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It would’ve been an understatement to say Megan was nervous.
Like really nervous.
She was on a plane to Hawaii for the holidays, headed to see extended family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole deal.
Her mom was coming. Her brother, too. His girlfriend, Rachel. That part was fine. None of that was the problem.
Almost on cue, Yoonchae shifted against her, lips brushing Megan’s neck as she moved in her sleep. Megan nearly jumped, but forced herself to stay still, face heating instantly.
Tyler glanced over at her, frowning.
“Meg, you okay?”
Megan couldn’t nod, so she just whispered a faint “yes,” eyes fixed straight ahead.
Tyler didn’t push it, but he kept looking at her like that. Suspicious, observant. He had every right to be.
Was Megan going to tell him why?
Absolutely not.
She sneaks a quick glance at Yoonchae beside her, or really, just the top of her head. She’s curled in on herself, and Megan feels a little bad, because Yoonchae’s taller than her, and she’s the one bending down just to fit against Megan’s shoulder.
Megan reaches to the side, gently brushing a strand of hair away from where she thinks Yoonchae’s face is, tucking it behind her ear.
Yeah. She can totally survive one more hour on this flight.
—————————————————————————————————————
Thankfully, Megan makes it through the entire flight without completely humiliating herself. Yoonchae sleeps through most of it, only jolting awake when the wheels scrape against the runway.
And then she looks at Megan like that. Sleepy, unbothered, smiling softly at her, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Megan doesn’t really know what to call this thing they’ve been circling around. After too much bubble tea and a long rehearsal on tour, they’d kissed. And then kissed again. And again.
It almost became routine, finding Yoonchae after a show, pulling her into some storage closet and kissing her until they were both breathless, their phones buzzing uselessly in their pockets with eighteen missed texts from Sophia.
Holding hands, sharing drinks—those used to be normal things, easy things, until the kiss. Megan doesn’t really mind. Still, her anxiety flares up anyway, buzzing under her skin, wanting definitions and lines and clarity.
But she’s okay with this. With Yoonchae like this. For now.
“Did I sleep the whole flight?” Yoonchae asks, yawning as she stretches, arms lifting over her head. Her tank top rides up, and Megan almost snaps her gaze away from the glimpse of Calvin Klein boxers underneath.
“Y—yeah,” Megan mumbles, staring straight ahead, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks.
Yoonchae pokes her in the side. “You’re being weird again,” she teases, nose crinkling as she laughs.
Megan pokes her back. “You always think I’m weird,” she says, half-serious.
Yoonchae pauses, considering it, then grins.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, “but you’re being extra weird right now.” Megan doesn’t answer. She just reaches out and taps the tip of Yoonchae’s nose, like you would a cat.
“Come on,” she says lightly. “I think my brother already left us.”
Because she’s so chivalrous, Megan helps Yoonchae get her suitcase down from the overhead storage, pushing it to her with an exaggerated little flourish.
Yoonchae smiles at her, and, well… yeah. Megan’s starstruck. Again.
“You know I’m taller than you, right?” Yoonchae smirks, glancing back as they start down the aisle.
Megan gasps in mock offense. “Okay, but like—I’m older than you. I’m just being a good unnie.” She can practically feel Yoonchae rolling her eyes ahead of her.
“I felt that eyeroll, Chip,” Megan says.
“What eyeroll?”
They finally spill out of the plane, half-jogging to catch up with Megan’s mom, her brother, and Amy. Tyler turns the second he sees them, already unimpressed.
“You’re so slow.”
Megan smacks his shoulder a little too hard. He winces.
“Not my fault you literally sprinted ahead of us,” she shoots back. “Did you even wait for Rachel?”
Rachel shakes her head, laughing anyway. “I tapped some random guy’s shoulder because he had the same jacket. Someone kill me now.”
Yoonchae laughs, soft and warm, the sound slipping right into Megan’s chest.
“Back when Megan had orange hair,” Yoonchae says, “I did the same thing in another airport. It was so bad.” Megan facepalms.
“She didn’t even look like me!” she protests.
“Yes, she did! She even had your waves!”
“She had natural ginger hair! Mine looked anything but natural!”
