Work Text:
Yoonchae doesn’t realize she’s getting bad again until she starts measuring her life in unopened notifications.
Like. Twelve texts from Lara.
Three missed calls from Daniela.
An alarming amount of Duolingo reminders.
One passive aggressive “bro are you alive” from Manon.
And then there’s the laundry situation.
The laundry situation is always the biggest sign.
Because normal people probably don’t stare at a hoodie on the floor for forty minutes like it personally insulted them.
Yoonchae does.
The hoodie is pink. Megan’s, technically. Oversized. Soft. It still smells vaguely like vanilla body spray and the strawberry candy Megan keeps in every single bag she owns like a cartoon grandma.
Yoonchae is sitting cross-legged on her bed staring at it like she’s in a dramatic indie film montage.
Her room is dark except for the LED lights around her mirror and the glow from her laptop screensaver bouncing gently against the wall.
Outside rain taps against the windows.
Inside, her brain feels like wet cement.
It’s exhausting.
Existing shouldn’t feel like dragging a shopping cart with one broken wheel through gravel.
But lately it does.
Everything is too loud.
Or too quiet.
Or too much.
Or not enough.
And she knows she should answer her friends. She knows she should eat something besides those weird little seaweed chips she found in the back of the cabinet. She knows she should probably shower.
Instead she just pulls the hoodie closer and buries her face in it.
Which is when her phone buzzes.
MEGAN:
open the door before i start yodeling in the hallway
Yoonchae bolts upright so fast she nearly falls off the bed.
“What.”
Another buzz.
MEGAN:
i KNOW you’re in there
i heard a thud
MEGAN:
that sounded medically concerning
Yoonchae stares at the messages.
Her stomach twists.
Not in a bad way.
More like the terrifying way sunlight feels after staying indoors too long.
She shuffles toward the door and opens it exactly three inches.
Megan immediately pushes a plastic grocery bag through the gap like a raccoon breaking into a campsite.
“I brought emergency supplies.”
Yoonchae blinks.
“What emergency.”
“You haven’t replied in like twenty hours.” Megan gasps dramatically. “That is friendship 911.”
Yoonchae opens the door fully.
Megan stands there in giant pajama pants covered in tiny ducks.
Actual ducks.
Yellow.
One of them has sunglasses.
Her hoodie sleeves cover half her hands and her hair is clipped up messily with one of those claw clips that always looks effortless on pretty girls and horrifying on everyone else.
Except Megan somehow looks cute even when she resembles a sleep-deprived camp counselor.
She lifts the grocery bag proudly.
“I have ramen. Gummy worms. Vitamin water. Chocolate milk. And,” she lowers her voice reverently, “dinosaur nuggets.”
Yoonchae laughs before she can stop herself.
Megan points at her immediately.
“There she is.”
“No.”
“Yes. That was a laugh. I heard it with my own two ears.”
“It was more like air escaping.”
“Sure, babe.”
Yoonchae freezes.
Megan freezes too.
There’s a beat.
Then Megan squints.
“I call everybody babe.”
“I know.”
“Okay good.”
“Okay.”
Another beat.
Megan walks into the room like nothing happened.
The thing about Megan is that she never enters spaces normally.
She arrives.
Like confetti.
Like a pop-up ad.
Like somebody accidentally gave a golden retriever human form and access to caffeine.
Within thirty seconds she’s already gasping at the state of Yoonchae’s room.
“Oh this is depression bedroom severe.”
“Don’t bully me.”
“There’s a spoon on your windowsill.”
Yoonchae follows her gaze.
“…I can explain.”
“You know what? I don’t even want the lore.”
Megan drops onto the bed dramatically.
Directly onto the pink hoodie.
“Ow,” Yoonchae says automatically.
Megan goes still.
Slowly she lifts herself.
“Oh my god.”
“What.”
“You’ve been cuddling my hoodie.”
“No I haven’t.”
“You literally said ow when I sat on it.”
“I just didn’t want you wrinkling it.”
“It’s a hoodie.”
“It’s emotionally significant.”
Megan stares at her.
Yoonchae stares back.
And then Megan’s entire expression softens in this tiny subtle way that almost makes Yoonchae look away.
Instead Megan grins.
“Well. Good news. The real thing is here now.”
She opens her arms.
Yoonchae groans immediately.
“You’re so cringe.”
“And yet.”
“And yet what.”
“You’re coming over here.”
“I’m literally not.”
Thirty seconds later Yoonchae is absolutely getting hugged.
It’s unfair, honestly.
Megan gives the kind of hugs that make you understand why people write poetry.
Warm.
Soft.
Safe.
