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Megan knows the look on her own face without needing a mirror. You don’t have to send those pictures to her.
She's seen it in the edits—dozens of them, hundreds maybe—her eyes and her mouth, basically her whole face, doing that thing they do whenever Yoonchae talks.. Some of them make it cute, romantic, hopeful. Others make it a joke: "wdym they've never had anything together"
The irony isn't lost on her. Nothing about this is straight.
They're in the practice room after hours, which has become their routine. Everyone else cleared out an hour ago. But Yoonchae stays. She always stays. And Megan pretends it's coincidence, pretends she isn't counting down the minutes until they're alone.
"You tired?" Megan asks, even though she knows the answer.
Yoonchae shakes her head, ponytail swishing. She's walking toward the mirror now, toward where Megan is sitting with her back against the glass. Eighteen and luminous and so, so careful. Her practice shirt clings to her from the workout, and Megan has to physically look away.
"No. I am... okay."
The pause before "okay" tells Megan everything.
Yoonchae slides down the mirror to sit beside her, close enough that their shoulders touch. Closer than necessary. Dangerous.
This is allowed, Megan tells herself. This is what friends do. Bandmates. Whatever label makes it safe.
"You did really well today," Megan says, and her voice comes out rougher than intended. She clears her throat. "That transition in the second verse? Perfect."
Yoonchae smiles, small and pleased, and tilts her head back against the mirror. Her neck is exposed like that, long and graceful, and Megan thinks: I'm going to die. I'm literally going to die right here in this practice room.
"You helped me," Yoonchae says softly.
I'd do anything for you, Megan thinks. I'd relearn the choreography a thousand times if it meant watching you nail it. I'd learn Korean. I'd learn to shut up. I'd learn to stop looking at you like you like you’re the only person who exists, except I don't think I can learn that one.
What she says is: "Team effort."
The silence stretches. Megan counts her own breaths—one, two, three—trying to focus on anything except the way Yoonchae's hand is resting on the floor between them, so close their pinkies are almost touching. Almost.
"Megan," Yoonchae says quietly. She's looking at her hands now, fingers twisting together in that way she does when she's nervous. "Can I... ask you something?"
"Always."
A beat. Two. Yoonchae's jaw works like she's chewing on the words before they come out.
"When you told everyone... on live with Lara..." She pauses, and Megan can see her translating in her head, arranging the English carefully. "About being... bisexual. Were you scared?"
Megan's throat tightens. She wants to lie, to make it sound easy. To be the brave one, the sure one, the one who has it all figured out. But Yoonchae deserves better than that.
"Terrified," she admits. "I thought—I don't know what I thought. That people would hate me. That I'd lose opportunities." She pauses, turning to study Yoonchae's profile. "Some of that happened. Most of it didn't. But yeah, I was scared shitless."
Yoonchae nods slowly, processing. Her throat bobs when she swallows. "But you did it."
"I did it."
"Because you are brave."
"Because I was tired of pretending." Megan turns to face her fully, pulling one knee up to her chest. "Chae, why are you asking?"
Yoonchae's eyes meet hers, dark and conflicted. Megan masochistically thinks Yoonchae’s eyes are so beautiful, she could drown in them. She pushes those thoughts out of her mind forcibly, seeing that Yoonchae seems serious and… very troubled.
Tick. tock. Tick. tock.
"I don’t know what I am," Yoonchae whispers. Her voice cracks slightly on the last word. "There are so many... words. Bisexual. Lesbian. Pansexual. Queer. Questioning. I don’t—" She makes a frustrated sound, her hands clenching. "In Korea, we don’t talk like this. We don’t have... we do not say these things. And I represent Korea here. People watch me. Korean people watch me. My family watches me. They are proud of me being in KATSEYE, and if I—if they think—"
"So you think you might be—"
"I do not know." The words burst out of her, louder than intended. Yoonchae presses her palms to her eyes. "How do you know? How did you know you were bisexual and not... something else? How do you know what word to use? There are too many words, Megan. Too many."
Megan wants to reach for her hand. She doesn't. Not yet. "I liked girls. I liked guys. That felt like it fit. But you don't have to figure it out right now, Chae. You don't have to use a word if you're not ready."