Megan keeps teasing Yoonchae as they reach the rental car, tossing suitcases into the back. She slips into the seat beside her, laughing as Yoonchae gets more and more embarrassed.
“You didn’t just tap her on the shoulder, you hugged her from behind!” Yoonchae whines, burrowing into Megan’s shoulder.
“Don’t remind me!” she groans, shaking her head. “What made it worse was the fact that she was a fan!”
“Poor little Yoonchip,” Megan teases, nudging her shoulder. “So uncomfortable with physical contact, yet willing to hug me. You were going to hug me.”
Yoonchae’s face is completely buried in Megan’s hoodie now.
“Well, maybe I just like hugging you,” she says, voice muffled. Megan’s breath catches. Now it’s her turn to swat at Yoonchae.
“Y—you can’t just say things like that!” Yoonchae looks up, puzzled.
“Why not?”
Megan sputters. “B—Because that’s unfair! You’re making me nervous!”
Tyler twists in the seat in front of them, grinning. “Okay, lovebirds. We get it.”
Both of them flush instantly. Megan opens her mouth to protest, but fails spectacularly.
She’s grateful when the car finally pulls up to her aunt’s huge house, Christmas lights wrapped around every bush like they were personally challenged to use all of them.
The second they step inside, they’re ambushed. Cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends, all talking at once, asking about KATSEYE, about Megan, about tour, about everything. Megan smiles through it, half-listening, watching as Yoonchae gets swept up by a cluster of aunts.
“You’re so young! It must be so hard for you, so far away from Korea!”
“Have you had any boyfriends yet?”
“She’s too young for one!”
Megan doesn’t even hesitate. She reaches in and pulls Yoonchae back toward her, arm firm around her shoulders, a human shield.
“Okay, okay,” Megan says, laughing. “You all get to interrogate her during dinner.”
Her aunts grumble, but eventually scatter, distracted by food and gossip. Megan and Yoonchae slip away together, finally breathing again.
There’s a million things to get done in the kitchen. Megan’s trying—and failing—to fold a dumpling while Yoonchae laughs and her popo tsks, shaking her head.
“Aiya, you put too much meat in the wrapper! You have to start over again.” Megan groans and glances at Yoonchae’s plate. Her eyes go wide. Perfect dumplings, every single one.
“What! How did you get them to look so good??” Yoonchae shrugs, a little shy.
“I used to make mandu with my parents,” she says softly. “My sister was always better than me, though. You should see hers.”
Megan awkwardly pats Yoonchae’s shoulder. She knows Yoonchae doesn’t usually spend Christmas away from her family.
Once the dumplings are finished, they go into the pan to steam. Somewhere in the house, Megan’s younger cousins—or maybe second cousins, she’s never really sure—tear through the halls, laughing and yelling.
Her mom’s in the kitchen with her, Rachel too, along with a few aunts and great-aunts, all talking over one another. Megan’s used to it. The noise, the chaos, the way her family fills every room.
Yoonchae isn’t. She looks a little lost, small in the middle of it all, swallowed by voices and movement.
“Hey.”
Megan reaches for Yoonchae’s hand, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.
“Come on,” she says softly. “I wanna show you something.”
—————————————————————————————————————
The house is close to the beach. Close enough that all you have to do is walk down the road and you’re there.
Megan leads Yoonchae to the edge of the sand, slipping off her shoes and socks and holding them in one hand. Yoonchae copies her, already smiling at the water, then takes off ahead with her shoes dangling from her fingers.
Megan follows, watching the way sunlight catches in Yoonchae’s hair, the way her eyes light up.
“You can dip your feet in,” Megan says, grinning. “It’s warm here all the time.”
Yoonchae looks skeptical but steps closer to the water anyway.
“It’s not freezing!”
Megan laughs. “Yep. That’s Hawaii for you.”
They stand there for a moment, just watching the waves, feeling the ocean lap gently at their feet.
Megan steps forward and immediately winces, foot bumping against something sharp. A small seashell. She bends down and picks it up, brushing the sand away, admiring the soft pink.
She holds it out to Yoonchae, hands a little shaky.
Yoonchae takes it, smiling at her as she slips the shell carefully into her pocket. The smile lingers, then fades, just a little.
“I’m sorry.”
