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Pray tell, what does the world know about Yoonchae?
Megan thinks about this often—too often, actually—as she scrolls through her phone at 2 AM. The question gnaws at her in every possible way. It’s in her heart, her throat, her lungs! Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration.
The answer, really, is not much.
Here’s what everyone knows: Yoonchae is a solo K-pop artist who debuted two years ago under some mid-tier company that somehow struck gold. She sings, dances, and god does she look ethereal doing both. The world knows she has a cat named Oreo because she mentioned it once during a live. They know she likes drawing because she showed a sketchbook page for approximately three seconds before she took it away really fast (but screenshotters are faster). They know she's from Seoul because that's public record, essentially.
But pre-debut footage? Ha. Good luck finding any of that! It's like Yoonchae materialized out of thin air, fully formed, perfect and untouchable. No embarrassing dance covers uploaded at thirteen. No cringey Instagram posts from middle school. Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
Megan would probably be the worst idol in history, she thinks sarcastically. Her digital footprint is everywhere—scattered across the internet like breadcrumbs leading straight to her most mortifying moments. Girl, have you seen her TikToks? Her YouTube videos? And her mom basically uploads everything Megan-related. Everything!!!
Yoonchae, though? Yoonchae is a ghost.
Actually, no, maybe that's not entirely accurate. Ghosts leave traces. Yoonchae leaves nothing except what she carefully curates. During lives, she speaks in measured tones, revealing little pieces of herself like she's rationing water in a drought. "I like rainy days," she said once. "They make me feel calm." Another time: "I'm not good with words, so I draw instead."
The world speculates endlessly. Is she dating anyone? What's her personality really like? Why does she seem so distant?
They never get close to knowing!
Well, Megan saves pictures of her anyway. It started innocently enough—a screenshot here, a saved post there. But now she's made Pinterest boards too. Private ones, obviously. Boards with names like "Winter Aesthetic" that are just fifty pictures of Yoonchae in various states of looking ethereal. Boards titled "Art Inspo" that have nothing to do with art and everything to do with the way Yoonchae's hair falls across her face.
Megan knows this is pathetic. She knows.
But there's something about Yoonchae that makes her feel... what? Obsessed feels too strong. Captivated feels too romantic. Interested feels too casual.
Maybe it's the contradiction of it all. Yoonchae is an idol—a profession built on accessibility, on parasocial relationships, on making fans feel seen. Yet she remains so utterly unreachable. Calm and collected in every interview. A little cold, probably shy. She answers questions with the bare minimum required, never volunteering extra information.
During one live, someone asked what she does in her free time. "I stay home," Yoonchae said simply. "I like being alone."
People calling her relatable flooded the comments. Megan had watched that live four times, looking at the way Yoonchae's eyes flickered away from the camera when she said it. Yoonchae, are you protecting something? Yoonchae, are you keeping the world at arm’s length on purpose?
What would it be like, Megan wonders, to be so self-contained? To need so little from others?
She scrolls through Instagram now, past her own chaotic feed full of reposts and memes and photos with friends. Then she switches to her private account—the one she uses to follow Yoonchae's official page—and just... looks. She does this all the time.
Yoonchae posted a photo three days ago. It's artistic, naturally. A shot of her hand holding a pencil, a half-finished sketch barely visible in the corner. The caption reads: "느린 날" Slow day.
Megan has looked at this photo sixty-seven times. She knows because Instagram shows you that now, doesn't it? Or maybe she's just counting in her head. Either way….
She zooms in on Yoonchae's fingers. They're elegant and long. Megan wonders if they're cold to the touch or warm. Is Yoonchae the type to have perpetually cold hands that she tucks into her sleeves?
God, she's spiraling again.
It's not like Megan doesn't have a life. She does, actually. She's in her second year of university, studying film production because she liked movies and couldn't think of anything else. She has friends—good friends who drag her to parties and remind her to eat. She goes out, has fun, lives normally.
But there's this Yoonchae-shaped space in her brain that she can't seem to fill with anything else.
Hmmm. That sounds worse than it is.
Actually, no. It sounds exactly as bad as it is.
Megan saves the photo to her camera roll. Again. For the eighth time. She already has it saved, but this time feels different (probably). This time she saves it with intention (Sure, Megan).
Her fingers hover over the screen. She could comment. Something casual and/or something normal. But she never does. Yoonchae's comment sections are flooded with thousands of voices, all clamoring for attention. What would make Megan's any different?
Besides, what would she even say? "You're perfect and I think about you constantly in ways that probably aren't healthy?" Yeah, that would go over well.
She locks her phone and stares at the ceiling of her bedroom. It’s too late to be awake but too early to give up on sleep entirely.
Megan thinks about Yoonchae's lives again. There was one where she wore glasses. She looked softer somehow. Someone asked if she ever gets lonely.
Yoonchae had paused for a long time. "Sometimes. But I chose this."
What does that mean? Megan had wondered. Chose what? The loneliness? The distance? The career?
Maybe all of it.
The thing about Yoonchae is that she makes being unreachable look intentional. Everything looked like they’re done on purpose and they were meticulously slotted into place. She's built walls so high that even she can't see over them anymore, but she's okay with that, she established. Comfortable, too.
Megan is the opposite. She's all open doors and windows, letting people in constantly. Too much, probably. Her friends know everything about her! She's an open book!! And her title is, “Hey, look at me! I’m doing all these things!”
And maybe that's why Yoonchae fascinates her so much. Because Megan can't imagine being that closed off. Being that self-sufficient? Megan could only dream!
She unlocks her phone again and straight up opens Pinterest. Good ol’ Megan creates a new board titled "Quiet Spaces" and starts pinning. Photos of empty rooms, yeah. Minimal furniture, Yoonchae would probably like that. Soft lighting, as soft as Goddess Yoonchae herself. Things she imagines Yoonchae would like.
It's like 3 AM now. Megan has class at 9. She should sleep.
She’s a college student. Of course, she doesn't.
Instead, she scrolls through Yoonchae's Instagram again, looking at older posts. There's one from her debut era—a professional shot, perfectly edited. Yoonchae's eyes stare directly at the camera, but there's no warmth in them.
Megan zooms in on her face. Studies the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips. She wonders if Yoonchae smiles with her whole face or just her mouth. Wonders if she laughs loudly or quietly. Wonders if she's ever messy, ever imperfect.
Probably not.
That's the thing about idols, isn't it? They're manufactured perfection. But Yoonchae feels different. Like she was already perfect before anyone told her to be.
Megan's eyes are getting heavy now. She sets her phone on her nightstand, face down, like that will somehow stop her from picking it up again.
It's fine. This is fine. So what if she's a little obsessed with a K-pop idol she'll never meet? So what if she memorized the cadence of Yoonchae's voice during lives?
Everyone has their thing. This is Megan's thing.
She closes her eyes. Imagines, just for a second, what it would be like to know Yoonchae. Who is this person underneath all this manufactured perfection? This is a person who likes rainy days and stays home alone and chose this life despite—or maybe because of—the loneliness. But even then, is that the real Jeung Yoonchae?
Sleep pulls at her, finally. Her last thought before drifting off is about Yoonchae's hands again. Those elegant, artist fingers.
Warm or cold?
She never finds out.
Hmmm...
Morning comes too quickly, as it always does when you've barely slept.
Megan drags herself out of bed at 8:15 AM, which gives her exactly forty-five minutes to get ready and make it to campus. She can do this. She's done it before.
She throws on jeans—the same ones she wears constantly because they fit perfectly and why fix what isn't broken?—and a hoodie. Brushes her teeth. Considers makeup, decides against it. Grabs her bag.
Bzz bzz. A notification from Instagram. Yes! Yoonchae posted. She unlocks her phone too quickly and nearly drops it.
It's a simple post. Just text on a plain background: "Working hard on something new. Thank you for waiting."
The comments are already flooding in. Megan scrolls through them—people excited, people encouraging, people demanding a comeback date.
