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Megan didn’t really know when it started.
Like, there wasn’t some dramatic movie moment where everything went dark and sad music started playing in the background. It was quieter than that. More annoying, honestly. Like a phone on 1% battery that just keeps warning you but never actually dies.
She’d wake up, scroll for a bit, stare at the ceiling, and think, yeah… I’m fine.
Except she wasn’t really fine.
But she also wasn’t the type to say it out loud.
So she just called it “tired.” Or “just a bit off today.” Or her personal favorite: “I’m chill, just sleepy.”
Even when she wasn’t.
Her friends noticed, of course. Friends always notice. They just don’t always know what to do with it.
“You good?” they’d ask.
“Yeah,” Megan would say immediately. Too fast. Too practiced. “Just tired.”
And then she’d smile like that fixed everything.
It didn’t.
Days blurred into each other in a way that made time feel kind of fake. Like she was watching her life on low brightness.
She still did stuff though. She went to classes. She answered messages. She laughed at the right times.
But inside? It felt like carrying a backpack full of wet sand everywhere she went. Not unbearable. Just… heavy. Constant.
And then she met Yoonchae.
It wasn’t cinematic. No wind. No sparkly slow-motion. No choir music or anything.
It was literally just… a hallway.
Megan had been trying to find a room in a community space she’d signed up for. Wrong door, wrong corridor, wrong everything. She was already annoyed at herself.
She turned a corner too fast and almost collided with someone.
“Ah—sorry,” Megan said automatically, stepping back.
The other girl blinked at her, then smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“No, you’re okay,” she said.
Her voice was soft but clear, like warm tea. The kind of calm that made you accidentally slow down.
Megan nodded awkwardly. “I’m kinda lost.”
“Same,” the girl admitted, lifting her phone. “I think this building is designed to confuse people on purpose.”
That made Megan laugh. Just a small one, but real.
The girl laughed too like she’d been waiting for it.
“I’m Yoonchae,” she said.
“Megan.”
They stood there for a second like neither of them knew what came next.
Then Yoonchae tilted her head. “Wanna be lost together?”
Megan didn’t know why that hit her so softly.
But she nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
And just like that, they walked.
It started small after that.
Not like suddenly everything in Megan’s life transformed. That would’ve been too easy. Too fake.
But Yoonchae started existing in it.
Like a warm lamp turned on in the corner of a room you didn’t realize was dark until it wasn’t anymore.
They ran into each other again two days later.
Then again “accidentally” the next week.
Then it stopped being accidents.
“You’re stalking me,” Megan said one day, deadpan, as they ended up side-by-side at a café queue.
Yoonchae gasped dramatically. “I would never. I am a lawful citizen.”
Megan snorted. “That’s exactly what a stalker would say.”
Yoonchae leaned closer like she was sharing a secret. “Maybe I just have excellent taste in coffee and coincidence.”
“Coincidence?”
“Yeah. Fate’s less cringe cousin.”
Megan stared at her for a second.
Then laughed properly this time. Like stomach-deep, surprised laughter.
It felt… weirdly good.
The thing about Yoonchae was that she didn’t push.
She didn’t pry.
She just stayed.
Like she assumed Megan would talk when she was ready, and if she wasn’t ready, that was also fine.
That alone was kind of insane to Megan.
Because most people either ignored her sadness or tried to fix it like it was a broken chair.
Yoonchae just… sat with her.
Sometimes they’d be in silence on a bench after class, eating snacks from a corner shop, legs swinging slightly.
Yoonchae would scroll her phone or hum quietly.
Megan would stare at nothing.
And somehow it didn’t feel lonely.
One afternoon, Megan said, out of nowhere, “Do you ever feel like your brain is just… buffering?”
Yoonchae looked up. “Constantly. Like it’s stuck on 240p.”
That made Megan laugh again.
Yoonchae grinned. “Wait, is this a shared experience or are we both just glitching humans?”
“Probably both,” Megan said.
Yoonchae nodded seriously. “We should start a support group. Snacks mandatory.”
Megan tilted her head. “What would we call it?”
“Mentally lagging club,” Yoonchae said immediately.
Megan almost choked on her drink. “That’s insane.”
“It’s branding,” Yoonchae corrected.
And that was the moment something shifted.
