Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sophia is dreading this day.

She’s not one to complain much, but she’s always loved routine, the quiet certainty of knowing what comes next and moving to another country wasn’t part of that plan.

A lot is about to change, and she hates that.

Outside the car window, the world looks unfamiliar with gray skies hanging low, air feeling thinner and colder. She tugs at the sleeve of her purple sweater, the knit a small comfort against the chill. At least I won’t be sweating all the time here, she thinks, trying to find humor in the small differences.

The drive is mostly silent except for her mom’s soft humming to a tune that drifts in and out of rhythm with the tapping of her fingers on the steering wheel. It’s such a familiar sight that Sophia can’t help but smile. At least that hasn’t changed.

“You know,” her mom says, tone light but knowing, “you could try joining a club, love. It’s a good way to meet people. Might help you settle in faster.”

Sophia hums in response, tilting her head toward the window. Her mom always knows how to say what she’s been avoiding. It does make sense. Back home, she’d always been part of something. Student council, school musicals, cooking club. She liked that feeling of belonging, of having a reason to show up.

The car slows to a stop in front of the school gates.

Her mom reaches over and taps her shoulder gently. “It’s going to be fine. I can feel it. This’ll be a great year for you.”

Sophia doesn’t trust herself to answer, so she just smiles, leans over for a quick hug, and slips out of the car. The air greets her like a cold breath and it’s not freezing, but enough to make her shiver.

Her mom honks once like a small goodbye before driving off. The silver sedan disappears down the street faster than she expects, leaving only the faint hum of engines and the murmur of other students heading inside. For a moment, Sophia just stands there, staring at where the car had been. The ache in her chest is small but steady because this just means she has to start accepting and living through what she has been dreading for months now.

A soft thud against her arm pulls Sophia out of her thoughts. Football slightly damp from the morning air rolls toward her feet and before she can react, someone lunges into view. Tall and broad-shouldered, nearly knocking into her as he catches it mid-bounce.

“Sorry about that!” His voice is light, easy, and when he straightens up, Sophia is met with a grin. All white teeth and one unfairly deep dimple. “Guess summer break got me slacking.”

He laughs, running a hand through his short curls before glancing back at his friend across the field, who’s laughing hysterically.

“Swear it wasn’t aimed at you,” he adds, a little sheepish now.

The ball is tucked securely under one arm. His jersey is white with red sleeves and it fits snug against his shoulders, sleeves stretched over muscles that probably know what a weight room looks like.

Sophia blinks. “It’s okay,” she says simply, forcing a polite smile before slipping past him toward the school entrance.

“Hey, she’s not into you!” his friend calls out, voice echoing through the open lot.

Sophia doesn’t turn around, though she can feel the warmth rising on her neck. Was that really an accident? Even if it wasn’t, she decides, it doesn’t matter. She didn’t move halfway across the world for this. She has a plan. Straight As, no drama, no distractions. Just a clean slate and a dimple with a pair of broad shoulders aren’t enough to make her forget that.

The hallway smells faintly of paint and Sophia notices how the lockers are colored a vibrant blue. So far, this sight doesn't look that much different compared to her school back home. The floors are a dull white made of fake marbled tiles and screeches can be heard as some boys play and chase each other with paper balls. There are numerous doors on both sides of the hallway which houses sizable classrooms, all mostly empty save for a few students tasked to decorate and stringing up banners for the start of the academic year.

Sophia continues to stride along, fixing her glasses as she tries to think which way she should head first until people started getting more chatty, mostly everyone is now looking at the same direction. She hears someone faintly say God, who can even look like that in the morning?' and she doesn't know why everyone's world seemed to stop but when she looks straight ahead, she sees her.

First thing Sophia noticed is how her hair flows behind her back and along her shoulders like the warm sunrays seeping through the windows, it was pretty hard to miss. Curly and appearing to bounce softly, Sophia wonders what it would feel like to run her fingers through it. There's just something about the way she carries herself and she can't blame everyone for stopping whatever it is they're doing just to look at her. Even Sophia stopped, now stands on the side since the girl's presence seems to call for the treatment in which only she can walk down the halls and everyone else should just look and gawk.

Sophia convinces herself she's only staring because everyone else is.

But then the girl's eyes meet hers.

It was very brief and the girl blinked, her eyes were like sunlight filtering through an amber glass. Very warm, very deep, and Sophia doesn't even know that there can be a color brown that could make her feel sucked in like that. The girl continued walking and when she turns to a corner Sophia finally breathes, doesn't even know she was holding it. Just like that, everyone including her seemed to wake up from a seemingly mass induced trance.

What was that?

It’s not like she hasn’t noticed pretty girls before. She has eyes. She’s human.

But this? This felt different. Her chest feels strangely tight, like the air is too thin, and she can’t quite name why. She knows she's overreacting but it has been several minutes and Sophia's still replaying everything in her head.

She continued to walk through the halls, her pace slow and aimless, until someone stood directly in front of her making her stop on her tracks. She gives the person a once-over.

Sophia first noticed the pink dye framing her face and she almost wants to wave a hand in case she's being recruited for the art club. A bright smile plastered on this girl's face with her arms lent out to present an advertisement paper. Absolutely zero sense of boundaries as she moves even more forward.

“Hey, new girl! You look like someone who appreciates meaningful human connections.”

"What?" Sophia blinks.

What the girl said made Sophia's jaw slack.

How did she read her mind?

It's not like she's in a rush to socialize and find someone to hang out with not even an hour into her first day but she thinks her mom probably manifested this hard so she's left with this girl still standing in front of her.

The girl grins wider, as if she’s been waiting for this question all her life.

“I’m Megan, president and founder of The Lonely Hearts Club— a wholesome, definitely-not-desperate organization dedicated to helping students make friends and form deep, life-changing bonds!”

Sophia squints, not believing everything she's hearing. "You mean... a dating club?"

Megan gasps, hand over heart. This makes Sophia roll her eyes internally. Megan's very weird but she's also very amusing and Sophia just didn't have it in her to find a single bad bone to wave her off.

“Absolutely not! It’s about friendship. And emotional support. And, you know, maybe gently guiding two people toward true love if the vibes are right.” The girl wiggles her eyebrows playfully, a stupid smile plastered on her face.

“Right.” Sophia crosses her arms, suddenly in deep thoughts. “That sounds like drama. I'm trying to avoid it."

Everything that has to do with romance, and crushes, and 'finding true love' are a distraction. And more often than not it leads to drama. She just has to let Megan down slowly, Sophia thinks the other girl is not the one to hold grudges anyway.

“Drama?” Megan laughs. “We don’t do drama! We assist drama. Literally. Our club's other task is helping the theater club build props for their plays and musical.”

That makes Sophia pause. “Theater club?”

Megan leans in, sensing victory.

“Yep. Sets, backdrops, costumes, y'know, the works. They need extra hands, and I thought, ‘Hey, maybe the new girl who’s totally ignoring me right now might be into that.’”

Sophia tries not to smile. She can't help but consider that she has always wanted to work backstage and assist with props whenever she isn't the lead actress on the local plays back home. But that never ever happens.

“You’re very persistent.” Sophia says and she saw the change of glint in Megan's eyes.

“Thank you! It’s my tragic flaw.” Megan offers the advertisement paper and the clipboard, her eyes look less eager now but there's still a huge smile on her face. “So… what do you say? Help out the theater club, maybe make a few friends, and definitely not get roped into any chaotic love schemes?”

Sophia sighs, but takes the pen. “I’ll regret this, won’t I?”

“Only emotionally,” Megan says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Lonely Hearts Club.”

Sophia shrugs and offers a smile of her own. It's not like she'll get roped into any love schemes. Definitely not.

Sophia's on her way to the library to look for a place to waste her time after figuring out that there won't be classes for the first few days of the week.

Welcoming parties, orientations, and all that.

Now she's stressing over how to spend the next three hours without anyone to hangout with. She can't skip school, it's just not her style, and she knows her mom won't stop pestering her about it if she even decides to do it. She sucked it up and made a bee line to where the library might be.

She was busy looking at an incomprehensible school map when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Club meeting before dismissal! Attendance is required. ;)

- Megan

Yep. She forgot Megan asked for her number when she decided to sign her death wish the moment the other girl ambushed her on her first day. Sophia lets out a quiet sigh before heading to the room number Megan swiftly provided soon after.

Megan doesn’t mean to start a cult. That’s what Sophia calls it, anyway.

“A club, Megan. Not a one-woman show.”

The words ring in Megan’s head as she looks across the room — well, their room now. It smells faintly of paint thinner and cheap air freshener, the kind that tries to mask failure with citrus. Posters from last semester’s forgotten clubs still litter the bulletin board: Chess Enthusiasts, Film Critics United, Green Society (disbanded after two weeks).
And now there’s this. The “Lonely Hearts Club,” aka Megan’s latest attempt at structured chaos.

Sophia’s standing by the window, arms crossed, unimpressed. Sunlight hits her cheekbones in a way that would make a lesser person self-conscious, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you’re this club’s only member.” Her eyebrow arches as she scratches at the corner of a desk. There’s tape residue stuck to it and she picks at it, mildly irritated.

Megan bites her lip and she looks at Sophia sheepishly. “Don’t you like it..? You said you wanted something not demanding so it won’t distract you, y’know? This is the perfect club for you.”

Megan quickly diverts her gaze away when she sees Sophia's frown deepen, trying to pretend she's busy sizing up the room again even if she has been doing that for the last fifteen minutes.

Sophia lets out a dry laugh. “You mean the delusional club for me.”

Megan’s grin doesn’t falter even though she swallowed thickly, “Hey, be positive... If our club becomes a hit, you can call yourself one of the founding members. That gives you bragging rights.”

“I don’t think anyone should brag about being a loner.”

That makes Megan pause, only for a moment, before she snaps her fingers. “Correction: a duo. That’s romantic, right? We’re basically the Batman and Robin of club management.”

Sophia lightly groans but she can't admit that Megan's good at convincing. And being weirdly entertaining. She's funny and definitely a good company. There are more reasons for her to quit and none at all to stay and still, she finds herself stuck in this club, with just herself and this silly other member.

“You’re unbearable.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

Touché.

By lunchtime, Megan’s convinced herself she’s saved the club. A satisfied smile adorning her face as she grabs the milk and sandwich from the lunch lady, shielding her tray away when she gets offered some veggies. Sophia didn’t officially agree to stay, but she didn’t walk out either. Which, in Megan’s book, counts as a victory.

They sit across from each other in the cafeteria, trays between them. Sophia’s eating like someone trying to preserve dignity while Megan’s halfway through her meal, talking with her mouth full.

“So,” Megan says, “I told the theater club we’d help them with props for their upcoming musical. First gig tomorrow! Yay!”

“You… already volunteered us?” Sophia blinks. She tries so hard to chew through the sandwich that tastes more like a block than food and internally curses when she sees there's another half left on her tray.

“Yeah! Well, me. But you’re my vice president, so it’s, like, a package deal, y'know."

“Vice president of a two-person club,” Sophia mutters. She just can't let it go. She saw Megan choke on her milk then swiftly drums a fist over her chest loudly, earning them looks from the people around them.

“Still sounds better on paper.” Megan shrugs soon after, eyeing Sophia's sandwich half. The latter moves her hand as if to signal go and Megan doesn't even wait for a second to grab it and stuff it in her mouth.

Before Sophia can retort in disgust, a wave of murmurs ripples through the cafeteria. Megan doesn’t even bother to look. She already knows who just walked in.

Daniela Avanzini.

Perfect hair. Perfect posture. That same glint on her eyes that manages to make everyone else in the room fade into background noise. Sophia notes how she looks different today, that's when she notices the other girl's hair is now dyed dark brown. Same bounce, same effect, but Sophia's heart skipped a beat longer.

Daniela has it tied into a half ponytail, a few strands adorning her face. Sophia can tell she took the extra time to style it that way this morning. She doesn't know why she's even calculating Daniela's pamper routine but she can't help but notice that even if Daniela didn't put anything on her lips today, they still look too plump and delicate to touch.

Megan catches Sophia staring for a beat longer and smirks. “New girl crushing on Daniela Avanzini, huh?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch but her ears perked up when she finally got a name for the familiar face. “What?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“I mean, yeah, she's pretty but she's not my type." Megan blurts out as she dusts her hand over the tray and forces a burp.

She gives a quick peek to where Daniela is, the girl taking her sweet time on the line and Megan isn't even surprised when she sees a fruit cup on Daniela's tray. Psh, special treatment.

“I’m not into girls."

Megan's head immediately whips back to look at Sophia. "What?"

Sophia smiles, amused, at how Megan seems to look so shocked. The other girl moves over the table, makes a show with her eyes shrinking and Sophia laughs shoving the girl's face away.

"I don't have a crush on her."

"You don't sound believable at all."

Sophia then cuts her off with a sharp look. Megan bites back a laugh, but the teasing glint in her eyes says she’s not done.

The next day, they’re in the theater club’s room, the smell of paint and sawdust thick in the air. Megan's vibrating. Sophia just watches her, eyes judging.

Who can blame her?

This is her chance to introduce herself and finally swoop Jeong Yoonchae off her feet.

She has no plan how to or has prepared anything to say but she likes to believe in divine timing and incredibly hard manifesting. Club formed, gig secured, perhaps a date next?

She spots the girl a few feet away and Megan isn't overreacting when she feels her heart stop. She rolls up her sleeves and immediately volunteers for everything that puts her near Yoonchae who’s currently holding a clipboard like it’s a weapon.

The girl is busy, as well as everyone else in the room and Megan's plotting ways on how to approach her for the first time. She doesn't realize that she is now standing on the moon.

Literally. Or, well, on a cardboard cutout of it. And judging by the horrified look on Yoonchae's face when she catches the girl, she’s pretty sure this is not part of the approved floor plan.

“...You’re standing on the backdrop,” the girl says flatly.

This is the first time the other girl has ever acknowledged her and she already blew it up. Retreat! Retreat!

“Oh my god,” Megan blurts, scrambling back. “Yeah—no—that’s on purpose. For, uh… artistic elevation. Perspective.”

The girl just blinks. “You’re crushing the paper moon.”

Megan looks down. The edge of her sneaker is pressed right into the now lopsided crescent. “Oh my god..."

There’s a brief moment of silence, broken only by the sound of her shoe squeaking against the floor as she steps away from the scene of the crime. She narrowly misses a paint bucket, catches herself on a folding chair, and decides she’s had enough near-death experiences for one day.

Megan decides she already embarrassed herself enough, she might as well go for it and introduce herself. The other girl hasn't verbally said her distress and she looks at Megan blankly, her lips curved smoothly.

“So,” Megan says, clearing her throat. She side steps over different scattered props and stands stiffly by the other girl. “Hi! I’m Megan. From the—uh—Lonely Hearts Club. We’re here to help with props today.”

Yoonchae regards her with a nod until she stops sorting through the brushes and asks, “Lonely Hearts?”

Megan then panics. Her palms are sweating like crazy because she keeps blowing things up and she tries her best to swipe it over her large sweater. “Not like lonely lonely. It’s, um, metaphorical loneliness. Emotional… togetherness. Spiritually communal. With crafts. And—uh—tape.”

The girl’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. “So… a crafting club.”

“Exactly!” Megan says, way too fast. “But with feelings.”

The girl hums, a tiny, thoughtful sound that somehow makes Megan want to jump out the nearest window, and turns back to her project, cutting golden stars out of construction paper.

“The glue sticks are over there,” Yoonchae says, without looking up. “Try not to step on Saturn this time.”

“Totally,” Megan says, pretending to act cool while nearly tripping over Jupiter. “Saturn’s safe with me. I’m, like, emotionally responsible now.”

There’s a pause. The kind that feels too long but not uncomfortable. It's just quiet enough to make her hyperaware of how loud her own heartbeat is.

“You have paint on your face,” The girl says finally.

Megan freezes. “Oh. Where?”

Yoonchae looks up, and before Megan can even register what’s happening, she reaches out, just casually and effortlessly, and wipes a streak of white off Megan’s cheek with her thumb.

“There." She says simply.

And that’s it. Just a word. Just a touch.

But Megan swears her brain short-circuits. Her lungs forget how to breathe. Her entire soul blue-screens.

“Cool,” She manages after three agonizing seconds. “Awesome. Love that for me. I mean—for the moon. Love that for the moon.”

The girl tilts her head, lips curling into something almost like a smile. Small, knowing, just enough to send Megan into gay cardiac arrest.

And that’s how Megan learns two things that day: Yoonchae from the theater club has very nice hands and the moon is overrated.

Sophia watches as Megan’s enthusiasm turns into mild chaos and finally into gay panic. The latter is now helping paint a backdrop, splattering blue where there should be white, humming too loud and laughing too much at whatever the other club members say.

“Hand me that brush?” Megan chirps without looking up.

Sophia passes it to her, their fingers brush, and that made Megan look up.

"So that's what this is about, huh?" Sophia now says knowingly, her smile is big and teasing as she adjusts the frames of her glasses.

Instantly, Megan's face reddened. She quickly shushed Sophia and looks around to see if anyone saw their little exchange.

She's overreacting and that's how she'll get caught. Sophia thought and hums softly. “You’re insufferable.”

“But talented,” Megan shoots back, dipping her brush into paint again and giddily points at what she's working on.

Sophia rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips. She was halfway through cleaning the palettes when someone at the door cleared their throat.

Everyone turned.

Standing there was Daniela, framed by the hallway light, her shoulder bag slung carelessly over her petite frame like she already belonged there. Her hair is tied up in a bun today, Sophia noticed, and she's wearing Bayonetta glasses.

It could just be a fashion choice.

Yoonchae blinked and stopped what she was doing. “Oh. You’re the one who asked about joining yesterday, right?”

Daniela nodded, smiling easily. "Yeah. Thought I’d give it a try. Seems fun.”

Sophia’s heart did something traitorous.
Because of course she would join this club.

She notices Megan giggling beside her, then the girl whispered under her breath. “Uh-oh. I see where this is going.”

Sophia didn’t answer. She was too busy pretending not to care. Her hands were steady, her expression blank, but inside, there was that same strange pull again, like a thread winding tighter with every glance.

Daniela walked further in, scanning the room until her gaze caught Sophia’s.

She smiled.

Chapter Text

The room hums with background chatter, brushes clattering, paint lids snapping shut, someone’s bad playlist bleeding through a speaker. Sophia won't be surprised if it's Megan's plugged to the aux.

Sophia tries very hard to focus working on the set piece in front of her, but her eyes keep drifting.

Or rather to her.

Daniela Avanzini. Sitting a few tables away, hair pulled back messily like she just rolled out of a daydream, wisps framing her face. A chain rests at her collarbone, a cross pendant swaying when she moved. Her tank top was dark, worn soft, clinging just enough to hint at the curve of her shoulders. Classic ‘95, the faded print read, like she’d plucked it straight out of someone else’s memory and made it hers. The hem stopped shy of her ribs, revealing a strip of skin that caught the light every time she shifted.

There was something careless about her, the way she leaned against the counter with that lazy half-smile. She looked like trouble disguised as nostalgia, warm tones and sharp edges, the kind of girl people wrote songs about without ever admitting why. Sophia wonders still if her curls feel as soft as they look.

She doesn’t mean to stare. It just happens, like breathing.

It's nothing new as she has often seen and heard about Daniela before, even if she's only two weeks into this semester — in the hallways, from rumors, or in the way people orbit around her. But up close, she’s not what Sophia expected. Quieter. Almost thoughtful, or it might just be the way she makes any person feel seen. After all, an ounce of attention coming from Daniela would make anyone feel like they just won the world.

And then Daniela looks up.

Caught.

Her gaze lands right on Sophia’s, and there’s a flicker of recognition. Not the polite kind, but the kind that lingers.

Sophia was rash to focus back on the set piece she was fixing, feeling hot all of a sudden. A quick glance to the side of the room would let her know the air-conditioning is set on max and is working perfectly fine. A faint bristle makes it way to her ears, not even loud enough over the chatter noises and a random Wicked soundtrack playing, but she picks it up as a figure moves from her peripheral vision. Someone plops down on the empty seat close to her, it slides and makes a squeak.

“You were staring,” Daniela says, her tone light, but not teasing.

Sophia’s throat goes dry. “I wasn’t.”

This is their actual first interaction, and Sophia just wants to get swallowed up by the floor right now for coming across as some creep. She just thinks the other girl's very pretty, that's all. Never mind the way her heart always stutters abnormally when the other girl is around.

“You were.” There's a beat, and the girl's tone is commanding, like she has already decided that it's true and Sophia denying it doesn't matter. Well, it is true. “It’s okay. I get that a lot.”

That last line should sound arrogant, but it doesn’t. It’s said like a statement of fact, like someone who’s long stopped being surprised by attention.

Sophia fumbles for a response, ends up saying the worst possible thing.

“You must be tired then.”