She types out a comment: "Take your time! We'll wait as long as you need 💙"
Ew no. Delete!
"So excited!!"
Cringe! Delete!!!
She ends up closing the app entirely.
What is wrong with her? Why can't she just comment like a normal person?
She shoves her phone in her pocket and heads out the door. The walk to campus is about fifteen minutes, which she usually spends listening to music. Today, predictably, she queues up Yoonchae's entire discography.
It's only eight songs. Yoonchae's been active for two years and has released eight songs total. Most artists have more than that. But Yoonchae isn't like most artists, apparently.
Each song is meticulously crafted. Perfect… Just like her… Yes…
Megan knows every word, every beat, every breath. She's listened to each track probably a hundred times. Maybe more.
Her favorite is the B-side from Yoonchae's first mini album—a slow, melancholic piece called "영원" (Forever). Yoonchae wrote it herself, which the company announced like it was some huge revelation (Yoonchae, you are so poetic and so talented and so beautiful and—). During a live, someone asked what it was about.
"It's about things that don't last," Yoonchae had said quietly. "But wishing they could."
Megan has thought about that answer for months. Months!!! What was Yoonchae wishing would last? A person? A feeling? A moment?
The song plays now as Megan crosses the street, lost in thought. Megan wonders if Yoonchae's ever off-key in real life. If she sings in the shower. If she—
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
Megan's head snaps up.
She sees the car. Registers it too late.
OH FUCK.
There's a moment—just a fraction of a second—where everything slows down. Where she thinks, absurdly, that— fuck, she should've commented on that post. She should've said something, anything, just to exist in Yoonchae's world for one brief second.
Then impact.
Pain explodes through her body. The world tilts, spins, goes dark.
The last thing she hears is Yoonchae's voice, still playing through her earbuds:
"영원히... forever..."
Consciousness returns slowly.
Megan becomes aware of several things at once: she's lying down. Something soft beneath her. Her head hurts, but not unbearably. There's light filtering through her closed eyelids.
And something heavy on her legs.
She forces her eyes open, blinking against the brightness. The ceiling above her is unfamiliar—white, plain, with a single light fixture. Not her bedroom. Not a hospital either.
Where—?
The weight on her legs shifts. Megan lifts her head slightly and sees it.
A grey, white, and black cat. Staring at her with enormous eyes.
Oreo.
Hi, Oreo!
Wait…
No. No, that's not possible. That's—
Oh my god.
Oh my GOD.
Megan's brain malfunctions completely. She knows this cat. Not personally, obviously, duh, but she KNOWS this cat. This can't be real. This is a dream. Actually, this is a nightmare because—
The cat meows—a surprisingly loud sound for such a small creature—and kneads its paws against Megan's thigh.
Oh no.
Oh god, oh no, oh—
Then the sneezing starts.
One sneeze. Two. Three in rapid succession.
Achoo, achoo, achoooo!!!
Her eyes immediately start watering like someone's turned on a faucet behind them. Her nose starts running. Her throat gets that awful scratchy feeling.
She tries to sit up, to move the cat, to do anything, but her body feels heavy and uncooperative and also there is a CAT on her and—
"Oreo, 저리 가—oh!"
Megan's head whips toward the voice so fast her neck protests with a sharp sting.
There, standing in the doorway, is Yoonchae.
Actually Yoonchae.
ACTUALLY YOONCHAE.
No makeup. Hair messy, pulled into a loose ponytail with strands falling out everywhere. Wearing an oversized t-shirt—is that a Stitch shirt? Oh my god it's a Stitch shirt—and gray sweatpants. Looking completely, utterly, tangible.
Megan's brain officially stops functioning. Like, completely shuts down. Goodbye, world!
This isn't happening. This is NOT happening.
Yoonchae rushes forward, scooping up the cat. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—Oreo likes people too much, I should have—are you okay?"
Her voice is different in person. Less measured, more hurried. Worried. There's a slight rasp to it, like she just woke up. Which she probably did. Because it's 9 AM and Megan is in her house.
Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.
Megan stares. She's aware she's staring. She can't stop staring. Her mouth is probably open. She probably looks insane right now but she CANNOT process this.
This is Yoonchae. Perfect, untouchable, ethereal Yoonchae. Standing three feet away in a Stitch shirt, apologizing, looking... normal. Flustered, even. There's a small pimple on her chin. Her ponytail is lopsided. She's REAL. OH MY GOD SHE’S REAL. This is not Yoonchae behind some screen!
"I..." Megan's voice comes out scratchy. She clears her throat, sneezes again violently. "I'm... allergic. To cats."
Oh WOW what a great first impression, Megan. Really stellar work here. "Hi, nice to meet you, I'm allergic to your beloved pet." Fantastic.
Yoonchae's eyes widen—and oh god her eyes are so much more intense in person, how is that possible?—and she looks genuinely distressed. "Oh no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll—" She backs toward the door, still holding Oreo who looks completely unbothered by this entire situation. "I'll put him in another room. Are you—do you need medicine? I think I have some—"
"Wait." The word escapes Megan before she can think. Before her brain can catch up to her mouth. "Where... where am I?"
Because actually, yeah, WHERE IS SHE? Why is she here? What is happening? Is this real life?
Yoonchae pauses. She sets Oreo down gently outside the door and closes it. When she turns back, her eyebrows are knitted and she's biting her lower lip.
Oh my god Megan needs to STOP noticing things.
"My house," Yoonchae says quietly. "I... you were hit by a car. My car. I was driving and you just—you walked right into the street and I tried to stop but—" Her voice cracks slightly. "I'm so sorry. I called an ambulance but you woke up before they arrived and you seemed okay and you said you didn't want to go to the hospital so I brought you here instead and I know that sounds bad but I panicked and—"
"Your house," Megan repeats numbly.
She's in Yoonchae's house.
JEUNG YOONCHAE'S HOUSE.
THE Yoonchae whose photos she's saved thousands of times. THE Yoonchae whose voice she falls asleep to. THE Yoonchae who exists in her mind as this untouchable, perfect being who probably doesn't even poop because she's too perfect for bodily functions.
That Yoonchae is standing in front of her, messy-haired and apologetic in a Stitch shirt, in what appears to be a very simple, very normal bedroom.
Megan is going to pass out again. She's going to actually pass out.
Megan looks around properly now. The room is sparse—a bed, a desk, a bookshelf. No posters, no decorations. Just clean lines and neutral colors. Exactly the kind of space she imagined when making that Pinterest board last night.
Oh my GOD she made a Pinterest board about Yoonchae's hypothetical living space LAST NIGHT and now she's ACTUALLY HERE.
If there is a god, he's laughing at her right now. Cackling, no doubt!
Last night. Was it last night? What time is it now?
"What..." Megan's head is spinning. "What day is it?"
"Thursday," Yoonchae says. She's hovering near the door, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Morning. Around 9 AM. I'm really sorry, I should have been more careful, I wasn't paying attention—"
"You hit me with your car."
"Yes." Yoonchae looks miserable. Absolutely miserable. Her shoulders are hunched. "I'm so sorry."
What the fuck is this situation?
Megan should be freaking out. Should be checking herself for injuries, calling someone, processing the fact that she was apparently hit by a car. By YOONCHAE'S car. Yoonchae hit her with a car and now she's in her house and—
But all she can focus on is the way Yoonchae's hair is falling out of its ponytail. The way she's standing with her weight on one foot, slightly off-balance. The way her eyes keep darting to Megan and then away, like she's afraid to look too long.
This is what Yoonchae looks like at home. She’s a little imperfect. Does the world know about this? Where is the confident, cold, mysterious Yoonchae? This is Yoonchae WEARING A STITCH SHIRT.
Somehow, impossibly, it makes her more beautiful and Megan wants to scream.
"I'm fine," Megan hears herself say, which is a lie because nothing about this situation is fine. "I think. I'm fine."