Because Megan realized she hadn’t felt this… light in a while.
Not fixed.
Not magically healed.
Just lighter.
Yoonchae started becoming a routine.
Not in a boring way.
In a soft way.
Megan would wake up and think, I wonder if I’ll see her today.
And sometimes she did.
Sometimes she didn’t.
But knowing she might made things less heavy.
They started studying together without planning to.
It just… happened.
Megan would sit somewhere, open her laptop, pretend to be productive for ten minutes, then sigh dramatically.
Yoonchae would slide into the seat opposite like she’d been summoned.
“You look like you’re fighting for your life,” Yoonchae said once.
“I am,” Megan replied. “Against my assignments.”
“Fair.”
Yoonchae pulled out her own work. “We suffer together then.”
“Romantic,” Megan said dryly.
Yoonchae gasped again. “Did you just flirt with me?”
Megan froze. “No.”
“Yes you did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
Megan stared at her laptop screen like it could save her. “This is harassment.”
Yoonchae leaned back, satisfied. “Noted.”
And somehow, Megan didn’t feel embarrassed.
Just… warm.
It wasn’t all jokes though.
Sometimes the quiet came back.
Sometimes Megan would go a little too still, a little too distant, and Yoonchae would notice immediately.
She never said “what’s wrong?” like it was a demand.
She’d just say, “Hey. I’m here.”
And that was it.
No pressure.
No interrogation.
Just presence.
One evening, it was raining hard. The kind of rain that made the whole world look blurred and soft, like everything was behind glass.
They were sitting under a bus shelter, shoulders close but not touching.
Megan watched the rain hit the pavement.
Yoonchae nudged her foot lightly. “You’re quiet today.”
Megan shrugged. “Just tired.”
Yoonchae hummed like she didn’t fully believe it, but she didn’t push.
A few seconds passed.
Then Megan said, quieter, “It’s just… some days feel heavier than others, you know?”
Yoonchae turned her head slightly. “Yeah.”
Megan blinked. She hadn’t expected agreement that fast.
Yoonchae continued, “Not every day is loud heavy. Sometimes it’s just… like gravity is turned up a bit.”
Megan let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“Exactly,” she said.
Yoonchae leaned her head back against the shelter. “I think it’s okay to have those days.”
Megan scoffed softly. “That’s easy to say.”
“I didn’t say it’s easy,” Yoonchae replied.
That made Megan glance at her.
Yoonchae wasn’t smiling now. Just calm. Real.
“I just think you don’t have to earn rest,” she added.
Megan looked away again, throat tightening in a way she didn’t fully understand.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Yoonchae said, lighter again, “Also, your hair is getting wet and it’s kind of giving sad anime protagonist.”
Megan let out a laugh despite herself. “Shut up.”
“Never,” Yoonchae said proudly.
After that, something changed between them.
Not dramatically.
But like a thread quietly tying itself tighter.
They started texting more.
Random stuff.
Memes. Voice notes. “I saw a pigeon today and it looked evil.” “This sandwich changed my life.” “If I disappear it’s because I moved into a bakery.”
Megan found herself checking her phone more often.
Not obsessively.
Just… hopefully.
Which was new.
Very new.
One weekend, Yoonchae showed up at Megan’s place with takeout and a blanket.
“No invitation?” Megan asked, leaning on the doorframe.
Yoonchae shrugged. “I come in peace.”
“That’s what aliens say.”
“Exactly.”
Megan sighed but stepped aside. “You’re insane.”
“Yeah but I brought food,” Yoonchae said, holding up the bag.
That was hard to argue with.
They ended up on the couch, legs tangled slightly under the blanket, eating like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Which, weirdly, it started to feel like.
Megan watched Yoonchae steal a fry.
“Hey,” Megan said.
Yoonchae froze mid-bite. “What?”
“That was mine.”
Yoonchae blinked. Then slowly chewed.
“…I regret nothing.”
Megan shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re actually unbelievable.”
“I try,” Yoonchae said.
There was a comfortable pause.
Then Yoonchae, softer, “You seem more here today.”
Megan glanced down at her food. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Yoonchae nodded. “Like… less far away.”
Megan didn’t know what to say to that.
So she just said, “You’re annoying.”
Yoonchae grinned. “I know.”
But her eyes were gentle.
The domestic thing started happening without warning.