She facepalms internally and almost wishes the ground would swallow her whole. Small talk and casual conversations are usually pretty easy for her to handle, and now she doesn't even know why she would say that — it's trying to dig deep, and she reminds herself that this is the first time they have ever conversed.

Daniela, despite Sophia's unknown internal monologue, tilts her head, almost amused. “Of what?” She asked, her voice sounded sweet and almost practiced.

“Of people staring.” Sophia finishes. There's no way to beat around the bush. She just wanted to state her point across.

There’s a pause. And for a second, Sophia thinks she said something stupid. But Daniela only leans back in her chair, eyes tracing Sophia like she’s trying to memorize her shape.

“Maybe,” Daniela says, the glint on her eyes unreadable. “But not right now.”

Sophia doesn’t know what to do with that. Her stomach flips. She pretends to busy herself with the paint jar, heart knocking against her ribs.

When she looks back up, Daniela’s already turned away but there’s the faintest smile at the corner of her mouth.

The silence that followed their exchange felt heavier than it should. Sophia could still feel Daniela’s gaze somewhere on her skin, even though she wasn’t looking anymore. It made her fingers clumsy causing paint to streak too far, her brush dragging through wet color she was trying not to ruin.

Megan noticed, of course. Because she just has to turn the exact moment she sees her friend all flustered and making a mistake.

“Hey, you good? You look like you just saw God or somethin’."

Sophia scowled, wiping a smear of paint off her hand. “No. Just...concentrating.” She then adjusts her glasses, a habit she does when she gets nervous.

Megan leaned sideways, her face now landing dangerously close next to the other girl, following Sophia’s line of sight like a detective sniffing out gossip.

“Concentrating on Daniela Avanzini?” Megan whispers, and Sophia doesn't even turn to see the annoying look on Megan's face.

Sophia's just glad the girl whose name was mentioned has now stood up to deliver her finished sun painting to the other side of the room, hips and loose curls swaying as her metal belt jingles.

Her face warmed instantly and she took off her sweater all of a sudden.

Why the hell is it so hot in here?

“Shut up.”

“You were staring! Oh my god, you like her—”

“Megan.”

Just her name. Firm. A warning.

Megan put her hands up in mock surrender but grinned like a cat with a secret. Her whisker dimples showing.

"Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. But if you’re gonna pine, at least don’t ruin the set while you’re at it." Megan looks around before turning down to speak in a hushed tone. "Yoonchae's not in the mood..."

Sophia lightly groaned and went back to painting, determined to focus on anything else. The rest of the session passed in slow motion — the scrape of brushes, Yoonchae’s soft voice giving directions, Megan tripping over cables just to be near her. The usual chaos.

By week three, Megan had somehow become the theater club’s unofficial handyman. Not because she was good at it — God no — but because Yoonchae was there.

Every time someone mentioned props day, Megan’s hand shot up like muscle memory.

Hot glue burns? Worth it. Paint fumes? Worth it. Getting to stand next to Yoonchae while pretending she knew what she was doing? Absolutely worth it.

The others noticed, of course. Sophia gave her that look. Half pity, half amusement.

“You literally learned how to use a glue gun for her.” Sophia said one afternoon, eyes deadpan over her sandwich. “That’s dedication or insanity. Maybe both.”

Megan groaned into her lunch tray. “I’m just helping.”

“Helping your chances, maybe.”

Sophia’s grin was wicked, and Megan threw a napkin at her. She missed, obviously. Because of course she did.

The next day, Yoonchae was crouched over the stage backdrop, fixing the crooked corner of a paper sun that Megan had glued the wrong way up. She didn’t say anything, just peeled it off carefully and pressed it down again, perfectly aligned this time.

Megan stood there holding a paintbrush as she saw what the other girl did. “You didn’t have to—”

“You can return the favor next time.”

Yoonchae didn’t even look up when she said it. Just that quiet voice, that small smirk, the kind of smile that looked like a secret.

Megan’s reply gets caught in her throat. She's delusional enough to ask herself if this is the date she has been manifesting the moment she landed a gig here for props making and unpaid tarot reading.

“Next time,” Megan repeated, like a promise she didn’t mean to make out loud.

She stared at the fixed prop long after Yoonchae had moved on. It looks better now. Of course it did. Everything Yoonchae touched seemed to turn into something worth keeping.

They ended up at a coffee shop a few days later. Not on purpose. At least, that’s what Megan told herself.

The club needed more foam boards, the art store was closed, and somehow Yoonchae suggested they “just wait it out” over a drink.

Now Megan was sitting across from her, pretending to read the menu but all she does is secretly observe the girl in front of her. Yoonchae is swirling the rim of her drink, focused on the notes she has been fixing for almost half an hour now. The soft rays of the sun outside hit a part of her hair and Megan struggles not to blurt out "God, you're so pretty." out loud.

So she loves tea...Noted.

“You’ve been staring at that menu for ten minutes,” Yoonchae said, not looking up from her notes. “You planning to memorize it?”

Megan blinked, caught. “Just—making sure I pick something good.”

“It’s coffee, Megan." The girl says with a blank face, her accent thick when she lets the other girl's name off her tongue. "Not a life decision.”

“Depends on the coffee,” Megan muttered, earning a small, amused exhale from across the table.

Yoonchae finally looked up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Get the vanilla latte. It’s safe. Not too sweet.”

Megan felt her heart constricting for the hundredth time. She notes how that seems to be happening only when she's with Yoonchae. Well, duh, she's been crushing on this girl since seventh grade.

Yoonchae just picked a drink for her but she doesn't know why that made her want to lunge herself in front of a running truck.

“Safe, huh?” Megan offers despite there being obvious butterflies right now in her chest. She smiled, teasing. “You don’t strike me as a ‘safe’ type.”

Yoonchae arched an eyebrow. She shifts her attention completely to the flustered one in front of her.

“What type do I strike you as, then?”

Megan’s mouth went dry. “Uh—someone who knows what she’s doing?”

“Mm.” Yoonchae’s lips curved, just slightly. “Flattery before caffeine. Dangerous move.”

Megan laughed, trying to play it off, but her pulse betrayed her. She glanced down at Yoonchae’s notebook again. Little sketches in the margins, reminders written in perfect script. Even her corrections were tidy.

“You’re really organized,” Megan said, because silence felt too heavy.

“I have to be,” Yoonchae replied simply. “Props don’t build themselves.”

“Still. I’d mess up if I tried that.”

“You do mess up,” Yoonchae said, dry but not unkind. “That’s why I fix things.”

Megan blinked, caught between indignation and embarrassment. “Wow. Brutal.”

Yoonchae took a calm sip of her tea, eyes glinting. “Is that not your type?”

The words hung there. Playful, casual, but they hit harder than either of them expected.

Megan blinked. And she felt her world stop. “My—my what?”

“Your type.”

Megan laughed too loudly, too quickly. She waved off a hand, her face reddening all too suddenly. “I don’t— I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one.” Yoonchae’s voice softened, a teasing lilt curling at the end. “You just don’t know yours yet.”

And before Megan could think of a single clever thing to say, Yoonchae moves closer from across the table, close enough that Megan could smell peppermint tea and something citrusy on her.

“Hold still,” Yoonchae said.

“For what?”

Yoonchae reached up and brushed something from Megan’s cheek — a streak of a lone lash, black and glittering faintly under the café's warm light. Her thumb lingered just a moment too long.

“There,” The girl said quietly, her eyes still focused on that part of Megan's cheek. “You’re good.”

Megan swallowed hard. “Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The night hums like static, low bass pulsing through the walls, chatter spilling into laughter. Someone’s bad remix of “Dancing Queen” bleeds through the speakers, and Sophia’s already regretting saying yes to coming.

She stands at the edge of the room, clutching a half-empty cup like it’s a lifeline, the smell of cheap liquor hangs heavy in the air.

This is so not her scene.

If she squints hard enough, she can almost make out Megan’s ponytail somewhere near the center of the crowd. Moving, bobbing, thriving in chaos. Sophia sighs. Of course Megan’s having the time of her life.

The weight of her boots made the freshly polished wooden floors creak as she makes her way over to the other girl that dragged her here.

Megan is a disaster. Spinning around with her arms up in the air, like that GIF of Carrie Bradshaw, her drink sloshing over from side to side. When Sophia gets closer, her face brightens up even more and she tries to sneak in a hug which Sophia just accepts, patting Megan's head.

“Oh, look at the stars!” Megan slurs, eyes glassy and wide. “Ursa Major… so beautiful!”

“Girl, we’re inside,” Sophia says flatly, catching up just in time to see Megan pointing dramatically at the ceiling. “Those are ceiling lights.”

Megan blinks, squints up again, and then nods solemnly. “Still… very bright. Cosmic vibes.”

Sophia presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks, babe—wait, where’s Yoonchae?” Megan cranes her neck, scanning the crowd like she’s expecting the girl to materialize from thin air. Her balance wobbles; Sophia grabs her by the arm before she tips over.

“Probably anywhere but here,” Sophia mutters. “Which is where I should be, too.”

A yawn escapes from her lips and she manages to work out a stretch but the other girl immediately clings to her making her go slightly off balance.

“Don’t leaveee,” Megan pleads, voice going syrupy. “You’re my club buddy, my best friend, my—"

“You’re drunk.” Sophia cuts her off, a firm finger on the other girl's lips and Megan aggressively wiggles to get it off.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room someone moves, weaving through the crowd until Megan turns, blinking like she’s seeing a mirage.

“Yoonchaeee!” Megan grins, her whole face lighting up. “You came!”

Yoonchae and Sophia briefly exchange glances and the former does a soft wave. Sophia nods and smiles and takes that as a cue to go now that the chaos is distracted.

“I did.” Yoonchae’s tone is even, but there’s a flicker of something gentler underneath. “You’re drunk. Already."

“I’m—" Megan raises one finger dramatically. “—hydrated!”

Yoonchae’s smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “With vodka.”

“It’s mostly water!” Megan insists, taking another sip. “You wanna try?”

A whiff of it makes way to the girl's nose — crinkling a bit in disgust but there's still that soft smile evident on her face. Yoonchae shakes her head, amused. She reaches forward, steadying the cup before it tips over as her fingers brush against Megan’s.

Brief, deliberate, electric.

“Careful, Megan,” she says quietly. “You’ll spill.”

Megan blinks, dizzy in more ways than one. But that seemed to make her sober up.

For four years she has been pining over this girl. Since seventh grade, the moment she first saw her in her art class, but she always seemed so unreachable. Jeong Yoonchae, theater club's princess, constant dean's lister, and the only one who can light so much warmth in Megan with just one single glance. She doesn't know how her stupid attempt of a club got her in this position but she won't even bother to complain.

“You’re… really pretty, you know that?”

Yoonchae freezes for a half second, then laughs softly like she doesn’t quite believe it, but doesn’t mind hearing it.

“Sure you don’t say that to everyone?” Yoonchae asks, something unreadable brewing in her eyes.

Megan couldn't stop herself from blurting those out even if she tried. The way the lights cast over the other girl makes her dizzy and she doesn't even blame the alcohol anymore.

“No,” Megan says, suddenly earnest. “Just you.”

It should be the vodka talking, but her heart stutters anyway.

There’s a mirror ball casting broken multi-colored light across the hazy room, Fine Young Cannibals' She Drives Me Crazy is playing in the background as sweaty bodies move off-rhythm in her peripheral vision. Sophia doesn't even know why she's still here, she was supposed to bounce before midnight but it's almost 1 AM.

The whole house is in chaos right now and everyone yelps in chorus when someone particularly special arrives, and she doesn't mind if it makes her ears ring and it smells like wet socks, grape juice, and cheap alcohol. Sophia turns her head and there at the door entrance is Daniela — hair a little messy with a guy's arm around her shoulders, already looking at her, a small smile formed on her soft lips. Her hand raises to do a little wave and she mouths hi.

Sophia's heart stutters and seizes in her chest.

She said hi.

Sophia waves back, feels like a fool instantly, and tears her gaze away, hiding her smile behind her red cup for a deep gulp of her drink.

A familiar voice snaps her back.

“Come on, Soph, dance with us!” Someone from the theater club shouts, pulling her toward the middle of the floor.

“No, thanks,” Sophia says quickly, wriggling free and making her way toward one of the couches instead. Her head’s spinning a little but it's not from alcohol, just the sheer noise of it all as well as the hurried thudding of her heart. She drops down beside a small group of other theater kids discussing musicals with the kind of passion usually reserved for religion.

Soon enough, she’s caught in a half-sober debate about Les Misérables versus Hadestown, nodding along while trying to ignore the fact that Megan has, yet again, completely vanished. Yoonchae's out of sight too.

Her fingers drum on the rim of her glass. I swear to God, Megan, she thinks, if you fall into a punch bowl, I’m leaving you there.

Soon enough, Sophia doesn't fight the urge to slip out the side door before the bass could swallow her whole. The night air was sharp, the kind that bit at her skin after too long inside, after too many people pressing in and laughing too loudly.

She sat on the low step, balancing her drink between her hands. The condensation had already dampened her palms.

Inside, the party was still going with the mirrorball lights spinning, a sea of voices overlapping in half-shouted conversations. She could still hear Megan somewhere in the crowd, probably dragging Yoonchae into another dance.

Sophia sighed, tilting her head back toward the sky.

Of course, the one night she agreed to go out, she’d end up here, alone with a watered-down drink and the distant hum of other people having fun.

“Didn’t think I’d find you hiding.”

Sophia turned.

Daniela was framed in the doorway, hair messy from the humidity inside, a faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone. The soft light behind her made her look like she didn’t belong to the chaos inside, or maybe that she’d made it bend to her somehow.

“I’m not hiding,” Sophia said briefly, she adjusts her glasses on cue and swallows thickly.

What is she doing here?

Daniela stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the wooden floorboards of the empty backyard balcony. “Sure you’re not.”

Sophia looked away, pretending to be absorbed in her drink. “Just needed air.”

And she really does. Everything inside makes her feel suffocated, not tight enough for her to really go but make her get a breather.

“From what? The people or the noise?”

“Both.”

Daniela hummed, as if that was an acceptable answer, and settled down beside her. The step was small; their knees almost brushed.

For a few moments, neither spoke. The muffled pulse of the music leaked through the wall, a steady heartbeat in the background.

Sophia risked a glance. Daniela's head was tipped back, eyes half-closed, her expression unreadable. The wind lifted a strand of her hair across her cheek.

“You don’t like parties?” She asked finally.

Sophia shrugged and really tried to consider saying no for a beat. She settles with a simple nod and says, “They’re… fine. Just not really my scene.”

Daniela turned to look at her, slow, deliberate. “You look like you’re trying very hard not to be seen.” She has her palms laying flat on the floor behind her, weight shifting slightly.

Sophia froze, unsure how to answer that. “I just—”

“You can relax, you know.” Daniela's voice was quiet, too close.

Just then, Daniela raises one palm to cup and shift Sophia's face, making the other girl focus at her. A warm and soft hand lingering on the latter's chin.

“You don’t have to keep your guard up with me.”

Sophia’s breath hitched, her heartbeat suddenly louder than the music. She looked at Daniela, really looked this time. The faint gloss on her lips, the same glint in her eyes that always shows something Sophia can't name.

“Y—You shouldn’t say things like that,” Sophia said finally, face warms when she hears herself stutter.

Daniela smiled — small, knowing. “Why not?” She takes her hand off the girl's chin as she reaches near her ear to fix her gold hoops.

“Nothing, it's just...”

Daniela tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You always look like you’re analyzing something.”

She swiftly changes the topic and Sophia doesn't even notice how easily the other girl does that. Too easy, like she commands everything the way she wants things to flow.

“That’s because I am.” Sophia answers.

Their knees are brushing now and not a single one even bothers to acknowledge or stop it.

“Am I on the list?” The other girl asks with a casual head tilt, her eyes big and shining, all her attention set on Sophia. Like nothing else matters. Just her.

“You’d be a short essay.” Sophia tries a lame attempt of a joke with an awkward chuckle to lighten the tension — since she can't help but feel something unfamiliar brewing.

“Flattering. I thought I’d be a thesis.” Daniela smiled and her dimple showed. Calculated, and effective.

I didn't even know she has that...

Sophia feels very warm when the night chill was making her shiver just minutes ago she walked out from the chaos and loud rumbles inside. Taking off her jacket in an attempt to cool off, she lightly places it over Daniela's exposed legs. The other girl doesn't seem to mind, she just looked pleased, and for a moment, the air between them stilled. Heavy, charged, the kind of quiet that made Sophia’s throat tighten. Then someone called Daniela’s name from inside, laughter spilling out with the sound.

She stood, brushing off her skirt.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” Daniela said, her tone light again. “Or don’t. I’ll keep your jacket safe either way.”

And with that, she was gone. Leaving Sophia in the doorway’s soft glow, staring at the spot she’d stood in, pretending the night didn’t suddenly feel lonelier without her there.

Chapter Text

The past few weeks slipped by like pages turning too fast as colors, voices, and moments all blend together before Sophia could even hold onto them. Everything felt like a blur and it's loud, restless, and definitely not what she signed up for.

Straight As. Drama-free school year. She keeps repeating it to herself like a mantra, but the club keeps pulling her in, stealing more of her focus than she’d ever admit.

Worse, she’s starting to like it.

Screw you, Megan.

It’s been raining for days. The kind of steady downpour that seeps into everything, from her socks to her mood. Her mom’s been driving her to school all week, and today’s no exception.

Sophia sinks into the passenger seat, sweater sleeves tugged over her hands, palms hidden in her pockets. The hum of the wipers fills the quiet as the car glides through wet streets.

It’s a comfortable silence, the kind they both know how to keep.

“So,” her mom says after a moment, eyes still on the road, “how’s school been lately?”

Sophia glances out the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. Of course her mom would ask that, she probably had the question waiting for weeks.

“It’s fine,” Sophia says automatically. “Busy.”

“Busy’s good,” her mom replies in that practiced, parental tone, the kind that’s meant to sound casual but lands a little too careful. “You still doing that… theater thing?”

Sophia nods. “Yeah. Megan’s club.”

Technically, that’s not the whole truth. The Lonely Hearts Club wasn’t exactly fully school-sanctioned — more like a two-member operation masquerading as a 'community project', with a side hustle of gluing fake stars for the theater’s backdrop. Her mom wouldn’t understand how she got roped into that. Or why she stayed.

So she settled for the safe answer.

“Oh, the one with the solar system and those cardboard trees?”

“Yeah,” Sophia says again, a small laugh escaping before she can stop it. “It’s… a lot of cardboard.”

Her mom smiles faintly, like she’s relieved to hear Sophia laugh about something.

The car turns, wipers squeaking against the windshield, a slow and steady metronome. Outside, the rain blurs neon from the shop signs. Red, blue, and gold. Colors bleeding into one another like wet paint.

Busy’s good.

She repeats it in her head, testing the weight of it. But it doesn’t sit right. 'Busy' feels like a cover story, a word she keeps using to explain things even she doesn’t understand. Because lately, her mind keeps looping through moments she shouldn’t be thinking about.

A smear of red lipstick on a paper cup.
Daniela's voice echoing off a hallway. Megan’s laugh as she argued with Yoonchae over prop glue.

Busy’s good. Sure.

Her mom starts humming along to the radio, an old song Sophia doesn’t recognize. The melody fills the silence where more questions might’ve gone.

By the time they reach the school gates, the rain has faded to a soft drizzle. Sophia thanks her mom, pulls her hood up, and steps out into the damp air. It smells like wet concrete and something else she can’t quite name.

Her phone buzzes the moment she steps onto the school grounds. Sophia glances down, already sensing trouble before she even unlocks the screen.

Emergency club meeting right now!!! Meet me in the club room in 10.
— Megan

Sophia exhales through her nose. Of course.

Now, here’s the thing: she actually came early on purpose today — to study, not to deal with whatever 'emergency' Megan had manifested this time. She had a test later, and all she wanted was a quiet hour in her favorite library corner with her notes, her coffee, and zero distractions.

Visual #1 of distraction: Megan’s text lighting up her phone like a warning siren.

Sophia pockets it without replying and heads straight for the library.

The air inside is cooler, quieter as the faint scent of old paper and something woody greets her, rows of shelves tower around her, and the muted hush settles over her shoulders like a blanket. Her favorite corner seat at the very back is miraculously free.

She smiles in small triumph, setting her bag down with the satisfaction of a soldier reaching safe ground. Textbooks open, pens aligned, focus engaged—

Something tall and impatient casts a shadow over her desk.

Sophia doesn’t even need to look up.

“I can’t believe you purposefully ignored my text!”

“Shhh!” someone hisses immediately.

Megan freezes mid-gesture as half the library turns to glare at her. Why are there so many people here already anyway? Her eyes go wide, and she bows — aggressively, repeatedly — whispering a frantic, “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

Sophia presses her lips together, trying not to laugh as Megan slides into the seat beside her like a guilty child sneaking into church late.

