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Yoonchae’s never been one to try and explain her thoughts.
Every time she even thinks about trying, the words trip and stumble on her tongue before they can even reach their destination. Especially English, words sticking like taffy to her molars, the saccharine sweetness gluing her mouth shut. Korean is easier. In Korean, her words flow like rivers, emanating off her tongue in gentle waves.
Back during Dream Academy, she was even more shy and timid, not even daring to approach any of the girls besides Ua and Nayoung, who were also from Korea and already spoke the language that Yoonchae was so familiar with. Tones velvety and lilting, clear and perfect. Not clunky like English syllables.
There were exactly two exceptions to her diffidence.
Sophia Laforteza, the very epitome of motherly nature, the warmth filling up a room whenever she walked in. Yoonchae didn’t feel pressured to speak too much with her, preferring to just stay close, being protected. My baby, Sophia would say, cooing and pinching one of her cheeks. She was right. Yoonchae wasn’t dumb. She knew that she was the youngest contestant in this battle of skills, barely two years into being a real teenager.
The second exception was nothing like Sophia.
Well. Maybe that was pushing it, but Megan Skiendiel was entirely different in her own kind of way. She also made Yoonchae feel different, almost as if she was drowning around the older girl, water filling up her lungs and clogging her airways. Why, she could never figure out.
Maybe it was the way that Megan lit up every time her gaze fell on Yoonchae, eyes dark oak in the studio, cinnamon flecked with gold in the sun. Smile breaking like dawn across her face, rays spilling out and emanating from her frame, illuminating everything in her light.
Or it could have been the way that Megan’s voice was simply endearing. Even in a crowd full of people, Yoonchae is absolutely sure that she would be able to pick out Megan’s voice. Happy shouts ringing throughout the air, rising above the noise to become their own kind of sound, one that flies straight into Yoonchae’s heart and sticks there. Her laugh, brightening the world with a kind of radiance that could only ever belong to Megan.
The third thing was rather… confusing to Yoonchae. She had never been one for physical touch, for that kind of closeness with people, even those who she held especially dear. Not even sweet, kind Sophia could give her a hug without her stiffening up and waiting for the prickly uncomfort she felt to go away.
With Megan, it was different. She could sprawl out on Yoonchae’s lap, drape an arm over her shoulders, whatever, and Yoonchae still wouldn’t bat an eye. Instead of that itchy uncomfortableness, a warmth spreads throughout her body, starting at the point of contact and coloring the tips of her ears.
Maybe that was the thing about Megan. That she had a sort of glow to her, luminous and bright, quite literally the sun.
During a lesson in grade school, Yoonchae remembers the teacher surprising everyone when she explained that the moon didn’t quite have it’s own glow. The sounds of disbelief had echoed throughout the room, the whole class united in confusion.
The moon reflects the luminosity of the sun, the teacher had said. It doesn’t produce light on its own.
You’re so moon-coded, Yoonchae, Megan had said to her once, when they were lying on the floor of the rehearsal room, breathless and weary. Sweat and perfume mixing together in the air to form some kind of heady ardour that made Yoonchae’s eyelids go heavy and her breathing slow.
So Yoonchae had thought about it, really thought about it. Thought about how she behaved differently around Megan, almost as if she was taking her light and reflecting it outwards.
It was obvious that Megan was the sun. It should have been more revealing that Yoonchae was the moon.
There’s no better way to describe it, Yoonchae thinks.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
If she thinks about it even more, there are so many things that could describe her and Megan. So many tropes. Platonic, of course. The word doesn’t seem to fit, she thinks as she mulls it over in her head. Maybe friendly, but that doesn’t quite fit either.
Whatever. Back to the actual tropes.
Lara had been explaining “dynamics” to her one night, back when they still lived together, pulling up pictures on Pinterest. Yoonchae had frowned and asked why the people in the drawings were always bald and different colors like red and blue, “Person A” and “Person B” scrawled unceremoniously on their chests. The other girl had burst into a fit of laughter, practically keeling over as she wheezed about her ribs.
Eventually, Lara had stopped laughing long enough to explain that the bald people were placeholders. Mainly for characters or anyone else that people wanted to ship or make friendship duo ideas with.
Like y/n? Yoonchae had asked, sending Lara into another fit of giggles, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes as she fought to keep herself under control.
I really like this one, Lara had said, finally calm, pointing to a drawing with a sunny, yellow colored person and a darker colored grumpy-looking person.
There were words above their heads, but rehearsal had been hard that day and she wasn’t about to try and decipher the words, sketch blurring as her eyes strained.
Lara was sighing dramatically. Golden Retriever x Black Cat, she said, almost wistful. One of the cutest romance tropes out there.
Putting aside the romance part (because she wasn’t in love with Megan, no way) Yoonchae could see the vision.
Then, Megan still had her ginger hair, spilling in supple waves over her shoulders. She looked remarkably like a golden retriever with her big, open eyes, expansive in all their workings. Whisker dimples crinkling on her cheeks, smile so full it made something swell in Yoonchae, her heart tightening painfully in her chest.
And herself. Black cat. Her own straight black strands spilling down her face, eyes narrowing whenever she got serious, which was, as Megan said, most of the time. It was so, so clear. She had even told Megan about it once.
