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The music is too loud.
Not like, fun loud. Not “omg this song goes so hard” loud. It’s the kind of loud where your thoughts feel like they’re glitching, like every bass drop is punching straight through your chest and scrambling everything you’re trying not to think about.
Megan’s sitting on the arm of a couch that definitely used to be white at some point in its life, staring into a red plastic cup like it personally offended her.
Across the room, people are laughing too hard at jokes that aren’t that funny. Someone’s filming a TikTok in the kitchen. There’s a couple making out against the fridge like they’re trying to win something.
And then there’s Yoonchae.
“Meg.”
She doesn’t look up.
“Meg,” Yoonchae repeats, softer this time, like she’s testing if gentleness will work better.
Megan sighs, drags her eyes up. “What?”
Yoonchae’s already dressed like she belongs somewhere better than here—black top, hair perfect in that effortless way that definitely took effort, lip gloss catching the light. She looks like she should be the main character in this room.
Instead, she looks… tired.
“Do you wanna dance?” Yoonchae asks, tilting her head toward the living room where people are jumping around like it’s the last night on earth.
Megan glances over. The crowd looks suffocating. Bodies too close. Heat. Noise. Expectations.
“Nah,” she mutters, taking a sip of her drink even though it tastes like regret and cheap vodka.
Yoonchae pauses. It’s small, barely noticeable if you don’t know her. But Megan knows her. Knows the exact moment her expression shifts from hopeful to something more careful.
“Okay,” Yoonchae says. “We could, um—do you wanna get another drink? Yours is basically empty.”
“It’s not,” Megan says automatically, even though it literally is.
Yoonchae’s lips press together. “Meg.”
“I’m fine,” Megan snaps, a little sharper than she meant to. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not—” Yoonchae cuts herself off, exhales. “I just wanted to hang out with you.”
“We are hanging out.”
“This isn’t hanging out,” Yoonchae says, gesturing vaguely at Megan’s whole vibe—closed off, distant, somewhere else entirely.
Megan shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. Like she doesn’t feel the tension crawling up her spine.
“Then go dance,” Megan says. “You don’t need me for that.”
Yoonchae stares at her for a second too long.
“Right,” she says quietly.
She shifts her weight, like she’s deciding something. Megan can see it happening in real time—the calculation, the hesitation, the slow build of frustration that’s been sitting under the surface all night.
“Meg, can you just—” Yoonchae starts, then stops again. Her voice tightens. “Do you even want to be here with me right now?”
The question lands heavier than it should.
Megan looks away. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“And I’m saying you’re being dramatic,” Megan repeats, rolling her eyes, because deflecting is easier than answering.
Yoonchae laughs, but it’s not real. It’s that sharp, hollow kind.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and awkward.
In the background, someone screams the lyrics to a song. The bass drops again.
Yoonchae nods slowly, like something’s clicking into place in the worst way.
“Fine,” she says.
Megan doesn’t react.
“Fine,” Yoonchae repeats, louder this time, like she needs Megan to actually hear it.
Still nothing.
And then—
“Fine. I’ll find someone who wants to spend time with me then.”
That gets Megan’s attention.
Her head snaps up, but Yoonchae’s already standing, already stepping back, already putting distance between them like it’s the only way she can breathe.
“Yoon—” Megan starts, but the name catches in her throat.
Yoonchae doesn’t stop.
She just turns and walks straight into the crowd.
For a second, Megan sits there, frozen.
Like her brain hasn’t caught up yet.
Like this is just another moment that’ll pass, like all the other ones she’s brushed off tonight.
But then she sees it.
Yoonchae—laughing.
Not like earlier. Not forced. Not careful.
She’s talking to some girl Megan doesn’t recognize. Blonde, probably. Or maybe it’s just the lighting. The girl leans in close, says something, and Yoonchae smiles in a way Megan hasn’t seen all night.
And suddenly, it hits.
Hard.
Oh.
Oh, she fucked up.