Like getting wrapped in an electric blanket fresh out of the dryer.
Yoonchae melts before she can stop herself.
Which is humiliating.
Megan squeezes her tighter.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
And that’s the thing.
That stupid little hi almost hurts.
Because nobody says it like that unless they mean i missed you.
Yoonchae swallows hard.
“Hi.”
Megan pulls back just enough to squint at her face.
“You’ve been crying.”
“No.”
“Your eyes are puffier than my ankles after Coachella.”
“That was one time.”
“You cried because your boots were evil.”
“They were evil.”
“Valid.”
Megan doesn’t push.
She never really pushes.
That’s another thing about her.
She notices everything but acts like it’s your choice to tell her.
Like she’s standing beside a door instead of trying to break it down.
It makes Yoonchae want to open it.
Which is annoying.
Megan starts unpacking groceries onto the bed.
“Okay. Recovery plan.”
“There’s a recovery plan?”
“Yes.”
“You made one.”
“I have a Notes app.”
“That’s terrifying.”
Megan ignores her.
“Step one: hydration.”
She tosses Yoonchae a vitamin water.
“Step two: you’re eating real food.”
“I had seaweed chips.”
“That is not food. That’s aquarium garnish.”
“Mean.”
“Step three.” Megan points at her dramatically. “You tell me what’s going on in that giant beautiful head of yours.”
Yoonchae immediately flops face-first into a pillow.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Nooooo.”
“Yesoooo.”
“That’s not even a word.”
“Neither is dafuq but you say that every day.”
Yoonchae groans louder.
Megan kicks her gently.
“Talk to me.”
There’s silence for a second.
Rain against the window.
The distant hum of traffic.
Megan opening gummy worms.
Yoonchae stares at the wall.
“I’m tired.”
Megan nods immediately.
“Okay.”
“Like… all the time.”
Another nod.
“And everything feels hard for no reason.”
Megan hands her a gummy worm.
Yoonchae takes it automatically.
“And I know I should just get over it because nothing even happened but my brain feels…” She pauses helplessly. “Heavy.”
Megan is quiet.
Not fake quiet.
Not waiting-to-speak quiet.
Real quiet.
The kind that makes room for your words.
“That sounds exhausting,” she says finally.
Yoonchae’s throat tightens.
Because she expected advice.
Or solutions.
Or that awful “look on the bright side” thing people say when they don’t know what to do with sadness.
Instead Megan just sounds… sad for her.
Which somehow feels worse.
Or better.
Maybe both.
“I hate talking about it,” Yoonchae mutters.
“You don’t have to.”
“But you just said—”
“You don’t have to perform your pain for me.”
Yoonchae blinks.
Megan shrugs.
“We can literally just eat dinosaur nuggets and watch TikToks if that’s all you can do today.”
There it is again.
That warmth.
That unbearable softness.
Like Megan keeps handing her pieces of mercy without making a big deal about it.
Yoonchae stares at her.
Megan blinks back.
Then immediately ruins the moment by shoving three gummy worms into her mouth at once.
“Behold,” she says thickly. “A snake.”
Yoonchae bursts out laughing.
Actual laughing.
The kind that sneaks out before you can stop it.
Megan points triumphantly.
“THERE she is.”
“Stop talking.”
“Never.”
And somehow.
Somehow.
Things feel lighter after that.
Not fixed.
Not magically cured.
But lighter.
Like somebody cracked open a window in a room that’s been stuffy for months.
It becomes a thing after that.
Not officially.
Nobody says anything.
But Megan starts appearing whenever Yoonchae gets too quiet.
Like a very emotionally intelligent cryptid.
Sometimes she knocks.
Sometimes she barges in holding iced coffee like a suburban dad returning from Home Depot.
Once she literally climbs through Yoonchae’s window because “the door felt too formal.”
“You could’ve died,” Yoonchae says.
Megan dusts off her pants.
“But I didn’t. Because I’m athletic.”
“You got winded going upstairs yesterday.”
“That staircase was malicious.”
Another time Megan walks in wearing a cowboy hat and carrying Taco Bell.
“Howdy partner.”
“What the hell are you wearing.”
“Fashion.”
“You look like a horse girl who discovered vaping.”
“Thank you.”
Yoonchae laughs so hard soda nearly comes out of her nose.
Megan gasps.
“My mission succeeds.”
“What mission.”
“To make you less emo.”
“I’m not emo.”
“You listened to Mitski for four consecutive hours yesterday.”
“That means nothing.”
“You sighed at the rain.”
“It was atmospheric.”
“You stared out the car window like you were in a breakup edit.”
“It matched the vibe.”