Yoonchae leaving her hoodie at Megan’s place.
Megan accidentally keeping it.
Yoonchae coming over “for ten minutes” and staying three hours.
Megan cooking pasta and Yoonchae dramatically rating it like a judge on a cooking show.
“This is a solid 8.7 out of 10,” Yoonchae declared once.
“Why not 10?” Megan asked.
“Room for emotional growth.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Megan paused. “…Unfortunately, no.”
Yoonchae laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
One night, they were doing laundry together in the building’s shared room.
It was late. Quiet. The hum of machines filled the space like background noise to their conversation.
Megan leaned against the wall, watching her socks spin in a dryer window.
Yoonchae sat on top of a laundry basket like it was a throne.
“This is peak adulthood,” Yoonchae said.
“Paying rent and watching clothes rotate?” Megan replied.
“Yes.”
“Low standards.”
“High vibes,” Yoonchae corrected.
Megan smiled faintly.
Then it faded slightly as she stared at the floor.
Yoonchae noticed immediately.
“You okay?” she asked.
Megan hesitated.
That hesitation was new too. Less automatic “I’m fine.” More space in between.
“I don’t know,” Megan admitted quietly. “Just… thinking too much again.”
Yoonchae nodded like that made sense.
“About what?” she asked, not demanding.
Megan shrugged. “Just… how I used to feel like I was always behind everyone else. Like I was watching life instead of living it.”
Silence settled for a second.
Then Yoonchae said, “You know that’s not a rule, right?”
Megan looked at her.
Yoonchae swung her legs slightly. “Like… there’s no scoreboard. No one is ahead. Everyone’s just… doing their own weird thing at their own weird pace.”
Megan let out a small laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” Yoonchae said. “Just not easy.”
Megan nodded slowly.
Then, quieter, “I think I believed I was kind of broken or something.”
Yoonchae’s expression softened immediately.
“Hey,” she said gently. “Don’t do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you talk about yourself like you’re a problem to solve.”
Megan looked away.
Yoonchae hopped off the laundry basket and stepped closer, not touching her, just near.
“You’re not a project,” she said. “You’re just… you. And I like you.”
That last part landed differently.
Megan’s breath caught a little.
She looked at Yoonchae. “You say stuff like that so casually.”
Yoonchae shrugged. “Because it’s true casually.”
Megan didn’t respond right away.
The dryer beeped in the background.
Then Megan said, very quietly, “That’s kind of scary.”
Yoonchae tilted her head. “What is?”
“That someone could just… like me like that.”
Yoonchae frowned slightly. “Why?”
Megan swallowed. “Because I don’t always like myself.”
The words hung there.
Honest. Slightly shaky.
Yoonchae didn’t rush in to fill the silence.
She just said, after a moment, “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Megan blinked.
Yoonchae continued, “But I’m not waiting for you to be perfect or anything.”
Megan let out a breath.
Yoonchae bumped her shoulder lightly. “Also, I’ve seen your organizational system. You are already kind of a mess. It’s too late to scare me off.”
Megan laughed again, real and sudden.
“Wow,” she said. “Rude.”
“Truthful,” Yoonchae corrected.
And just like that, the heaviness didn’t disappear.
But it shifted.
Like it moved a little to the side, making room for air.
After that, it escalated.
Not in a chaotic way.
In a slow, steady, deeply unhinged-for-Megan kind of way.
Because once Yoonchae figured out that Megan didn’t just tolerate touch but lowkey needed it like emotional oxygen, she fully leaned into it.
It started with hand-holding.
Then arm-linking.
Then Yoonchae just casually sitting in Megan’s lap one day like she had always belonged there.
Megan nearly malfunctioned.
“Do you just… do this?” Megan asked, voice muffled because Yoonchae had immediately wrapped her arms around her neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Do what?” Yoonchae asked, adjusting her hoodie like she wasn’t currently sitting directly on another human being.
“This,” Megan gestured vaguely. “The whole… human backpack situation.”
Yoonchae blinked. “Yeah?”
Megan stared at her.
Yoonchae stared back.
Then shrugged. “You didn’t say no.”
That was it. That was her entire reasoning system.
Megan should’ve been alarmed.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around Yoonchae’s waist like it was muscle memory she didn’t know she had.
