Chapter Text
The stream had already descended into chaos long before the hoodie appeared.
Megan had started the night intending to run a casual collaboration stream—just a few rounds of games with friends, something relaxed after a long week of constant streaming and sponsor obligations. But the moment the broadcast went live and the viewer count began climbing, the quiet plan dissolved into the loud, messy rhythm that always followed whenever multiple creators shared the same call. Voices overlapped through her headset, laughter broke through the conversation every few minutes, and someone was always accusing someone else of cheating.
Lara had already muted herself twice because she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Explain to me how you disappeared behind that wall,” one of the other streamers said, sounding deeply suspicious.
Megan leaned back in her chair with exaggerated patience. “I didn’t disappear. That’s called positioning.”
“You clipped through it.”
“That’s called strategy.”
Chat erupted immediately, the messages flying past faster than she could process them. Emotes flooded the screen, accusations mixed with clipped replay links, and somewhere in the chaos someone was already editing the moment for social media.
Megan stretched her arms above her head while the glow from her monitors washed the room in shifting colors. The rest of her apartment sat in comfortable disarray around her—empty mugs on the desk, a hoodie tossed over the back of her chair, shelves cluttered with collectibles and awards she’d stopped noticing months ago.
In the middle of the noise, one of the other creators suddenly spoke up.
“Wait. Have we ever actually seen your full setup?”
Lara groaned loudly through the headset. “Yes we have.”
“No, we’ve seen the desk,” he insisted. “Not the whole room.”
Chat seized the idea immediately.
ROOM TOUR
SETUP REVEAL
SHOW US EVERYTHING
Megan squinted at the chat scrolling endlessly down her screen. “You guys are unbelievably nosy.”
“Do it,” Lara encouraged.
Megan sighed dramatically, though she was already reaching for the small handheld camera sitting beside her keyboard.
“Fine,” she said. “But if anyone talks about my cable management I’m ending the stream.”
The camera tilted slightly as she stood up, briefly showing the edge of her desk before the frame steadied again.
“Alright,” Megan said, slipping into an exaggerated narrator voice. “Welcome my meiyokies, to the exclusive Megan habitat tour.”
Her friends in the call immediately began commentating.
“Observe the rare time Megan cleans her room,” Lara said solemnly.
“Thriving entirely on the love of her fans,” someone added.
Megan rolled her eyes and turned the camera toward the desk.
“This is where I sit for approximately twelve hours a day ruining my posture for my meiyokies,” she said, gesturing toward the triple-monitor setup glowing brightly in the dim room. “And this is the keyboard chat yells at me for slamming.”
She turned slowly, revealing the shelves behind her. Gaming awards, controllers, figurines, and a handful of plants filled the space.
Lara immediately noticed them.
“Those plants are struggling.”
“They’re thriving,” Megan said defensively.
“They look like they’re asking for help.”
Megan turned the camera toward the middle of the room again.
“And this is where I throw clothes when I’m too lazy to actually—”
She paused when the camera landed on the back of her chair.
A hoodie hung there casually.
Dark blue fabric. Gold lettering across the chest.
UCLA Women’s Basketball.
Megan barely glanced at it.
She grabbed the hoodie absentmindedly and tossed it onto the bed behind her.
“—fold laundry,” she finished.
The camera captured the logo clearly for half a second before she dropped back into her chair.
“Okay, tour over,” Megan said. “You’re welcome.”
The stream continued.
But the internet noticed.
Megan woke the next morning to the sound of her phone vibrating endlessly against the bedside table.
At first she ignored it, still buried halfway under the blankets, but the buzzing didn’t stop. After the fifth notification she groaned softly and reached for the phone without opening her eyes.
The screen lit up with a wall of notifications.
Messages. Mentions. Tags. Group chats exploding.
Beside her, someone shifted.
Yoonchae stirred slightly, her arm still loosely draped across Megan’s waist. Her hair fell across the pillow, still messy from sleep, and when Megan moved the motion pulled her halfway awake.