Megan frowns. “For what?”
Yoonchae doesn’t look at her, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun is dipping low.
“For being… I don’t know. Awkward,” she says quietly. “Around your family. I love being here, and I love that you invited me. It’s just… so different from my own.”
Megan reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together.
“I get it,” she says softly. “This is one of your first holidays away from your family.”
Yoonchae squeezes her hand in response, gentle but grounding.
“I kinda miss my mom. And my dad. And my sister,” she admits quietly. “But I know I’ll see them again soon.”
Megan smiles at her, squeezing back.
“You will,” she says. “Now let’s head back. Dinner should be ready soon.”
—————————————————————————————————————
Dinner is a loud, messy affair, people talking over each other, yelling from across the table, and the occasional drunk uncle singing lyrics to an old song from literal decades ago. Megan steals food off Yoonchae’s plate, laughs at something her brother says, and talks with Amy about college and life and everything in between.
After dinner comes their tradition—if you can even call it that. Anyone who wants to can play Christmas carols on the piano. Megan immediately drags Yoonchae over to the bench.
“You’re good at piano,” she insists. “You’ve got this.”
Yoonchae hesitates, fingers hovering over the keys for a moment, then starts playing a jazz version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. The room slowly quiets as the music fills the space, warm and soft and unexpectedly beautiful.
It might be the most beautiful thing Megan’s ever heard. Once she finishes, everyone breaks into clapping and cheers. Megan’s the loudest of all, standing up with a wide smile on her face.
“You did great,” she whispers when Yoonchae sits back down.
Then Megan slides onto the piano bench herself.
Her choice of a holiday song is a little unusual—Conan Gray’s Holidays—but it’s simple enough that she can play and sing at the same time. Her fingers find the chords easily.
“All my life, I never knew that life… would ever change…” she sings, smiling softly as she presses the keys. “But we keep on growing, didn’t think it’d show, but I see… it on… your face…”
Yoonchae is watching her. Megan can see her out of the corner of her eye, can feel her attention like warmth on her skin. She keeps singing.
“The years have passed, but you laugh exactly the same… when I see you, for the holidays…”
She stands, fingers lifting softly from the keys. Applause fills the room again, but Megan’s attention is only on Yoonchae, watching her like she’s the center of the universe.
—————————————————————————————————————
After more cousins, aunts, and even Megan’s mom take their turns at the piano, Megan and Yoonchae settle on the couch, the firelight flickering across their faces and the Christmas tree sparkling beside them.
“This is nice,” Yoonchae murmurs. Megan leans her head on Yoonchae’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling the couch blanket tighter over them. A glass of Shirley Temple sits on the coffee table between them, condensation beading on the glass, the maraschino cherry still untouched.
“Yeah,” Megan says, her voice a little nervous, reasonable given what she’s about to do next. She carefully removes her arm, reaching into her pocket for the small brown package she’d brought specifically for this trip.
Yoonchae glances down, curious. Inside the package is a tiny, dried piece of mistletoe, a red bow tied neatly at the top, the Trader Joe’s logo printed boldly on the front. Megan pulls it out, holding it up awkwardly.
“Um. So like, you don’t have to, and I know it’s probably cheesy, but around Christmas, people usually—”
Yoonchae cuts her off, lifting a hand to cup Megan’s jaw. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes keep flicking to Megan’s lips.
“I know what it’s for,” she whispers. “Sophia told me.”
Megan laughs softly, shakily holding the mistletoe above them. Yoonchae leans in, and finally, finally, they kiss.
Soft, so soft, Yoonchae’s lips. They taste of vanilla chapstick and something unmistakably hers. She’s bolder today, leaning in, chasing Megan’s lips every time she tries to pull away. It’s Megan who finally breaks the kiss, one hand resting on Yoonchae’s chest, breathing heavily. She brings the mistletoe down slowly, placing it on the coffee table.
Suddenly sleepy, she drops her head to Yoonchae’s shoulder, burying her face in her neck. They don’t need labels right now; that’s the least of her concerns. Yoonchae isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Merry Christmas, Yoonchae,” Megan murmurs softly into her neck. Yoonchae lifts her fingers, carding through the dark strands.
“Merry Christmas, Megan.”