"But I feel—" Yoonchae stops, struggling. Her hands drop from her face. "I feel things I should not feel. For... for people I should not feel them for."
The practice room is too quiet. She can hear her own blood pulsing in her veins. What situation did she walk into? She's terrified to ask. She's going to ask anyway because she's an idiot who can't leave well enough alone.
"People like me?" The words escape before she can stop them.
Yoonchae's silence is an answer. It stretches between them like a long, long, loooong road in the middle of nowhere.
Then, so quietly Megan almost misses it: "Yes."
Megan laughs, bitter and soft and a little bit hysterical. "Yeah. I figured."
"I am sorry—"
"Don't." Megan holds up a hand. "Don't apologize for how you feel. That's not—that's the one thing you don't apologize for, okay?"
But Yoonchae looks miserable anyway. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and she's pulling at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric between her fingers. "I see how you look at me. The edits... I see them too. Everyone sees. And I want—" She presses her palms to her eyes again. "I want to look back the same way. I want to not be scared. But I am scared, Megan. I just turned 18 and I’m Korean and in the biggest group of the world right now, and if I—if people think I am—"
"Homophobic," Megan finishes, and she can't help the dry edge to her voice. "They already joke about that, you know. On Twitter. TikTok. 'Yoonchae figuring out who the gaze is.' 'Yoonchae aura-farming while being homophobic' It's a whole thing."
Yoonchae flinches like she's been slapped. "I-I’m not... I don’t hate—"
"I know." And Megan does know. Hugs and lingering touches from Yoonchae had reassured her many times. Like fuck, Yoonchae even leans into Megan’s touch despite being averse to physical touch. But also… She can see it in every careful distance Yoonchae maintains, every moment she pulls back just when they're getting too close. Megan’s not stupid. It's fear. Fear looks different. Fear looks like this: Yoonchae sitting next to her, so close but not touching, wanting to but not knowing how. "I know you're not homophobic, Chae. I know you're just... protecting yourself."
"I do not want to protect myself from you."
Yoonchae's eyes are bright with unshed tears, and Megan feels something in her chest crack open, spilling warmth and terror in equal measure.
"Then don't," she says quietly.
"But I do not know how to—I have never—" Yoonchae's breath hitches. Her hands are shaking now. "I have never kissed a girl. I have never... experimented, like you probably did. I don’t know if I want to kiss girls or if I only want to kiss you, and I do not know if that is... if that means I am..."
Megan waits. Lets her stumble through it. Watches the way Yoonchae's throat works, the way her fingers twist together, the way she can't seem to look directly at Megan for more than a second at a time.
"I do not know what word I am," Yoonchae finishes miserably.
And here's the thing: Megan could kiss her right now. Could close the distance between them, could show Yoonchae exactly what she's been thinking about for months. Could give her that experiment she's asking for, however indirectly. It would be so easy. Yoonchae is right there, close enough to touch, close enough to taste, and Megan has thought about this so many times she's memorized the fantasy.
But Megan remembers being fifteen and confused, sixteen and terrified, seventeen and finally, finally understanding. She thinks about the luxury of time, of figuring yourself out without cameras and contracts and an entire country watching. She thinks about what it would feel like to be Yoonchae's experiment and nothing more.
She thinks about chemistry—undeniable that it makes editors clip together moments and fans write theories and bandmates exchange knowing glances. The kind that exists whether or not you act on it.
"I want to wait," Megan says, and it physically hurts. The words scrape her throat raw on the way out.
Yoonchae blinks. "Wait?"
"For you to figure it out. The words, the feelings, all of it." Megan's hands are shaking slightly. She tucks them under her thighs to hide it. "I'm not going to be your experiment, Chae. I'm not going to be the thing you try once and then decide you're not—whatever. That you're not into."
"But I—"
"I like you." The words come out rougher than intended, raw and exposed. "I like you so much it makes me stupid. I look at you like I'm in a goddamn Nicholas Sparks movie, apparently, which is humiliating, by the way. Thank you for that. The editors are having a field day. And if we kiss—when we kiss—I need you to be sure. Not just curious. Not just experimenting. Sure."