“Megan?” Yoonchae murmured.
“Mm.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
The phone buzzed again.
Megan finally opened her eyes and looked down.
Dozens of messages stared back at her.
Her group chat with other creators had exploded overnight.
Lara alone had sent fourteen messages.
The last one read:
WHY DO YOU HAVE A UCLA PLAYER HOODIE
Megan frowned and opened Twitter.
The thread appeared instantly.
Screenshots. Clips. Zoomed-in images of the hoodie from the stream.
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
The moment she touched it, the memory returned clearly.
It had been after one of Yoonchae’s early games that season. The arena had mostly emptied by the time Megan reached the tunnel exit, though the lingering energy of the crowd still hummed faintly through the hallway. She had leaned against the wall with her hood pulled low, hoping no one would recognize her while she waited.
After a few minutes, footsteps approached quickly from around the corner.
Yoonchae appeared still wearing her warmups, her hair damp from the game. The moment she spotted Megan waiting there, her expression brightened.
“You came,” she said.
“Of course I came,” Megan replied.
Yoonchae glanced briefly down the hallway, checking that no one lingered nearby, before pulling the hoodie off her shoulders. She held it out toward Megan without hesitation.
“For you.”
Megan blinked, surprised. “Wait—what?”
“You’re always cold when you sit in the arena,” Yoonchae said simply.
“That’s because arenas are basically refrigerators.”
“Exactly.”
Megan hesitated before taking the hoodie from her hands. “You’re giving me your team hoodie?”
Yoonchae shrugged, unconcerned. “I have more.”
“You’re definitely going to get in trouble for this.”
“They won’t notice.”
Megan laughed softly and pulled the hoodie over her head. The sleeves hung past her hands, slightly oversized, and the fabric still carried the faint warmth from where Yoonchae had been wearing it.
Yoonchae watched her adjust it for a moment before smiling.
“It looks better on you anyway.”
Back in the present, Megan buried her face in her hands.
Yoonchae pushed herself up slightly beside her.
“What?”
Megan turned the phone toward her.
Yoonchae leaned closer.
For a moment she simply stared at the screen while the threads scrolled past.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“They’re analyzing the stitching,” Megan muttered.
Yoonchae blinked slowly.
“They’re very observant.”
“They’re terrifying.”
For a moment they just sat there staring at the screen.
Eventually Megan sighed and dropped the phone onto the mattress.
“It’ll die down,” she said. “The internet forgets things in like two days.”
Yoonchae nodded slowly.
“Probably.”
"I mean look, they are already calling it a crack ship. Nobody ACTUALLY believes this shit."
They agreed not to address it.
If they ignored it, it would fade.
*****
It didn’t.
Two weeks later the rumors were still everywhere.
If anything, they had grown worse.
Fans had begun combing through old clips like investigators.
One thread included a screenshot from a UCLA game the previous season. During a timeout the broadcast camera had panned across the crowd, and someone with bright pink bangs could be seen sitting several rows up.
The image was blurry.
But the resemblance to Megan was undeniable.
Another thread linked a clip from a Valorant showcase months earlier. Megan stood backstage talking to someone just outside the frame, leaning close enough that their conversation looked comfortable and familiar.
For half a second the person stepped into view.
Tall.
Athletic.
Long hair tied back.
The internet labeled it immediately.
YOONCHAE.
And the deeper people dug, the more small moments they began to find.
One clip surfaced from a UCLA practice vlog posted by the team months earlier. It was barely two seconds long—just a casual locker room video filmed by one of Yoonchae’s teammates—but in the background, sitting on the bench beside her gym bag, was her phone playing a stream.
The chat window on the screen moved rapidly.
And the streamer on the monitor had bright pink bangs.
Fans slowed the video down, zooming in frame by frame until the logo on the overlay became visible.
It was Megan’s stream.
Another clip spread across social media days later. This one came from a behind-the-scenes practice recording posted by the athletic department. The camera panned across the court as players warmed up, and for a brief moment Yoonchae jogged past wearing a loose hoodie over her practice jersey.