Yoonchae's shoulders drop slightly with relief. "Are you sure? Does anything hurt? Should I—"
Another sneeze cuts her off. Then another.Megan's eyes are streaming now, her nose running like a faucet. Her face is probably all red and blotchy. God, this is humiliating.
Here she is, meeting her favorite idol for the first time, and she's sneezing like she's allergic to life itself and probably looking like a tomato.
"Medicine," she manages between sneezes. "Do you... actually have allergy medicine?"
"Yes! Yes, I'll get it." Yoonchae practically runs from the room.
Wow. Yoonchae runs. She doesn't glide gracefully like in her music videos. She runs like a normal person who's panicking, and her ponytail bounces, and—
Megan is losing her mind. She has officially lost her mind.
Megan is left alone in the silence.
She looks down at herself. She's still wearing her jeans. Her hoodie. Her shoes have been removed, placed neatly by the door. There's a blanket draped over her. Yoonchae, how very caring. Does the world know Yoonchae is this caring?
She's in Yoonchae's house.
The reality of it hits her all at once, like a second car crash except this time it's just her brain slamming into the wall of reality. She's in Yoonchae's house, lying on what is probably Yoonchae's bed (oh my god she's lying on Yoonchae's bed), in Yoonchae's private space that no one ever gets to see.
This morning she was walking to class, listening to Yoonchae's music, existing in her normal life where Yoonchae was just a distant fantasy. A celebrity crush. A Pinterest board.
Now she's here. In the actual house that was merely a theory to her just last night.
Megan doesn't believe in fate. She doesn't believe in destiny or divine intervention or any of that.
But this? This feels impossible in a way that makes her wonder if she actually died and this is some weird afterlife situation. Maybe she's in a coma. Maybe she's hallucinating from a concussion.
Actually, she should probably be more concerned about that. The concussion thing. But honestly, the fact that she's inYoonchae’s house is taking up approximately 100% of her brain capacity right now.
Yoonchae returns with a blister pack of antihistamines and a glass of water. She hands them over carefully, keeping her distance like she's afraid to get too close.
"Thank you," Megan says. She pops two pills and swallows them down, trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is Yoonchae's cup. Yoonchae's water. Yoonchae probably drank from this cup this morning. Oh my god stop it, brain.
Yoonchae watches her with those same eyes that Megan has studied in countless photos. But there's something different about them in person. A depth that pictures can't capture. A nervousness that the camera never shows.
"I really am sorry," Yoonchae says again, and wow she really does apologize a lot doesn't she? "I should have—I wasn't—I don't usually drive distracted but I was thinking about something and—"
"It's okay." Megan sets the glass down on the nightstand. Her hands are shaking slightly. "I wasn't paying attention either."
Understatement of the century! She was literally listening to Yoonchae's music while crossing the street. If that's not cosmic irony, Megan doesn't know what is.
Yoonchae shifts her weight again, still standing awkwardly near the door like she doesn't know what to do with herself in her own space.
Megan should leave. She should definitely leave. This is weird, right? This whole situation is extremely weird. She got hit by a car and instead of going to a hospital, she's in a stranger's house. A stranger who happens to be a famous K-pop idol. A stranger whose face is plastered all over Megan's phone.
Oh god, her PHONE.
"My phone," Megan blurts out. "Where's my phone?"
Please don't be unlocked. Please don't be open to Instagram. Please don't let Yoonchae have seen the 67 times Megan looked at her latest post.
Yoonchae's scowl deepens. She looks away. "It's... broken. I'm sorry. It was on the street and a car ran over it before I could—I'll pay for it. I'll pay for everything, the phone, any medical bills, I—"
"No, no, it's fine." Megan waves her hand dismissively, which sends a small jolt of pain through her arm. Huh. So she IS injured. Cool. Cool cool cool. "It's just a phone."
A phone with approximately 1,407 photos of you on it, but sure, just a phone.
Actually, wait. This is good. Good news, Skiendiel! No phone means Yoonchae can't see the embarrassing evidence! Silver lining!
"Do you..." Yoonchae hesitates. She’s also fidgeting. It's kind of endearing, actually. No—no, Megan can't think things are endearing right now. Focus. "Do you need me to call someone? Family, or...?"
Megan thinks about this. Her roommate Lara won't notice she's gone until tonight, probably. Her mom is currently back in Singapore. Her dad is... well, who knows where her dad is. Her friends will assume she skipped class because she does that sometimes when she's tired.
No one is looking for her right now.
Which means...
Oh.
OH.
A horrible, wonderful, absolutely insane idea forms in Megan's head.
Hehehehehe.
She could stay. She could actually stay here for a bit. Talk to Yoonchae. She could have a conversation with Jeung Yoonchae, the person she's been obsessed with for literal years!
This is never going to happen again. Never, Megan repeats in her head. Never! This is a once-in-a-lifetime, struck-by-lightning, winning-the-lottery type of situation.
But she has to play this right.
Rule number one of meeting famous people (not that Megan has ever met a famous person before, but she's read about it): pretend you don't know them. Pretend you're not a fan. Rich people, famous people, they can smell desperation from a mile away. They want to be treated like normal humans.
Yoonchae wants to be treated like a normal person. That's literally her whole thing! She's always so private everywhereeeee!
Megan can do that. Megan can TOTALLY, totally totally do that.
(Can she though? Can she really pretend she doesn't know every single fact about this person? Can she pretend she doesn’t know the full extent of Jeung Yoonchae’s vocal range?)
Yes. Yes, she can. She has to.
"No," Megan says, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like she's not internally screaming. "Not yet. I mean... I should probably make sure I'm actually okay first, right? Before I worry anyone?"
Yoonchae nods slowly. She looks relieved, actually. Maybe she wasn't ready for other people to be involved yet either?
"That makes sense," Yoonchae says quietly. Then, after a moment: "I could make you breakfast? Or... do you need to rest more?"
Breakfast. Yoonchae is offering to make her breakfast.
Megan is going to have breakfast with Yoonchae.
In Yoonchae's HOUSE.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!
"Breakfast sounds good," Megan hears herself say, and wow, her voice sounds surprisingly normal considering her heart is literally trying to escape her chest. "If it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble." Yoonchae's shoulders relax a fraction. "I was going to eat anyway."
There's another pause. It's getting less awkward, maybe? Or more awkward? Megan can't tell. All she knows is that Yoonchae is standing there in her Stitch shirt and Megan needs to say something, anything, to keep this conversation going.
"So, um." Megan clears her throat. Casual. Be casual. You can do it, Megan Skiendiel! "Do you live around here? Like, in this neighborhood?"
Good. That's good. A normal question that a normal person who definitely doesn't know everything about Yoonchae would ask.
Yoonchae nods. "Yeah. For about a year now. It's quiet."
A year! Yes, that sounds about right. Yoonchae moved to this area last February after her first comeback. She mentioned it briefly in a live, said she wanted somewhere peaceful. Fans had speculated about the neighborhood for weeks!
And Megan was just walking through it randomly on her way to class.
What are the actual odds?
"That's nice," Megan says. "Quiet is good. I mean, I guess it's good? Some people like quiet. Do you like quiet?"
Wow. WOW. Great job, Megan. Really stellar conversational skills there. "Do you like quiet?" What is she, five years old?
But Yoonchae doesn't seem bothered. If anything, she looks a little amused. There's the tiniest quirk to her lips.
"I do," she says. "I like... peaceful things. Not a lot of noise."
Megan knows this. Of course she knows this. During a live in August, someone asked Yoonchae about her ideal day off. "Staying home," she'd said. "Maybe drawing. Something quiet. I don't like too much stimulation."
The word "stimulation" had sent the fans into a frenzy, reading into it way too much. Megan had rolled her eyes at the comments but secretly saved the clip anyway.
"I get that," Megan says, trying to seem relatable. "Sometimes the world is just... a lot. You know?"
Yoonchae's eyes meet hers, and is that surprise in there that Megan sees?
