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The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed like they had something personal against everyone walking underneath them.
Megan hated that sound.
It made everything feel… exposed. Like even your thoughts weren’t safe here.
St. Catherine’s Academy wasn’t built for people like her. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. The tall windows, the crucifixes in every classroom, the teachers who spoke in that soft but sharp tone like disappointment was a permanent state—it all pressed in on her, all the time.
And lately, it felt worse.
Because of Yoonchae.
—
Yoonchae wasn’t supposed to matter this much.
She sat two rows ahead in theology, always perfectly straight-backed, always answering questions like she’d swallowed the textbook whole. Teachers loved her. Students respected her. She wore her uniform like it was stitched onto her—clean, precise, untouchable.
Untouchable.
That was the problem.
Because Megan had touched her.
Not at first, obviously. At first it was just staring. The kind that starts off accidental but then becomes a habit. Megan would catch herself watching the way Yoonchae tucked her hair behind her ear, or how her lips pressed together when she was thinking.
It wasn’t even about liking girls, not in some big dramatic identity crisis way.
It was just… her.
Just Yoonchae.
And that somehow made it worse.
—
It started small.
Passing notes. Not even risky ones—just stupid stuff.
“Mr. Alvarez literally thinks he’s God 💀”
“Stop you’re going to hell for that”
“Add it to the list tbh”
Yoonchae had smiled at that. Actually smiled. Megan saw it happen—quick, like she didn’t mean to—but it was real.
That was the first crack.
After that, things got… different.
They’d linger after class. Walk the same routes without acknowledging they were doing it on purpose. Talk about everything except the thing sitting between them like a loaded gun.
Until one day, Yoonchae said, “Do you ever feel like you’re pretending all the time?”
And Megan, who joked through everything, just said, “Yeah.”
That was it.
That was the moment.
Because after that, there was no going back.
—
The bathroom thing wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t some dramatic, movie-level setup. It was messy and rushed and very, very real.
Lunch had been loud. Too loud. Megan couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop noticing how Yoonchae wasn’t looking at her.
Which was new.
Yoonchae always looked at her.
So Megan followed her.
Not in a creepy way—at least she hoped not—but in that desperate, impulsive way where your body moves before your brain signs off.
“Hey,” Megan said, pushing into the bathroom door.
Yoonchae froze at the sink.
“Hi,” she replied, but it sounded wrong. Tight. Like something was already about to snap.
“What’s up with you?” Megan asked, trying to keep it light. “You’ve been acting like I murdered your dog or something.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Okay… yeah, I know. Bad example. But seriously—”
“You shouldn’t have come in here.”
That hit weird.
“Why?”
Yoonchae didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at Megan like she was trying to memorize her and erase her at the same time.
“Because,” she said finally, voice low, “people already talk.”
Megan blinked. “About what?”
Yoonchae let out this shaky laugh that didn’t sound like a laugh at all. “You don’t hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“That we’re—” she stopped, swallowing hard. “That something’s wrong with us.”
Us.
The word landed heavy.
Megan stepped closer. “Do you think something’s wrong with us?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too fast.
Too sharp.
Megan felt it like a slap.
“Oh,” she said, trying to play it off. “Cool. Good to know.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, you did. You literally just said it.”
“I meant—this place, Megan. This school. It’s not…” Yoonchae pressed her hands against the sink, knuckles white. “It’s not safe.”
“Safe from what? Liking someone?”
“You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Yoonchae looked at her then. Really looked at her. And something in her expression cracked wide open.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real.”
Megan’s chest tightened. “It already is.”
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
And then—something shifted.
Yoonchae stepped forward.
Not a lot. Just enough.
Megan didn’t move. Couldn’t.
It felt like standing on the edge of something huge and irreversible.
“You should go,” Yoonchae whispered.
“Make me.”
It wasn’t even meant to sound like that. It just… came out.
And then it happened.
Fast. Messy. Like neither of them knew how to do this but couldn’t stop anyway.
Yoonchae kissed her.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate.
Like she was trying to prove something or erase something or maybe both at once.
Megan’s brain short-circuited. Completely. Gone. Nothing but heat and adrenaline and the overwhelming realization of oh.
Oh.
This is real.
She kissed back.
Of course she did.
Because how could she not?
For a second—just one perfect, suspended second—everything felt right.
Not scary.
Not wrong.
Just… right.
And then Yoonchae pulled away like she’d been burned.
“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”
Megan blinked, still catching up. “What—?”
“That was a mistake.”
The words dropped like ice water.