The hoodie was black.
Across the front, printed in bright lettering, was Megan’s merch logo.
The internet noticed immediately.
Someone created a thread titled:
“WHY IS YOONCHAE WEARING MEGAN MERCH AT PRACTICE.”
It gained twenty thousand likes in less than a day.
Then people noticed something else.
Whenever Megan attended gaming showcases, tournaments, or creator events, a familiar figure seemed to appear somewhere nearby.
There were photos from an esports arena where fans had spotted Yoonchae sitting a few rows behind the creator section, watching the stage with quiet focus.
Another clip from a gaming convention showed Megan walking through the crowd toward the stage while someone tall followed a few steps behind her. The camera only caught the person briefly, but fans recognized the long stride and familiar posture instantly.
Someone posted another photo from a Valorant tournament where Yoonchae sat in the audience wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her face.
She wasn’t watching the match.
She was watching Megan.
And strangely enough, fans noticed she never appeared at gaming events unless Megan was there.
Not once.
*****
Meanwhile Megan’s chat had become impossible to manage.
Every stream included the same questions.
ARE YOU DATING YOONCHAE
WHY IS SHE WATCHING YOUR STREAMS
WHY WAS SHE AT YOUR TOURNAMENT
Megan ignored them all.
She read every other message except those.
She changed topics quickly and pretended not to notice the flood of speculation.
Yoonchae dealt with it in a different way.
Sports reporters had begun asking subtle questions during interviews.
One interviewer casually asked if she enjoyed watching gaming streams.
Yoonchae answered honestly.
“Yeah, sometimes.”
She didn’t think much of it.
Until the follow-up question came.
“Are you a meiyokie?”
Yoonchae blinked.
“A what?”
“Megan’s fandom.”
The interviewer smiled slightly.
“Have you seen the dating rumors online?”
Yoonchae laughed politely, but the question lingered long after the interview ended.
*****
That was the final straw for the both of them.
By the time Megan decided to do a Q&A stream, she had spent days staring at her phone, debating whether she was ready for this. Every time she scrolled through chat, there were new threads, more screenshots, more “evidence” that fans had dug up. Every time she glanced at the UCLA hoodie, still lying on her chair from the first stream, she felt a little pang of nervousness.
But she had finally decided: if the internet wouldn’t leave them alone, they might as well face it together.
The title of the stream was simple:
Q&A
Nothing flashy. Nothing that would immediately tip viewers off.
Megan sat in her chair, adjusting her headset for what felt like the hundredth time, fidgeting with the corner of the hoodie’s sleeve. The soft blue fabric was warm against her hands. She took a deep breath, letting the tension roll out of her shoulders.
The chat slowly filled, numbers climbing faster than usual. Thousands of viewers. Familiar usernames popping up, emotes raining across the side of the screen, everyone eagerly waiting for the usual lighthearted gaming Q&A.
“Alright,” Megan said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Welcome back. Let’s… just get started, okay?”
She glanced toward the doorway behind her, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
“Yoonchae?” she asked.
The door opened quietly, and Yoonchae stepped inside. The sight of her made Megan’s stomach flip. Just seeing her there, in her safe, quiet way, made Megan forget for a moment about the thousands of people watching.
Yoonchae paused when she saw the camera and the chat window exploding. Thousands of messages were flowing faster than either of them could read.
“Hey” Megan asked awkwardly, a stifle of a laugh escaping.
Yoonchae smiled. "Hey.”
The awkward heys reminding them both of the first time they met
She laughed nervously. “This is weird. First time having my girlfriend on stream.”
Yoonchae and her burst into a small laughter,
Megan exhaled sharply, feeling the tension break. “Okay, ”
Yoonchae nodded. “Okay."
For a few seconds, they just looked at each other, a quiet pause in the middle of chaos. Megan’s chest felt warm, her heart racing, and Yoonchae’s presence was grounding. She reached for her hand, and Yoonchae interlaced her fingers through hers. The chat went absolutely wild as emotes and messages exploded.