Yoonchae made a soft, satisfied sound.
And Megan felt something in her chest unclench so hard it almost hurt.
The thing about Yoonchae was that she was calm in a way that didn’t make sense.
Not calm like quiet.
Calm like steady.
Like even when everything around her was slightly chaotic, she still moved like she had time.
Like she wasn’t afraid of taking up space.
And Megan… Megan had spent a long time being the opposite.
Shrinking without noticing.
Making herself smaller in rooms.
Turning her emotions down so low she forgot what volume they were supposed to be at.
So when Yoonchae started acting like Megan’s presence was not just fine but actively wanted, something inside her started to glitch in the best way.
One night, Megan had one of those days.
Not dramatic.
Just heavy.
The kind where everything felt slightly out of reach, even things she liked. Even her own thoughts.
She sat on her bed, staring at her phone without really seeing it.
She didn’t text anyone.
Didn’t feel like talking.
Didn’t feel like anything, really.
Then Yoonchae knocked once and just walked in anyway.
“No warning?” Megan mumbled.
Yoonchae looked at her, scanned her face for half a second, and then said, “Bad brain day?”
Megan hesitated.
Then nodded.
Yoonchae kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed, and pulled Megan sideways like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
“Okay,” Yoonchae said, settling them both under the blanket. “We’re doing the reset protocol.”
Megan blinked. “The what?”
Yoonchae grabbed her hand, interlacing their fingers. “You lie here. I exist. That’s it.”
“That’s the protocol?”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of lazy.”
“It’s efficient,” Yoonchae corrected.
Megan let out a small laugh despite herself.
Then she went quiet again.
Yoonchae didn’t push.
Didn’t ask questions.
Just stayed.
Thumb gently rubbing circles into Megan’s hand.
It was such a small thing.
But it made Megan’s throat tighten for reasons she couldn’t explain.
After a while, Megan shifted closer without thinking, resting her head against Yoonchae’s shoulder.
Yoonchae immediately adjusted, like she’d been waiting for it.
“You’re really clingy when you’re comfortable, huh,” Yoonchae said lightly.
Megan groaned softly. “Don’t expose me.”
“I’m not exposing you,” Yoonchae said. “I’m documenting for science.”
“That makes it worse.”
Yoonchae hummed thoughtfully. “Noted.”
And then, softer, almost like she was saying it just to herself, “I like it though.”
Megan didn’t respond.
Because if she did, her voice would’ve done something embarrassing.
The next stage of their friendship was what Megan privately labeled as “domestic chaos era.”
Because somehow, they started doing everything together.
Not in a planned way.
In a “we just ended up like this” way.
They grocery shopped like it was a co-op mission.
They cooked together even when they didn’t need to.
They had movie nights that always ended with them half asleep tangled together on the couch.
Yoonchae would steal Megan’s hoodies.
Megan would pretend to be annoyed but never actually take them back.
One time, Yoonchae even brushed Megan’s hair after a shower because she “looked like a wet bird with anxiety.”
Megan didn’t argue.
Because it felt… nice.
Too nice.
Like something she didn’t want to question in case it disappeared if she looked at it too hard.
It was during one of those nights that everything almost changed shape.
They were on the couch again, lights low, some random show playing in the background that neither of them were paying attention to.
Yoonchae was curled up against Megan’s side, legs tucked under her.
Megan’s arm was around her without thinking anymore.
It had become default.
Breathing.
Normal.
Yoonchae was scrolling on her phone, occasionally showing Megan random things like “look at this cat it looks like it pays taxes illegally.”
Megan laughed softly.
Then, out of nowhere, Yoonchae said, “Do you ever think about how weird it is that we’re like this?”
Megan paused. “Like what?”
Yoonchae gestured vaguely between them. “This. Constant proximity. Touchy situation.”
Megan shrugged, trying to act casual. “Is it weird?”
Yoonchae tilted her head. “Not to me.”
That made Megan’s chest feel warm in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
Yoonchae continued, “I just didn’t think you were a touchy person at first.”
Megan snorted. “I’m not.”
Yoonchae looked at her.
Megan sighed. “Okay, I wasn’t.”
“And now?”
Megan hesitated.
Then admitted quietly, “Now I think I am. With you.”
The room went a little softer after that.
Not silent.
Just… softer.