Megan’s stomach drops like she just missed a step on the stairs.
She watches as the girl touches Yoonchae’s arm, casual, easy, like it’s nothing. And Yoonchae doesn’t pull away.
Of course she doesn’t.
Why would she?
Megan swallows, her grip tightening around the stupid red cup.
It’s not like they’re… exclusive-exclusive, right?
They never said it.
They just—are.
Or were.
Or… whatever this is.
Her chest feels weird. Tight. Like she can’t get a full breath in.
“Chill,” she mutters to herself, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s literally not that deep.”
But it is.
And she knows it.
Because if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be staring across the room like this.
She wouldn’t be noticing every little thing—the way Yoonchae tilts her head when she listens, the way she laughs, the way she looks like she’s actually enjoying herself now.
Without Megan.
That part stings the most.
Megan looks down at her drink again, like it might magically fix something.
It doesn’t.
Around her, the party keeps going. People keep moving, talking, living.
And Megan just sits there, stuck.
Her brain starts replaying everything.
Every “nah.”
Every “I’m fine.”
Every time she shut Yoonchae down without even thinking about it.
God.
She groans, dropping her head into her hands.
Why is she like this?
It’s not like she doesn’t like Yoonchae.
She does.
Too much, maybe.
That’s the problem.
Because liking someone that much means they can actually hurt you. It means you have to show up, be present, care in a way that isn’t detached and safe.
And Megan’s really, really good at not doing that.
But now—
Now she’s watching someone else step into that space like it’s nothing.
And she hates it.
“Shit,” she mutters.
Across the room, the blonde girl says something that makes Yoonchae laugh again. Then she leans in closer.
Too close.
Megan’s chest tightens even more.
Okay. Nope.
Nope, she’s not just gonna sit here and watch this happen.
That’s insane.
She stands up so fast the cup almost spills.
For a second, she hesitates.
Because what is she even gonna say?
“Hey, sorry I’ve been ignoring you all night, please don’t talk to anyone else”? Yeah, that sounds normal. Totally chill. Not unhinged at all.
But then Yoonchae tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling at the other girl like she actually wants to be there—
And that’s enough.
Megan pushes through the crowd.
It’s hotter in the middle of the room, bodies pressing in from all sides, music louder, lights flashing. Someone bumps into her shoulder, mutters a quick “sorry,” but she barely registers it.
Her focus is locked.
On Yoonchae.
On the way she looks happy.
On the fact that Megan almost forgot what that looked like tonight.
“Yoonchae.”
Her voice comes out sharper than she intended.
Yoonchae turns.
For a split second, something flickers in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or hope.
But it’s gone just as quickly.
Replaced with something cooler. Guarded.
“Megan,” she says.
The blonde girl looks between them, sensing the tension instantly.
“Oh—um,” she says, awkward. “I can—”
“No, it’s fine,” Yoonchae cuts in, not taking her eyes off Megan.
The girl hesitates, then slips away anyway, clearly not trying to get caught in whatever this is.
Now it’s just them.
Again.
But it doesn’t feel the same.
Megan shifts her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—her tone earlier, the way Yoonchae’s standing just slightly out of reach, the distance that wasn’t there before.
“So,” Yoonchae says, crossing her arms. “What’s up?”
Megan opens her mouth.
Closes it.
God, why is this so hard?
“I—” she starts, then stops. “You just—left.”
Yoonchae lets out a short laugh.
“Yeah. I did.”
“That was kinda—”
“Don’t,” Yoonchae says, cutting her off. Not loud. Not angry.
Just… firm.
“Don’t do that.”
Megan frowns. “Do what?”
“Act like you didn’t push me there,” Yoonchae says.
The words land clean. Precise.
Megan flinches, just a little.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” Yoonchae says, still calm. “All night, Megan. I kept trying, and you kept shutting me down.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” Yoonchae repeats. “And it’s fine if you didn’t want to be here, or didn’t want to hang out, or whatever. But you could’ve just said that.”