"Yes," Yoonchae says softly. "Exactly that."
Oh god. Oh god they're having a MOMENT. Are they having a moment? Is this a moment?
Megan's brain is crashing again. Abort. Abort mission! Abort!
"Your cat is cute, by the way," Megan says quickly, desperately changing the subject. "Even though I'm, you know, dying from allergies. What's her name?"
Please say Oreo. Please say Oreo so Megan doesn't accidentally reveal she already knows.
"Oreo," Yoonchae says fondly. "She's... very friendly. I'm really sorry about—"
"It's fine," Megan interrupts. "Really. I should've mentioned the allergy thing earlier but I was kind of... disoriented."
By your FACE. By the fact that you're REAL and STANDING HERE!!!! OH MY GOD JEUNG YOONCHAE IS STANDING IN FRONT OF MEGAN.
Yoonchae nods. "That's understandable. You were just in an accident."
Right. The accident. The thing Megan has almost completely forgotten about because her brain is too busy processing YOONCHAE.
"How are you feeling?" Yoonchae asks, genuine concern in her voice. "Really. Does anything hurt?"
Megan takes stock of her body. Her arm aches a little. Her head has a dull throb. Her legs are fine. Nothing seems broken or seriously injured.
"I'm okay," she says. "Little sore, but okay. You must've been going pretty slow."
"I was," Yoonchae says quickly. "I always drive slow. I'm... not the best driver."
Mhm, yup. During a live in October, Yoonchae mentioned she'd just gotten her license. "I'm scared of driving," she'd admitted. "But I need to learn." The way she'd said it—so matter-of-fact, so vulnerable—had made Megan's heart ache.
"Well, that's good," Megan says. "Otherwise I'd probably be in much worse shape."
Yoonchae winces. "Don't say that."
"Sorry." Megan shifts on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. The movement makes her aware of how she must look right now—hair probably a mess, clothes wrinkled, eyes red from allergies. "I must look terrible right now."
"No." Yoonchae says it immediately, then seems to catch herself. A faint blush colors her cheeks. "I mean. You look fine. Considering."
Did Yoonchae just blush? Did that actually just happen?
Megan's heart is trying to kill her. Stop it. STOP IT. She's just being polite. That's what people do. They say polite things.
"I should, um." Yoonchae gestures vaguely toward the door. "I'll start breakfast. You can... stay here and rest. Or you can come to the kitchen, if you want. Whatever is more comfortable."
More of Yoonchae's private space. Oh my god!
"I'll come with you," Megan says, maybe too quickly. "I mean, if that's okay. I've been lying down for a while and I should probably... move. Make sure everything works."
Yoonchae nods. "Okay. Just... be careful. Tell me if you feel dizzy or anything."
She hovers near the bed, like she's ready to catch Megan if she falls. It's kind of adorable. No—not adorable. NORMAL. It's a normal thing to do for someone you just hit with your car.
Megan swings her legs over the side of the bed slowly. Her head spins for a second, but it passes. She stands, testing her weight. Everything seems to work fine.
"Good?" Yoonchae asks.
"Good," Megan confirms.
They stand there for a moment, both uncertain.
"Follow me," Yoonchae says, and turns toward the door.
Megan follows, and tries very hard not to think about how this is the most surreal moment of her entire life.
The hallway is short and simple, like everything else in this house seems to be. White walls… Hardwood floors… A few framed pictures that Megan desperately wants to stop and examine but can't without seeming weird.
Actually, wait. She catches a glimpse of one as they pass. It's a pencil drawing—looks like a landscape, maybe mountains? The style is delicate and detailed. Really really beautiful.
Yoonchae draws. Megan knows this. Everyone knows this because Yoonchae mentioned it exactly twice in lives and showed that one sketchbook page that one time. But seeing actual evidence of it on her walls is different.
Everything here makes it tangible. This girl is someone beyond a screen.
The kitchen is small. Smaller than Megan expected, honestly. There's a two-person table by the window, a compact stove, and minimal counter space. It's almost too normal. Like, IKEA-catalog normal.
Megan doesn't know what she was expecting. Something fancier, maybe? Yoonchae is a successful idol. She could afford a penthouse, a mansion, whatever. But this? This is just... a regular kitchen in a regular apartment.
Huh.
"You can sit," Yoonchae says, gesturing to the table. "If you want."
Megan sits. The chair is wooden and surprisingly comfortable. From here, she can see the window overlooking a small courtyard. There's a bird feeder hanging outside. An actual bird feeder.
Does Yoonchae watch birds? Is that a thing she does?
Oh god, Megan is learning new Yoonchae facts in real-time and she can't even post about them anywhere.Good! She’s feeling greedy.
Yoonchae moves around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. She opens the fridge—which has exactly three magnets on it, Megan notes, one shaped like a cat, one that says "Seoul," and one that's just a plain black square (what the fuck lol)—and pulls out eggs, vegetables, some kimchi.
"Is jjigae okay?" Yoonchae asks, glancing back at Megan. "Kimchi jjigae? Or I can make something else if you don't like Korean food."
Kimchi jjigae. Yes. Very Yoonchae. Yoonchae mentioned in a live last December that it's her comfort food. Someone asked what she eats when she's sad. "Jjigae," she'd said simply.
Megan is about to eat food made by Yoonchae. What is her life?!
"That sounds perfect," Megan says, trying to keep her voice level. "I love Korean food."
This is actually true. Megan does love Korean food. She's not lying. She's just... er… omitting the fact that she's watched like… what… fifty mukbang videos trying to learn more about Korean culture because of a certain someone.
"Good." Yoonchae pulls out a pot and starts chopping vegetables.
Megan watches her hands move. They're practiced, confident. Yoonchae can cook. Of course she can cook. Is there anything this girl can't do?
Actually, wait. Megan remembers something. During a live—god, which one was it? March? April?—Yoonchae admitted she's terrible at cooking meat. "I always burn it," she'd said, laughing that quiet laugh of hers. "So I just don't eat it much."
The jjigae is vegetarian. No meat.
Megan files this observation away and feels like a stalker. She IS a stalker. Oh god, she's literally sitting in this girl's kitchen mentally noting everything like some kind of detective.
But also she can't stop because this is YOONCHAE and she's cooking and Megan is watching her cook.
"So," Yoonchae says, not looking up from her chopping. "What were you doing? When I... when the accident happened?"
"Walking to class," Megan says. "I'm a student. Film production, second year."
Yoonchae glances up at that. "Film?"
"Yeah." Megan shrugs, trying to seem casual. "I like movies and cameras. Storytelling, I guess."
"That's cool." Yoonchae's knife moves steadily through a zucchini. "Do you want to direct? Or...?"
"Maybe? I don't know yet, honestly. I'm kind of just uhhh figuring it out as I go."
This is the most honest thing Megan has said all morning. She really doesn't know what she wants to do. Film production sounded interesting when she applied, but now she's just going through the motions, waiting for something to click.
"I understand that," Yoonchae says quietly. "Figuring things out."
Yoonchae oddly sounds wistful. Megan wants to ask about it but doesn't. She's supposed to not know that Yoonchae is an idol who probably has her entire life planned out by a company. Right! The silence settles again.
Yoonchae moves to the stove, starts the burner. The pot heats up. She adds oil, then the vegetables. The sound of sizzling bounces off the counters and into Megan’s ears.
Megan should say something. Keep the conversation going. This is her chance to actually talk to Yoonchae and she's just sitting here like a lump.
"Do you work?" Megan asks. "Like, do you have a job or...?"
Definitely not fishing for information.
Yoonchae pauses for just a fraction of a second. "I do," she says carefully. "I'm... in entertainment. Music."
"Oh, that's cool." Megan tries to sound mildly interested but not too interested. Keep cool, Skiendiel. You can do this. "Like, you're a musician?"
"Something like that."
Yoonchae isn't looking at her. She's focused very intently on stirring the vegetables.