“Serves you right.” Sophia mutters.

Megan leans in, still whispering too loudly. “Emergency means urgent, you know!”

Sophia flips a page of her notes with exaggerated calm. “Your emergencies usually involve glitter or gossip.”

Megan narrows her eyes, then pouts. “...You’re not wrong.” She tries to scoot closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m being for real this time. Your president really, really needs your advice.”

Sophia looks up from her notes, unimpressed. “Does this advice involve actual school work, or emotional damage control again?”

Megan pouts, wide-eyed, all mock innocence. But there’s a flicker of real worry there, the kind that tugs at Sophia’s resolve. She sighs, glancing between her open notebook and Megan’s pleading face. She tells herself she’ll just finish this one paragraph first—

Then Megan slides something across the table, wrapped neatly in crisp white paper, like she’s making a deal in a spy movie.

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “Are you bribing me?”

“Think of it as persuasion,” Megan whispers, grinning.

Sophia unwraps it halfway and freezes. The smell hits first. Buttery, warm, and sweet. The stuffed croissant from the little bakery down the road, the one they always buy from when they stay late doing theater props. Her favorite.

Of course.

“Fine,” Sophia mutters, already gathering her notes.

Megan lights up instantly, like she just saved the world. “You’re the best.”

Sophia slides her pens back into her pouch, pretending to grumble. “This won't work next time.”

“Oh, but it will,” Megan says with a grin, hopping to her feet.

Sophia rolls her eyes but follows anyway, the faint buttery smell of the croissant lingering on her fingers as they head down the hall toward the club room.

The club room feels warmer than the library, but the windows are still lined with raindrops, each one catching the weak gray light outside. The drizzle hasn’t stopped, it just softened like the world decided to hum instead of pour.

Megan leans against the desk at the front, arms crossed, her usual grin replaced with a deep frown that’s almost comically serious. She looks like she’s about to announce the end of the world, or worse, another props emergency.

Sophia sits on one of the chairs, posture neat, expression polite but skeptical. She’s learned not to trust Megan’s 'emergency meetings'. The last one was about what font looked more 'romantic' for the club’s poster.

“So…” Sophia starts, tone dry, but Megan cuts her off immediately.

“It’s about Yoonchae.”

The words drop between them like a pebble in still water. Small, but enough to make ripples. Sophia blinks, waiting for whatever nonsense comes next.

Sophia shifts on her seat, her expression changes, “You called me out of the library for this?”

Megan throws her hands up, pacing like she’s about to defend a dissertation on heartbreak. “You don’t get it. This is serious, Soph. She’s acting different.”

Sophia folds her arms, already skeptical. “Different how? Like… not breathing fire for once?”

Megan ignores the jab, too lost in her own spiral. “No, like— she’s being nice. Not polite-nice, but soft-nice. She lingers. She—” Megan stops herself, frowning as if the words might betray her. “She brushed my hand. Twice.”

Sophia stares. “That’s it?”

Megan gapes. “That’s not it! There was eye contact. Like… prolonged.”

“Define prolonged.”

“Like… three seconds.”

Sophia pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting back a laugh. “You dragged me out here because a girl looked at you for three seconds?”

“Not just any girl,” Megan hisses, scandalized. “Yoonchae. The same Yoonchae who used to barely remember my name. The same Yoonchae who said I glued the moon backwards— and smiled while saying it!”

Sophia raises a brow. “Maybe she’s just… finally used to you being around?”

Megan glares. “Don’t you dare logic this. I’ve been crushing on her for four years, Soph. Four. You don’t just brush someone’s hand twice unless there’s meaning.”

Sophia tilts her head, pretending to think. “Maybe she’s just clumsy.”

“Clumsy? Yoonchae?” Megan scoffs. “She’s literally the human embodiment of grace. She probably folds her bedsheets with a ruler.”

Sophia lets out a small laugh, but Megan’s face remains serious, almost painfully so. Beneath the dramatics, there’s something raw. Hopeful. Afraid.

Sophia softens. “Okay. Let’s say she is flirting," she enunciated it which earned her a roll of eyes from Megan, "what do you want to do about it?”

Megan falters. “I don’t know. I mean… what if I’m wrong? What if I ruin it?”

Sophia studies her. The way Megan fidgets with her shirt buttons, the way she can’t quite meet her eyes. Megan always talks like she’s got the world figured out, but right now she looks like someone standing at the edge of something huge, terrified to take the next step.

“Then,” Sophia says gently, “you deal with it. Like a normal person. You laugh, move on, and pretend you didn’t Google ‘how to know if your crush likes you back’ last night.”

Megan gasps. “You saw my search history?”

Sophia smirks. “You left your laptop open.”

Megan groans, collapsing into the nearest chair. “I’m doomed.”

Sophia hides her smile, leaning back. “You’re not doomed. Just maybe don’t call another emergency meeting until someone actually confesses something.”

Megan glares, half-pouting. “Noted. But when she does confess, I’m making you my maid of honor.”

Sophia laughs softly. “Deal. Now can I go back to my test review?”

Megan waves her off dramatically. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when I end up in a queer situationship spiral.”

Sophia pauses by the door, glancing back. “You’re already in one.”

She passed the test, of course she did.

When the final bell rings and the chatter swells like a tide, Sophia gathers her things quickly and slips out before the hallway bottlenecks. Her steps carry her straight toward the theater room, muscle memory at this point. The corridor hums with the usual after-school noises with lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, but even through all that, she catches a flash of familiar curls.

Daniela.

Her hair bounces under the harsh fluorescent lights, but even that doesn’t dull it. She’s standing by the lockers, talking to that guy — the guy from the party, the one who’d wrapped himself around her like he was afraid to lose his grip.

He’s frowning now, voice low but sharp enough for Sophia to catch fragments as she passes.

“We’re done.”

Sophia doesn’t mean to slow down, but she does. For a moment, she just looks. The way Daniela’s expression doesn’t shift much, just this calm, unreadable stillness and the guy’s still talking, gesturing like he’s trying so hard to make her react. She doesn’t.

Sophia looks away before anyone can notice she’s staring.

Her mind jumps ahead, spinning stories she has no right to tell. Maybe it’s easy for Daniela. People come, people go, like props for a scene she already rehearsed. Maybe that’s not fair to think. Probably not. But the thought forms anyway, quiet and sharp.

Because if there’s one thing Sophia’s certain of, it’s that Daniela feels dangerous but not in a bad way, just in the kind that makes you pay attention. The kind that makes you forget you’re supposed to be careful.

She tugs the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and heads for the theater room, pretending her pulse hasn’t picked up for no good reason.

It’s not much different when she arrives at the theater club room. The same chatter is bouncing off the walls with a mediocre pop playlist humming from someone’s speaker. Cardboard sheets scattered across the floor like casualties of war and Megan’s already there, of course, following Yoonchae like a lost puppy.

Sophia watches them from a distance, still unsure why she even showed up after that so-called emergency meeting earlier. Then again, maybe she does know. A second batch of croissants and an iced coffee delivered to her library table had a way of convincing her.

“Just extremely grateful for you showing up, bestie.” Megan had said with a grin.

“Uh-huh,” Sophia replied, rolling her eyes, though she’d smiled anyway.

Now, watching the two of them work, she almost regrets not bringing a notebook. Yoonchae, for all her quiet confidence, acts noticeably softer around Megan. She doesn’t snap when Megan misaligns a prop piece or struggles with the glue gun for the fiftieth time. Instead, she just laughs. Not mockingly, but in that warm, patient way that makes it sound like she finds the whole thing endearing.

When Megan nearly trips over a tangle of wires, Yoonchae is instantly there, a steady hand on her shoulder, a small, reassuring smile.

Sophia notes all of it, catalogues every small exchange with the precision of someone who pretends not to care but definitely does.

Still, it’s not proof of anything. People can be kind. People can be soft. Yoonchae could simply be… nice. The world doesn’t have to be some slow-motion romance montage just because Megan’s been crushing on her since seventh grade.

Right. Platonic care. That’s all it is.

Sophia repeats it though her gaze lingers a moment longer than it should.

Soon after, Daniela walks in. The air changes.

It’s subtle at first, like the way a room hushes when someone important enters, or maybe like everyone’s pretending not to look. Conversations taper off mid-sentence, paintbrushes pause mid-stroke, and even the speaker’s bad playlist feels quieter somehow.

The theater club still isn’t used to having her around. And really, who would be? Daniela Avanzini — former cheer captain, resident it-girl, the kind of person who could make walking down a hallway feel like a cinematic event.

No one knows why she joined. The rumors say it’s a change of pace while some say community service. Others whisper she got bored of cheer. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t quite fit. She’s too polished for this room full of glue-stained hands and cardboard chaos.

Sophia tries not to stare but fails spectacularly. There’s something different about her today. It’s not just the perfectly rumpled hair or the faint gloss catching the light when she moves. It’s the look on her face. There's a small furrow in her brow, like she’s here but somewhere else entirely. Thinking. Or maybe feeling something she’d rather not show.

And somehow, that makes her even harder to look away from.

Sophia pretends to busy herself with a stray paintbrush, dipping it absentmindedly into a cup of murky water that’s already more gray than clear. But her eyes flick up, just once, just long enough to notice how Daniela stands a few feet away with her arms crossed, scanning the chaos like she’s still trying to decide whether she belongs here or not.

There’s something guarded about her posture. Her chin is tilted up, her expression unreadable, but her fingers fidget against her arm like she’s holding something back. Nerves, maybe? Or annoyance.

“Hey, Dani! Can you hand me the tape?” someone calls out, breaking the silence.

Daniela blinks, momentarily thrown off, before reaching for the roll of tape beside her. She hesitates, then tosses it with a small, almost shy smile that no one seems to catch. Except Sophia. It’s a quick, barely-there moment, but it softens her just enough to make her seem human, not the glossy rumor everyone’s made her out to be.

Sophia looks away quickly, pretending to wipe her hands on a rag. She doesn’t know why she’s so tuned in to Daniela’s small gestures, why her brain insists on noticing the slight crack in her perfect façade. Maybe it’s because it feels familiar. The quiet effort to seem okay.

Daniela, meanwhile, has started helping Yoonchae organize props on the floor, crouching down carefully to avoid smudging her jeans. She’s quieter than expected, listening more than she speaks. The others steal glances, probably waiting for her to complain about the mess, but she never does.

When she laughs—soft, unexpected—it’s like the air shifts again. Not in the heavy way it did when she entered, but lighter and easier like the room collectively exhales.

And Sophia, who swears she doesn’t care, finds herself smiling too.

Minutes pass before all the coffee Sophia’s had finally catches up with her. She stands, stretches her arms overhead, and gives a brief once-over to the fifth sun ornament she’s been painting. One of the perks of the theater club room, she thinks, is that it’s conveniently right next to the bathrooms.

She slips out quietly, her sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor, and makes a beeline for the restroom. The faint echo of chatter from the club room fades as she enters. She picks the nearest stall, locks it, and finally lets herself breathe as the noise outside dulls into a soft hum.

As she finishes up, Sophia hears the bathroom door swing open with a soft creak, followed by the faint clack of shoes against tile. The sound is sharp and deliberate, echoing slightly in the quiet space. She walks out of the stall and looks up, catches a glimpse of movement in the mirror with someone at the far end of the row, leaning against the sink, head bowed.

It takes her a second to recognize the curls.

Sophia leaned against the counter and sighed, rummaging through her small bag for the lip gloss she always kept, a soft rose shade that made her feel put-together. She dabbed the color on carefully, then pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the faint shaking in her hands.

Sophia tries hard to ignore it in the mirror but she can see the other girl moving. The other girl is now leaning lazily against the stall pillars, like she owned every room she walked into. The fluorescent light above flickered once, haloing her in a mix of warmth and static and her curls were looser now, framing her face in soft shadows.

“Escaping again?” Daniela asked, voice low, smooth.

Sophia blinked, startled. “Just… taking a break.”

Daniela hummed.

Sophia tried to focus on herself in the mirror instead but still sees the reflection of Daniela walking closer. The faint clink of her bracelet, the scent of her perfume (something vanilla, sweet, and faintly smoky, like the memory of a bonfire and burning marshmallows). It filled the small room until it felt like the air itself had her name on it.

Sophia opened her lip tint again, trying to look busy.

Daniela’s gaze flicked to her hands. “That the same color you always wear?”

Sophia hesitated. “Yeah. Why?”

Daniela didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head, studying her reflection like it was a puzzle she intended to solve.

Then, softly, “Can I try it?”

Sophia’s breath hitched. “The lip tint?”

Daniela smiled, and there was something lazy, deliberate in it. “Mm. Yeah.”

Sophia handed it over without thinking, or maybe because thinking would’ve ruined the moment. Their fingers brushed, and Sophia swore her pulse skipped.

Daniela twisted the cap open, unscrewing it with a kind of casual grace. But instead of applying it on herself, she turned, close enough that Sophia could see the flecks of green in her brown eyes.

“Hold still,” Daniela murmured.

Sophia froze. “What are you—”

Before she could finish, Daniela reached out and touched her chin. Her thumb was gentle but firm, guiding her face up. The cold tip of the applicator brushed Sophia’s bottom lip, dragging color slowly and precise.

Sophia forgot how to breathe.

Daniela’s hand steadied her jaw as she finished the second lip, the silence between them stretching thin and dangerous. The only sounds were their breaths, and somewhere far off, the muffled echo of a bass drop.

“There,” Daniela whispered, pulling back slightly. Her voice had gone quiet. Softer than Sophia had ever heard it. “Perfect.”

Sophia blinked, dazed, the world narrowing to the warmth on her lips and the ghost of Daniela’s touch. She could still feel her pulse where the girl’s fingers had been.

“That’s… not how you apply tint,” Sophia managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniela smirked, uncapping the tube again, gaze flicking between Sophia’s mouth and her own reflection. “Maybe not. But it worked.”

Sophia didn’t know what to say to that and didn’t know how to deal with the heat crawling up her neck, the way her heart ached in the small, sharp way that comes right before falling. She turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix her hair, just to have something to do with her hands. Daniela stood behind her now, close enough that Sophia could feel her breath against her shoulder. The tension was electric.

“You missed a spot,” Daniela said suddenly, and before Sophia could react, she reached up and smoothed her thumb across the corner of Sophia’s mouth.

A simple gesture. A devastating one.

Sophia met her eyes in the mirror and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then someone outside called out, laughter echoing through the hallway, shattering whatever quiet thing had just formed between them. Daniela dropped her hand, stepped back like nothing had happened.

“You coming?” she asked lightly, already halfway to the door.

Sophia nodded, but her voice didn’t work. Her reflection did the talking with flushed cheeks and a slightly smudged lip tint.

Daniela’s hand pushed the door open, her tone casual, teasing. “Try not to escape again.”

And then she was gone, leaving Sophia alone with the faint scent of vanilla and the red tint that didn’t quite look like her own anymore.

When she returns to the theater room, Sophia spots Daniela chatting with the set man, a bright smile curving her lips, her voice easy and practiced. She watches as Daniela’s hand grazes his arm, light and fleeting, and something inside Sophia tugs, sharp and unwelcome. It’s like nothing ever happened for the other girl, no trace of the quiet in the bathroom, no hint of the smudge Sophia swore she saw beneath her eyes.

She tries to tell herself it’s just how Daniela is. Charming and magnetic and just the rare kind of person who makes everyone feel special. But still, she can’t shake the thought. Why does it always feel different when it’s just the two of them?

Megan thinks hard about what Sophia said.

“Then,” Sophia says gently, “you deal with it. Like a normal person. You laugh, move on, and pretend you didn’t Google ‘how to know if your crush likes you back’ last night.”

Easy for Sophia to say.

So, Megan decides to do something about it which is not that something, but close enough. She’ll ask Yoonchae out. Not a date, obviously. Just… two friends hanging out. Which is casual and harmless. Totally normal.

Still, there’s a lot to consider. She can’t take Yoonchae to another coffee shop. That’s too on the nose, and she doesn’t want it to look like she’s trying to recreate that moment. A fancy dinner would scream 'date', and Megan would rather crawl under a prop table than make things awkward. The beach is too far, and she doesn’t even have a car, but then she remembers the amusement park.

Her cousin works there, owes her a favor, and it’s just one city over. Two free tickets, an excuse that doesn’t sound too suspicious, and a whole day where she can maybe, just maybe, figure out what this thing between them actually is.

It takes Megan two full days and one aggressively highlighted script to finally work up the nerve.

Yoonchae is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the club room, painting another set piece with the sunlight hitting her hair just right and Megan stands there holding her water bottle, trying so hard not to look like she’s been rehearsing this in her head for hours.

Okay. Deep breath. It’s just Yoonchae. Just your friend. Who you’ve liked for four years. No big deal.

She clears her throat. “Hey, so—uh—what’s your schedule like this weekend?”

Yoonchae doesn’t look up right away, still focused on the brush strokes. “Hmm?”

Megan hates how her voice wavers when she repeats, “This weekend. Are you busy?”

Finally, Yoonchae glances up. “Not really. Why?”

And that’s when Megan’s brain short-circuits. All the rehearsed lines, the casual 'there’s this cool place I wanted to check out', the perfectly timed laugh, the not-a-date energy all vanished completely.

“There’s this amusement park,” she blurts out. “My cousin works there and, um, gave me free tickets. I thought— I mean, you helped me with props and all, so I kinda owe you? And it’d be fun. If you want.”

Yoonchae blinks once, then twice. Megan wants the ground to swallow her whole.

“You’re asking me to go with you?”

“Only if you’re free!” Megan adds too quickly. “Like, totally fine if not! I can—uh—ask Sophia or something, it’s not a big deal—”

“I’d love to go.”

Megan stops mid-ramble. “What?”

Yoonchae smiles and it is small but so sure. “You owe me a favor, remember? Consider it collected.”

For a second, Megan forgets how to breathe. The sunlight hits Yoonchae’s face, and Megan thinks she could spend a lifetime chasing that same look.

“Right,” she manages, voice soft and raises pointer fingers at the other girl, “Favor. Got it.”

Yoonchae goes back to painting, calm and steady, while Megan sits down a few feet away, pretending to sort through prop materials. Her mind, however, is anything but calm. Because now she has to survive a full day with Yoonchae and no script in the world could prepare her for that.

Megan tells herself she didn’t over-prepare. That she’s fine. Totally fine. Except when her alarm blares at 6 A.M., she shoots upright like she’s been drafted into war and two hours later, she’s still in the shower, deep-cleaning like she’s about to undergo a government inspection. Shampoo twice, conditioner, face mask, body scrub, the whole ritual. By the time she’s done, her bathroom smells like cherry and panic.

It’s just an amusement park. Not a date. Not a date. But somehow her bag is packed like she’s heading for an expedition: sunscreen, umbrella, power bank, mints, mini first aid kit, a spare shirt (just in case?), and snacks. All neatly arranged, because if there’s one thing she can control today, it’s being prepared.

She checks the time. 1:30 P.M.

They’re supposed to meet at 4 near the station by their school.

By 2:00, Megan’s already there.

She sits on the bench with her bag clutched to her chest, pretending to scroll through her phone while internally screaming. Every few minutes, she checks her reflection on her camera app, fixes her hair, and debates whether she should’ve worn something cooler, or maybe not this color, or maybe—

She stops herself. It’s not a date. Her heart doesn’t get the memo.

At 3:57, Megan spots her.

Yoonchae, in an oversized white button-up tucked loosely into denim shorts, hair tied back with a blue ribbon. She’s holding an iced coffee and looking around like she’s not sure she’s in the right place like the world itself just placed her here by accident.

And for a moment, Megan forgets how to breathe.

She straightens immediately, brushing invisible lint from her jeans, then realizes she’s been sitting stiff for two hours and nearly trips standing up. Great. Cool. Totally smooth.

Yoonchae sees her and smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes.

“Hey,” she says, voice easy. “You’re early.”

Megan laughs a little too loudly. “Yeah! I, uh… like trains.”

Trains? Really?

Yoonchae blinks, then laughs, a little confused. “Good to know.”

They walk side by side toward the bus that’ll take them to the amusement park, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold. The air smells faintly of sugar from a nearby bakery.

For the first few minutes, it’s a mix of silence and small talk just about anything like school stuff, the club, how Megan almost burned her hand again with the glue gun.

Then, slowly, it evens out.

They talk about childhood trips, favorite rides, the kind of snacks they always buy at fairs. Yoonchae’s laughter comes easier now, and Megan finds herself memorizing it. The tilt of her head when she laughs, the way she hides her smile behind her hand.

By the time they reach the park, the lights are already flickering on with soft pinks, blues, and golds reflecting on the metal rides. The air buzzes with the sound of people screaming from roller coasters and pop songs blasting from nearby speakers.

“It’s been years since I’ve been to one,” Yoonchae admits, looking up at the ferris wheel.

“Then we’ll fix that today,” Megan says, and for once, she sounds confident.