It’s us! Megan had said, grinning, and Yoonchae had a strong urge to take that smile for herself and lock it away in her heart, and be selfish for once. It was only an urge, but she still felt guilty for it as soon as it popped into her head. Megan wasn’t hers to own, or to keep from anybody, especially the world.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
It became a habit, almost, finding duos that fit them, things that were clearly Megan and Yoonchae.
There was one she stumbled across while on her new Pinterest account, and it felt so them that she could barely even take in a full breath.
Heart-on-Sleeve x Emotionally Private.
She thought of Megan, and the way that she was especially open about her feelings because it’s better to let them all out, she had said once. Yoonchae knew about the nights of therapy, knew about the meds that Megan took, all her struggles with mental health. She was so proud of Megan, for being able to open herself up like that openly and let the world have a look at her. One day Yoonchae would be that brave, but for now, she preferred to keep the things she loved close to her chest.
Loved?
Sitting there, on her bed, the realization hit her full in the chest, crashing waves warm over her heart.
Yoonchae loved Megan. She loved Megan.
It’s not like she was especially worried about anything. Her parents were accepting. They had listened when she had told them about Megan and Lara and how they let the world see their full selves and be proud of it, and they had responded in excitement.
Maybe the reason that it took her so long to realize was the fact that she had never felt this way about anyone. Boys back in her school never made her feel anything, no matter how kind of gentle they were. Girls too. Not until Megan.
The fear bubbles up in her like lava in an active volcano. What if she doesn’t love me back? Yoonchae supposes she could live, just loving Megan from the side, but then again, it might break her.
She pushes the thought away and keeps scrolling. Something to deal with later.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
They’re stargazing one night at Yoonchae’s new apartment, just looking up into the night sky.
This isn’t the first time, back around Debut, when Megan’s hair was still ginger and Yoonchae’s was a lighter brown, roots beginning to peek through her scalp.
Megan had pointed out a shooting star to then, and Yoonchae had felt the tears almost spilling over, almost. It was so hard to fight to keep them in check after seeing something so beautiful and quite literally, otherworldly.
Now, Megan’s hair is black, closer to her original color. The pink bangs Yoonchae had loved so dearly are gone, the only remnant being pink extensions. It’s been so long. Yoonchae has loved Megan for so, so long.
“What are you thinking about?” Megan asks, and it takes her by surprise. Then again, Megan is perceptive in ways people don’t expect, aware of other people’s feelings along with her own.
Megan’s eyes are so, so open. So soft. The way she’s looking at Yoonchae almost makes her emotional again, and she blinks back a single tear.
She hesitates. But when she opens her mouth to speak, the words don’t get stuck, gluing her molars together and rendering her speechless. English stops fighting her for once.
“You,” Yoonchae breathes, and everything comes spilling out, Yoonchae’s heart, laid bare and open for Megan to see.
“I was thinking about us, and the sun and the moon, the sky and the stars, and how I see you in everything,” she says, and the lump in her throat almost stops her, but she keeps pushing on. “How so many things fit us, ulineun modeun geos-ida.” The tears finally break, and she looks away from Megan, overcome with emotion.
“I love you, Megan,” she expresses, voice cracking, “naneun neoreul.” She’s not even looking at the older girl, her eyes trained out into the night. She can’t bear to see whatever’s in Megan’s eyes, whether it be rejection or reciprocation.
“Yoonchae,” she hears, a voice gentle as the wings of an angel, gossamer filaments running like silk through fingers. “Can you look at me?”
Yoonchae shakes her head. She can’t, not quite yet.
“That’s okay,” Megan murmurs. “Just.. just listen then.”
Her hands grip onto the railing of the balcony as she braces herself, but she feels Megan move closer, taking one of her hands and smoothing out the tension.
“I love you too, ’Chae,” says Megan, and the words send relief thrumming throughout her body. She looks up, and Megan’s own eyes are teary, glistening with the same feeling. Yoonchae realizes that she was just as scared as her. “I’ve loved you for so long.”
“And it’s been so hard,” the girl whispers, her voice breaking. “Because I wasn’t sure you felt the same way, even though there were signs, even though the way you looked at me couldn’t have been anything else.”
They’re both crying at this point, tears slipping down flushed cheeks and onto the sleeves of their hoodies, so bittersweet.
“We are everything,” Megan whispers, bringing her hands up to cup Yoonchae’s cheeks. “Because we’re a mirror of all the things in the world, all the stupid romance tropes and all the cliches.” It takes Yoonchae a second to realize that Megan understands the Korean, and her heart flutters.
She takes a shuddery breath, collecting herself for a moment, and Yoonchae hears her ask the question she’s been waiting to hear.
“Can… can I kiss you?”
Yoonchae nods, rapidly, heart too full for words.
Megan leans up, hands now shaky on her face, and finally closes the distance between them.
Yoonchae fights back a sob at the feeling, one of relief and love and longing all mixed into something she can’t quite name. Megan is perfect, her lips gentle, pressing insistently. She tastes sweet, of something fruity and slightly floral, something so her.
If Yoonchae could choose, she would freeze them in this moment, keep them here forever, just them in this little bubble they’ve created.
Yoonchae, Megan whispers against her lips, the sun calling out to the moon, a golden retriever curling into a black cat, a poppy and a tulip growing together, intertwined, the sky cradling the stars in the vast expanse of night, sunrises and sunsets, oceans and valleys, pastel pink and soft peach, everything beautiful in this world that exists side by side in perfect halves, you’re mine in every universe that exists.