This is it. This is the moment where Megan should ask more questions, should pretend to be curious about what kind of music, what does she do exactly, oh are you in a band?
But something stops her.
Yoonchae's shoulders have tensed slightly. She's avoiding eye contact and her voice cools in terms of warmth.
Ah, Yoonchae, sorry.
Seems like she doesn't want to talk about it.
Yes, that sounds about right. It’s okay. Whatever.
Yoonchae, who keeps everything private, who barely shares anything personal, who built her entire persona on distance—she doesn't want to talk about her job with a stranger.
And Megan is, technically, a stranger.
"That's cool," Megan says instead, backing off. "Music is nice."
Music is nice? What kind of response is that? God, Megan is so bad at this.
But Yoonchae's shoulders relax. She glances back at Megan, and there's something grateful in her eyes.
"What kind of movies do you like?" Yoonchae asks, changing the subject.
Oh. Oh, they're doing this.
Megan's brain scrambles. "Um, I like... a lot of things? Indie films, mostly. The… uh… slow ones! I'm not really into big blockbusters."
"I like slow movies too," Yoonchae says. She adds the kimchi to the pot, then water. "The type where nothing really happens but everything happens. You know?"
Yes! Yes! Yes! Megan knows, thanks for asking! She knows exactly what Yoonchae means because during a live in—god, when was it? September?—someone asked about her favorite movies and Yoonchae mentioned she likes "quiet films." "The ones that feel like poetry," she'd said.
"Yeah," Megan says, and her voice comes out softer than intended. "Like poetry."
Yoonchae looks at her then. Their eyes meet across the kitchen and Megan feels like she's been struck by lightning for the second time today.
"Exactly," Yoonchae says.
Oh no.
Oh NO.
Megan is falling. She's falling and there's no way to stop it. She's been falling for years through a screen but this is… this is too real and immediate and terrifying!!!!
Yoonchae turns back to the stove. She adds something else to the pot—tofu, it looks like. The kitchen is filled with the smell of kimchi and garlic.
"It'll be ready soon," Yoonchae says.
"Take your time," Megan manages.
Her heart is racing again.
Badump
Badump
Badump
Badump!!!!
She watches Yoonchae cook. Watches the way she moves around the small kitchen like she belongs there. Watches the way she tastes the broth with a spoon, considers it, adds a pinch of something. Watches the way her messy ponytail bounces slightly when she nods to herself.
Megan is in Jeung Yoonchae's kitchen watching her cook kimchi jjigae for her and having a conversation about movies and this is—this is—
"Do you live alone?" Yoonchae asks suddenly. "Or do you have roommates?"
"Roommate," Megan says. "Just one. Her name's Lara. She's nice. Mostly keeps to herself though."
"That's good." Yoonchae ladles the jjigae into two bowls. "Living with people can be hard."
There's a story there. Megan wonders if Yoonchae ever had roommates. If she lived in dorms as a trainee. If that's why she values her privacy so much now.
But she doesn't ask.
Yoonchae brings the bowls to the table along with two spoons and a small plate of banchan—just some pickled radish and what looks like seasoned spinach. She sits across from Megan.
"I don't have much," Yoonchae says apologetically. "I haven't gone shopping in a while."
"This is perfect," Megan says honestly. "Really. Thank you for... for all of this. You didn't have to."
"I hit you with my car," Yoonchae says flatly. "It's the least I can do."
Megan laughs. She can't help it. The absurdity of the situation just hits her all at once and she laughs.
Yoonchae smiles.
Oh god. Oh god that smile. This is the most human Megan has ever seen Yoonchae. Jeung Yoonchae didn’t smile like this during interviews. She most certainly does not smile like this in her lives that she memorized.
Megan is doomed. She's absolutely fucking doomed!
"Fair point," Megan says, still grinning. "When you put it that way."
They eventually settle to eat and goodness gracious, the jjigae is incredible. Perfectly seasoned and the right amount of spice! Yoonchae, you’re really good at this! She wants to compliment it, wants to say something, but her mouth is full and also she's trying not to cry because this is the best thing she's ever tasted and also she's eating Yoonchae’s cooking. Yoonchae’s cooking!!! YOONCHAE’S COOKING!
"Is it okay?" Yoonchae asks, watching her.
Megan nods enthusiastically, swallows. "It's really good. Like, really really good."
Yoonchae looks pleased. Her eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly.
Megan has seen that expression exactly ONCE in a fancam from a fan meeting. She thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
In person, it’s fucking catastrophic and Megan’s the first victim!
They eat in comfortable silence for a minute. Megan tries not to stare, but it’s definitely a challenge. Yoonchae is just—she's RIGHT THERE. Being a person eating jjigae and has totally no idea that Megan completely knows who Yoonchae is but is pretending not to know. Wow!
"Hey, I have a question" Yoonchae says suddenly.
Megan's heart jumps. "Shoot."
"Why did you agree to stay? You don't know me. I'm a stranger who hit you with a car." Yoonchae tilts her head slightly. "Most people would want to leave. Call the police. Something."
Ah.
Megan could tell the truth: because you're Jeung Yoonchae and I've been obsessed with you for years and this is literally a dream come true despite the whole vehicular assault aspect.
Or… hehe… she could lie.
"Honestly?" Megan sets down her spoon. "You seem... nice. And I don't know, there's something about you that feels... trustworthy, I guess? Plus, you made me breakfast. Can't be that dangerous if you're feeding me."
This is not entirely a lie. Yeah, Yoonchae does seem trustworthy. The feeding part is true too. Hehe.
Yoonchae studies her for a long moment.
"You're very trusting," she says finally.
"Maybe," Megan admits. "Or maybe I'm just stupid."
Yoonchae shakes her head. "No, no, no! You’re um, just… unusual."
If it were anyone else, Megan would’ve been offended. But the way Yoonchae says it… it’s like she meant it as a compliment? Yes, Megan, defend your beloved Yoonchae. She could probably say the most absurd of things and Megan would probably be at the frontlines ready to defend haters.
Kidding. Unless…?
Megan's cheeks warm and she looks down at her bowl. "Well. You're pretty unusual too. In a good way. The whole... feeding-the-person-you-hit-with-your-car thing. You’re a very good samaritan"
Yoonchae laughs.
Laughs! Megan Skiendiel has made mysterious idol Jeung Yoonchae laugh! Scoooooore!
Everything of Megan comes to a halt momentarily. She's heard Yoonchae laugh in videos. The famous "three ha's" that fans always talk about. But boy, this is so much better!
"I've never been called a Good Samaritan before," Yoonchae says.
"First time for everything," Megan replies.
They smile at each other across the table.
And Megan thinks: I could stay here forever. In this small kitchen with this beautiful girl and this perfect jjigae and this impossible moment.
But she can't.
She knows she can't.
Eventually, she'll have to leave. Go back to her real life where Yoonchae is just pictures on a screen and voices through speakers. This is temporary.
What happens after this? Does she just... leave? Say "thanks for the jjigae and the whole not-abandoning-me-after-hitting-me-with-your-car thing" and walk out the door and never see Yoonchae again?
Ugh………
"Are you okay?" Yoonchae asks. "You look worried."
Megan blinks. "What? No, I'm fine. Just thinking."
"About?"
About how I don't want to leave. About how this is the most surreal and perfect morning of my life despite the traumatic vehicular incident. About how you're even more beautiful in person and it's actually unfair.
"About my phone," Megan lies. "And... I guess I should probably check if I'm actually injured."
Yoonchae's expression shifts to concern immediately. "Do you need to go to a hospital? I can drive you. Or—wait, maybe I shouldn't drive. I could call a taxi—"
"No, no," Megan interrupts. "I meant like... I don't know, just move around a bit? Make sure everything's working properly?" She pauses. "Actually, do you have a first aid kit? I should probably at least clean up any cuts or whatever."
She doesn't actually know if she has cuts. She hasn't really looked. She…was… too busy being distracted by Yoonchae’s face.