Yoonchae glances at her, amused. “Are you saying that because you’re paying for my ticket?”

“Yes,” Megan says immediately, deadpan. “So you’re legally required to have fun.”

Yoonchae laughs again, and it’s so bright that Megan almost forgets how nervous she was this morning. They spend the next hour hopping from booth to booth.

Megan badly wants to win Yoonchae something from the rigged booths, so she suggests that their first stop should be the ring toss. Rows of flashing lights, the smell of popcorn and burnt sugar hang in the air.

“Now, watch this,” Megan says, rolling her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle.

She throws the first ring, and misses by a mile.

Yoonchae bursts out laughing, head tilted back, and Megan thinks she could listen to that sound forever. Maybe losing isn’t so bad if it keeps that smile around.

They move on to the shooting game next. Megan’s tongue peeks out in concentration, channeling her inner Caitlyn Kirraman with one eye squinted. And, finally, she hits the target as the lights soon flash with the buzzer going off. The booth guy hands her a prize: a weird-looking cucumber plushie.

“Victory!” Megan declares, dramatically holding it up before offering it to Yoonchae.

Yoonchae takes it, grinning so wide her eyes crinkle. “He’s… hideous. I love him.”

When they pass by the haunted house, Yoonchae stops walking.

The entrance is draped in cheap cobwebs and flickering lights, the faint sound of distorted screams echoing from inside. A pair of kids run out, laughing and clutching each other like they’ve survived something serious.

“You up for it?” Yoonchae asks, an amused glint in her eyes.

Megan crosses her arms, pretending to look unimpressed even though her heartbeat picks up. “Please. I’m not scared of some dollar-store zombies.”

“Good,” Yoonchae says with a grin. “Because I am, so you’ll be protecting me.”

Megan chokes on her comeback as the girl grabs her wrist and drags her inside. The mood shifts instantly with dim lights, fog machines hissing, and the faint smell of rubber masks and paint clogging the air. They move through narrow hallways lined with hanging curtains and the floor creaks under their steps. Somewhere, a chain rattles.

Then something jumps out.

Yoonchae shrieks. An honest, startled sound, and grips Megan’s arm tightly. Megan laughs a little too loud, half because she’s nervous and half because she can feel the warmth of Yoonchae’s hand through her sleeve.

“You said you weren’t scared,” Yoonchae hisses, still clutching her arm.

“I’m not! I just—uh—got startled. By you.”

Another monster lunges out from behind a curtain and this time both of them scream. The sound echoes embarrassingly loud, and they dissolve into laughter right after. Yoonchae keeps holding on, though. Even when the scare passes, even when they’re both catching their breath.

By the time they stumble out the exit, blinking at the afternoon light, Megan’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Yoonchae’s still laughing beside her, hand brushing against hers as they walk.

“Okay,” Yoonchae says between breaths, “maybe that was kind of fun.”

“Told you,” Megan says, trying to sound casual but her voice is a little too soft, her grin a little too wide.

They don’t let go immediately, and for once, Megan doesn’t rush to overthink what it means.

They continue wandering around and at one point, Yoonchae reaches for Megan’s wrist to pull her closer when the crowd gets bigger and someone bumps into them. And it’s nothing, just a moment. A brief touch, warm and fleeting but it burns like a secret. Megan's secret.

Later, they share cotton candy on a bench as the sky dims to indigo. Megan tears off a small piece and offers it out without thinking. Yoonchae leans in, takes it, and hums quietly in approval, her feet swinging softly like a kid.

“Not bad,” she says.

“I have great taste,” Megan says, trying to sound casual while her pulse is going haywire.

“Do you?” Yoonchae teases, eyes soft but unreadable.

"You tell me,” Megan blurts before she can stop herself.

And Yoonchae just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to figure out if that was a joke. Or something else.

Then she just smiles and the moment passes, but it doesn’t really. It lingers, long after they move on to the next ride.

The day passes in a blur, there's just so much laughter and fleeting touches. Megan swore she would be dreaming about vibrant pink and blues for awhile. They end it with a Ferris wheel ride which is very cliché, Megan thinks, but the kind she doesn’t want Yoonchae to miss.

The wheel creaks as it rises, slow and steady, revealing the carnival lights spreading below them as well as the distant city lights. They sit across from each other because Yoonchae insists it’ll keep the wagon balanced, and Megan keeps teasing her by gently shaking it just to hear her squeak.

When the laughter fades, quiet settles in. The night hums faintly beyond the glass, and the air feels different this high up.

“Thank you for today, Megan,” Yoonchae says softly, eyes fixed on the window. The colorful lights dance in her irises like reflections on water. “I really enjoyed it.”

Megan means to look outside too, but her gaze stays on the girl in front of her. On the curve of her smile, on the way her hair frames her face like it’s catching the glow of every passing light.

She clears her throat, tries to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just returning the favor.”

The words sound too small for what she really means.

Her mind races, about how close they’ve grown, how she’s spent years daydreaming about moments like this, and how dangerous it feels to realize she’s falling even harder now. Yoonchae’s probably just being nice, just herself. And yet… it’s hard not to hope, even a little.

Megan leans back, forcing herself to look at the night instead. The city stretches beneath them, dizzying and brilliant.

She doesn’t need anything more than this.

Not tonight.

She’s content. To sit across from Yoonchae, the Ferris wheel carrying them higher, pretending that this quiet between them means something.

Chapter Text

Apparently, even if Sophia and Megan are just handy prop makers with the side quest of moral support, they still need to attend the rehearsals. Or at least that's what Megan says. And today's a big deal since it's the announcement of the final cast list. With the nerve wracking auditions done last week, it isn't enough when it's revealed that Yoonchae is leading this year's musical as the director.

Well, Sophia doesn’t actually believe it’s required to join them but Megan insists.

"We have to support our people," she says, conveniently forgetting that their “people” are really just the theater kids they hand cardboard to.

The hand around her wrist is tight, almost like Megan doesn't take chances about her escaping, and she lets herself get dragged to the theater club room the moment the school bell rings. The hallways pile up immediately and they soon push through the theater room's double doors, walking inside the familiar large space with an endless row of velvet chairs stretching up towards the ceiling. The smell of paint is not foreign to Sophia anymore.

At the stage, the club members are already formed in one large circle, their voices overlapping in that pre-announcement buzz. Yoonchae is standing in the middle and Sophia barely registers Megan whispering something about how “official” it all looks, because her gaze has already drifted toward the group seated stage left.

Her eyes try to scan further for the familiar black curls. Spotted.

There, Daniela's perched on one of the risers and appears to be half-listening and half-daydreaming. The cropped shirt she’s wearing rides up just shy of her waist, loose cargo pants hang effortlessly around her frame, and her trademark gold hoops glint when she tilts her head to laugh at something someone says.

Sophia blinks when she realizes that she’s been staring a little too long, just long enough to notice the curl of Daniela’s smile before she looks away.

Practically marching down the aisle, Megan leads the way while Sophia trails behind, doing her best not to draw attention as the meeting is already in full swing. They settled on some extra seats just a yard back the main circle and Sophia exhales in relief when no one turns around to shush them.

There's a brief clear of the throat and the girl in the center formally introduces herself as the director, explaining that she’ll be overseeing every aspect of this year’s production. Her tone is confident and a little rehearsed but it doesn't give off anything other than she knows what she's doing.

Glancing sideways, she sees it immediately. Her foolish friend who’s already wearing that telltale look and that dopey smile that screams I’m so in love with the director. A chuckle scratches at the back of her throat as she tries hard to bite back a laugh.

Yoonchae reads the cast list one name at a time as each one earns its own ripple of applause and whispers that bounce softly off the velvet walls. The room vibrates with excitement which is the kind of electric restlessness that only happens when everyone’s waiting for something big.

Finding herself smiling, Sophia thinks about how it feels a little like déjà vu with the stage lights and the sound of papers rustling, even the mix of nerves and joy that is feeding the room. Back home, this used to be her world, but now she’s content to watch from the sidelines with paint-stained hands instead of script pages. Although she wouldn't lie that a small part of her misses it. The rush of waiting for her name to be called.

Yoonchae pauses for effect before announcing the final role. "And finally," she says and there's a knowing smile tugging at her lips, "the lead. Nova."

Sophia is holding her breath just as much as everyone else is, the anticipation thick enough to touch.

"She will be played by Daniela."

The room stills. Completely.

For a split second, it was so quiet, that Sophia swears she can hear her own pulse in her ears. And it's been stretching too long and heavy that it physically makes Sophia sick, a weight starting to press against her chest. She’s the first one to clap and the sound cracks through the room sharply and awkward before others hesitantly follow. The applause grows, but so do the hushed whispers that continue for a beat far more than it's supposed to be.

Sophia doesn’t need to listen closely to know what they’re saying. She’s seen this before. New girl, big role. It’s the kind of talk that stings even if it isn’t directed at you. Still, it has been decided, and what Daniela has shown during the auditions bore fruit to this announcement.

Daniela earned it.

The meeting breaks apart in a rush of movement as chairs scrape and everyone goes back to each of their own circles. Even in one club, there are still the cliques: tech crew in one corner, the actors in another, Yoonchae surrounded by her directing team.

And then there’s Daniela.

She stands alone near the back with her arms crossed loosely but her posture is still perfect, mind clearly somewhere else. She’s the picture of confidence but no one can deny that she looks so out of place. The soft light catches the gold in her earrings and her expression is unreadable.

"Your little girlfriend got the big role."
Megan’s whisper breaks the quiet between them followed by a mischievous giggle. “Won’t you congratulate her?”

Sophia exhales through her nose as she rolls her eyes but her gaze flicks back to Daniela all the same. She doesn't know if she should approach her and why she's even hesitating in the first place. It’s just congratulations, nothing more. Still, her finger toy briefly with the frame of her glasses as the thought of approaching the girl makes her pulse jump a little.

Before she can second-guess herself further, Megan grabs her wrist. "Come on, before I do it for you."

Sophia barely has time to protest before she’s being dragged across the room weaving through clusters of people. Daniela looks up as they approach her, expression flickering briefly. Surprise? Amusement? Before she smooths it over with that calm, effortless kind of grace that Sophia’s now starting to recognize.

By the time they stop in front of her, Megan’s grinning like she orchestrated a reunion. “Congratulations, showgirl."

Daniela smirks and Sophia can’t tell if it’s because of the nickname or the situation itself. As far as she knows, Megan and Daniela have barely exchanged words before now and this might even be their first real interaction. Still, Daniela plays it off effortlessly. The it-girl who’s mastered the art of showing people exactly what they want to see.

Sophia watches as the moment unfolds. Daniela doesn’t take offense at the nickname, though others might. Instead, she owns it, wears it like it was meant for her. Something about that quiet confidence makes something inside Sophia’s ribs flutter a little and it's something traitorous, almost impossible to name.

"My friend here," Megan points a thumb next to her which makes Sophia freeze. "is a veteran but has decided to lay low this year. Change of pace."

Sophia's standing stiffly and she could see Megan doing faces as if to say "Go, talk to your girl!", which makes her clear her throat, desperate to finish this awkward interaction once and for all to not embarrass herself any further. Before she hears Daniela laugh. Almost melodic. And it was enough to pull out every thought clean out of Sophia's head.

"Sophia Laforteza, right?" Daniela raises a brow but her voice is so soft, and the way the name rolled off her tongue made Sophia's heart miss a beat. Again, for a reason she doesn't know.

She thought hard, racking her brain about every interaction she had with the girl, and not once did she mention her name. So how does Daniela know it?

"Yeah," Sophia answers, trying to sound casual but it comes out too fast. She forces a smile as she clutches the strap of her bag tighter. "Guess the transfer student memo travels fast."

Inside, her brain is still a dumpster fire, and the way Daniela’s smile deepens didn't help with any of it. It's just too knowing. Sophia doesn't know what to feel.

"Something like that."

The girl's tone is light but there’s something intentional in the way her gaze lingers. Not searching, but studying.

Sophia swallows because she has never been looked at like that in her life, but she still answers even if her throat felt dry. "Right. Well. That’s… impressive, I guess."

Daniela hums with her eyes still on her. "You make an impression."

The words sound casual but they land like a spark anyway. Sophia’s not sure if she should thank her or apologize.

Megan, meanwhile, is watching the exchange like it’s her favorite TV show, grin widening by the second.

Sophia clears her throat, desperate for a lifeline. "Anyway. Props meeting next, right? We should get to that."

Daniela’s smile turns softer. Everything she does is just so well choreographed. And Sophia has realized that long ago but this just reminds her all the same.

"See you there, Sophia."

Her name again — said slower this time, like she’s trying it out just to see how it feels.

Sophia turns away before her face can give her away, ignoring the way her heart decides to stutter right on cue.

"Well, that went pretty good, don’t ya think?"

Megan’s beside her now grinning wide and unhelpfully smug. Sophia just shakes her head. It’s not how she imagined their first real introduction would go, but at least it’s done. Or so she tells herself.

Because if she’s being honest, Daniela’s been under her skin for weeks. She’s not sure if the other girl means to act like that, all soft smiles and easy confidence, or if it’s just her. And Sophia doesn’t know why it bothers her so much. She shouldn’t care. She keeps saying that. She really keeps saying that.

There’s just something about Daniela that pulls her in, like a puzzle she’s desperate to solve. Why she looks at people that way. Why she always seems to know more than she says. Sophia tells herself it’s only curiosity. Fascination, at most. Not what people feel when they’re… well. Interested.

"Y'know, I ship you two," Megan singsongs.

Sophia blinks out of her thoughts. "What—"

But Megan’s already halfway across the room, bouncing toward Yoonchae with that same grin.

Sophia exhales as she drags a hand down her face. Maybe she should’ve just stayed in the library today.

Rehearsal season has started, but that doesn't mean the props and back drops are anywhere near done. The theater club still requires the lonely duo's assistance, and Megan, of course, is thrilled about that. Sophia? She doesn't really get a choice.

With most of the actors now busy running lines and blocking scenes, the props team’s lost a few hands, which means longer hours and fewer breaks. The theater room is buzzing with movement and sound and it really feels like the production is now coming more alive.

From her corner of the room, Sophia spots Daniela. Alone. A paperback script in one hand and a highlighter in the other. It’s been a few days since the cast list went up, and she can’t help but notice how no one seems to be sticking around the other girl. Back home, the actors always hovered together, swapping notes, whispering cues, and there was a quiet sense of camaraderie that is unspoken but constant. Here, she figured it’s different.

She’s not the type to meddle in other people’s business, but really, what’s there to lose? Sophia does miss the stage: the rush before the curtain rises, the quiet confidence of knowing exactly who she has to be for a few minutes. And maybe that’s why seeing Daniela's struggle hits closer than she’d admit.

Besides, girls should look out for each other. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. It’s just lending a hand. Nothing more, nothing that means anything.

So she takes a breath and makes her way toward where Daniela sits, tucked into a quiet corner of the room.

"You look like you’re trying to decipher the meaning of life." Sophia smiles awkwardly, gesturing to the empty spot beside Daniela. "Mind if I sit?"

The girl nods briefly, a sigh slipping out of her before she can stop it. She doesn’t bother to hide how tired she looks. "Might as well be. Venus… is complicated."

She’s pertaining about another character and Sophia recognizes the name from when one of the actors left their script lying around earlier. She’d skimmed a few pages, just enough to know who Venus was supposed to be.

"Yeah," Sophia says. "She’s kind of a mess. But try me—pitch it."

Her voice sounds steadier than she feels, completely different to how she speaks with the other girl before. Maybe it’s because this is something she understands. Scripts, character work, figuring people out. It’s a familiar ground.

Daniela looks at her, and there's a glint on her eyes that Sophia can't quite name. It’s not amusement exactly. More like a quiet challenge, a spark that says, Alright, go ahead. Let’s see what you’ve got.

Her smile is small and gone too quickly. She shakes her head, flipping through the script until she finds a highlighted line.

"I just… I don’t think I get her," she admits. "It’s supposed to be a love song, but it doesn’t feel like one."

Sophia picks up the extra copy of the script resting beside her. The pages are warm from the lights and the ink is smudged with fingerprints. Her eyes start scanning almost automatically as her mind falls into rhythm before she even realizes it.

Sophia hums once she finishes. "Well, because it’s not. It’s about being seen, not loved. That line — “Tell me I’m perfect and I’ll call it affection” — that’s not romance. That’s desperation dressed up in glitter."

The other girl just looks at her with an unreadable expression but there’s a faint smile on her face, enough for Sophia to assume she doesn’t think she’s being mansplained to. The mood stays light. The room around them buzzes with lines and laughter, but somehow, they’ve fallen into their own little bubble. Sophia doesn’t even notice when it happens.

"You used to act, didn't you?" Daniela asks. Her tone carries the soft curve of curiosity, almost impressed. But, as always, she keeps it carefully measured. She never gushes, never gives too much away. Just enough to keep people hooked and wanting more.

The question makes Sophia half-smile. "Caught that? Yeah. Back home. Mostly school plays. I quit when I moved here."

"Why?"

The question is inevitable. It lingers in the air and for a beat, Sophia can’t decide what to say. There are real reasons. Exhaustion, starting over, missing who she used to be, but none that feel right to give voice to.

"Change of pace." She settles with that with a slight shrug.

Daniela hums, almost like she understands where Sophia is coming from. It’s the kind that comes from recognizing something similar. She went from cheer captain to theater lead. Different worlds, same weight of expectation. For a moment, it feels like they’re standing on the same ground.

Daniela breaks their eye contact and says, "You’re good at it. Explaining, I mean. You made that line make sense."

The compliment hits sharper than it should. Sophia feels something flutter in her chest, a warmth she doesn’t have a name for. Praise has always been her favorite language, but she’d rather die than admit that out loud, so she just smiles trying not to look too pleased.

Across the room, Megan’s watching the whole thing unfold, grinning like a proud matchmaker who’s just won a bet.

They fall into a rhythm. Classes end, the bell rings, and before Sophia even realizes it, she's up from her seat already on her way to the theater room.

She still helps with props with paint staining her hands more often than not, but most of her time ends up beside Daniela. Helping her run her lines, dissecting some of the characters, helping her find the right tone, even sharing a few vocal techniques she swore she’d forgotten.

She won’t admit she enjoys it, but it’s been… grounding. A quiet way to adjust to the move and everything else.

Megan, of course, has plenty to say about it. She never shuts up about Sophia’s “private little acting sessions with her girlfriend,” and it’s taken everything in Sophia not to shove a crumpled paper ball in her mouth just to make her stop.

"Let's ditch it."

Daniela says one time, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and it's so new to Sophia. But then again, there’s always been something a little dangerous about her. Sophia’s just not used to being the one pulled into it.

There's hesitation in Sophia's eyes, a beat, long enough for Daniela to notice. Then a hand wraps around her wrist, firm but warm, and before she knows it, Daniela’s leading her down the hall in the opposite direction of the theater room.

And, okay, maybe she should’ve mentioned this earlier, but Daniela’s been picking her up from class lately. They walk to rehearsals together, side by side like it’s normal. Like it’s routine. Which, again, gives Megan plenty to yap about.

"Wait, Yoonchae would be furiou—"

"And the world is round," Daniela cuts in easily, still tugging her along. Her hand slides down from Sophia’s wrist, fingers slipping between hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Ease up a little, Laforteza."

Now this — this she doesn’t know when it started. Maybe just now, maybe yesterday. All she knows is that her brain short-circuits the moment Daniela interlocks their fingers. Even the way she says her surname. No one else calls her that. Only Daniela.

Sophia doesn’t know why that matters, but it does. She doesn’t care enough to fight it. She just lets herself be pulled along, until they’re standing at the school’s main doors.

"Where are we even going anyway?" Sophia finally asks though, honestly, she could’ve said it five minutes ago. She’d just been too distracted by how close they were walking.

The school is still moderately packed with students hanging out last minute before they head home. Some cars pass by swiftly on the road nearby and it's faintly warm as they're engulfed by the late afternoon light.

“There’s this new diner I wanna try,” Daniela says like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Then something brushes Sophia's ear. She flinches before realizing Daniela’s slipped one end of her earphones into place, the cord stretched loosely between them as Captivated by IV of Spades is playing softly.

It’s familiar. During their practice sessions, Sophia always played music in the background, something low, to make things less awkward back when they barely knew how to talk to each other. Mostly OPM songs. When Captivated came on once, Daniela had asked for the title and the artist and now, she’s listening to it. Maybe she even added it to her playlist.

And somehow, that thought, that small, simple thing — slows the world down for Sophia completely.

They walk along the road with their hands still loosely joined, the white cord swaying between them. It almost feels like something out of a coming-of-age movie and Sophia doesn’t know when things started feeling like this, but she’s not complaining. Daniela’s grounding in a way she can’t quite describe, and this friendship, whatever it is, feels like something she wants to hold on to.