Megan leaned back, giving a small laugh. “The rumors are true, a valorant gamer can get a hot girlfriend,” Megan said finally, letting the words tumble out.
The chat exploded instantly. Thousands of messages scrolled faster than she could read, people spamming hearts, clapping emotes, and excited speculation. The fan theories that had consumed weeks of obsessive threads were finally confirmed.
Yoonchae sat down beside her, brushing a hand over Megan’s arm. “Oh my god, you couldn't just say we're dating.”
Megan snorted, shaking her head. “Its funnier this way my hot athletic girlfrined.”
“You are so weird,” Yoonchae teased.
“Maybe,” Megan admitted, leaning slightly against her. “But you love it.”
They smiled at each other, holding hands quietly while Megan’s chat continued to explode with messages and emojis. Every few seconds, Megan would glance at the camera and the chat, laughing softly at the sheer volume of reactions.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I guess people are going to want some details. Let’s answer some questions.”
Yoonchae laughed quietly beside her. “Do we have to answer everything?”
“Probably,” Megan said. “But… it’s fine. They’ll calm down eventually.”
The questions started rolling in. First, small things: “How did you meet?” “When did you start dating?” “Who made the first move?”
Megan answered each one honestly, glancing at Yoonchae and letting her answer alongside her when it made sense. They laughed about the little moments, teasing each other when someone asked a particularly ridiculous question.
“Who’s the messier one?” one viewer asked.
Yoonchae rolled her eyes and smirked at Megan. “Obviously her. Everytime I sleepover I end up cleaning.”
“I help,” Megan protested, but laughed along anyway.
“Do you go to all of each other’s events?” another asked.
Megan glanced at Yoonchae and shrugged playfully. “Pretty much. I go to every game she plays that I can make it to.”
“And I go to every stream or tournament she’s at,” Yoonchae added, squeezing Megan’s hand gently.
The chat exploded with hearts and excited spam. Some comments immediately referenced the leaked clips from practice, the locker room, the gaming showcases—all the moments fans had found and been obsessing over.
“You’re aware that the internet has been compiling all our ‘suspiciously close’ moments, right?” Megan asked, a teasing edge in her voice.
Yoonchae laughed quietly. “I’ve seen it. It scares me that they noticed.”
Megan smiled softly. “Me too. But at least we look good candid.”
The questions continued for a while, some personal, some absurd, all answered with gentle honesty. Megan and Yoonchae leaned into each other, occasionally brushing foreheads or holding hands, small quiet touches that the viewers picked up on immediately. Clips from this stream would later flood fan edits, emotes, and highlights for weeks. Every subtle gesture—the way Yoonchae rested her hand on Megan’s knee, the small laugh Megan gave when Yoonchae teased her—was noted, adored, and shared.
By the end of the hour, Megan felt exhausted but lighter than she had in weeks. Sitting beside Yoonchae, she realized that the chaos of the internet, the speculation, the endless scrolling—it had all led here.
“Alright,” she said finally, leaning against Yoonchae. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”
Yoonchae pressed her cheek to Megan’s hair and smiled. “Yeah. That’s enough for the world to see.”
Megan laughed softly, squeezing Yoonchae’s hand. "See you next time my meiyokies.”
Yoonchae kissed the top of her head gently. “Bye!”
*****
After the Q&A stream, Megan thought life might calm down. She was wrong.
Yoonchae, ever supportive, seemed to thrive in the chaos. She had discovered a quiet joy in showing up for Megan, in ways that were sometimes small, sometimes impossible to miss. At every Valorant showcase, every gaming tournament, she was there—often wearing Megan’s merch casually, a hoodie or a hat with Megan’s logo, sometimes even a full shirt from one of her sponsorships. It wasn’t subtle; it was obvious and intentional. The internet noticed immediately, of course, but Yoonchae didn’t care.