Megan reaches over and pokes her cheek.
“You’re cute when you’re dramatic.”
Yoonchae nearly chokes on her Baja Blast.
Megan, somehow oblivious to the emotional devastation she causes on a daily basis, keeps eating fries.
It’s actually insane.
Like.
Objectively.
How is Yoonchae supposed to survive this.
Because the problem is that Megan is nice to everyone.
She hugs everybody.
Compliments everybody.
Calls everyone babe and honey and sweetheart.
She’s just like that.
Warm.
Bright.
Open.
Like sunlight spilling across a floor.
But sometimes.
Sometimes.
Yoonchae catches things that feel different.
Like Megan automatically reaching for her hand in crowded streets.
Or saving the strawberry flavored candy because “you like the pink ones best.”
Or looking for Yoonchae first after performances.
Or the way her whole face lights up whenever Yoonchae enters a room.
Which.
Okay.
Maybe that last one is delusion.
But still.
The feelings happen.
And they’re terrifying.
Because Yoonchae already feels like too much.
Too emotional.
Too anxious.
Too difficult.
The idea of also being in love with her best friend feels like the universe personally trying to humble her.
So naturally she tells nobody.
Which works great.
Until Lara corners her in the kitchen at two in the morning.
“You’re down catastrophic.”
Yoonchae almost drops her yogurt.
“What.”
Lara points a spoon at her.
“You look at Megan like she personally invented happiness.”
“I literally don’t.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Traitor.”
Lara grins.
“Oh my god you admit it.”
“I admitted nothing.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It’s warm.”
“It’s February.”
Yoonchae glares at her.
Lara only gets more delighted.
“This is incredible actually.”
“It’s horrible.”
“Does she know?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
Yoonchae stares down at her yogurt.
Because the real answer sounds pathetic.
Because what if Megan realizes exactly how messy Yoonchae is.
What if she wakes up one day and decides the heaviness is too much.
What if all this softness disappears.
“I don’t know,” Yoonchae mutters.
Lara’s expression softens a little.
“She really cares about you.”
“Yeah. As a friend.”
“Mm.”
“That sounded fake.”
“That sounded noncommittal.”
“You’re evil.”
“Maybe.” Lara steals one of her gummy worms. “But I’m also right.”
Yoonchae throws a napkin at her.
The bad days still happen.
That’s the annoying part.
Megan doesn’t magically cure anything.
There are still mornings where Yoonchae wakes up already exhausted.
Still nights where her thoughts feel sharp around the edges.
Still moments where she goes quiet and distant and stuck inside herself.
But now.
Now there’s Megan.
Megan sprawled across her floor doing terrible British accents.
Megan dragging her outside because “you require vitamin D immediately.”
Megan forcing smoothies into her hands.
Megan sending TikToks at three in the morning with captions like this cat is literally you.
Megan existing so loudly and lovingly that the darkness has less room to spread.
One evening Yoonchae has a panic attack in the bathroom before rehearsal.
Completely out of nowhere.
One second she’s fixing her eyeliner.
The next her chest is tight and breathing feels impossible and suddenly everything is too bright.
Too loud.
Too much.
She locks herself in a stall.
Presses shaking hands over her mouth.
Humiliation burns hot behind her eyes.
Not now.
Not here.
Not again.
Her phone buzzes.
MEGAN:
where’d u go :(
Another buzz immediately after.
MEGAN:
wait
MEGAN:
are you okay
Yoonchae stares at the screen.
Her vision blurs.
She types before she can think too hard.
YOONCHAE:
bathroom
Thirty seconds later there’s a knock on the stall door.
Not loud.
Just gentle.
“Hey.”
Yoonchae squeezes her eyes shut.
“Go away.”
“Nope.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Megan slides down against the other side of the stall door.
Yoonchae can hear it.
The soft rustle of fabric.
“You don’t have to come out,” Megan says quietly.
Yoonchae presses her forehead against her knees.
“I look insane right now.”
“I once threw up on a Tilt-A-Whirl at a carnival.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It was spiritually vulnerable.”
Despite herself, Yoonchae lets out a weak laugh.
“There she is,” Megan murmurs softly.
Something in Yoonchae cracks a little.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate feeling like this all the time.”
“I know.”
“And I feel stupid because everyone else can just function normally and I can’t even—”
“Hey.”
Megan’s voice is so gentle it hurts.
“Your brain being mean to you doesn’t make you stupid.”
Silence.
Yoonchae wipes angrily at her face.
“You don’t get it.”
“No,” Megan says honestly. “Probably not completely.”
Another pause.
“But I get that you’re hurting.”