The golden hue from earlier bleeds slowly into pink as the sun sinks lower, and at the end of the street, the diner glows like a beacon with neon blue and red lights flashing burgers and milkshakes in bold letters. Daniela tightens her grip and excitedly drags Sophia, hurried enough to make her sneakers feel like it's going to give out. Sophia just smiles, thinking she'd worry about that later.

Inside, it looks like stepping into another time. Red vinyl booths, polished chrome tables, and walls lined with old posters that have started to curl at the edges. A bulky television hums in the corner and its screen is flickering between colors and static as an old game show struggles to play. Somewhere near the counter, a jukebox croons an 80s song Sophia remembers from her mom’s radio. Song about Tenderness or something. It is comforting, in some way, and it makes her chest ache in a good way.

They slide into a booth by the window and the vinyl seats squeak softly beneath them, making Sophia's eyes go round. The waitress drops off two laminated menus that have definitely seen better days. Daniela’s already flipping through hers with her chin propped on one hand. Her eyes are bright under the dim neon reflection.

"What’s good here?" Sophia asks, scanning the menu even though she’s not really reading it.

Daniela hums thoughtfully. "I don’t know, Laforteza. That’s why we’re here — to find out."

Sophia huffs a quiet laugh as she flips a page. The animal-style fries catches her attention and it comes with their best-selling cheeseburger. Classic. She's choosing that.

"Pick anything yet?" she asks after a moment.

Daniela shoots her a look. Mock glare, playful. They’re at that stage now, apparently.

"Can you please be patient, babe?" Daniela drawls, a grin showing on her face. "A girl can’t have a hard time picking the perfect girl dinner?"

She laughs at her own line, and it's light and effortless, and Sophia’s brain barely processes the new pet name before she’s arching a brow.

"You’re risking Yoonchae’s wrath for a milkshake?"

Daniela only grins wider and it's the kind of grin that says she’s done worse for less. "It’s not just any milkshake. It’s pink, okay? It sparkles."

Sophia snorts but the laughter slips out too easily. Almost like the kind that sneaks up on her. It’s the most at ease she’s felt in weeks.

They end up ordering two cheeseburgers, Sophia's animal-style fries, and a milkshake to share. When it arrives, Daniela slides the glass across the table, two straws sticking out with her expression almost daring.

"Truce," she says, tapping her straw against Sophia’s like it’s a toast.

"For what?"

"For surviving tech week without strangling anyone."

Sophia smirks. "That’s fair." She takes a sip and it’s sweet, almost too much, making her grimace.

They fall into easy conversation as Daniela talks about how hard it is to switch from cheer routines to stage blocking. Sophia tells her about the time her old theater club’s props fell apart mid-performance and they had to improvise the ending. Their laughter blends with the jukebox’s hum.

Halfway through her meal, Daniela nudges her plate forward, pushing the rest of her burger toward Sophia.

"Finish it for me, please?"

Sophia looks up, her brow raised. Daniela’s eyes are wide, almost pleading, and it's the kind of look that shouldn’t work but somehow does. She didn’t know Daniela could be both a brat and a softie at the same time.

With an exaggerated sigh, Sophia takes the burger, though her stomach protests. She’s already demolished half a pound of fries and her own cheeseburger. Still, she takes a bite.

Daniela visibly brightens instantly as her grin widens, hands wrapped around the milkshake as she takes a long sip through her straw. It’s such a simple thing, but Sophia feels her chest go strangely light.

The day ends with them walking back to school, side by side, as the sky fades into a pale purple dusk. Sophia’s mom is already waiting in the car with the headlights idling against the curb.

She offers Daniela a ride but the girl shakes her head. "I’ve got a few things to finish before I head home. Different route."

So they settle for a goodbye instead. Daniela leans in for a quick hug, and it is casual, the kind friends share, but it lingers just long enough for Sophia to catch the faint scent of vanilla.

When she pulls away, Daniela’s already waving her off with that small and easy smile.

And later, when Sophia climbs into the car and her mom starts asking about her day, she’s only half listening. Because all she can think about is tomorrow. And when she’ll get to see Daniela again.

It’s not exactly a shock when Sophia gets to school the next morning and finds a message from Megan demanding an “emergency club meeting.” If you think about it, her little attempt of a club actually worked. Sophia got a friend out of it and she already knows the meeting's topic is probably something useless again, but she figures she should go anyway. If only to ask how Yoonchae reacted to them ditching rehearsal yesterday.

When she walks into the club room, Megan’s already there, half-slouched against a table, eyes glued to her phone as the Roblox theme plays faintly from the speaker.

"You’re such a nerd," Sophia says as she drops her bag onto a chair.

Megan jerks her head up so fast she almost sends her phone flying. "You sly hoe! Where were you yesterday?"

"Damn, Megan, that’s your good morning?"

"Actually, don’t answer that!" Megan cuts in, practically vibrating with excitement. "How was your date with Daniela yesterday?"

Sophia flinches as she drops into one of the seats with an annoyed sigh. Obviously, it wasn’t a date.

"Not a date," she says flatly. "We were just hanging out."

Megan hums and she slips her phone into her pocket before leaning against the table. "Well, it is a date now, because I said so. Like, literally. That’s what I told Yoonchae you two were doing yesterday. You’re welcome, by the way."

Sophia blinks, caught somewhere between disbelief and the urge to throw something at her. "You didn’t."

"Oh, I did."

She wants to say Megan’s stupid, because she is, but she bites it back. It’s not worth it. It’s never that serious. Except… it kind of is.

Because, first of all, she actually likes being friends with Daniela. She doesn’t want things to turn weird just because people are suddenly convinced they’re dating.

And second, she’s straight. Obviously. She’s not into girls. She doesn’t even care if people assume otherwise. It’s just...there’s no way.

Megan grins and appears to be clearly pleased with herself. "Relax, Soph. You should’ve seen Yoonchae’s face, though. She almost had a stroke. Said something about professionalism and commitment and whatever else she yells when people skip rehearsal."

Sophia rubs her temples. "God, Megan—"

"What?" Megan says, feigning innocence. "I was helping. You’re welcome for the cover story."

"By throwing me under the bus."

"By giving you a cute reputation," Megan corrects, smiling. "You should’ve seen her expression when I said you two went on a date. Half the club probably ships it now."

Sophia glares. "That’s not funny."

"C’mon. It’s a little funny."

"It’s not," Sophia insists, crossing her arms. "People are going to make it weird, and I don’t want that. Daniela and I are just—" She stops mid-sentence, suddenly unsure how to finish.

"Just?” Megan prompts as she leans forward, eyes wide and bright with mischief.

Sophia exhales through her nose. "Friends."

Megan grins wider. "Sure. Friends. Whatever you say."

Sophia narrows her eyes. "I hate you, you know that?"

"I know."

Megan shrugs, all smug as she smiles with satisfaction while Sophia just stares at her, half tempted to throw her notebook at her head. Still, despite herself, a small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

"Never call me for any meeting ever again." Sophia reaches for her bag. "I’m getting coffee before homeroom."

"Get me one too, lover girl!" Megan calls after her.

Sophia shakes her head but the other girl is already clinging on her.

Sophia had no idea why she said yes.

Maybe it was the way Daniela leaned against the doorway of her classroom, with her arms crossed and her grin sharp enough to slice through the noise of the hallway.

Maybe it was the lazy drawl when she said, "Skip class with me. I’m bored." Like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

Sophia hesitates. Daniela Avanzini had a way of making everything sound like both an order and a dare.

And Sophia, who always prided herself on being composed, unbothered, and definitely immune to this kind of chaos, found herself muttering, "It's not my problem you’re always bored."

"Then make it yours." Daniela smirks.

Her tone leaves no room for argument, her eyes glinting with that familiar challenge that somehow makes Sophia forget every reason to say no.

"Don’t make me wait, Laforteza," Daniela adds, turning halfway down the hall without checking if she’ll follow. "Come on."

That’s how she ended up under the bleachers with her. Daniela's favorite hiding spot even back when she was still cheer captain. The sun bleeds into the horizon and the metal railings throw fractured shadows across the cracked concrete. It smelled faintly of grass, dust, and the cheap vodka Daniela had somehow smuggled into her bag.

She twists the cap off and takes a quick swig before passing it to Sophia, who’s still silently debating both the drink and her decision to be here in the first place. Of course, she coughs after her first sip.

"You okay, babe?" Daniela laughs, wiping the corner of her mouth with a single finger.

"It tastes like nail polish remover." Sophia grimaces and silently wishes it is the strawberry milkshake from that diner they're sharing now instead. Even that went down easier.

"You’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to forget you’re drinking it."

"I’m not sure that’s any better."

"You’ll get used to it," Daniela said, tipping the bottle toward her again. A quiet dare in her smile. "It’s part of the experience."

By the third pass, Sophia’s cheeks were warm and her voice comes easier. The setting sun cut a thin gold line across Daniela’s jaw, catching on her earrings. It wasn’t fair how good she looked. With her hair catching the wind, eyes sharp and glowing, smile small like she was thinking of something she wouldn’t say.

"Truth or dare," Daniela said suddenly.

There it is. Her spontaneity. It's one of the reasons why Sophia loves being around her, although she'll never say that out loud.

She groans first but she still answers. "We’re not twelve."

"We’re also not in class," Daniela shoots back, smirk growing wider. "So technically, we can be whatever we want."

"Fine. Truth."

Daniela tilts her head, thinking. "Do you ever get tired being the responsible one?"

Sophia snorted softly. "That’s your question?"

"I’m easing you in."

Sophia hesitated. "Sometimes. But someone has to be."

Daniela hummed. "You talk like you’re twice our age."

Well, she gets that a lot. People have called her uptight, even said she’s got a stick up her ass — Megan’s words, probably. But she doesn’t take offense. Right now, she’s just quietly grateful to be around people who make her loosen her grip a little. Megan. Daniela.

"You act like you’re half it," Sophia fires back.

Daniela’s grin sharpens as her eyes glint in the low light. "And yet here you are," she says, "under the bleachers, drinking vodka with me."

That shuts Sophia up. Her next sip burns less.

They went a few more rounds with harmless questions at first. Favorite movie, first concert, dumb grade school crushes. Until the air between them got thicker and quieter. All that alcohol started to catch up along with the kind of stillness that made Sophia too aware of the way Daniela’s knee brushed against hers. The way she smiled when their fingers accidentally touched while passing the bottle.

"Your turn," Daniela said, voice softer now. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Sophia shrugs.

"Do you think I’m pretty?"

The question landed like a stone in her stomach. It caught her off guard.

Sophia blinked. "What kind of—"

"Simple question." Daniela interrupts with her gaze steady. "You either do or you don’t."

Now that, is just ridiculous. Because of course, Daniela is gorgeous. She’s the kind of pretty that turns heads in hallways, the kind people write bad poetry about just to try and make sense of it. The kind of beauty that feels unfair.

Sophia swallows, the words catching somewhere between her chest and her throat.

"You’re— everyone thinks you are." Sophia says, and her body is turned fully towards the other girl now.

"I didn’t ask everyone."

Sophia tried to laugh it off, but it came out uneven. "Well, you get what I mean."

"You didn’t answer." Daniela's expression is unreadable, and it makes Sophia's stomach churn.

The silence between them stretched. Somewhere above them, a whistle blew. Football practice ending as the voices fade. The sky was orange and it is almost bleeding into violet.

Sophia swallowed. "Yeah," she said quietly. "You are."

And her heart stumbles, traitorous and loud, when Daniela smiles. Not smugly, not teasing. Just that same easy, devastating smile that makes her forget what she was supposed to say next.

"Good girl. I trained you well."

Daniela pats a gentle hand on Sophia’s head with her smirk tugging wider. Sophia flushes but doesn’t say anything.

"I’m glad I asked you to come with me," Daniela adds as she leans back against the bleachers. "I’m not bored anymore. You amuse me, Laforteza."

Sophia’s breath catches. "Right."

She tells herself it’s the vodka, or maybe the sunset, but something about the moment feels warmer than it should. This? Skipping class, sitting under the bleachers and laughing about nothing, it’s stupidly fun. It is a first for her and she wouldn’t do it often, of course, but it’s nice to break the rules sometimes. The whole place hums with that quiet kind of peace that makes her think: maybe she’ll remember this for a long time.

Sophia wakes up feeling like her brain is about to explode.

Not from a hangover, though, the pounding behind her eyes could argue otherwise. But the kind that buzzes too loudly, that rewinds one moment over and over until it stops feeling like memory and starts feeling like a dream.

"Do you think I’m pretty?"
"Good girl. I trained you well."
"You amuse me, Laforteza."

Sophia presses her palms against her face and groans. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, mocking her with how effortlessly it can keep moving. It's just the vodka, she tells herself. Daniela is just like that, she tells herself. She shouldn't be thinking about it, about her, more than she should.

By the time she reached school, she was already halfway through convincing herself it had been nothing. A hazy blur of impulsive words and cheap liquor, loves to overcomplicate things, until she saw her.

Daniela Avanzini, leaning against the lockers like she’d stepped out of a commercial with iced coffee in hand, hair pulled back just enough to show the glint of her gold earrings.

She looked… fine. Effortlessly fine. Too fine for someone who’d dropped a bomb and walked away.

Sophia froze. Daniela looked up, saw her, and — smiled.

A small, knowing curve of her lips that is not too much to call attention. Just enough to make Sophia’s pulse jump.

"Morning, Laforteza."

Sophia’s throat betrayed her before her brain could catch up. "Hey."

"Headache?" Daniela asked, taking a small sip from her coffee.

"I’m fine." Sophia waves off a hand and forces a wry smile.

Daniela steps back, giving her a once-over, and okay, fair. Sophia’s a mess. Her hair’s unbrushed, her shirt’s all wrinkled, and she definitely grabbed whatever clothes were closest to the bed.

"You were cute when you got tipsy," Daniela says lightly, like she’s testing the waters.

Sophia blinks, choking on air. "Don’t say that in public."

"Why not? You were," Daniela says easily. "All flushed and overthinking every word."

Sophia looks scandalized, glancing around to make sure no one’s hearing this. "I wasn’t overthinking."

"You were thinking so hard you forgot to blink." Daniela’s grin grows, unbothered, and she looks unfairly soft in the morning light. It’s hard to stay annoyed when she looks like that.

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

Oh.

Daniela’s tone was light and teasing but her gaze lingered a bit too long. Sophia tried to look away, but it was like gravity decided to take sides.

Megan appears out of nowhere and is just in time as she plops beside Sophia with her usual whirlwind energy.

"Hey! Lonely Hearts Club emergency — Yoonchae needs extra hands again."

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Sophia said, too quickly, grateful for the interruption.

Daniela’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing through it, before she smiled again. The actors don't really have to go for such props emergencies so Sophia can only imagine she's disappointed. After all, the girl has been breathing and clinging to Sophia for the past few weeks.

"Duty calls," Daniela said softly. "See you after class?"

"Why would you—"

"Just wondering.” Daniela's smirk was already back. "In case I get bored again."

And just like that, she was gone. Heels clicking, her ponytail swaying, leaving Sophia with her pulse still racing and Megan squinting at her like she’d just missed something monumental.

"Uhm—was I interrupting something with you two lovebirds?" Megan asks.

"No. Not at all." Sophia’s answer comes too quickly, and she grabs Megan’s arm, steering her down the hall toward the theater room. "I think I’m allergic to cheap vodka."

"Damn, you guys are at that stage already?" Megan shoots back. "Is that why you look like that? Couldn’t even iron your shirt ‘cause your stamina ran out?"

Sophia glares. Megan just raises both hands in mock surrender.

The day passes by, the props team still busy at work, and it's the time for the rehearsals so other members are slowly creeping in. Sophia keeps catching herself glancing at the door every time it opened and she realized maybe it wasn’t the vodka after all.

Definitely not, because her nose already misses the scent of vanilla and marshmallows swirling around.

The theater room is buzzing as usual and when she looks around, Megan's bouncing from table to table, gluing paper flowers to cardboard vines like her life depended on it. Yoonchae was checking over stage props with her usual quiet focus, and Sophia froze for half a second when she saw who just walked in.

The girl visibly looks around, almost like she's looking for someone, and when her eyes catches Sophia, that easy smile forms on her lips. The kind that feels like it's meant just for her.

Daniela walks over with her thick script tucked under one arm, coffee in hand. "Didn’t think I’d find you this fast," she says casually but a little too pleased.

Sophia blinks. "It’s a theater room, not a maze."

"Still. You tend to disappear when I’m not looking." Daniela takes a sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving Sophia’s face. "Busy day?"

"Busy enough," Sophia says as she pretends to focus on the pile of paintbrushes beside her. "Props don’t glue themselves, you know."

Daniela leans against the table, lowering her voice. "Want me to make it up to you?"

Sophia frowns warily. "For what?"

"For almost getting you in trouble yesterday," Daniela says as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "And maybe for calling you cute while you were half-drunk."

Sophia exhales, trying hard not to smile. "You really don’t know when to stop, do you?"

Daniela shrugs, stepping closer. "Not when it’s this fun."

Megan’s voice cuts through from across the room, not aimed at anyone in particular. "Hey! Less flirting, more gluing!"

Sophia goes still, mid-motion as heat crawls up her neck.

Daniela doesn’t even flinch, just takes a slow sip of her drink, then sets it down beside a spread of highlighters and her script. She slides onto the seat next to Sophia, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.

The energy shifted after that as laughter mixes with soft music from someone’s phone, the smell of acrylic paint and that familiar vanilla and marshmallow scent filling the air. Sophia catches herself glancing at Daniela more often than she’d like to admit. Sometimes Daniela would meet her eyes, and neither of them would look away fast enough.

By the time they finished, the sun had dipped low enough for orange light to spill through the windows. Everyone was packing up and is chatting about tomorrow’s rehearsal.

"You’re walking home?" Daniela asked, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

Sophia nods as she fixes her own things as well. "Yeah. It’s not that far. My mom's busy so she can't pick me up today."

“Then walk with me.”

Her tone is casual, almost careless, but it lands like a command. Something in it makes Sophia’s pulse skip.

She could’ve said no. She should’ve said no. Because then she wouldn’t spend the whole night thinking about it again like she did after that moment under the bleachers.

But instead, she says, "Okay."

Outside, the air was cooler. They walked side by side, and without thinking, Daniela reached for Sophia’s hand, fingers slipping easily between hers.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

When a car sped past a little too close, Sophia instinctively moved, putting herself between Daniela and the road. It wasn’t anything grand, just reflex, but when she glanced over, Daniela was already watching her with that unreadable look again.

"Always the gentlewoman, huh?" Daniela said, a small smile curving her lips.

Sophia huffed a soft laugh, trying to play it off. "Force of habit."

"Do you do that for everyone?"

"Only people who can’t walk in a straight line."

Daniela mock glares. “You can't be talking about me.”

Sophia shrugs, a teasing smile on her face. "Only if the shoe fits."

Daniela squeezes her hand lightly, her eyes focused on the road. "You’re kind of hard to read, you know that?"

Sophia doesn't know what that means or why she would say that. So she just do what she always does, deflect.

“That’s rich,” Sophia says, side-eyeing her. “Coming from you.”

Daniela just laughs under her breath, a glint on her eyes that Sophia can't still decipher until now.

The streetlights flicker on one by one as they walk, stretching their shadows along the sidewalk. For a while, they don’t talk at all, just the sound of shoes against pavement and the faint hum of traffic somewhere distant.

The temperature began to drop as the afternoon warmth had slipped into that thin, uneasy chill that comes right before dusk, when the world turns quieter and the light starts to lose its color.

Daniela rubs her arms lightly, and out of the corner of her eye, Sophia notices the faint shiver that runs through her. The other girl’s wearing a thin tank top, skin catching the streetlight, bare at the waist, the hollow of her throat exposed to the wind.

Sophia doesn’t even think before she speaks.

"Here." She shrugs out of her sweater and holds it out.

Daniela blinks. "I’m okay, Laforteza. I haven’t even given back that hoodie you lent me at the party."

Sophia had already forgotten about that. Not that it matters. Daniela can keep it, for all she cares.

"You’re shivering," she says simply.

There was a pause, the kind that felt too long for such a simple offer. Then, with that quiet, knowing smile that Sophia was already starting to recognize, Daniela took the sweater. She didn’t just take it; she slipped into it, slow, almost deliberate, eyes never leaving Sophia’s.

The sleeves hung loose past her wrists. She tugged them closer and sighed contentedly.

"Smells like fresh linens and paint."

Sophia coughed. "Well— I've been making props all day.”

"You can chill, I like it." Daniela murmured, smiling faintly. "Thanks, babe."

The way she said the pet name; soft, lilting, threaded with something unreadable, it made Sophia’s stomach twist.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

"You can give it back tomorrow."

“Maybe I’ll keep it.”

Sophia glanced at her. "Okay, I don't mind."

Daniela laughs, her head tilting slightly. "I'm just kidding. You're such a pleaser, I like it."

