitement. Everyone wanted to know who would be paired up. Yoonchae felt her stomach sink before she even heard the names.
"Jeong Yoonchae and Megan Skiendiel."
The room went silent. Megan, sitting cross-legged on the floor, immediately looked up with a raised brow. Her eyes sparkled.
“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” she said, rising to her feet and offering Yoonchae a hand.
Yoonchae ignored it.
Their practices were… tolerable, at first.
Megan was undeniably talented, and Yoonchae hated that she had to admire her work ethic. She always showed up on time, always remembered the counts, and always managed to make Yoonchae feel one step behind. But she also didn’t take criticism well.
“You're rushing the transition here,” Yoonchae said during their second practice.
Megan raised an eyebrow. “Am I? Or are you just too slow?”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“Neither is dancing,” Megan shot back, before sighing. “Okay, fine. Let’s run it again.”
They danced in silence after that. Perfectly in sync, movements sharp and powerful. But the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it grew heavier with each session.
One night, after a particularly frustrating rehearsal, Yoonchae lingered in the practice room, redoing her parts while Megan sat nearby, scrolling through her phone.
“You know,” Megan said suddenly, “you don’t have to be perfect all the time.”
Yoonchae didn’t look at her. “I know.”
“Then why are you still here?”
There was a long pause.
Yoonchae finally turned, meeting her gaze through the mirror.
“Because I have to be,” she said softly.
For once, Megan didn’t have a teasing reply.
Showcase week arrived faster than expected. The studio lights felt hotter, the stakes higher. When they took the stage for their duet, the room held its breath.
They danced like they were fighting and falling at the same time. Every movement was sharp, electric, deliberate. When the final beat dropped, Megan’s hand landed firmly on Yoonchae’s waist, their faces inches apart.
Yoonchae didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Megan whispered, breath fanning her cheek: “You did amazing.”
Yoonchae pulled back sharply, stepping away, ears burning.
Back in the hallway, Lara grinned as she handed Yoonchae a sports drink. “Still pretending you hate her?”
Yoonchae blinked. “What?”
“I saw your face after the final pose. Cute.”
“I don’t hate her,” Yoonchae muttered. “I just don’t like her face.”
Lara laughed. “Sure, sure.”
From across the hallway, Megan was still watching her.
And for once, Yoonchae didn’t look away.