The bathroom suddenly feels very small.
Very quiet.
Megan taps lightly against the stall door.
“Can you do something for me?”
“What.”
“Unlock the door.”
Yoonchae hesitates.
Then slowly reaches over and unlocks it.
Megan opens it just enough to squeeze inside.
The stall is tiny.
Their knees bump immediately.
Megan sits down on the floor without hesitation like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Hi,” she says.
Yoonchae looks wrecked.
Mascara smudged.
Eyes red.
Breathing uneven.
Megan only looks at her like she’s something precious.
And that.
That nearly destroys her.
Megan holds out her hands.
“C’mere.”
Yoonchae goes instantly.
Like gravity.
Megan wraps both arms around her and rubs slow circles against her back.
“You’re okay,” she murmurs.
Yoonchae shakes her head against her shoulder.
“I’m trying so hard.”
“I know you are.”
“And it still feels bad.”
“I know.”
Megan says it so simply.
No judgement.
No frustration.
Just certainty.
Like she sees every ugly tangled part of Yoonchae’s mind and stays anyway.
Yoonchae clutches the back of her hoodie.
“You’re gonna get tired of me eventually.”
Megan pulls back immediately.
“What?”
“You always have to take care of me and I’m always sad and weird and—”
“Yoonchae.”
Megan says her name like a full sentence.
Firm.
Warm.
Real.
“You are not a burden to me.”
Yoonchae looks away.
Megan reaches up and gently turns her face back.
“I mean it.”
Their faces are close.
Too close.
Yoonchae can see the tiny flecks of gold in Megan’s eyes.
Can see the smudge of lip gloss she missed at the corner of her mouth.
Can feel the warmth of her hands.
Everything in Yoonchae aches.
“I don’t know why you even like me,” she whispers.
Megan stares at her like the answer is obvious.
“Are you kidding?”
Yoonchae shrugs helplessly.
“You’re funny,” Megan says immediately.
“I’m literally not.”
“You made me laugh so hard I snorted ramen last week.”
“That was your own fault.”
“You’re smart. You care about people so much it physically stresses you out. You always notice when somebody’s left out. You give the best advice even though you never take your own. You’re adorable when you get excited about stuff. And you do this thing where you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to smile.”
Yoonchae stares at her.
Megan shrugs.
“So yeah. I like you a lot actually.”
The air leaves Yoonchae’s lungs.
Because.
Oh.
Oh.
Nobody’s ever said things like that to her before.
Not like they mean them.
Megan’s thumb brushes gently under her eye.
“And for the record,” she says softly, “I don’t hang out with you because I feel bad for you.”
Yoonchae’s chest hurts.
In the best way.
The worst way.
Both.
Megan grins suddenly.
“Also you’re like. Really hot.”
Yoonchae chokes.
“What.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You cannot say that immediately after emotional vulnerability.”
“Why not? I contain multitudes.”
“You’re insane.”
“And yet you adore me.”
Yoonchae opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Megan’s smile softens.
“Oh my god.”
“What.”
“You do.”
Panic instantly floods Yoonchae’s body.
“No I don’t.”
“That was the least convincing thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m leaving.”
She tries to stand.
Megan grabs her wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough.
“Wait.”
Yoonchae freezes.
Megan looks suddenly nervous.
Which is deeply alarming because Megan is never nervous.
“I kinda thought maybe…” She laughs weakly. “Okay wait this is terrifying actually.”
Yoonchae’s heartbeat goes nuclear.
“Megan.”
“I like you too, idiot.”
Silence.
Complete.
Total.
Silence.
Yoonchae blinks.
“You what.”
Megan covers her face.
“Oh my god don’t make me repeat it. I already feel like I’m gonna throw up.”
“You like me.”
“Yes.”
“Like romantically.”
“Yes!”
“In a lesbian way.”
Megan drops her hands.
“In an extremely lesbian way, Yoonchae.”
Yoonchae just stares at her.
Brain completely blue-screened.
Megan starts rambling immediately.
“I was trying to be normal about it but then you kept looking sad and I wanted to fix everything for you which is apparently very pathetic of me and—”
Yoonchae kisses her.
She doesn’t even think first.
One second Megan is talking.
The next Yoonchae is leaning forward and kissing her like her body made the decision without permission.
Megan makes the tiniest surprised noise.
Then immediately kisses back.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Okay.
So this is why people lose their minds over kissing.
Good to know.
Megan’s hand slides gently against Yoonchae’s jaw.
Her lips are soft.
Everything feels warm and dizzy and unreal.
When they finally pull apart they’re both breathing hard.
Megan stares at her for two seconds.