That did it. Sophia stared straight ahead after that, refusing to let herself look again because if she did, she’d give herself away. Her heartbeat was already loud enough in her ears. She doesn't know why she's feeling this. And she really, really shouldn't.

They walked the rest of the way in silence but it wasn’t awkward. When they reached Daniela's street, she stopped and looked at Sophia like she was trying to memorize her face in the fading light.

"You really are full of surprises," she said.

"You barely know me."

"Exactly." Daniela smirks, stepping backward toward her gate. "That’s what makes it fun."

Sophia watched her go, sweater sleeves still too long on her, hair catching gold in the streetlights.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

She was already lying.

Chapter Text

The school is already dressed for Halloween. Pumpkins with silly faces line the pathways with paper bats dangling from the awnings. There's more than enough fake cobwebs to make Sophia wonder how no one has accidentally walked into one yet. Orange lights wash everything in a soft glow, and the air nips colder against her cheeks the moment she steps onto the now-familiar grounds. The grass is damp and muddy in places which leaves darker tracks along the walkway.

Sophia tucks her hands into her sleeves and notes how Americans really don’t play around when it comes to spooky season.

Back home, Halloween is a one-day thing. A quick burst of overused costumes and candies. Maybe the occasional plastic skeleton. It is fun, but very simple. While here, it looks like everyone collectively agreed to transform the entire neighborhood into a horror movie set for the whole month.

On the drive to school, she counted at least a dozen yards decorated with towering skeletons, fake blood smeared across windows, as well as those motion-activated ghouls that scream whenever someone walks past. She’s not complaining, though. It’s new, and definitely amusing.

It makes her feel like she’s stepping into another world. One she’s still getting used to, but doesn’t quite mind.

It doesn’t surprise her at all when she learns that the theater kids take Halloween just as seriously as everyone else. Of course they do. They’re even co-hosting the underground Halloween event. The one whispered about in hallways and group chats, supposedly stocked with booze and questionable games with prizes no one actually wants but everyone will fight over anyway.

And it really doesn’t take much to make a bunch of hormonal teenagers lose their minds. A random house with fastly setted up disco lights, some shitty music, and alcohol someone definitely stole from their parents, equates to instant chaos. And this year will be even worse since everyone’s showing up in costume.

The only problem is that Sophia has no idea what she’s supposed to go as.

Parties aren’t really her scene to begin with, and she’d normally choose sleep or studying over sweaty bodies and loud bass. But Daniela asked her to come. Asked, specifically, and that alone complicates things.

"I know you’re a bit of a killjoy," Daniela had told her with a teasing smile tugging at her lips, "but I’m sure you don’t wanna miss this one. It’s literally the best event of the year."

And then there’s Megan. Sophia doesn’t even dare forget about her. Megan lives for events like this, thrives in them, and now that Yoonchae’s co-handling it, she’s practically vibrating with excitement.

Sophia never really intends to go.

But with Daniela insisting, and Megan begging, saying no stops being an actual option.

That’s how Sophia ends up trailing behind the curly-haired girl through the only mall remotely close to their town, which of course, is in an entirely different city. Daniela had bribed her with movie tickets, and Sophia had been too desperate to catch the last few screenings of Wicked to say no.

She just wasn’t prepared for the part where they’d go shopping.

So when the dull white lights of the department store hit her eyes, she nearly blacks out on the spot. But Daniela already has their fingers intertwined again, and she’s leading the way with the kind of confidence that makes resistance pointless. They’re on a mission, and Sophia knows exactly what the mission is.

Halloween costumes.

And Daniela, who has declared Halloween “the single most important event of the year,” is not planning to play fair or normal about it.

Sophia swallows hard. She’s doomed.

"What are you even planning to wear, anyways?" Sophia asks as they breeze past the men’s section without Daniela even sparing it a glance.

The whole place feels like a maze but the girl moves through it like she owns the entire mall. Her heels tap with an easy, confident rhythm, with curls bouncing gently in every step. She murmurs something under her breath, but the chaos of the crowd and the overhead announcements swallow it before Sophia can catch a word.

They stop in front of the women’s business attire section, and Daniela immediately plucks a size S white long-sleeved polo from the rack. She doesn’t explain. She just hands it to Sophia who takes it automatically, following behind obediently like a dog on a leash.

Daniela continues scanning, grabbing more pieces without pausing, and passing each hanger to Sophia. And despite the weight, despite the confusion, Sophia can’t stop the small, helpless smile tugging at her mouth.

Her friend is really taking this seriously. Too seriously.

They weave through a few more aisles until, finally, they reach a section that’s clearly been freshly set up for the season. Bats hanging from strings with racks cluttered with classic Halloween staples: Ghostface masks, foam knives, plastic axes, superhero suits, fake blood kits, angel wings, devil horns, all the theatrical chaos.

Sophia exhales, already sensing the trouble she’s in.

Daniela plucks the white polo from the pile in Sophia’s arms and holds it against the latter's torso. She steps in close, too close, eyes running over Sophia with a level of focus that shouldn’t be legal. Her brows pinch ever so slightly and her lips pursed, brain clearly calculating like something's incredibly serious.

"Go to the fitting room and check if it fits," Daniela says, already nudging her toward the row of stalls.

Sophia blinks. "I thought we’re here to get your costume—"

"Babe," Daniela cuts in, smirking like she’s been waiting for the question. "My costumes are at home. I decided months ago, before the year even started."

Sophia stares. Costumes? Plural?

Daniela gives a little flick of her wrist, a soft shooing gesture that somehow makes Sophia feel like a flustered housecat. "I just need to pick something extra here. Go on. I’ll follow you inside."

Inside. Follow. Sophia’s heart skips.

She nods anyway, her feet carrying her toward the fitting rooms just beside the Halloween section as if her body has given up on making its own decisions.

She is halfway through buttoning up the white polo, clearly confused about who she's even supposed to be, until she hears a light knock against the door. Her hand reaches to open it with a click and behind it is Daniela, holding a suit with the familiar bold S symbol catching Sophia's eyes.

She blinks. "You’re dressing me up as Superman?"

"Clark Kent," Daniela corrects instantly, the way someone might correct a life-threatening mistake. She lifts the hanger like she’s presenting evidence. "You said you couldn’t decide on a costume so consider this a favor. You’re welcome."

"But—why him?"

It’s not that Sophia’s opposed to it. She’s just never gone as a guy before. She’s done princesses, fairies, angels, things with glitter and tiaras. But Daniela’s eyes shine like they're almost sparkling and the smile on her face is so bright it’s borderline illegal, that it makes Sophia reconsider everything.

"It’s perfect." Daniela nudges inside the fitting room without asking, stepping closer. "You’ve got the glasses, you’re timid but not really—"

"Hey," Sophia mutters warningly.

Daniela ignores it. "It’s clean, recognizable, and you get to keep the shirt slightly open," her hand gestures vaguely toward Sophia’s chest, where the polo is still half-unbuttoned, and her black sports bra is almost peeking out. "You know, for accuracy."

Sophia can feel her face heat immediately and she repeats like a broken record. "For accuracy."

Daniela steps closer, and it's too close that their bodies are almost pressing together, holding up the suit lightly against Sophia’s torso as if measuring how it’ll fall on her body. Her voice is breezy and unbothered.

"You’ll look cute."

Sophia’s brain fizzles.

Then Daniela’s voice drops, almost like she didn’t intend for it to slip out, "I mean, you always do."

Breathing becomes an optional activity. Sophia just stares at her for a second too long and feels her pulse spike, then accepts the suit with a numb nod because forming a sentence seems impossible.

Daniela’s smile turns smug and satisfied.
"Clark Kent it is."

Sophia tries it on, and to her surprise, she actually likes it.

It’s clearly a genderbent Clark Kent with her long black hair tucked behind her ears, crisp white polo with the suit and familiar symbol inside, slightly open collar, and her signature glasses completing the look. She’s never dressed as a male character before, but somehow it works. It fits her. It feels fun.

Daniela beams at her but only for a second before she waves her hand dramatically.

"Nope. Don’t show me the whole thing," she says, backing out of the fitting room like she’s resisting temptation. "I want the full reveal on Halloween. Anticipation just tastes better that way."

Sophia rolls her eyes but her cheeks warm.

She definitely didn’t expect to find her Halloween costume, but thank God she brought extra cash. The superhero suit alone costs her 65 dollars, which is more than she initially planned to spend today. And when Daniela immediately tries to grab her wallet to pay instead, insisting it’s her fault they’re here, Sophia swats her hand away.

"I dragged you here, let me pay," Daniela argues, frowning.

"No."

Daniela crosses her arms with her lower lip jutting out slightly in the most dramatic sulk Sophia has ever seen. She keeps it up the entire time Sophia pays, only uncrossing her arms once the cashier has handed over the neatly packed clothing. Sophia tries not to laugh but she fails.

They walk out of the department store with their fingers intertwined again. As if the moment they leave a place, Daniela just automatically reaches for her hand, and head toward the cinemas as promised.

Sophia doesn’t waste time. She buys the biggest tub of popcorn they have and a large soda for them to share. Daniela complains about the sugar level but still takes the first sip.

Inside the theater, only a handful of people are already seated, scattered around the room. They pick a pair of seats in the perfect spot. Center row, middle section, high enough that Sophia can see everything without straining.

As they settle in, Sophia hugs the popcorn to her chest, still buzzing from everything. The mall, the hand-holding, the costume, the sulking, the way anticipation apparently “tastes.”

She feels warm. Too warm.

She glances to her right and sees Daniela shiver. Of course she is. She showed up in one of her usual tiny tops, cross necklaces gleaming against her bare collarbone like she’s immune to cold and common sense.

Without thinking, Sophia slips off her hoodie and hands it over.

Daniela accepts it easily, draping it across her shoulders with the muscle memory of someone who’s almost done this a hundred times. Then she lifts the sleeve to her nose, inhales, and lets out a soft, content sigh.

Sophia’s heart goes feral.

The movie begins, speakers rumbling with colors neon-bright on the screen, and Sophia finally forces herself to focus. At least until she feels something tapping at her fingers.

She ignores it at first, assuming she imagined it, but then—

"Hand, please," Daniela whisper-screams, sounding offended she even has to ask.

Sophia jolts and immediately threads their fingers together. Daniela squeezes once, satisfied, and settles deeper into her seat. They watch like that. Laughing at the same jokes, leaning a little too close.

Halfway through the movie with their popcorn still barely touched, something heavy lands on Sophia’s shoulder.

Daniela.

Sophia freezes, thinking she fell asleep until the girl lets out a tiny laugh at something on screen, shoulder shaking lightly against her.

She’s not asleep at all. She’s just leaning on her. Choosing her over the comfortable head rest behind their plush chairs. Sophia’s heart becomes a quiet, determined drum inside her ribs, and she swears the warmth in her chest could outshine the screen.

When the movie ends, they linger until the last credit fades. Neither of them moving, neither of them mentioning the fact that they’re still holding hands under the shared hoodie. Eventually, they gather their things and make their way out to catch the bus home.

It’s raining lightly outside, the kind of drizzle that feels colder than it looks. Sophia’s grateful she’s always prepared as she flicks open her black umbrella, lifting it over both of them, and Daniela immediately steps closer. Close enough that their arms brush.

Sophia angles the umbrella more to Daniela’s side, ignoring the way her own sleeve starts to dampen. She doesn’t mind. She doesn’t even think about it. It’s automatic, like breathing.

They stand like that, barely any space between them, waiting for the next bus to pull up through the rain-streaked streetlights.

When it arrives, they climb inside and shake off the water as they find seats near the back. Before Sophia can even exhale, Daniela turns fully toward her with her legs crossed and eyes shining with the kind of mischievous excitement that always means trouble.

"Sleep over at my house."

Sophia’s entire body locks up.

It’s already 8PM. Her mom knows she went to the next city with Daniela, but asking permission to stay overnight? That feels like pushing her luck. Her mother is lenient, but not that lenient.

"I can’t," Sophia says with her voice small. "My mom won’t let me."

Daniela just shrugs like the problem is trivial, like Sophia hasn’t been stressing about it for the last ten seconds.

"Go call her," she says, confidently calm.
Then she smiles slowly, so sure of herself. "I’ll talk."

Sophia’s stomach flips. "Dani—no, I can’t just—"

Daniela is already tapping her arm. "Phone." She says simply, her lips quirking with a slight tilt.

Sophia swallows hard and her hands feel strangely numb as she fumbles in her bag. She pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up her anxious face in the dimly lit bus. She hesitates.

Daniela does not. She gently takes the phone from Sophia’s hand, her thumb brushing the side of Sophia’s hand as she does.

"Relax," Daniela murmurs, all confidence and mischief. "I’m good with moms."

Daniela dials before Sophia can form a coherent objection. It rings once. Twice. Thrice.

"Hello po, good evening, Ma’am—this is Daniela."

The accent of her po makes Sophia wish that the bus seat would swallow her whole.

"Yes po, we finished watching the movie already. We’re on the bus." Daniela’s tone softens all of a sudden, sweeter this time around. "It’s raining hard, ma’am, and… well, I’m worried Sophia might get sick if she walks home in this weather."

She’s exaggerating, Sophia thinks, panicked. It’s barely drizzling—

"Yes po, she can stay at my house tonight," Daniela continues, crossing her legs and leaning back like it's just a normal call and she's not lying at all. "My mom’s home, and I’ll bring her back first thing tomorrow before school."

There’s a pause. Sophia holds her breath.

Then Daniela’s eyes widen a little. "Ah—yes po. Okay, Tita."

Sophia freezes.

Tita?

Daniela clears her throat. "Sure, Tita. Thank you po. I’ll take care of her."

She hangs up and returns the phone to Sophia, a smug smile forming on her lips.

"She… told you to call her tita?" Sophia asks, barely above a whisper.

Daniela shrugs, "Yeah. She said calling her ma’am makes her feel old." She nudges Sophia’s elbow playfully. "Your mom’s cute. Kinda know now where you got it."

Sophia chokes on air as the bus hits a bump, and Daniela instinctively scoots closer, shoulder leaning against hers. Sophia makes no attempt to move away. She can’t even think straight.

The rain streaks across the windows, soft and rhythmic. The bus lights flicker.

Daniela exhales, then rests her head on Sophia’s shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Your mom likes me," she says, sounding proud. "Tita likes me."

Sophia stares ahead, heart pounding painfully.

"Everyone likes you," she mutters.

Daniela hums, content. Her fingers slip between Sophia’s again and it's warm.

"They should," she murmurs. "Because you do."

Sophia's breath is caught in her throat. She opens her mouth to say something but she can't form anything.

"Hmm?" Daniela tilts her face slightly, her cheek pressed to Sophia’s shoulder, waiting.

Sophia can’t say anything. Not with her pulse in her ears, not with Daniela wrapped around her like she's always belonged there.

"…nothing."

Outside, the rain falls softly. Inside, they stay like that, with hands intertwined, shoulders touching, and hearts too loud.

The night is only beginning.

When they arrive at their stop, the rain has softened into a fine drizzle, and the wind whistles softly through the trees. Daniela’s house looks almost like the others across the street, but somehow more cared for with a modest yard stretching before a blue-and-white wooden balcony, freshly painted. A neat flower patch brightens the front, petals glistening with droplets from the rain. The small gate gives a quiet creaking sound as Daniela opens it, already tugging Sophia along without waiting for her to catch up.

The front door swooshes as Daniela pushes it open with Sophia trailing a step behind.

Inside, the house feels different from what Sophia expected. Neat to the point of precision. Every corner is polished with ornaments in place, the walls adorned with crosses and framed prayers. A faint smell of incense still lingers, mingling with the sharper aroma of cleaning supplies. The lighting is soft but casts rigid shadows along the hallway.

The aroma of strong spices drifts from the kitchen, rich and inviting, making Sophia’s stomach rumble despite her lingering embarrassment from the bus ride.

From the kitchen, a warm and melodic voice calls out in Spanish, "¡Mi cielo! Daniela, ¿ya llegaste?" ("My darling! Daniela, are you home already?")

Daniela straightens immediately with her posture stiffening.

"Sí, mamá, ya llegué." ("Yes, Mom, I’m home.")

Her mother emerges as she wipes her hands on a tea towel, her smile vibrant and full of warmth. The tension in the house softens instantly around her.

"¡Ay, mi niña! Llegas toda mojada, pero qué bueno que estás aquí." ("Oh, my girl! You’re all wet, but it’s so good to have you here.")

Her gaze then lands on Sophia, standing hesitantly behind Daniela. Surprise flickers across her mother’s face.

"And who is this?"

Daniela smiles briefly and appears to be almost caught off guard. "This is Sophia. She, uh… came with me tonight."

Her mother looks up slightly to Sophia’s level, hands on her waist, eyes curious but soft.

"Hola, Sophia. What a pleasure to meet you. Daniela never brings friends home. This is… a special occasion, huh?"

Sophia blushes, unsure whether to smile or bow her head. Daniela subtly shifts, instinctively half-stepping forward as if shielding her, and Sophia notices the stark difference between the confident, playful girl she knows at school and the careful, polite daughter she becomes at home.

From down the hall, a deliberate and firm footsteps echo, the presence makes Daniela’s shoulders tighten immediately. Her father appears. Tall and imposing, his gaze commanding respect. Then he walks up without a second glance.

Sophia can feel the energy in the air shift.

Her mother reaches up to brush Daniela’s arm reassuringly.

"No te preocupes, mi cielo. Está bien." ("Don’t worry, my darling. It’s okay.")

For a brief moment, Sophia catches that spark of warmth, that familiar mischief hiding behind Daniela’s careful exterior.

They’re invited to sit for dinner and the table is already set. A huge pot of steaming picadillo sits in the center, rich with the aroma of sautéed onions, garlic, and spices. Golden fried plantains rest on a separate platter, glistening slightly with oil, while a bowl of fluffy white rice completes the spread. Daniela slides into the seat beside Sophia, nudging her gently as she arranges herself at the medium-sized dining table.

Daniela’s mom appears from the kitchen carrying serving spoons and a warm smile lighting her face. Without ceremony, she pushes the rice slightly toward Sophia. "Take as much as you want, mija," she says warmly. "You have to eat well tonight."

Sophia hesitates and her cheeks warm at the gesture, but Daniela just nudges her hand under the table with a small, teasing grin on her lips as if to say Go on.

Before anyone starts eating, Daniela’s mom gestures for them to bow their heads. "Let’s give thanks first," she says softly,

Daniela straightens immediately with her hands folding neatly in her lap, her posture perfect. Sophia instinctively mirrors her though slightly stiff, aware of the quiet reverence in the air.

Her mother begins the prayer, a gentle, melodic string of Spanish words that make the house feel warmer and more sacred. Sophia listens, unsure how much to follow along, but she feels comforted by the sincerity in her voice. Daniela squeezes her hand once under the table, just lightly, grounding her.

When the prayer ends, Daniela’s mom smiles at both of them. "Now, eat. Don’t be shy, take as much as you like." She slides a plate toward Sophia, making sure she gets a generous portion of the picadillo.

As they dig in, Daniela's mother leans slightly toward Sophia, curiosity soft in her eyes. "So… Sophia, you’re from around here?"

Sophia nods, cheeks warming. "Yes, ma'am. Near school. Not too far."

"Ah, good. Daniela doesn’t usually bring friends home. This is nice."

Sophia laughs nervously. "It’s… nice."

"Do you two spend a lot of time together at school?" her mother asks, watching her carefully but kindly.

Daniela leans slightly under the table, brushing her hand against Sophia’s again in a way that makes Sophia’s pulse spike.

"Yeah, we’re… in the same club," Daniela says, shrugging like it’s casual.

Her mother chuckles softly, eyes twinkling. "Clubmates that bring each other home. That’s unusual, isn’t it?"

Sophia glances at Daniela. Her friend looks perfectly calm, though her careful posture suggests she’s aware of the spotlight her mother has placed on her. Yet those tiny nudges, the brushing of hands, the playful glances, they remind Sophia that the Daniela she knows hasn’t disappeared, just adapted.

Her mom chuckles softly. "I still don't know why my Daniela quit cheering and joined that new club. I always thought dance was her first choice but I don't mind her having options."

Sophia glances at Daniela, who shrugs lightly, a playful sparkle hidden behind her careful composure.

Her mother’s attention shifts slightly back to Sophia, still gentle. "You like plantains?" she asks, sliding another piece toward her plate.

Sophia nods shyly. "Yes, ma'am, very much."

"Good. Daniela never lets anyone eat them first, but tonight you deserve it." Her mother smiles warmly then turns her attention back to her daughter, content.

The rest of the dinner passes in a comfortable rhythm. They talk about school and the small anecdotes from Daniela’s childhood. Sophia notices the way Daniela relaxes when her mother’s attention is soft rather than critical, the way her eyes light up when she can answer freely, and the occasional playful whisper from Daniela under the table. A joke, a nudge, a gentle touch that makes Sophia’s chest tighten pleasantly.