"Yes." Yoonchae stands immediately. "In the bathroom. I'll show you."
They leave their bowls on the table—Yoonchae's is only half-finished, Megan notes. Okay. Yoonchae doesn't finish her meals, she probably eats like a bird and maybe it’s some idol thing—and head down the hallway.
Yoonchae’s bathroom was also very minimalistic. Megan finds that there really are no words to describe it because it’s THAT simple.
Yoonchae opens a cabinet under the sink and pulls out a surprisingly well-stocked first aid kit.
"Wow," Megan says before she can stop herself. "That's... thorough."
Yoonchae shrugs, not meeting her eyes. "I'm clumsy. I need it."
Okay! Yoonchae is clumsy! Right!
Megan's brain immediately recalls: that one live where Yoonchae showed up with a bandaid on her finger. "I cut myself making dinner," she'd said sheepishly. The comments had exploded with concern and Yoonchae had looked so embarrassed.
"That's... actually really responsible," Megan says. "I don't even own bandaids."
"That's not very responsible," Yoonchae says, amused
Megan laughs. "Yeah, probably not."
Yoonchae sets the kit on the counter. "Do you want me to...?" She waves her hand around in an attempt to gesture at Megan.
"Oh. Um." Megan looks down at herself. She's still wearing her jeans and hoodie from this morning. She should probably check her legs, her arms. "Maybe just... my arms? I think that's where I hit the ground."
She pushes up her hoodie sleeves. There are some scrapes on her right forearm, nothing serious. There was a bruise forming on her left elbow.
Yoonchae makes a small noise. Megan looks up and catches her grimace.
"It's really not that bad," Megan says quickly. "I've had worse from just being generally clumsy myself."
"Still." Yoonchae reaches for some antiseptic wipes. "I should clean them."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
Oh.
Oh, that's—
Yoonchae steps closer. Okay, what the fuck? She’s not supposed to see Yoonchae up this close! Is that… a mole on her cheek? Oh my god.
Megan is being so normal about this. Yup, yes, definitely, uhuh, mhm.
Yoonchae takes Megan's arm gently—so gently—and starts cleaning the scrapes. Her touch is feather-light, careful. Yoonchae, it’s okay! Megan’s not fragile at all!
WAIT.
WAIT.
PAUSE.
Yoonchae’s hands are warm!
Just last night, Megan was wondering about this!
And now, her question has been answered by none other by touch!
This has to be some fucking dream.
"Tell me if it hurts," Yoonchae murmurs.
Calm down, Megan.
Megan can't speak. If she speaks, she'll say something stupid like "you could stab me right now and I wouldn't care" or "your hands are so soft" or "I think I'm in love with you and I don't even know you but also I know everything about you and this is a problem."
So she just nods.
Yoonchae works in silence. The antiseptic stings a little but Megan barely notices. She's too focused on the way Yoonchae's fingers wrap around her wrist to steady her arm. The way she bites her lower lip in concentration. The way her messy ponytail has come even more undone and there are strands of hair falling across her face.
Megan wants to reach up and tuck them behind her ear.
She doesn't.
Obviously she doesn't.
That would be INSANE! What the fuck, Megan! This is ethereal, Rising Popstar Sensation Jeung Yoonchae! You don’t get to just touch her all willy-nilly!
"There," Yoonchae says softly, applying the last bandaid. "All done."
She doesn't let go of Megan's wrist immediately. Aww man.
They're standing so close. Yoonchae looks up, and their eyes meet.
Time does something weird. Slows down, maybe? Or stops completely? Megan can't tell. All she knows is that Yoonchae is looking at her with those impossibly dark eyes and her lips are slightly parted and—
Yoonchae steps back abruptly.
"You should check your legs too," she says, and her voice sounds strained, almost. "In case there's anything there."
Right. Legs. Megan has legs. She should check those.
"Yeah," Megan says. Her voice sounds weird too. "Good idea."
She sits on the edge of the bathtub and rolls up her jeans. There's a scrape on her shin, another bruise on her knee. Nothing major.
Yoonchae kneels down in front of her.
KNEELS.
DOWN.
Megan's brain completely whites out. She’s flatlining right now, actually. Yes, yes yes.
This is not happening. This CANNOT be happening. Jeung Yoonchae is on her KNEES in front of Megan, reaching for her leg with those careful hands, looking up at her with those eyes and—
"Is this okay?" Yoonchae asks.
NO. Nothing about this is OKAY. This is the OPPOSITE of okay. This is—
"Yes," Megan croaks. "Fine. Totally fine."
Yoonchae cleans the scrape on her shin with the same gentle care. Megan stares at the ceiling and tries to think about anything else. Anything at all.
Math. She could think about math. What's 47 times 63? Who cares. Who cares about math when Yoonchae is—
"You're very quiet," Yoonchae observes.
"Just... processing," Megan manages. "The whole getting-hit-by-a-car thing is catching up to me, I think."
Yoonchae applies a bandaid to her shin. Her fingers linger for just a moment on Megan's calf.
Then she sits back on her heels and looks up.
"I really am sorry," she says. "For all of this."
"Stop apologizing," Megan says. "Seriously. It was an accident. Accidents happen. I'm fine."
"Are you?" Yoonchae tilts her head.
Megan looks down at her. At this beautiful girl on her knees in her bathroom, surrounded by bandaids and antiseptic wipes, looking worried and guilty and so unbearably human.
"Yeah," Megan says quietly. "I think I am."
Yoonchae holds her gaze for a long moment. Then she stands, brushing off her sweatpants.
"Good," she says.
They stand there in the small bathroom, neither quite sure what to do next.
"I should probably..." Megan starts, then stops. Should probably what? Leave? She doesn't want to leave. But she can't just stay here indefinitely. That would be weird. This whole thing is already weird.
"You should probably rest more," Yoonchae finishes for her. "You were just in an accident. Even if you feel fine now, you might feel worse later."
Is she... is she suggesting Megan stay LONGER? (YES!)
"I don't want to impose," Megan says carefully.
"You're not." Yoonchae says it quickly. Too quickly, maybe. "I mean. You should make sure you're actually okay before you leave. What if you have a concussion and you don't know it? What if you collapse on the street?"
"That's... probably not going to happen."
"But it could." Yoonchae crosses her arms. "And then I'd feel even worse."
She looks genuinely worried. Like the thought of Megan collapsing on the street is actually distressing to her.
It's kind of endearing. No—there's that word again. STOP IT, brain.
"Okay," Megan hears herself say. "I'll stay for a bit longer. Just to make sure."
Yoonchae's shoulders relax. "Good."
"But I should at least let my roommate know I'm alive," Megan continues. "Can I... do you have a phone I could borrow? To send her a message?"
Yoonchae hesitates for just a fraction of a second. Then nods. "Yes. Of course."
They head back to the kitchen. Yoonchae pulls her phone from somewhere—the counter, maybe? Megan wasn't paying attention—and unlocks it.
The lock screen is a photo of Oreo. Just Oreo. Nothing else.
Megan tries not to read into this. Tries not to notice that there are barely any apps on the home screen. Just the essentials: messages, phone, camera, notes.
Yoonchae opens the browser and navigates to Instagram, then hands the phone to Megan. "Here. You can message her through this."
Right. Because Megan's phone is destroyed and she can't just... text. Oops.
Megan takes the phone carefully, trying not to look at anything she shouldn't. She logs into her Instagram account with shaking fingers.
Please don't let her accidentally navigate to Yoonchae's profile. Please please please.
She finds Lara's account and sends a quick message: "hey!!! phone broke, im fine, long story, will explain later. staying at a friends place for a bit. dont worry!!"
There. Vague enough to not raise suspicion but enough to let Lara know she's alive.
She logs out of her account and hands the phone back to Yoonchae.
"Thank you," Megan says.
Yoonchae nods, pocketing the phone. "Do you want to watch something? Or... I have books, if you prefer reading. Or you could just rest."