Yoonchae didn’t look surprised.
She just nodded like she had been collecting that answer for a while and finally got confirmation.
“Cool,” she said.
Then she nudged Megan lightly with her shoulder. “I like this version of you.”
Megan didn’t know what to do with that.
So she did what she always did.
She leaned into Yoonchae a little more.
The shift didn’t feel like a switch flipping.
It felt like slowly realizing she had been holding her breath for years without noticing.
Yoonchae didn’t fix her sadness.
That was never the point.
She just made it easier to carry.
Like someone walking beside her and occasionally taking part of the weight without making it a big dramatic thing.
There were still bad days.
Still moments where Megan would go quiet and distant.
But now, there was always Yoonchae.
Knocking softly.
Sliding into her space.
Existing beside her like a promise that didn’t need words.
Sometimes she’d just say, “Hey. I’m here.”
And that would be enough to pull Megan back a little.
One afternoon, Megan was lying on her bed again, but this time it wasn’t heavy.
Just quiet.
Yoonchae was next to her, half draped over her stomach, scrolling aimlessly.
Megan stared at the ceiling.
Then said, “You know what’s weird?”
Yoonchae didn’t look up. “Everything?”
Megan smiled faintly. “No. Like… I used to think I was just kind of broken at being around people.”
Yoonchae paused her scrolling.
Didn’t interrupt.
Just listened.
Megan continued, voice softer now. “Like I didn’t really… fit. I don’t know. I just always felt kind of far away from everyone else.”
Yoonchae shifted slightly, pressing closer.
Megan swallowed. “But with you it’s like… I don’t have to perform anything. I can just be. And it doesn’t feel wrong.”
Silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Just real.
Yoonchae finally spoke, voice gentle but matter-of-fact.
“I think you were just around people who made you feel like you had to shrink.”
Megan let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Yoonchae added, “You don’t do that with me. So I don’t treat you like that.”
Megan turned her head slightly to look at her.
Yoonchae was already looking back.
There was nothing intense about it.
No drama.
Just certainty.
Megan felt her eyes sting a little and immediately hated that fact.
So she did the only thing she knew how to do.
She pulled Yoonchae closer.
Yoonchae immediately adjusted, wrapping an arm around her like it was instinct.
“Clingy,” Yoonchae murmured, but there was affection in it.
Megan muttered into her hair, “Shut up.”
Yoonchae smiled. “No.”
And that was it.
That was the moment Megan realized something very simple.
She wasn’t becoming someone new.
She was just finally allowed to exist fully.
After that, the wordless language between them got stronger.
A hand on the back of Megan’s neck when she was stressed.
Yoonchae stealing Megan’s hoodie and not returning it for emotional support reasons.
Megan automatically opening her arms when Yoonchae walked into the room like it was a reflex.
Yoonchae falling into her without hesitation every single time.
It became routine.
Natural.
Like breathing in sync without trying.
One evening, they were cooking noodles again, because apparently that was their emotional support cuisine.
Yoonchae leaned against the counter and said, “If we ever stop being friends, I think I would actually malfunction.”
Megan glanced at her. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate,” Yoonchae said.
Megan hummed. “I think I’d just… follow you around like a lost Wi-Fi signal.”
Yoonchae laughed. “That’s kind of terrifying.”
“Yeah,” Megan agreed. “But also honest.”
They looked at each other.
Then both started laughing again for no real reason other than the fact that it felt good to.
Later that night, they ended up on the couch again.
Same spot.
Same tangled limbs.
Same soft background noise of a show neither of them were watching.
Yoonchae was half asleep.
Megan wasn’t.
She was just thinking.
About how different things felt now.
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
Just… less heavy.
She shifted slightly, and Yoonchae immediately tightened her hold like she had sensed it even in sleep.
Megan stared at her for a moment.
Then quietly said, “Hey.”
Yoonchae hummed in response without opening her eyes.
Megan smiled a little.
“Thanks for existing near me.”
Yoonchae didn’t respond immediately.
Then, still half asleep, she mumbled, “Don’t get weird about it.”
Megan laughed under her breath.
“Too late.”
Yoonchae made a soft sound of protest and pulled her closer.
And Megan let herself be held.
Completely.
Without resistance.
Without fear of taking up space.
Just there.
Fully.
Finally.