By the time the plates are cleared, Sophia realizes she hasn’t just eaten a meal; she’s glimpsed a different side of Daniela, one that exists only here, at home — careful, polite, but quietly radiant, and quietly hers.

"Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sophia. Daniela likes to share everything — even her picadillo. So you can come anytime you want."

Sophia smiles, finally relaxing a little. She notes again the way Daniela occasionally brushes her hand under the table subtly. It's familiar and grounding. For a brief moment, Sophia feels included and welcomed, she's thankful for that. The air is structured, orderly, and occasionally filled with quiet discipline, yet warmth flows through it in small, deliberate gestures. A pushed plate of rice, a shared glance, a hand lightly brushing hers.

Once they finish tidying up, Sophia and Daniela murmur their goodnights to her mom. They head upstairs to Daniela’s room at the farthest corner of the house, tucked opposite from the master's bedroom.

When Daniela opens the door, a familiar and comforting scent of vanilla and marshmallows greets Sophia. Her chest eases and her pulse slow almost instantly.

The room is a cozy, lived-in space. A double bed sits against one wall, dressed in fresh light pink sheets, with a sprawl of plushies stacked haphazardly at one side. A sizable window looks out over the yard, allowing the soft light of the evening to filter in. At the far corner, a small study desk is cluttered with romance novels and scattered doodles, evidence of long hours spent in her own company.

On the bed, Sophia immediately spots her sweater, the very one she had lent Daniela on their walk home last time, resting casually atop the pillows. It’s a small, intimate detail, and her chest tightens at the sight. She forces her thoughts away, telling herself it was probably just set there absentmindedly. It’s not like she’s imagining Daniela going to sleep in it.

Instead, she lets her attention drift to the room itself. It’s undeniably Daniela. Playful and comforting, even within the rigid, disciplined structure of her home. Every detail, from the scattered plushies to the cluttered desk, speaks to a side of her friend Sophia rarely gets to see. A side that feels safe, familiar, and quietly inviting.

As soon as the door closes, Daniela intertwines their fingers and she lets Sophia sit at the edge of her bed.

"I’ll get you some clothes to change into and a new toothbrush. Wait here," Daniela says briefly before slipping out.

Sophia takes a deep breath, letting her body sink into the comfort of the space. Being here makes her feel… something. Safe. Calm. It’s where Daniela spends her nights, where she’s most vulnerable, honest, and free to be herself. Sophia can feel it instantly, even on this first visit.

Her gaze wanders around the room. A row of picture frames catches her attention. Small snapshots of Daniela, always smiling, the familiar dimple showing up every time. Sophia’s lips curl into a soft smile.

One frame shows little Daniela in a ballroom dress, standing beside a boy as if they’d just competed in a contest. Another shows Daniela with her mother, which is recently taken, the resemblance to how Daniela looks now is striking.

At the far corner of the desk, Sophia spots something that makes her chest tighten.

A picture of the two of them.

Their very first selfie, taken during that rebellious little outing when they skipped rehearsal to grab diner food. In the photo, the strawberry milkshake sits between them, and Daniela’s half-finished burger tilts toward Sophia, who looks hilariously stuffed. Daniela’s grin is wide and radiant and Sophia’s face is contorted from overeating, yet in the frame, it feels like the perfect memory.

It’s silly. It’s small. But seeing it here, in Daniela’s personal space, makes Sophia’s chest feel warm in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s theirs, a tiny piece of them captured, and somehow, that makes the room feel even more like home.

The door swings open and Daniela tosses Sophia one of her oversized t-shirts and a pair of soft pajama shorts. She hands her a toothbrush before straightening up, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

"So, the main reason I asked you to stay over is because," Daniela glances around the room, then walks toward her large closet. "I need help picking between two costumes."

Sophia laughs, shaking her head. "You really had to lie to my mom and drag me all the way here just for that? You couldn’t have sent it through text?"

She teases, because the whole premise is ridiculous, but deep down, she’s grateful. Grateful for this small window into Daniela’s life, a side she’s never shared before.

"A live view is just so much better, don’t you think?" Daniela pauses her rummaging through her closet, turning to look at Sophia. Her eyebrow arches, and she smiles, the one that looks both playful and slightly dangerous.

It sends a shiver down Sophia’s spine as she stiffens at the bed, heart suddenly loud in her ears.

Daniela digs through the closet for a few more moments before pulling out two sets of costumes and tossing them onto the bed next to Sophia. Without warning, she slips off her top, leaving herself in a velvet lace bra that hugs every curve. Her skin is pale and flawless, the lines of her abdomen sharp and defined, muscles subtly flexing as she moves.

Sophia freezes and her eyes widen, struggling to breathe. Her throat tightens, and she almost chokes on her own saliva. Every instinct tells her to look away, but she can’t. Daniela doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she doesn’t care. Her focus is entirely on the costumes in front of her, ready to try them on.

Sophia reminds herself that this is normal. It's part of girlhood, of getting ready together. Clothes are meant to come off in front of friends. And yet… she can’t explain the heat creeping low beneath her abdomen, the strange awareness in her chest and stomach that flares every time she looks at Daniela’s bare skin.

It’s unfamiliar, and confusing, and it makes her pulse stutter. And yet, somehow, she can’t look away.

Daniela holds up the first costume, tilting it against her body and squinting like she’s making a critically important decision.

Her thigh brushes against Sophia’s as she adjusts the fabric, and Sophia freezes mid-breath. Daniela is still topless, the lace bra doing absolutely nothing to make the moment easier. Sophia’s pulse spikes painfully.

Her eyes betray her for a second. She notices the tiny freckles scattered across Daniela’s collarbone, the faint constellation trailing down her sternum, the small birthmark sitting prettily at the top of her rib. The urge to trace it with her fingertip hits her so sharply she almost startles.

"So, what do you think?"

Sophia forces her gaze down, ripping her mind away from the direction it’s going. "Uh… it looks good," she manages, voice thin and shaky.

She instantly cringes internally. That’s all she can offer? It looks good? She was brought here for opinions that matter, and that’s the best she can do?

But Daniela doesn’t seem bothered. Not even close.

She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head and studying Sophia’s answer like she’s weighing it with cosmic importance. "Hmm… I guess so."

Then she steps closer again, much closer, turning around until her bare back is inches from Sophia’s face.
"Can you fix the zipper for me?"

Sophia’s breath catches. Daniela’s body heat radiates toward her, and it's warm and dizzying. The scent of vanilla from earlier brushes Sophia’s nose again, which is stronger now but still dangerously familiar.

Her hands hover uselessly for a second before she forces herself to move. She fumbles with the tiny zipper clasp, her fingers trembling, and just as she finds the metal, Daniela reaches back to help.

Their hands brush.

It’s barely a touch, a simple accident, but it punches straight through Sophia’s chest, winding her. Daniela, blissfully unaware, is laser-focused on the zipper, brows furrowed in concentration like this is the only thing that exists.

Sophia swallows hard, her pulse pounding in her ears.

This is normal, she reminds herself. Girls change together. Friends change together. Clothes come off. Zippers get fixed.

But nothing about the way her body reacts feels normal at all.

Finally, Daniela steps back and presents the first costume fully, which is Lola Bunny. The classic version, complete with a tight, tiny jersey top and dangerously short shorts that look like they were sewn together with the intention of making people stare. She slips on the fluffy bunny ears, which sit perfectly atop her curly high ponytail.

She gives herself one look in the mirror then spins lightly, the jersey catches the light, hugging every curve like it was made for her.

"Cute, right?" she says casually, completely unaware that she’s committing a crime against Sophia’s heart rate.

Sophia swallows hard. Cute is one word for it.

Another word is indecent.

Another is help.

Because Daniela looks good. Stupidly good. And it’s Halloween, the one night where dressing slutty and like you have no shame is practically a requirement, but Sophia wasn’t prepared for this level of sexy-bunny energy from someone she’s trying very hard to think of right now as just a friend.

If this is just the first option, Sophia has no idea how she’s supposed to keep functioning by the time Daniela puts on the second one.

Then she digs through the pile again and pulls out with the second option. It’s a look that’s deceptively simple but lethal in its confidence. A pink zip-up hoodie covered in bright red hearts, cropped just enough to show a sliver of her stomach when she walks. Underneath, she wears a deep-cut camisole in a darker shade, the contrast drawing attention to her collarbones and the line of her chest.

Her jeans sit low on her hips, dark wash, perfectly fitted, clinging in all the right places and making her legs look miles long. A small accessory dangles from one of the belt loops, catching the light every time she moves.

The entire fit works for one reason, she carries it with a kind of glowing, just-fed confidence. A slow, irresistible strut that makes her look like she owns every hallway she steps into. Her hair falls loose and glossy over her shoulders, and the chunky heart-shaped earrings tie the whole look together.

It’s the kind of outfit that isn’t loud on purpose, but you can’t look away from it either. On Daniela, it is devastating.

"Take a wild guess who it is." Daniela smirks when she sees Sophia squinting with a clueless look.

Then she pulls out a lighter from behind her back and flicks it on, holding the flame near her tongue.

Sophia’s face goes warm immediately.

Oh.

Because of course.

This costume is very Daniela.

"Jennifer’s Body," Sophia whispers, breath catching. "The one she wore at school, glowing after she’d just finished eating."

Daniela winks, like she already knew Sophia would get it.

Sophia can’t stop staring. Every movement Daniela makes feels intimate now with the way she tilts her hips to see how the fabric falls, the way her shoulder brushes against Sophia’s as she leans to grab the next hanger, the way her gaze flicks to Sophia in the mirror when she thinks she isn’t looking.

"So, which one?" Daniela asks finally, holding both costumes out, one in each hand.

She steps closer again as she waits for Sophia’s verdict, their thighs brushing lightly.

Sophia swallows hard, heart hammering. "Um… maybe the first one," she says, voice catching.

She seriously doesn't know why she chose the first option because the second one fits more closely with Daniela's vibes. Maybe she just needed an excuse to see the other girl with bunny ears again.

Daniela nods approvingly, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. She steps just a fraction closer as she reaches for the hangers to put back the costumes in the closet. Sophia feels heat pool low in her abdomen along with a strange flutter in her chest, but reminds herself: this is just girlhood, just helping a friend.

Sophia reminds herself to breathe, to be rational and assure herself that this is a normal friend bonding experience. But Sophia realizes just how impossible it is to think that way.

"Seriously, babe," Daniela murmurs, half to herself, "you have the best opinions. Don’t know what I’d do without you."

Sophia’s heart stops for a beat. And just like that, the room, the costumes, the mirror, the accidental touches—everything, feels electric and intimate.

They both change into their night clothes, the quiet rustle of fabric filling the small room. Daniela slips into a thin silk sando and shorts, barely-there and soft enough to glide over her skin, while Sophia hides inside the comfort of Daniela’s oversized t-shirt and a pair of borrowed pajama bottoms.

Daniela starts fixing the bed, fluffing up the pillows and pushing a cluster of plushies into the box drawer beside her nightstand. Then she turns, lifting the edge of the blanket and patting the space next to her. The gesture is so casual, so familiar, that Sophia’s heart stumbles.

She crawls in slowly, sinking into the plush blanket, and instantly, everything becomes Daniela. Her scent. Her warmth. Her softness. It surrounds her, wrapping her in something that feels too intimate to be called simply comfortable.

Daniela climbs in almost immediately after, and she doesn’t hesitate. She scoots right up against Sophia, pressing her front to Sophia’s side like they’ve been sleeping like this for years. Her arm drapes over Sophia’s waist, her leg crosses over Sophia’s thigh, her cheek nestles into the curve of Sophia’s neck.

Sophia goes completely still.

Not out of discomfort.

But because she doesn’t know how her heart hasn’t given out yet.

Daniela’s bare skin brushes against her in quiet, natural intervals. The slide of a thigh, the warm weight of an arm, the soft squeeze of her fingers drifting into place at Sophia’s hip. It sends a strange shock through her system, something warm and unfamiliar.

"You’re so warm," Daniela murmurs, voice already soft with sleep. Her breath fans gently over Sophia’s collarbone, raising goosebumps instantly. "I love it."

Sophia closes her eyes, trying to breathe through the way her chest tightens at the words.

This isn’t normal.

Not for her.

But it feels so good, and so right, that she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to pretend otherwise.

Sophia shifts just a little, just enough to try to breathe around the pressure in her chest, but Daniela immediately tightens her arm and leg around her with a soft, sleepy protest.

Sophia freezes. There’s no escape. Not from Daniela’s scent. Not from her warmth. Not from the way every inch of contact feels like something she’s not supposed to want.

The air conditioner hums quietly in the background. The nightlight casts a soft amber glow across the room, turning everything warm and muted. Sophia finally looks down.

Daniela’s eyes are closed with her face softened, peaceful in a way she rarely seems during the day. Her lashes rest delicately against her cheeks, and her lips are relaxed, breathing slow and steady against Sophia’s skin.

Sophia allows herself one second, just one, to take her in.

And then—

"Stop staring, Laforteza," Daniela whispers, eyes still closed, with her voice low and amused.

Sophia reddens instantly. Before she can stop herself, her hand lifts to cup Daniela’s chin, guiding her face upward. Daniela’s eyes flutter open and they're glinting and teasing. Impossibly soft in the low amber light. And it takes Sophia a full heartbeat to register just how close their faces suddenly are.

Up close, Daniela is… breathtaking.

The tiny birthmark above her left eyebrow. The scattered freckles dusting her cheeks. Her soft, parted lips. And her eyes, brown with flecks of gold and green, like sunlight passing through warmed amber glass.

Sophia memorizes everything in one breathless sweep.

Then Daniela’s gaze drops.

Down, and unmistakably, toward Sophia’s lips.

Sophia’s pulse stutters violently as she swallows hard. Her whole body goes tight.

The air conditioner hums quietly in the background, but all she can focus on is the warmth of Daniela’s breath brushing her face, the weight of her leg still thrown over Sophia’s, and the way the world feels suspended around them.

Daniela lifts a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Sophia’s ear with a gentleness that almost breaks her. Sophia’s breath catches.

For a second, just a second, it feels like something is going to happen.

But Daniela moves first.

She slips downward, tucking her face back into the curve of Sophia’s neck, her breath warm against her skin.

"Get some sleep, Laforteza," she murmurs, her voice low and final.

Sophia doesn’t move.

She just lies there with her heart thundering, wondering how she’s supposed to survive the night.

She stays frozen for a long moment, unable to decide where to put her hands, or how she should breath, even questioning her entire existence. Daniela’s face is tucked right against her neck still, her nose brushing the skin there with every inhale, and the warmth of her breath sends shivers down Sophia’s spine relentlessly.

Tentatively, Sophia shifts an arm, meaning only to rest it somewhere neutral, but Daniela responds instantly like she’s half-awake and wired to follow Sophia’s warmth, hooking her leg tighter over Sophia’s and curling even closer.

Sophia nearly stops breathing because this isn’t cuddling.

This is… this is something else entirely.

The room is still. Only the hum of the AC fills the silence, steady and low. The nightlight casts a soft golden wash over everything, throwing soft shadows across Daniela’s shoulder, the dip of her waist, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

Sophia stares at the ceiling, her heart thudding so loudly she’s afraid Daniela might hear it.

Minutes pass.

Or maybe hours.

Time feels strange with Daniela wrapped around her like this.

Sophia tries to adjust again, just a small shift so she can breathe, but Daniela instinctively follows again, tightening her arm around Sophia’s middle and nuzzling deeper into the crook of her neck, like she can’t stand even an inch of space between them. The faint brush of the girl's soft lips against her neck makes her wish she can go into cardiac arrest instead.

Sophia feels something inside her chest melt and twist all at once.

She tries to remind herself that this is normal. Girls share beds. Friends cuddle. This is fine. Fine. Completely fine.

But nothing feels fine.

Not when she can feel the softness of Daniela’s thigh pressed against hers, the warmth of her stomach against Sophia’s side, the faint brush of her lips every time she exhales.

Sophia closes her eyes, letting herself sink just a little into the feeling of being held. Into the familiar scent, the steady warmth, the careless affection Daniela gives so easily.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. Sophia’s breaths even out, her fingers relaxing slightly where they hover near Daniela’s back.

Before she drifts off, she feels Daniela shift one last time, sleep-heavy and instinctive, and Daniela’s arm slides fully around her waist, pulling her in until not even a sliver of space remains between them.

Sophia falls asleep like that, wrapped in Daniela’s arms, with a heart that feels far too full and far too fragile for whatever tomorrow might bring.

The soft sound of birds wakes her up as she tries to shake off the sleep from her eyes, feeling softness, a steady warmth and a weight above her. Daniela's cuddling her still, unknowing, as soft snores come out from her slightly pouted lips.

Sophia fixes her gaze as her sight gets clearer, her heart skipped a beat. Seeing the low sunrise kissing, draping warmly over Daniela's neck made Sophia smile bitterly for a reason she can't tell.

Then it hits her. Daniela's so beautiful under the morning light and she can't even kiss her.

The thought makes Sophia’s body jerk back on instinct, a tiny physical recoil she can’t control. Daniela stirs immediately, brows tightening as she wakes. She shifts off Sophia, stretching lazily, her curls falling over one shoulder as she turns to her with a sleepy, unreadable expression.

"You always this grumpy waking up in the mornings?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep, and it's teasing but soft.

Sophia tries to steady her breathing, tries to school her face into something neutral, something normal. Anything but the aching truth thudding in her chest.

But Daniela’s warmth is still on her skin. And the morning light is still on her face. And Sophia isn’t sure how she’s supposed to pretend anything is normal now.

Sophia forces a small and awkward smile. "I—I’m not grumpy," she lies, voice cracking embarrassingly. "You just startled me."

Daniela snorts, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand like a child. "Right. Whatever you say, babe."

She stretches again, this time with both arms over her head, her ribcage lifting slightly, exposing the delicate lines of her torso beneath her thin silk sando. Sophia looks away so fast she almost sprains her neck.

Daniela notices. Of course she notices.
But instead of calling her out, she just swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands with her hair messy and eyes half-lidded, looking unfairly adorable for someone who just woke up.

"You hungry?" she asks, scratching her head lightly. "Mami probably made breakfast already."

Sophia nods a beat too aggressively. "Yes. Food. That’s—yes."

Daniela huffs out a soft laugh and reaches over to pat her cheek almost condescendingly. "Relax, Laforteza. It’s not like I bite."

Sophia nearly chokes, feeling the warmth of the other girl's hand on her cheek. "I’m relaxed."

"You’re practically vibrating."

"I slept fine!" she blurts out.

Instead of arguing, Daniela walks back over and does something Sophia is absolutely unprepared for. She smooths out a wrinkle on Sophia’s borrowed shirt, her fingers lingering for a second too long on Sophia’s waist.

Just a friendly gesture. Just Daniela being Daniela. But it sends Sophia into cardiac arrest.

"Come on, you little morning grump." Daniela says gently. "Let’s clean up."

Sophia follows her out of the bedroom, trying desperately to calm her breathing, and they walk downstairs side by side with Daniela bumping her shoulder lightly every few steps, as if she can’t stand being more than a foot away.

Sophia feels every bump. Every brush.
Every second.

They stop by the bigger bathroom first to freshen up. Daniela squeezes in beside her at the mirror, brushing her teeth with sleepy eyes while Sophia does the same.

Daniela’s hip bumps hers softly. Twice.
Then again.

Each time, she doesn’t even blink. Sophia, meanwhile, is about three seconds from evaporating into thin air.

When they finish, Daniela spits into the sink, wipes her mouth with a napkin, then glances at Sophia warmly and unguarded.

"Better?" she asks quietly.

Sophia swallows. "…Yeah."

Daniela smiles. And it’s the kind of smile that feels like it means something. At least, that's what Sophia thinks.

"Good girl. Come on. Let’s eat."

She laces their fingers without thinking and pulls Sophia gently toward the kitchen. Breaking it off as soon as her mom enters with a pot in hand.

Sophia’s heart gives up entirely.

She doesn’t want to think about it. She can’t, because it’s too complicated, too foreign, and she isn’t even sure if what she feels is real. Maybe she’s just caught up in the moments: seeing her best friend half-naked, sharing a bed for hours with their breaths mingling, feeling her bury her face into Sophia’s neck all night.

Of course, it’s natural to feel something. But that doesn’t mean she’s gay.

It’s just a human reaction, something inevitable when you spend enough time close to someone, especially someone you care about. There’s probably a scientific explanation, she thinks, some research she can dig into later when she has the time. For now, all she can do is try to convince herself it’s nothing more than a fleeting, understandable response.

Sophia forces herself to blink, trying to shake the haze that’s settled over her chest. And yet, her thoughts betray her. Every glance, every laugh, every subtle brush of skin replays in her mind, louder than the hum of the crowd around her. She catches herself thinking about Daniela again, remembering the small details she shouldn’t. The freckles scattered across her cheeks, the way her curls fall perfectly out of place, the way the light hits the curve of her jaw in the mornings.