Watch something. In Yoonchae's living room. On Yoonchae's couch.
"What kind of shows do you like?" Megan asks.
Yoonchae considers this. "I don't watch a lot of TV, honestly. But when I do... documentaries, mostly. Nature documentaries."
Nature documentaries. Of fucking course! That's so perfectly Yoonchae it almost hurts.
Actually, wait. Megan remembers—during a live in November, someone asked what Yoonchae watches to relax. "Planet Earth," she'd said. "The ocean episodes."
"I love documentaries," Megan says, which is true. She does. "Planet Earth?"
Yoonchae's eyes light up. So pretty…
"You've seen it?"
"Who hasn't?" Megan says, playing it casual. "It's a classic."
"The ocean episodes are my favorite," Yoonchae says, and there's actual enthusiasm in her voice now. Real emotion. "The way they film the underwater scenes... it's like poetry."
There's that word again. Poetry.
"We could watch those?" Megan suggests. "If you want?"
Yoonchae nods, and she's almost smiling. Mhm, almost.
"Okay," she says. "Yes. Let's do that."
They move to the living room, which Megan hasn't seen yet. It's small, like everything else. A couch, a TV, a coffee table. There's a bookshelf against one wall filled with books and sketchbooks and what looks like some albums—probably Yoonchae's own albums, which makes Megan want to scream internally but she doesn’t because she's being NORMAL!
Yoonchae gestures to the couch. "Sit wherever."
Megan sits on one end. Yoonchae sits on the other end, leaving a careful distance between them.
She turns on the TV and navigates to Netflix with the efficiency that suggests she does this often. The Ocean episode loads.
David Attenborough's voice echoes from the speakers.
Megan tries to focus on the screen and the incredible footage of deep-sea creatures and coral reefs and whales… but her attention keeps drifting to Yoonchae.
Yoonchae's curled up on her end of the couch, knees pulled to her chest. She's beautifully, completely absorbed in the documentary, eyes wide and focused. There’s this certain way that she makes small sounds of appreciation when something particularly beautiful appears on screen.
"Look at that," Yoonchae breathes when a manta ray glides across the screen. "The way it moves..."
"Like it's flying," Megan says.
Yoonchae glances at her, and her expression is warm and soft. Oooooh…. Megan wants to cup her cheeks. "Yeah."
They fall back into silence.
Megan thinks: I could get used to this. Sitting here with her. Watching documentaries. Existing in the same space.
Dangerous thoughts.
Very dangerous thoughts.
But she can't help it.
Somewhere around the twenty-minute mark, Megan feels her eyelids getting heavy. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off, and the combination of the warm apartment, the soothing narration, and the general surrealism of the entire morning is catching up to her.
She tries to fight it. She doesn't want to fall asleep. Doesn't want to waste a single second of this impossible time.
But, well, her body has other ideas. Her head tilts to the side and her eyes close.
And she drifts off to the sound of David Attenborough talking about dolphins and Yoonchae's quiet breathing beside her.
Megan wakes up to warmth.
She blinks her eyes open slowly, disoriented. The TV is still on—a different documentary now, something about forests. The light coming through the window has shifted. It's later. How much later?
And then she realizes.
She's lying down on the couch. Somehow, at some point, she'd fully stretched out. There's a blanket over her again.
And Yoonchae is sitting in the armchair across from the couch, sketchbook in her lap, pencil moving across the page in slow, deliberate strokes.
Drawing.
Yoonchae is DRAWING!!!! Oh my god!!!
Megan stays very still, afraid that if she moves, this moment will shatter. She watches through barely-open eyes as Yoonchae works. Her face is relaxed, peaceful. Completely absorbed in whatever she's creating.
This is private, Megan thinks. This is something Yoonchae does when she's alone. When no one's watching.
Except Megan is watching. Fuck!
She should say something. Should let Yoonchae know she's awake. But she can't bring herself to break this moment.
Yoonchae pauses, tilts her head to study her work. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear—the ponytail has completely given up at this point, half fallen out. She looks soft in the afternoon light.
Beautiful.
God. Oh my days.
"I know you're awake," Yoonchae says suddenly, not looking up from her sketchbook.
Megan's eyes fly fully open. "How—"
"Your breathing changed." Yoonchae glances at her now, and she smirks slightly. "You were watching me."
Busted. Completely busted. Oooooooh…
"Sorry," Megan says, sitting up. The blanket falls to her lap. "That's... probably creepy. I just woke up and you were drawing and I didn't want to interrupt."
"It's fine." Yoonchae closes the sketchbook—not quickly, not like she's hiding it. "How do you feel?"
Megan takes stock. Her body aches a bit more now than it did earlier. Her head has a dull throb. But nothing serious. Nothing that won't heal.
"Sore," she admits. "But okay. What time is it?"
"Almost three."
THREE? Megan has been asleep for like... four hours? Five?
"Oh my god," she says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to just pass out on your couch for half the day—"
"Don't apologize." Yoonchae sets her sketchbook on the coffee table. "You needed rest. Your body went through trauma."
"Still. That's..." Megan runs a hand through her hair, winces when she hits a tangle. "That's so rude. You probably have things to do and I'm just here taking up space—"
"I don't have things to do," Yoonchae interrupts. "And you're not taking up space."
Huh. Yoonchae, you sound so sure.
Badump!
"Were you drawing?" Megan asks, because she needs to change the subject before she does something stupid like CRY. "Can I... can I see?"
Yoonchae hesitates. Her fingers drum against her knee—another nervous habit, Megan notes.
"It's not finished," she says finally.
"That's okay. I don't mind."
Another pause. Then Yoonchae reaches for the sketchbook, opens it to the page she was working on, and turns it around so Megan can see.
It's a drawing of the ocean. There are beautiful fluid lines suggesting waves, depth, movement. It's beautiful. Yoonchae really is skilled if she was able to capture the feeling of water without actually drawing water. Yoonchae, Yoonchae, Yoonchae!
"Wow," Megan breathes. "That's... Yoonchae, that's incredible."
Yoonchae blinks. "You know my name."
Oh.
OH.
Oh SHIT.
Megan's brain goes into full panic mode. ABORT. ABORT MISSION. HOW DOES SHE FIX THIS?
"I—" Megan's mouth opens and closes. "You... you told me? Earlier? When you... introduced yourself?"
Did Yoonchae introduce herself? Megan can't remember. She was too busy having a crisis about the whole YOONCHAE situation to pay attention to normal social conventions.
Yoonchae’s eyes squint but not accusingly. Or is Megan just imagining it? FUCK.
"I didn't," she says slowly. "I don't think I did."
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Your Instagram?" Megan tries desperately. "When you gave me your phone? I might have... accidentally seen your name somewhere?"
This is the worst lie. This is terrible. Yoonchae is going to see right through this and—
"Oh." Yoonchae relaxes slightly. "Right. That makes sense."
Wait. That WORKED?
"Yeah," Megan says quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to like... snoop or anything. I just saw it and—"
"It's fine." Yoonchae looks back at her drawing. "It's just a name."
Oh Jeung Yoonchae, how wrong you are. It's THE name. But Megan can't say that.
"Well," Megan continues, trying to steer back to safer territory. "Your drawing is really beautiful. Do you do this a lot? Draw, I mean?"
"When I have time." Yoonchae's fingers trace the edge of the page. "It helps me think."
"What were you thinking about?"
The question slips out before Megan can stop it. Oh man, too personal, Skiendiel…
Ah?
Wait?
Yoonchae doesn't seem bothered.
"The ocean," she says simply. "We were watching the documentary. It made me want to draw it."
She flips back a few pages in the sketchbook. She shows Megan other drawings. A cat—clearly Oreo. A window with rain. Mountains. All in that same impressionistic style, more feeling than form.
"These are all amazing," Megan says honestly. "Have you ever thought about sharing them? Like, publicly?"
"No." Yoonchae answers immediately. "These are just for me."