“A mistake?” Megan repeated.
“We can’t do that.”
“We just did.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!”
Megan flinched.
“Didn’t mean anything?” she echoed, voice quieter now.
Yoonchae started pacing, hands in her hair. “You don’t understand. This is—this is sin. It’s wrong. It’s actually wrong, Megan. We’re—” her voice cracked. “We’re going to hell.”
Megan just stared at her.
“Are you serious right now?”
“I’m not joking!”
“You kissed me.”
“I know!”
“So why are you acting like I forced you?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You’re basically saying it didn’t matter!”
“I’m saying it can’t matter!”
The words echoed off the tile walls.
Megan’s throat felt tight. “Why?”
“Because it’s not how we’re supposed to be.”
“According to who?”
“According to everything!” Yoonchae gestured wildly. “The Bible, the school, my family—everyone!”
“And what about you?” Megan shot back. “What do you think?”
“I think—” Yoonchae stopped.
Her face twisted, like the answer was trying to claw its way out and she was physically holding it back.
“I think it’s wrong,” she said finally, but it sounded… fragile.
Like glass.
Megan laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Sure. Totally convincing.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make fun of it. This is serious.”
“I know it’s serious!” Megan snapped. “You just kissed me and then immediately started talking about eternal damnation. That’s not exactly casual!”
“I’m trying to fix it!”
“Fix what? Me?”
“No—us!”
“There is no ‘us’ if you keep acting like this!”
That landed.
Hard.
Yoonchae went still.
“Maybe there shouldn’t be,” she said quietly.
And that—
That was worse than anything else.
Megan felt something in her chest just… drop.
“Oh,” she said again, but this time it barely came out.
“I’m sorry,” Yoonchae whispered, already backing toward the door. “I can’t do this.”
“Yoonchae—”
But Megan didn’t say anything else.
Because what was the point?
Yoonchae left.
Just like that.
—
The hallway felt louder after.
Or maybe Megan just couldn’t tune it out anymore.
She didn’t cry.
Not immediately.
She just… existed. Moved through classes. Nodded when teachers called on her. Wrote notes she wouldn’t remember later.
Everything felt numb.
Until the end of the day.
That’s when it hit.
Hard.
Because she saw Yoonchae at her locker.
And for a second—just a second—Megan thought maybe—
Maybe she’d come back.
Maybe she’d say something.
Maybe she’d fix it.
“Megan,” Yoonchae said, stepping forward.
Hope is actually the worst thing in the world.
“Can we talk?”
Megan looked at her.
Really looked.
And all she saw was fear.
Not regret.
Not longing.
Fear.
“About what?” Megan asked flatly.
“About earlier. I just—I need you to understand—”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” Megan said. “You think I’m wrong. You think this—” she gestured between them, “—is wrong. And you’d rather pretend it never happened than deal with it.”
“That’s not—”
“And honestly? That’s fine.”
“Megan—”
“No, seriously. It’s fine,” Megan said, even though it very much wasn’t. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t, like, corrupt you or whatever.”
“That’s not what I think!”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I just need time—”
“Take all the time you want.”
Yoonchae reached for her. “Please don’t—”
Megan stepped back.
And that was it.
That was the moment something broke for real.
“I have to go,” Megan said.
And she walked away.
This time, she didn’t look back.
—
Yoonchae stood there long after Megan disappeared.
Her chest felt hollow.
Like something had been scooped out of her and she was just… pretending to function.
She told herself it was the right thing.
It had to be.
That’s what she’d been taught her whole life.
Right and wrong weren’t supposed to be confusing.
They weren’t supposed to hurt like this.
—
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Megan stopped sitting near her.
Stopped looking at her.
Stopped existing in her orbit entirely.
And it was… unbearable.
Yoonchae hadn’t expected that part.
She thought doing the “right thing” would feel… better.
Cleaner.
Like relief.
Instead, everything felt grey.
Flat.
Empty.
She prayed more.
That was the first instinct.
If something feels wrong, you pray.
That’s what you’re supposed to do.
So she did.
Every night.
Every morning.
In between classes.
“Please make this go away.”
“Please fix me.”
“Please help me be normal.”
But nothing changed.
If anything, it got worse.
Because now, there was no Megan.
No laughter in the margins of her day.
No quiet understanding.
No feeling of being seen.
Just silence.
And rules.
And the constant, gnawing sense that she’d made a mistake.
—
The realization didn’t hit all at once.
It was slow.
Painfully slow.
Like watching something rot.
She noticed it in little things.