Megan feels her chest tighten again.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to hang out,” she says, quieter now.
“Then what was it?” Yoonchae asks.
And there it is.
The question Megan doesn’t have a clean answer for.
She shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know.”
Yoonchae exhales, shaking her head slightly.
“Yeah. That’s kinda the problem.”
Silence settles again, heavier this time.
Megan glances back at her, and something twists in her chest.
Because Yoonchae doesn’t look angry.
She looks… done.
And that’s worse.
“I’m sorry,” Megan blurts out.
The words feel unfamiliar in her mouth.
Yoonchae blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that.
“For what?” she asks.
“For—” Megan gestures vaguely. “For being… like that. I guess.”
“Like what?”
Megan huffs, frustrated. “You know what I mean.”
“I actually don’t,” Yoonchae says. “That’s the issue.”
Megan runs a hand over her face.
“This is why I didn’t wanna do this here,” she mutters.
“Do what? Have a conversation?” Yoonchae’s voice sharpens slightly. “God forbid.”
“I’m trying,” Megan snaps.
“Are you?” Yoonchae shoots back.
That hits.
Megan freezes for a second.
Because… fair.
“I just—” she starts again, softer. “I get in my head, okay? And then everything feels like too much, and I shut down. It’s not—about you.”
Yoonchae studies her, like she’s trying to decide if that’s enough.
“And you couldn’t tell me that?” she asks.
Megan hesitates.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
Yoonchae laughs again, but there’s no humor in it.
“Of course it matters, Megan.”
Megan looks down.
“I didn’t wanna ruin the vibe,” she mumbles.
“The vibe was already ruined,” Yoonchae says. “You were sitting there acting like you didn’t even want me near you.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” Yoonchae says, softer now. “Maybe not on purpose. But you did.”
That lands deeper than anything else she’s said.
Megan swallows hard.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, and this time it actually sounds like something.
Yoonchae doesn’t respond right away.
The music shifts to a slower song, the energy in the room dipping just a little.
People start pairing off, swaying instead of jumping.
It feels weirdly intimate for a space that loud.
“I just wanted to spend time with you,” Yoonchae says finally.
Her voice is quieter now.
Less defensive.
More… honest.
Megan nods, her throat tight.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Yoonchae asks.
Megan looks at her.
Really looks.
At the way she’s holding herself, like she’s bracing for something. At the faint hurt still sitting behind her eyes.
“Yeah,” Megan says. “I do. I just… suck at showing it.”
Yoonchae huffs a small laugh.
“At least you’re self-aware.”
“Barely,” Megan mutters.
That earns a tiny smile.
It’s not much.
But it’s something.
They stand there for a second, the tension not gone, but… softer.
Less sharp.
“So,” Megan says, awkward. “Are you—still gonna find someone else to hang out with?”
Yoonchae raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, I could,” she says.
Megan’s stomach flips again.
“But,” Yoonchae adds, “I’m here right now.”
Megan nods slowly.
“Okay.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Do you wanna dance?” Yoonchae asks.
Same question.
Different moment.
Megan hesitates.
The crowd still looks overwhelming. The music still too loud.
But—
“Yeah,” she says.
Yoonchae’s eyebrows lift slightly, surprised.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Megan repeats, a little more sure this time. “I mean… I might hate it. But I’ll do it.”
Yoonchae smiles.
For real this time.
“Wow. Growth.”
“Don’t make it a thing,” Megan says, rolling her eyes—but there’s a hint of a smile there too.
Yoonchae reaches out, grabbing her hand before she can overthink it.
“Too late.”
And just like that, she’s pulling Megan into the crowd.
It’s still loud.
Still chaotic.
Still a lot.
But Yoonchae’s hand is warm in hers, steady, grounding.
And for once, Megan doesn’t pull away.
She lets herself be there.
Actually there.
With her.
And maybe it’s messy, and maybe it’s not fixed, and maybe they’re still kind of a disaster—
But for now?
It’s enough.