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It had been a week since the interview incident. One stupid second too long trying to comprehend what the host was saying, and the internet had dubbed Yoonchae a villain. Social media screamed: KATSEYE’s Yoonchae Silent On Gay Rights?! Yoonchae Homophobic Confirmed.
The girls knew it was ridiculous. Lara had laughed so hard she nearly spilled her boba. Megan had rolled her eyes and muttered, “People will clip anything.” Even Sophia, normally dramatic, just patted Yoonchae’s head and said, “We know you’re not homophobic, Yoonchip. Relax.”
But relax wasn’t in her vocabulary anymore. She was seventeen, stubborn, and increasingly determined. She would clear her name, not with words—but with action.
Lara was sprawled in her family’s LA living room, laptop open, hair piled into a messy bun, a giant hoodie swallowing her frame.
She'd just finished a morning bout of meditation.
The doorbell rang.
She yelled toward the hall: “Mom, can you-oh wait.” She dragged herself up and opened the door. “Yoonchae?”
There stood her youngest bandmate, adorn with messy hair, clad in a sweater and trackpants. She looked like she hadn't even got out of bed.
“What—what are you doing here babo? This is way before your wake-up time.”
No explanation. No preamble. Yoonchae just stepped forward, and planted a giant, obnoxious kiss on Lara’s cheek. Loud. Wet. Like a sticker smacked onto skin.
SPLAT.
Lara’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—”
“See?” Yoonchae said proudly, hands on hips. “Not homophobic.”
Silence. Lara blinked once. Twice. Then absolutely lost it.
She fell back against the doorframe, wheezing. “You—you literally came all the way here at this hour to prove you’re not homophobic?!”
“It’s important!” Yoonchae crossed her arms, frowning.
“Oh my god,” Lara gasped between laughter. “That kiss had the same energy as when my aunt kisses me at Christmas. You sound like you’re submitting homework: Exhibit A, One Cheek Kiss.”
Yoonchae bristled. “It was convincing!”
“Convincing my parents you’re trying to marry me for a green card, maybe!” Lara wheezed so hard she had to grab the table for support. “My mom is going to die when I tell her the maknae just broke into our house to assault me with affection.”
“Not assault. Proof.”
“Yoonch, you’re the worst!” Lara lunged forward, grabbing her in a headlock, rubbing her knuckles into Yoonchae’s scalp. “If that’s your master plan, you’re gonna have to up your game.”
Yoonchae wriggled free, cheeks pink. “Fine! Maybe Megan will take me seriously.”
“Wait—” Lara blinked, then cackled louder. “Oh god, Megan? Good luck. It's gonna be epic, for sure..."
She faded off, in the back of her head knowing something would transpire if Yoonchae went ahead with her plan.
Then, after her laughter subsided, Lara softened a little. She nudged Yoonchae’s shoulder, her voice turning quieter. “Listen, dummy. You don’t need to fly across the city or kiss me like some comic-book superhero to prove anything. We live with you, we know you. You’ve never once made me feel anything but safe and seen.”
Yoonchae glanced at her, wide-eyed. Lara rolled her eyes but smiled. “People online don’t know the real you. They’ll always twist things. But we do. I do. So stop worrying about what strangers think. Just keep being you.”
It was a rare earnest moment from Lara, equal parts big sisterly scolding and reassurance. Yoonchae, flustered, muttered something incoherent and looked away—but the warmth in her chest lingered even after Lara shoved her playfully and said, “Now get out of my living room before you eat all my chips.”
Practice had gone late again. The others had left hours ago, but Megan stayed behind to stretch and run through choreo. Yoonchae lingered too, sitting cross-legged on the studio floor, pretending to scroll her phone while sneaking glances.
The mirrors reflected Megan’s movements: the bend of her back, the shake of damp bangs sticking to her forehead. The gentle roll of her shoulders as she exhaled. The soft sheen of sweat that caught the light and made her glow.
Yoonchae’s stomach twisted. She was supposed to be proving a point, but suddenly the “point” looked a lot like Megan herself. Her palms felt clammy, and her heart wouldn’t calm down.
She shot up. “Megan. Stay still.”
Megan froze mid-stretch, brow furrowing. “Uh. Why do you sound like a villain about to monologue?”
“No reason.”
And before Megan could move, Yoonchae marched up and pressed her lips against Megan’s. Quick, clumsy, a crash-test-dummy kiss.