During long streams, Megan would be a whirlwind of energy—keyboard slamming, headset slightly crooked, jumping between games, chat spam, and sponsored shout-outs, barely keeping up with herself. Meanwhile, Yoonchae would lean casually in the background, holding snacks, adjusting the lights, handing her water bottle when Megan forgot to drink, or quietly saying “hi” to the chat, waving while Megan’s hands flew across the keyboard.
“Hello meiyokies” Yoonchae said cheerfully one afternoon as Megan screamed over a particularly ridiculous in-game fail. She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Megan’s temple. Chat erupted, spammed heart emotes and laughing faces. Megan groaned, flinging her headset off for a second, but the smile on her face betrayed her flustered happiness.
“You’re so cute,” Megan said, tossing a game controller onto the desk. “Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be—”
“Practice cancelled,” Yoonchae interrupted, smiling, and plopping down next to her. She nudged Megan gently with her shoulder.
Megan laughed, resting her forehead against Yoonchae’s arm. “The edits are going to go crazy now.”
“Its good PR,” Yoonchae said, brushing her thumb across Megan’s hand.
The routine became normal. Megan would start a stream, hyper and frantic, and Yoonchae would appear in the corner of the camera frame, leaning casually, sometimes giving a small wave, sometimes holding a snack tray. Chat adored it. Clips went viral: Yoonchae whispering encouragement, Megan showing off her new shirt that said "I ❤️ my hot girlfriend", Yoonchae leaning in to kiss her forehead when she got frustrated over a match. Every affectionate gesture was documented, yet neither of them cared.
Even public events became a stage for soft gestures. After every UCLA game, Megan would spot Yoonchae in the stands. Sometimes she would hold up Megan’s merch proudly, waving it, or showing her own shirt that said “I ❤️ my gamer girlfriend.” After the buzzer, Yoonchae had a habit that Megan loved secretly—the player would form a heart with her hands on the court, directing it toward Megan in the stands.
Interviews became another way Yoonchae showed her support. Reporters asked the usual sports questions, but she always found a way to slip in Megan’s name.
“What motivates you the most on the court?”
Yoonchae didn’t hesitate. “My girlfriend,” she said, smiling softly. “She drives me to every practice, wakes up earlier then me somehow and always supports me.”
Fans lost their minds. Every sports highlight was cross-posted alongside clips of Megan reacting live to the mentions. Megan, on the other hand, was a bundle of chaotic laughter and embarrassment. She would wave frantically at the camera, covering her face with her hands. “Stop—stop—I can’t even—I’m dead!” she would shriek, face red, headset askew.
Yet despite her hyper energy, Megan relied on Yoonchae constantly. The athlete became her anchor. Snacks, water, small kisses, shared quiet moments behind the camera—Yoonchae never left her side, always encouraging, always soft, always proud.
During streams, the dynamic became a kind of rhythm. Megan would jump from game to game, high-energy commentary, shouting at chat, hyper-analyzing plays. Yoonchae would pop in with a tray of snacks or a bottle of water, leaning casually on the chair beside her. Occasionally, she would wave at chat, blow a kiss, or whisper a joke that made Megan double over with laughter mid-match.
Even in the background, the gestures mattered. Megan caught Yoonchae watching her streams in the locker room before games, quietly seated with earbuds in, eyes glued to her on-screen self. She could always tell when Yoonchae had paused a play just to smile at something Megan did or laughed at a clip she knew the athlete had seen ten times already.
At the end of long streams or games, Megan would slump in her chair, exhausted, and Yoonchae would lean over, resting her head on Megan’s shoulder. Fingers would lace through each other’s, Megan’s head would tumble onto Yoonchae’s chest, and the chaotic, hyper energy would fade into a quiet, safe domesticity.
“I think they like you more than me,” Megan muttered one night, exhausted, scrolling through clips of Yoonchae blowing kisses and holding hearts toward her at games.
Yoonchae laughed softly, brushing Megan’s hair back. “I like you more than them though.”
Megan, breathless and smiling, knew it was true.