Then:
“Holy shit.”
Yoonchae bursts out laughing.
“You’re so romantic.”
“I literally just ascended.”
“You’re so embarrassing.”
“And you’re obsessed with me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Megan beams.
Actually beams.
Like somebody plugged sunlight directly into her chest.
Then she cups Yoonchae’s face again.
More gently this time.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hi.”
“You know I can’t fix your mental health, right?”
Yoonchae blinks.
“...Yeah?”
“I just don’t want you thinking you have to suddenly be okay now.”
Something tight in Yoonchae’s chest loosens.
Because of course.
Of course Megan would say exactly the right thing.
“I know,” Yoonchae whispers.
Megan nods.
“But.”
“But?”
“I can sit with you in it.”
Yoonchae feels tears sting her eyes again immediately.
“Oh my god stop being emotionally intelligent it’s annoying.”
Megan laughs.
“Sorry. I watched one therapy TikTok and became powerful.”
Yoonchae leans forward until their foreheads touch.
And for the first time in months.
Maybe years.
The heaviness inside her doesn’t feel quite so lonely.
Dating Megan is exactly as chaotic as expected.
For example.
Three days after they get together, Megan sends this text:
MEGAN:
important question
YOONCHAE:
what
MEGAN:
if we were worms would you still love me
YOONCHAE:
this is why nobody takes you seriously
MEGAN:
answer the question coward
YOONCHAE:
yes unfortunately
MEGAN:
YIPPEEEE
Attached is a blurry selfie of Megan giving a thumbs up.
She looks deeply unhinged.
Yoonchae saves it immediately.
Another time they’re walking through the city at night when Megan suddenly gasps.
“What.”
“We should get matching swords.”
“…Why.”
“In case somebody challenges us to battle.”
“That happens to you often?”
“You can never be too prepared.”
Yoonchae laughs so hard she has to stop walking.
Megan grins proudly.
There are softer moments too.
Quiet ones.
Like Megan brushing Yoonchae’s hair back while they lie tangled together on the couch.
Or kissing the top of her head absentmindedly.
Or learning the signs.
Because Megan notices now.
Notices when Yoonchae goes too silent.
When she stops sleeping.
When she picks at her food.
When her smile starts looking tired around the edges.
And instead of making a big deal about it, Megan just shifts closer.
Touches her knee.
Hands her water.
Asks if she wants company.
Makes space.
It’s terrifying.
Being loved like this.
Not despite the broken parts.
Just alongside them.
One night Yoonchae wakes up from a nightmare breathing too fast.
The room is dark.
Her chest hurts.
For a horrible disoriented second she feels sixteen again.
Small.
Scared.
Alone.
Then Megan stirs beside her.
Immediately awake somehow.
“Hey.”
Yoonchae presses a hand over her eyes.
“Sorry.”
“Baby.” Megan’s voice is still sleepy and warm. “Don’t apologize.”
Yoonchae hates how shaky she sounds.
“I woke you up.”
“You could wake me up by throwing a brick at my head and I’d still love you.”
“That’s concerning.”
“I’m devoted.”
Despite everything, Yoonchae laughs weakly.
Megan shifts closer beneath the blankets.
“C’mere.”
Yoonchae goes without hesitation now.
Fits herself against Megan’s chest.
Megan wraps around her immediately.
Warm.
Safe.
Real.
“You wanna talk about it?” Megan murmurs.
Yoonchae shakes her head.
“Okay.”
No pressure.
No disappointment.
Just okay.
Megan rubs slow circles against her back.
Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.
Inside, Megan’s heartbeat thumps steady beneath Yoonchae’s cheek.
“You know,” Megan says sleepily, “I think your brain is a liar.”
Yoonchae smiles against her hoodie.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Because it keeps telling you nobody could love you properly.”
Her arms tighten slightly.
“And that’s objectively false. I’m literally obsessed with you.”
Yoonchae snorts.
“You’re so weird.”
“And yet.”
“And yet what.”
“You’re smiling now.”
Yoonchae hates that she’s right.
Mostly because she always is.
Megan tilts her head down just enough to kiss her forehead.
And maybe the sadness never fully disappears.
Maybe Yoonchae still has hard days.
Still has mornings where the weight returns.
Still has moments where her own mind feels impossible to live inside.
But now there’s this too.
Megan’s laugh filling up kitchens at 2 a.m.
Megan dancing terribly in oversized socks.
Megan kissing her cheeks until she giggles.
Megan existing beside her like proof that warmth survives.
Like proof that tenderness survives.
Like proof that maybe Yoonchae does too.
And honestly?
For now.
That’s enough.