The way she’d turn to say something and remember there was no one there to hear it.
The way her chest tightened every time she saw Megan across campus, looking like she’d already moved on.
The way everything felt… pointless.
Like she was following a script that didn’t mean anything anymore.
One night, she sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
And the thought just… slipped in.
Uninvited.
Unavoidable.
“What if I was wrong?”
She sat up immediately.
“No,” she said out loud. “No, that’s not—”
But the thought didn’t leave.
“What if I pushed away the only thing that actually mattered?”
Her chest tightened.
Because deep down—somewhere she didn’t want to look—
She knew.
It hadn’t felt wrong.
Not in the bathroom.
Not in that moment.
It had felt right.
Terrifying, yes.
But right.
So why did she run?
Because she was scared.
Because everything she’d ever been told was louder than what she felt.
Because she chose fear over… her.
Over Megan.
“Idiot,” she whispered to herself.
And then—
For the first time—
She cried.
—
The next day, she went looking for her.
Not casually.
Not accidentally.
On purpose.
She checked the places Megan used to be.
The courtyard.
The back staircase.
The library corner where they’d pretend to study.
Nothing.
Her stomach dropped.
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”
Fair.
Valid.
Probably deserved.
But she had to try.
She had to.
—
She found her after school.
By the sports field.
Alone.
Of course she was alone.
Megan always went there when she needed space.
Yoonchae hesitated.
For a long moment, she just stood there.
Watching.
Trying to figure out how to undo something that big.
You can’t.
That’s the truth.
You can’t undo it.
You can only… face it.
So she walked forward.
“Megan.”
Megan didn’t turn around.
“I know you can hear me,” Yoonchae said, voice shaking slightly.
Still nothing.
“I deserve that,” she added.
That got a reaction.
Megan turned.
Slowly.
“What do you want?”
Straight to the point.
No softness.
No warmth.
Yoonchae swallowed. “I need to talk to you.”
“About?”
“About us.”
Megan let out a short laugh. “There is no ‘us,’ remember?”
That stung.
But Yoonchae nodded. “Yeah. I remember. I said that.”
“So what’s the point of this?”
“The point is that I was wrong.”
Silence.
Real, heavy silence.
Megan blinked. “What?”
“I was wrong,” Yoonchae repeated, forcing the words out. “About… everything.”
Megan studied her, suspicious. “That’s a pretty big statement.”
“I know.”
“So what, you just woke up and decided you’re not going to hell anymore?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It kinda sounds like it is.”
Yoonchae shook her head. “I’m still scared. I’m still… confused. But I know one thing.”
“What?”
Her voice dropped, softer now.
“My life feels empty without you.”
That hit.
Megan looked away, jaw tightening.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to just come back and say that like it fixes everything.”
“I’m not trying to fix everything,” Yoonchae said quickly. “I just—I need you to know that what I said before… it wasn’t the truth. Not really.”
“Then what is?”
Yoonchae hesitated.
This was it.
The part she’d been avoiding.
The part that mattered.
“You,” she said finally. “You’re the truth.”
Megan’s breath caught.
“I didn’t want to admit it because it’s messy and scary and it doesn’t fit into anything I’ve been taught,” Yoonchae continued. “But when I was with you… it felt real. And when I pushed you away, everything else felt fake.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “I don’t have this figured out. But I know I don’t want a life where you’re not in it.”
The words hung in the air.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Terrifying.
Megan turned back to her.
Eyes searching.
“You really hurt me,” she said quietly.
“I know,” Yoonchae whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“And I’m not just gonna forget that.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking?”
Yoonchae took a shaky breath.
“A second chance.”
Silence.
Again.
But this time, it felt different.
Less like an ending.
More like a pause.
Megan stepped closer.
Not all the way.
But enough.
“You’re still scared,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“You might freak out again.”
“Yeah.”
“You might say something like that again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Try isn’t exactly reassuring.”
“I know,” Yoonchae said, almost laughing through the tension. “I’m kind of a work in progress.”
Megan huffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Okay,” Megan said.
Yoonchae blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Megan repeated. “But if you start talking about hell again, I’m literally leaving.”
Yoonchae smiled.
Small.
Real.
“I deserve that.”
“And we take it slow.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t get to pretend I don’t matter.”
“I won’t.”
Megan studied her one more time.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
And just like that—
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
But something.
Something real.
Something messy and complicated and terrifying and… worth it.
—
This time, when they stood next to each other, neither of them moved away.
And for once, the world didn’t feel quite so loud.