Drip, drip, drip.
Yoonchae is crying now, silently, tears tracking down her cheeks and catching the fluorescent light. She doesn't wipe them away. Just sits there, letting them fall, looking at Megan like she's breaking.
"That’s not fair," she whispers.
"I know."
"I might never be sure. I might never be ready to—to come out, to tell people, to—"
"I know that too." Megan does reach for her hand now, finally, weaving their fingers together. Yoonchae's hand is smaller than hers (or maybe the same size, but right now? It feels so much smaller), warm and slightly callused from dancing. She holds on like she's drowning. "But I'd rather wait for something real than rush into something that hurts us both."
"You are too good," Yoonchae whispers. Her thumb strokes across Megan's knuckles, tentative and testing. "Too good for me."
Megan laughs, wet and broken. "I'm really not. I'm selfish as hell. Because part of me thinks—hopes—that if you figure yourself out, if you let yourself feel whatever you're feeling... maybe you'll come back to this. To us. To whatever this could be."
Yoonchae stares at their joined hands. Her tears have slowed but not stopped. "We have chemistry."
"Yeah." Megan's voice cracks. "We really do."
"Everyone can see it."
"Everyone but us, apparently." Megan squeezes her hand. "Or maybe we see it too well. Maybe that's the problem."
That gets a small, watery laugh from Yoonchae. She squeezes back. "I feel so bad. For not being brave like you. For making you wait when you are already—when you already know what you are."
"You just turned eighteen," Megan says firmly. "You're supposed to be figuring shit out. And you're doing it in front of millions of people, in a second language, representing a whole country. That's... that's a lot, Chae. I'm not asking you to be brave right now. I'm asking you to be honest. With yourself, mostly."
Yoonchae nods slowly. They sit like that for a while, hands linked while their shoulders touch.
Then Yoonchae shifts.
She turns slightly, angling her body toward Megan's. Her free hand comes up to rest on Megan's knee, fingers splaying across the fabric of her sweatpants. Megan's breath catches.
"Chae—"
"Please," Yoonchae whispers. She's closer now. Close enough that Megan can count her eyelashes, can see the tear tracks on her cheeks, can feel her breath. "Please, I just... I need to know. I need to—"
"Know what?" Megan's heart is trying to escape her chest. "What do you need to know?"
"If it feels different." Yoonchae's voice is so quiet Megan has to lean in to hear it. Which might be the point. "If it feels different with you. If I am... if I am just confused or if I am..."
She doesn't finish. Instead, she leans in.
It's slow. Painfully, agonizingly slow. Yoonchae moves like she's underwater, giving Megan every opportunity to pull away. Her hand tightens on Megan's knee. Her eyes flutter closed. Her lips part slightly.
And Megan—
Megan turns her head.
Yoonchae's lips brush her cheek instead, soft, warm, and fleeting. The touch lasts maybe half a second before Yoonchae jerks back like she's been burned.
"I'm sorry," Megan says quickly, still holding Yoonchae's hand even as Yoonchae tries to pull away. "Chae, I'm sorry, but I can't—"
"No, I am sorry." Yoonchae is pulling back completely now, trying to put distance between them. Her face is red, splotchy with tears and embarrassment. "I shouldn’t have—that was—I’m sorry—"
"Stop." Megan tightens her grip on Yoonchae's hand, not letting her retreat. "Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I tried to kiss you when you said—when you told me you want to wait—"
"I know what I said." Megan's voice is gentle but firm. "And I meant it. Not because I don't want to kiss you. Trust me, I want to kiss you so badly it's actually embarrassing. Like, I think about it constantly. It's a problem."
Yoonchae lets out a sound that's like a very self-depricating laugh. "Then why—"
"Because when we kiss—and we will, Chae, I really hope we will—I need you to know why you're doing it." Megan reaches up with her free hand, hesitates, then gently wipes a tear from Yoonchae's cheek with her thumb. The touch is tender, careful. "I need you to know if you're kissing me because you want me, or because you want to know if you like girls, or because you're scared and confused and I'm here. Those are different things."