The kiss was supposed to be a mic-drop. Quick, neat, indisputable proof. But instead Yoonchae felt heat surge all the way to her ears—the taste of salt on Megan’s lips, the electric jolt of contact. Her head spun.
“There.” Yoonchae pulled back, triumphant. “Not homophobic.”
The silence was deafening.
Megan blinked. "...was that some sort of proof?”
“Yes!”
“…Yoonchae, that was the most awkward thing anyone has ever done to me in this studio, and I once tripped over a mic stand and faceplanted in front of Missy.”
“I’m serious!” Yoonchae’s face burned.
Megan was about to laugh it off, like Lara had, but something in Yoonchae’s expression—earnest, desperate, a little vulnerable—made her pause.
Her chest ached. Because the truth was: Megan had been watching too. All those late rehearsals, all the accidental touches, all the smiles Yoonchae didn’t know she gave. Megan had been carrying that weight quietly, hiding behind jokes.
So instead of teasing, she whispered, “Chae. Do it again.”
Yoonchae froze. “Huh?”
“Do it properly.”
Yoonchae blinked like she’d been hit with a lightstick. But Megan was already leaning closer, eyes soft, hand brushing against Yoonchae’s wrist.
This time, Yoonchae leaned in slowly. Every nerve in her body screamed awake. She could feel Megan’s breath against her lips, the nervous flutter in her chest turning into something molten. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She caught the faint scent of Megan’s shampoo, the warmth radiating off her skin. When their mouths met, it wasn’t clumsy at all—it was dizzying, consuming, a rush of sparks that made her knees weak.
One second, two, three—then Megan’s hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, and Yoonchae made a small, startled noise into the kiss. Megan smiled against her lips, emboldened, and tugged her closer until there was no space left between them.
The kiss grew messier, hungrier. Yoonchae clutched at Megan’s hoodie, fingers curling tight, pulling her in like she was terrified she’d vanish. Megan pressed her against the mirrored wall, and the cool glass at Yoonchae’s back made every inch of Megan’s warmth feel sharper, hotter. She gasped into Megan’s mouth, and Megan deepened the kiss, laughter spilling between them.
The world narrowed to the glide of lips, the brush of tongues, the heat of Megan’s breath. Yoonchae felt dizzy, every nerve lit up, her thoughts dissolving into nothing but Megan, Megan, Megan.
When they finally pulled apart, panting, lips swollen, Yoonchae blurted, “Okay, okay... Definitely not homophobic.”
Megan laughed breathlessly, forehead pressed to hers. “Congratulations, Jeung Yoonchae, you’ve just won the award for ‘Most Dramatic Proof Ever.’ Shall I fetch you a trophy? Maybe a rainbow crown? Or better, a sash that says ‘Megan Skiendiel's Property'.’”
Yoonchae gaped at her, utterly flustered. “Megaaaan!”
Megan grinned wickedly. “What? You wanted dramatic evidence. I’m just the emcee of your acceptance speech.”
She tapped Yoonchae’s nose, then added more softly, “And honestly? You didn’t need to prove anything. Except maybe how ridiculously fast you can make me lose my breath and my sanity.”
She flopped back theatrically, one arm across her forehead. “I’m ruined, Yoonchae. You’ve destroyed me. I’ll never recover—better kiss me again so I can be revived.”
The streets were quiet when they finally stumbled into Yoonchae and Sophia’s shared apartment. Shoes half-kicked off, jackets sliding to the floor, they couldn’t seem to stop kissing long enough to move properly.
They bumped into the hallway wall, muffling laughter and whispered protests.
“Shhh,” Yoonchae giggled, breathless, pressing her forehead to Megan’s. “Sophia’s gonna kill us if she hears.”
Megan kissed her again, firmer this time, smiling against her lips. “Worth it.”
They paused for a moment in the dim light of the living room, hearts still racing. Megan brushed a thumb across Yoonchae’s cheek. “You know… I never once thought you were homophobic. I just thought… maybe you didn’t see me the same way.”
Yoonchae blinked at her, chest tightening. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to. But I think I’ve been seeing only you for a while now.”
Megan’s breath hitched, then she leaned forward to capture her lips again, softer this time, almost reverent. Then, with a sudden grin, she pulled back dramatically and fanned herself. “Oh no. I think I’m fainting from how corny that was. Quick, I need oxygen—your oxygen.”