Right. Of course. Privacy. Yoonchae's whole thing.
"I get that," Megan says. "Sometimes things are better when they're just yours."
Yoonchae looks at her, and there's something in her expression. Gratitude, maybe? Understanding?
"Exactly," she says softly.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. The documentary plays on in the background—something about redwood trees now.
"I have another question." Yoonchae says.
"Do tell. Er– Ask, I mean."
"Why film? You said you're studying film production, but you also said you're figuring it out. So... why that specifically?"
Hmm. It's a good question, Megan has to admit. She thinks about it.
"I like stories," she says finally. "I like the idea of capturing moments and making them mean something. Like hey, this kind of immortalizes the whole thing, don’t you think? The person could die but we can look back on their work whenever we feel like it." She pauses. "And I like watching things. Observing. Maybe that's weird."
"It's not weird." Yoonchae closes the sketchbook. "I think observation is underrated. People don't pay enough attention."
"Do you pay attention much?” Megan asks.
"Too much, probably." The corner of Yoonchae’s lips lift slightly. "I notice things I shouldn't."
"Like what?"
"Ah. You fidget with your hoodie strings when you're nervous." Yoonchae nods toward Megan's hands, which are—yep—currently twisting her hoodie strings into knots. "You've been doing it on and off all day."
Megan drops the strings immediately. "Oh."
"It's not bad, don’t worry," Yoonchae says quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude—”
Great. So Yoonchae has been OBSERVING her too. That's. That's fine. Totally fine. Not making Megan's heart race at all. This whole thing makes her want to ask more but… how does one find comfort in the fact that the idol you’ve been obsessed with for years has been observing you the whole day? She does not want to know what Yoonchae sees of her! No, no no!
"You're very perceptive," Megan says.
"Is that a compliment or an accusation?"
"Both?"
Yoonchae actually laughs at that. The three-ha laugh that Megan has heard in videos but sounds so much better in person.
"Fair enough," Yoonchae says.
Megan's stomach chooses that moment to growl… loudly.
Yoonchae's eyebrows raise. "Are you hungry?"
"I—maybe? What time did you say it was?"
"Almost three. You haven't eaten since breakfast."
Breakfast. Right, the jjigae. That feels like a lifetime ago.
"I don't want to impose more than I already have," Megan starts, but Yoonchae is already standing.
"You're not imposing. I need to eat too." She heads toward the kitchen. "I don't have much, but I can make something simple."
Megan follows, because what else is she going to do? Sit alone in the living room?
Their bowls are still on the table—Yoonchae must have left them there.
"Sorry," Yoonchae says, noticing Megan's gaze. "I was going to clean up but you were sleeping and I didn't want to make noise."
"You don't have to apologize for everything," Megan says gently. "Seriously. You've been nothing but nice to me."
"I hit you with my car."
"Are we going to keep bringing that up?" Megan grins. "Because I'm starting to think you have a guilt complex."
"Maybe I do."
She says it lightly, but there's a hint of vulnerability that Megan hears. Or maybe she’s just being delusional again. Is this what fans call delulu? Or is this some special case?
"Well," Megan says instead. "Today you can let it go. I'm fine. Really."
Yoonchae nods slowly. She opens the fridge again, stares at the contents like they'll reveal the secrets of the universe.
"I have eggs," she says. "And rice. I could make... fried rice?"
"That sounds perfect."
They work in tandem this time. Well—Yoonchae works, and Megan hovers uselessly, trying to find ways to help that don't involve actual cooking because she'd probably just get in the way.
"Can you cut vegetables?" Yoonchae asks, like she can sense Megan's desire to be useful.
"I can try not to cut my fingers off," Megan says.
Yoonchae hands her a knife and a cutting board and some green onions. "Just... be careful."
"Yes, mom," Megan says without thinking.
Then immediately wants to die. MOM? Did she just call Yoonchae MOM?
But Yoonchae just snorts.
"I'm not that much older than you," she says. "How old are you anyway?"
"Nineteen," Megan says. "Turning twenty in..." She counts. "February."
"I'm eighteen," Yoonchae says. "Turning nineteen in December."
Hehe. Duh! Megan knows this. Of course she knows this. Yoonchae's birthday is December 6th. She's a Capricorn. Fans always joke about how she's such a typical Capricorn with her serious demeanor and private nature.
"Oh," Megan says, feigning surprise. "So I'm older. That means you have to listen to me."
Yoonchae raises an eyebrow. "Does it?"
"That's how it works, right? Age hierarchy?"
"Maybe in Korea." Yoonchae cracks an egg into the pan with one hand—one HAND, how is that even possible? "But we're in America."
"Are you saying you're going to disrespect your elder?" Megan scoffs jokingly.
"I hit you with my car this morning. I think respect went out the window."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Megan cackles. She can't help it. The deadpan delivery is too perfect.
And…
Yoonchae—
Yoonchae is smiling at her again.
Badump!
Her eyes disappear because of this smile. That… that Megan caused.
Badumpbadumpbadumpbadump!
Megan thinks: I want to make her smile like this every day.
Megan Skiendiel, you’re in some deep shit now.
They make fried rice together—or rather, Yoonchae makes fried rice while Megan successfully chops vegetables without injury and provides commentary.
"You're very good at this," Megan observes as Yoonchae tosses the rice in the pan with practiced ease.
"I've had practice. Living alone means cooking for yourself."
"How long have you lived alone?"
"About a year." Yoonchae adds the vegetables Megan cut. "Before that, I lived with... roommates."
Trainee dorms, Megan's brain supplies. She lived in trainee dorms before debut. Before she made enough money to get her own place.
But Megan can't say that.
"Do you like it?" she asks instead. "Living alone?"
Yoonchae is quiet for a moment. "Sometimes," she says finally. "It's peaceful. But it's also... lonely, sometimes."
Wow. Megan feels the weight of Yoonchae’s words. Like Yoonchae doesn't say things like this often.
"I get that," Megan says softly. "I have a roommate but we barely see each other. So it's kind of like living alone anyway."
"Do you prefer it that way?"
Megan thinks about this. "I don't know. I think I like having people around? But not... all the time. Sometimes I just want to exist without having to perform, you know?"
Yoonchae looks at her then.
"Yes," she says. "I know exactly what you mean."
Megan smiles at her, unable to continue this conversation. She’s afraid she’ll ruin the moment.
Yoonchae turns back to the stove. "It's ready."
They eat at the small kitchen table again. The fried rice is simple but delicious—Megan is starting to realize that Yoonchae is actually really good at cooking despite her claims otherwise.
"This is really good," Megan says.
Yoonchae looks pleased again. That same little expression where her eyes crinkle.
Eventually, Megan is going to have to leave.
The thought sits heavy in her chest.
"What are you thinking about?" Yoonchae asks.
"That I should probably go soon," Megan admits. "It's getting late and I've taken up so much of your day."
The light in Yoonchae’s eyes dim slightly. Momentarily, actually. No— Yoonchae— Megan’s sorry—
"You don't have to," Yoonchae says. "Unless you want to."
"It's not that I want to," Megan says carefully. "I just... I don't want to overstay my welcome."
"You're not."
"Yoonchae." Megan sets down her spoon. "You've been incredibly kind. More than kind. But I can't just live on your couch."
"Why not?"
The question is so earnest, so genuine, that Megan doesn't know how to respond.
"Because... that's weird?" she finally says. "We just met. This morning. Under very unusual circumstances."
"So?"
"So... normal people don't just invite strangers to stay indefinitely."
"Maybe I'm not normal people." Yoonchae meets her gaze. "And you're not really a stranger anymore. Are you?"
Megan's heart is doing a lot of badumps again.
"I guess not," she says quietly.
"Stay for dinner," Yoonchae says. "At least. Then... then we can figure out what happens next."
What happens next. Like there's going to be a next. Like this isn't just a one-time bizarre incident.
"Okay," Megan says. "Dinner."