"But what if I can't know until I try?" Yoonchae's voice breaks. "What if I need to... to experiment to understand? So why can I not—"
"You can," Megan says. "You should. Just... not with me."
The words hurt to say. Megan can see them land, can see the way Yoonchae flinches.
"You don't want me."
"Oh my god." Megan actually laughs, sharp and bitter. "Chae, I want you so much I can barely think. Do you know what it's like? Sitting next to you every day, watching you exist, being close enough to touch but not being able to? It's torture. Literal torture."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm already in too deep." The confession spills out so naturally. "I'm already past the point of experimenting. I'm already at the point where if you kiss me and then decide girls aren't your thing, or I'm not your thing, or you're too scared to pursue this... it's going to break something in me. And I know that's my problem, not yours, but I have to protect myself too."
Yoonchae is quiet for a long moment. Her hand has stopped trying to pull away from Megan's. She's just sitting there, tears still falling, processing.
"So I can’t kiss you until I know," she says finally.
"Until you know why you want to."
"But I want to because—" Yoonchae's free hand gestures helplessly between them. "Because of this. Because of chemistry. Because when I look at you, I feel... I don’t have the English word. 심쿵? Like my heart is... shaking?"
"Fluttering," Megan supplies quietly.
"Yes. Fluttering." Yoonchae looks at her, and there's something desperate in her eyes. "That is not enough?"
"It's everything," Megan whispers. "But you're also eighteen and Korean and terrified, and I need you to figure out if that fluttering is worth the cost. If I'm worth the cost. If coming out—or even just being with me in secret—is something you actually want or if it's just... chemistry."
Yoonchae's shoulders shake. She's crying harder now, quiet sobs that make her whole body tremble. "I hate this. I hate not knowing. I hate being scared. I hate that you’re right."
"I hate it too," Megan admits. She pulls Yoonchae closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Yoonchae crumbles into her side, face pressed against Megan's neck. "Trust me, I really, really hate it."
They sit like that for a long time. Megan holds Yoonchae while she cries, feeling each sob shake through her small frame. She strokes her hair, presses her cheek to the top of Yoonchae's head, breathes in the scent of Yoonchae and tries not to think about how this is both everything she wants and nothing she can have.
Eventually, Yoonchae's breathing evens out. The tears slow. She doesn't pull away, though. Just stays there, tucked against Megan's side, her hand still holding Megan's.
"Megan?" Her voice is muffled against Megan's neck.
"Yeah?"
"Can you... keep looking at me? The way you do?"
Megan's heart does something complicated. She actually has to close her eyes against the feeling. "Are you seriously asking me to keep pining after you?"
"Is that what it is called? Pining?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
Yoonchae pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at Megan. Her eyes are red and swollen, her face blotchy. She's still the most beautiful thing Megan has ever seen. "I like when you pine. It makes me feel... seen. Even if I am scared."
"You're killing me, you know that?"
"I am sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"Sorry." A pause. Then, quieter: "Megan?"
"Mm?"
"When I figure it out... the words, the feelings... will you still wait?"
Megan looks at her. At Yoonchae with her tear-stained cheeks and uncertain eyes and hand gripping hers like a lifeline. At this girl who represents an entire country, who's navigating identity in a spotlight, who's eighteen and terrified and so unbearably honest about it.
"Yeah," Megan says softly. "I'll wait."
"Even if it takes a long time?"
"Even then."
"Even if I—if I never—"
"Chae." Megan squeezes her hand. "I can't promise I'll wait forever. I'm not that selfless. But I'll wait as long as I can. As long as it's fair to both of us."
Yoonchae nods slowly. She leans her head back on Megan's shoulder, careful this time. Not trying to kiss her. Just seeking comfort. "Thank you. For waiting. For not letting me kiss you when I don’t know why."
"Thank you for being honest."
"I wish I could be more honest. I wish I could—" Yoonchae's voice catches. "I wish I could kiss you and know it means what I want it to mean. I wish I was not scared. I wish I was like you."
"I wish you were like you," Megan says. "Just... a version of you who knows what she wants. Who isn't afraid of it."
"Maybe someday."
"Maybe."