Yoonchae groaned, burying her face in her hands before giving in and kissing her again anyway.
They stumbled down the hallway, still kissing, half-whispering half-giggling confessions—that Megan liked the way Yoonchae always saved her the last dumpling, that Yoonchae thought Megan’s laugh made rehearsals bearable, that neither of them wanted this night to end.
Eventually, they collapsed into Yoonchae’s bed, sheets rumpled and pillows askew from the way they tumbled in. They lay tangled together, socks half-off, sweaters twisted, the room filled with the sound of their laughter breaking into soft sighs. Yoonchae nuzzled her face into Megan’s shoulder, voice muffled: “You’re really staying here?”
Megan grinned, brushing stray hair from her forehead. “Try getting rid of me now. I’ve officially claimed this half of your bed as Megan Territory.”
Yoonchae let out a small, relieved giggle, fingers tracing idle patterns on Megan’s arm. “This is real, right?”
“It is, I promise,” Megan whispered, kissing the top of her head. Then she added with a playful smirk, “But only if you keep singing in your sleep. It’s like my own private concert.”
They traded silly secrets in the dark—how Megan thought Yoonchae’s habit of humming while brushing her teeth was cute, how Yoonchae always replayed Megan’s solos when no one was watching. Each confession melted into another kiss, softer each time, until their words blurred into content little murmurs.
The soft drag of lips, the warmth of skin under sweaters, Megan’s playful dramatics balanced by her tenderness—all of it lingered until exhaustion finally pulled them under. Curled together, breath syncing, they drifted into sleep. And for the first time in days, Yoonchae slept with her chest light, her heart pounding with something she couldn’t deny anymore.
Megan woke first, the faint morning light spilling across the sheets. She lay still, drinking in the sight of Yoonchae curled up against her, lips parted slightly, hair messy from sleep. Her chest tightened—she’d wanted this for so long, and now here it was, warm and real in her arms.
She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Yoonchae’s face, fingers lingering. Yoonchae stirred, eyelids fluttering open, and gave a sleepy smile.
“Morning,” Yoonchae mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Megan chuckled softly. “Morning. You look ridiculous.”
“Thanks,” Yoonchae yawned. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it,” Megan admitted quietly. “You’re… kind of perfect like this.”
Yoonchae flushed, then wrinkled her nose. “Don’t kiss me, I have morning breath.”
Megan smirked. “I don’t care.” And before Yoonchae could protest, she leaned in. Their lips met again, slow and lazy, dissolving into soft laughter.
They kissed a few more times, trading silly banter about toothpaste and mints, before the room felt too warm with their quiet joy.
That’s when Sophia barged in.
“Yoonchae, wake up! We’re gonna be la—” Sophia froze mid-sentence, door flung wide open.
Because there, in Yoonchae’s bed, was not just a half-asleep maknae but also Megan, equally rumpled, very much awake, lips still hovering close to Yoonchae’s.
For a full three seconds, the scene hung in silence.
Then Sophia screamed.
“OH MY GOD. THERE’S A MEGAN IN YOUR BED. I KNEW IT. I KNEW SOMETHING WAS GOING ON!”
Yoonchae shot upright, hair sticking in all directions. “SOPHIA! Shut up!”
Megan groaned, dragging a pillow over her head. “Five more minutes, please.”
Sophia pointed dramatically, grinning even as she panicked. “Five minutes?! Look at you two... rumpled hair, guilty faces. Don’t think I didn’t notice the late-night rehearsals and the weird eye contact at dinner. I KNEW IT!”
Yoonchae buried her face in her hands. “I was proving I’m not homophobic…”
“…BY SLEEPING WITH MEGAN?!” Sophia screeched, half horrified, half delighted. “This is insane. Management’s gonna— actually, no, I’m gonna enjoy watching you explain this first.”
Megan peeked out from under the pillow, voice hoarse but smug. “Worked though, didn’t it?”
Sophia groaned loudly, throwing her hands up. “Unbelievable. My intuition was right. Pay up, Manon and Dani owe me twenty bucks!” She stormed out, muttering about needing coffee and texting the group chat.
Yoonchae collapsed back into bed, groaning. Megan just snuggled closer, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
“See?” she whispered. “Definitely not homophobic.”