Sophia tries to anchor herself to something tangible. Her breathing, her heartbeat, the feeling of her bag strap against her hand, but even that feels compromised. The warmth, the weight, and the subtle scent lingering in the sheets, it all tugs at her in a way she can’t name.

And she wonders again, with a quiet, fearful honesty, if she’s supposed to be feeling this way at all. She's back to square one even if she already told herself that it’s nothing more than a fleeting and understandable response.

She can’t let it mean more than that.

Because if she does… then there’s no going back.

"Soph, you okay?" Megan’s voice cuts through the swirl of her thoughts, dragging her back to the crowded school hallway, not Daniela's room.

Sophia blinks, taking in her friend’s face. Her eyes are wide and earnest, radiating with concern.

"…Yeah." Her voice sounds smaller than she intends. It's uncertain and almost foreign to her own ears.

"Come with me. I have something important to tell you." Megan’s tone is firm and serious in a way that makes Sophia pause.

It doesn’t shake her resolve. Nothing could. Not after everything she’s been turning over in her head. Probably it’s just another Lonely Hearts Club “emergency” anyway.

Still, she follows. Megan doesn’t lead her to their usual club room but instead down a corridor and into a vacant classroom. The door shuts softly behind them, swallowing the noise of the hallway.

The room is empty and the faint smell of dust and paint lingers in the air. Sophia folds her arms, trying to anchor herself. Her pulse quickens anyway.

As soon as Sophia settles down on one of the seats, Megan paces frantically across the room. One hand tugging at her ponytail, the other flinging random scraps of paper across the floor.

"They’re… they’re shutting us down, Soph! The school! They said—" Megan’s voice cracked halfway through, then skyrocketed, "—they said we have zero members! ZERO! Can you believe it? We’re a club of one! ONE!"

Sophia leaned against her seat with her arms crossed, now trying not to smile. "Megan..."

"Megan?" The girl whirled around like a storm had just hit. "I AM MEGAN! THE PRESIDENT! THE FOUNDER! THE SOUL OF THIS CLUB! AND THEY—THEY—"

Her hands flailed so violently she nearly knocked over the desk stacked with glue sticks. "THEY THINK WE’RE USELESS!"

Sophia shifts in her seat, dodging a rogue roll of tape. "They’re not saying you’re useless," she said calmly. "They’re just saying… the club didn’t attract anyone. Yet."

"Yet?!" Megan shrieked, collapsing dramatically onto the floor and flopping sideways like a discarded prop. "Yet? Do they not understand the vision? The EMOTIONAL SUPPORT? The POTENTIAL ROMANCTIC GUIDANCE? The… cardboard solar system?!"

Sophia now crouches down beside her, hiding a laugh. "I think they got it, Mei. They just don’t want to fund it anymore."

Megan sat up abruptly, eyes wide and frantic. "Fund? We need a plan! A sign-up sheet! A billboard! Flash mobs! Televised confessions! Something! Anything!"

"You mean… just like the last three times you tried to get someone to join?" Sophia teased, reaching over to snag a crumpled sticky note Megan had been waving around like a flag.

Megan froze mid-gesture, staring at her like Sophia had betrayed the club. "That was different! That was pre-strategic! Experimental! Innovative!"

Sophia rolled her eyes, smirking. "Yeah. One member." She nodded toward herself. "Strategically, I think we’re already winning."

Megan stared at her, mouth opening, closing, opening again, before finally letting out a long, defeated groan. "You’re right. I guess one member and one honorary member isn’t the worst record in the history of clubs."

Sophia grinned. "Not at all. And besides…" She leans closer, voice softening. "We’re perfect at this. Just the two of us."

Megan’s shoulders slumped, but a slow, crooked smile spreads across her face. "Perfect at being a disaster," she said, dramatically tossing a paper star at Sophia.

Sophia catches the star, rolling her eyes. "Exactly."

And somehow, amid the peeling paint and Megan’s theatrics, the Lonely Hearts Club, officially disbanded or not, felt more alive than ever.

Chapter Text

Megan would be lying if she said her silly attempt of a club hadn’t helped her at all. She has thought of this a couple less than a thousand times, and she would still think of it for a hundred more.

Because she's a genius.

And she started it to get closer to her four-year-long crush, Jeong Yoonchae. In which some shape or form, she had succeeded, by the way.

Months ago, Yoonchae wouldn’t even spare her a glance. Her attention would always be on the papers in her hands as she walked down the halls. Megan would catch glimpses every single day, and each one made the feeling in her chest swell just a little more.

On Mondays and Thursdays, Yoonchae would wear ribbons instead of hair ties, Tuesdays and Fridays were for clips, Wednesdays, she let her hair down. Megan had known about all this since before eighth grade, and Yoonchae had been consistent ever since. When she laughs, truly laughs, she covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes curling into perfect little crescents. She loves the fruit cups in the cafeteria and preferred tea over coffee for her caffeine fix. Every detail mattered to Megan, every tiny habit are catalogued and cherished like a secret code only she could decipher.

The club may have been absurd, a mess, but it had brought her closer to the girl who made her heartbeat spike every time she walked by.

To Megan, it had been a carefully disguised success.

All those posters she hung and those meetings she orchestrated was just a step closer to Yoonchae noticing her, a way to carve out a space in her world. And, yeah, the club might have been a failure in the eyes of the school, since nobody else but Sophia had joined, but Megan didn’t need numbers or approvals to measure its worth.

It had given her moments, tiny windows where she could stand near Yoonchae without seeming suspicious. Help with props, share a laugh, even exchange a glance that lingered just long enough to make her heart stutter. Each interaction, no matter how small has felt monumental. The rest of the world could dismiss the Lonely Hearts Club as a flop, but to Megan, it had been the perfect stage where she could finally exist in Yoonchae’s orbit.

And maybe, just maybe, that was all that mattered.

Because now, Yoonchae greets her with that perfect smile this morning as she walks through the school halls. She’s always carrying something, whether it's a clipboard, folders, loose papers, a prop that looks too heavy for her slender hands. She's just always so busy and always so focused. And somehow that makes Megan swoon even more.

She loves a girl who’s dedicated, goal-oriented… and named Jeong Yoonchae.

Megan smiles back, prepared for the usual two-second interaction, only to freeze when Yoonchae slows down. She actually stops and falls into step beside her. Their footsteps fall naturally into sync, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

"Megan."

Her accent sticks to the syllables and it does unspeakable things to Megan’s chest. The way her name rolls off Yoonchae’s tongue should be illegal. "You didn’t go to rehearsal yesterday."

She says it flatly, just a statement, but Megan knows a question when she hears one.

There’s a faint furrow on Yoonchae’s brow. So faint no one else would ever catch it, but Megan has memorized all of her micro-expressions like a second language.

"Well, about that…" Megan starts as she swallows down the tightness forming in her chest. Thinking about the disbandment makes her spine sag all over again. "The school scrapped my club. Like, officially. So we can’t help with props anymore."

Her voice comes out smaller than she intends. Defeated. And she can tell Yoonchae hears it, because the girl shifts although not by much. Just a slight turn of her head and a softening around her eyes. But Megan feels it like a hand on her shoulder.

She’d been thinking about it all night. The club had been ridiculous and practically held together by glitter glue and blind optimism. But it gave her what she never had before—a reason to stand in the same room as Jeong Yoonchae.

A reason to help the theater club.

A reason to matter.

And now that reason is gone.

She’s grateful the club made her visible to Yoonchae at all, but she can’t help but grieve the space it gave her. The thought of losing that, of losing this, makes her chest ache in a whole new way.

Yoonchae doesn’t respond right away. She just keeps walking with her eyes directed forward, but Megan feels her subtly recalibrating. Like she’s adjusting to news that bothers her more than she expected.

Then, in that calm, measured voice Megan has always come to adore, Yoonchae says, "That’s not a problem."

Megan blinks. "It’s… not?"

"No." Yoonchae glances at her, and there’s something there. Something earnest, almost soft. "Megan, you and Sophia have been helping us since the start of the semester. More than some of the actual members."

Megan’s heart does a violent, traitorous flip.

"You’re both basically honorary theater club members already." Yoonchae’s lips tug upward, the tiniest smile that is controlled but unmistakably real. "If you want to attend rehearsals or activities, you can. Whenever. No one will stop you."

The words hit Megan so hard she nearly misses a step. Because this only means one thing. The space, the doorway that her club has opened, won't close even if Lonely Hearts has disbanded. She can still orbit around Yoonchae, still hang paper stars with her, and admire her closely even if her affections aren't given back.

Honorary members. In Yoonchae’s world. In her orbit.

Her throat tightens. "…You really mean that?"

"Obviously." Yoonchae says it like it’s the most logical thing in the world. "You’ve helped a lot. You care about the club. You care about the production."

She pauses a beat as her eyes flicker toward Megan only for a second, but it’s enough to melt the latter's spine. "I appreciate that."

It is, objectively, the most dangerous sentence Megan has ever been handed.

"I—yeah. Of course." Her voice cracks embarrassingly, and she clears her throat. "Thank you. Really."

Yoonchae nods, clearly appearing to be satisfied. "Besides," she adds, a little lighter, "we still need you two. Props don’t paint themselves."

Megan laughs, breathless. And in that moment, walking beside the girl she’s spent years noticing and years admiring, it doesn’t feel like she’s losing something. It feels like she’s being let in.

Not as the president of an absurd and disbanded club or a random ass girl with a crush, but as someone Yoonchae actually chooses to keep around.

Their footsteps fall back into rhythm, perfectly in sync. And for the first time since the club was scrapped, Megan’s chest doesn’t ache as much.

The day passes by like how it usually does and by the time Megan hears the bell rings, she's up from her seat not even a beat after, already on the way to the theater room as usual. Rehearsal is already in full swing when she walks inside the room with costumes hanging on makeshift racks, prop materials jutting out from boxes, and actors running lines while pacing in frantic circles.

The moment Megan steps near the front where the stage meets the first row of seats, with lights blinding and casting yellow hues, something shifts.

Yoonchae looks up from the paint table and brightens in a way Megan has never seen directed at anyone else. She lifts a hand slightly which is not a full wave, but enough for Megan to know that was for her.

Just beside her, Sophia gives her a knowing look, those eyes teasing and her lips quirking up into a smirk just slightly. Megan pretends she doesn’t see it.

Yoonchae stands up from her spot and walks directly to where the duo is. "Come," she says, pointing towards the paint station. "You’re late."

"I brought Sophia with me—"

"I see that." Yoonchae’s gaze flicks to Sophia, and it's polite but brief, before her eyes return back to Megan with full focus. "Hurry. We’re behind schedule."

That gives her another look from her friend, and Megan tries so hard to ignore it, choosing to follow her object of affection instead.

She then ties her apron to get ready for another day of paint and glue gun chaos, or at least she tries to. The knot keeps slipping, with her fingers fumbling embarrassingly.

Without a word, Yoonchae steps behind her.

"Here," she murmurs.

Megan goes still as warm fingers brush her waist to adjust the apron strings. Yoonchae’s knuckles graze her back lightly, and it's barely anything, really. But Megan’s breath catches anyway.

Yoonchae ties the knot with practiced ease, tightening it just enough.

"You should double it," she says softly, and her voice hits close to Megan’s ear. "It stays on better."

For a moment, Megan forgets how language works. Her mind, that is usually loud and chaotic, empties out at once. Because what exactly did she do to earn this level of attention from Yoonchae?

Last time she checked the tiny mental drawers she keeps labeled for social interactions, they were nothing more than club acquaintances who exchanged hallway greetings and, okay, spent one unexpectedly good day at an amusement park. Strictly circumstantial. A favor.

So why is Yoonchae like this?

"R-Right." It’s embarrassingly all she manages as her brain lags behind, rebooting itself in slow and glitchy cycles.

When she turns around, the girl is already handing her a brush. "Sit. I saved your spot."

Now, Megan freezes. Seriously, what did she do?

A chair. Clean and free of paint splatters, and is directly under the good lighting, sits waiting next to Yoonchae’s own. Sophia’s eyebrows shoot up so high they practically escape her face.

"You… saved me a seat?" Megan asks.

"Yes." Yoonchae says it like it’s the most normal thing on earth. But it's not. Because she has never done that before. "You'll work best there."

Megan sits and tries so hard not to combust.

Rehearsal goes on like that. Yoonchae checking on Megan more often than anyone else, occasionally leaning down to inspect her work with their arms brushing just slightly when she reaches for a palette. Nobody questions it. The theater kids are too used to eccentricity to notice affection disguised as efficiency.

But Megan feels everything.

She feels the way Yoonchae’s gaze lingers a heartbeat too long. The small, and almost secret smile Yoonchae bites back whenever Megan burns herself with the glue gun for the hundredth time. The way Yoonchae’s shoulder deliberately grazes hers even though there is plenty of space to avoid doing so.

And every single time, Megan’s entire world just… stops.

Because she’s a gay girl with four years’ worth of manifesting stored in the emotional equivalent of a vision board. She’s worked hard for her delusions, she organizes them alphabetically. So, no one can tell her she’s overreacting, not when these tiny moments feel like the universe dropping crumbs in her direction. Crumbs that, to her, taste like the whole damn loaf.

She’s halfway through repainting a backdrop when her phone vibrates. She fumbles briefly with the paintbrush to reach for it from her pocket just to see a message from her brother.

Mom’s here early and is going to borrow your car. She’s in the parking lot waiting.

Megan sighs. She was expecting to spend some more time around, especially since she's getting this much attention from Yoonchae for some unknown reason. She wipes her hands, stands, and hesitates before facing over the other girl.

"I have to go," she says quietly. "My ride’s here."

Yoonchae’s brush stops mid-stroke. She looks up with a blank expression, her usual look. But subtly, enough for Megan to catch, it tightens just the tiniest bit. And that's enough to make her chest flutter in a way.

"You’re leaving now?" Yoonchae asks, voice controlled but unmistakably disappointed.

"Yeah, sorry."

There’s a beat of silence. A small beat, but it weighs heavily in Megan's chest.

"You didn’t finish." Yoonchae says finally, disappointment now heavy and clearly evident in her voice.

When you think about it, Megan has never missed a single day at the club, and this is the very first time she's going home early. She saves the new sound of Yoonchae's voice on her brain's tiny mental drawer, specifically saved for the said girl, for future reference.

"I’ll come earlier tomorrow," Megan promises quickly. "Swear."

And that seems to soften something in Yoonchae. Just a little. A slight tilt on the curve of her lips.

"Fine," she murmurs. "Tomorrow, then."

The hallway feels hot when Megan steps out of the familiar room and Sophia rushes to follow her out, already whispering, "Girl, she saved you a seat—" but Megan barely hears her because when she glances back one last time, she sees it clearly.

Yoonchae watching her leave with a look that isn’t subtle at all. A look that lingers and that wants her to stay.

For the first time out of the four years she has been yearning for this girl, Megan wonders if she isn’t the only one feeling something grow.

Today is the day, and nothing could have prepared Sophia for it. This is her first real Halloween event, and it's an actual party, not the kid-friendly neighborhood stuff her mom used to bring her to. Of course, she knows the staples. Alcohol, loud bass that rattles through the walls with bodies packed into spaces too small for them. But beyond that? She has no idea how the night will unfold.

Right now, she’s sitting on the front porch with her crisp white polo perfectly ironed. She's waiting for Megan to show up. The other girl is her ride and is running a bit late.

Not that Sophia minds. If anything, the delay feels like a gift. This gives her a chance to slip through and walk back inside, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this was happening. The thought is dangerously tempting.

The night air is chilly. It's the kind that settles into her bones if she stands still long enough. She brought a blazer just in case, folded neatly over her raised arm. The breeze tugs lightly at her hair, carrying the faint sounds of distant laughter from neighboring houses already in full Halloween swing.

Sophia exhales slowly as she steadies herself. Waiting. Overthinking. Almost hoping Megan never arrives.

A minute barely passes before three sharp beeps cut through the quiet street. A sleek black Audi rolls to a stop right in front of her porch, the body catching faint streaks of orange from the streetlights. Sophia gives it one quick glance, steadying herself, before standing and brushing invisible dust from her slacks. Her steps are slow and heavy on the clean concrete with each one sounding a little too loud in her own ears.

The moment she slips into the passenger seat, a low whistle sounds from the driver’s side.

Classic punk rock blares through the speakers with gritty guitars and fast drums. Everything Sophia does not listen to on her own, and when she turns, Megan is… well.

She’s wearing a tank top, a dirtied one. Intentionally dirtied. Sophia can tell because it’s the exact kind of distressing Megan learned from hours in the theater workshop. The frayed edges with the smudged brown and red paint-like streaks. Even the strategically placed rips. Her jeans are just as roughed up. Her arms are out with faint glitter catching the dashboard lights like tiny sparks, and Sophia has no idea who she’s supposed to be dressed as.

All she can think is, “Wow. She looks like she wants to attract women so badly.”

Megan grins, one hand loose on the wheel while the other taps to the beat thrumming through the car. "Can you fly me to the skies tonight, Soph?"

Sophia rolls her eyes so hard she nearly sees her brain, then she pushes her glasses up where they’ve slid down her nose. "Can you please just drive already?"

"Wow," Megan says, eyebrows lifting behind the wheel. "Clark Kent has attitude."

Sophia gives her a deadpan look. Megan just beams, all teeth and trouble. "I’m just in a costume, dumbtwat."

"No," Megan counters immediately as she leans in a little too close, her voice annoyingly persuasive. "If you want this to sell, you need commitment. And you’ve already got the setup perfect! S logo visible, shirt crisp, hair perfectly disheveled like you sprinted out of the Daily Planet mid-article."

She gestures at all of Sophia with a sweep of her hand. "You look like you’re about to save Metropolis and then file paperwork. Very hot. Now lose the attitude."

Sophia stares at her. Really stares. She briefly considers strangling her.

"Megan," she warns, "if you don’t start driving—"

"And the glasses." Megan’s grin sharpens. "You’re lucky I’m also into nerds."

Sophia just shakes her head, already admitting defeat and wondering again why she’s even friends with this girl. She looks away, trying to breathe, and that’s when she notices the Ghostface mask hanging behind Megan’s seat. Blank-eyed and eerie as it sways slightly.

"…Why is that in here?" she asks.

"Oh, that?" Megan flicks the mask with a finger, making it bob. "Just my little friend for the night."

"You’re going as Ghostface?"

"Half-Ghostface, half panty-dropper," Megan says proudly, gesturing at her distressed tank top and glitter-dusted arms. "I’m like… Final Girlcore, but if the Final Girl was the killer, y’know?"

Sophia blinks. "You're not making any sense right now."

Megan shrugs. "Whatever. Point is, you’re Clark Kent, I’m Ghostface specifically for the gay girls." She taps two fingers on Sophia's sternum. "Together, we’re gonna make the sapphics scream and gag once we walk into that party."

Sophia’s brain gets even more fried the more she hears Megan talk. She absolutely did not dress as Superman for that.

"Please just—just drive," she mutters.

"Alright, alright." Megan shifts gears, but her smirk appears. She's not yet done, apparently.

As the car rolls forward, she glances sideways, voice dripping with pure mischief. "You look like you could lift a car right now. Would it bother you if I asked you lift me too?"

Sophia sinks deeper into her seat. When would this torture end? She’s already regretting the costume. And the invite. And the friendship in general.

"Just keep driving," she sighs.

"'Kay." Megan beams, tapping the wheel. "Buckle up, hero. We’ve got a Halloween party to crash."

The car surges forward into the night, and Sophia wonders why she didn’t just pretend to be sick.

The house is way bigger than the last party Sophia went to. It looks like the organizers actually tried this time, like they wanted the night to live up to its hype as “literally the best event of the year.”

The yard alone is massive with plastic skeletons leaning against the steps at odd angles and sprinklers still whirring over the freshly cut grass. There are last-minute decorations scattered everywhere. Fake gravestones, lots and lots of cobwebs, even half-inflated ghosts. A huge blanket hangs over the wooden balcony, slashed with messy red spray paint spelling out: SAVE YOURSELF. The dripping letters make it look like a warning rather than décor.

It’s loud. Painfully loud.

Sophia hears the bass vibrating in her ribs even before she opens the car door. And the place is already packed even though it isn’t even midnight.

By the time she steps out, Megan is jogging up beside her, having parked a bit down the road. Her Ghostface mask is now propped on top of her head, and the ends of her hair, pink fading into brown, peek from underneath as it brushes her shoulders.

They walk side by side toward the house.

There are people slumped on the lawn, red cups scattered like confetti, someone puking in the bushes, two girls dancing on a patio table, and at least three guys arguing about who stole whose vape. None of them spare a glance at the pair approaching.

Sophia exhales slowly, adjusting her glasses while Megan cracks her knuckles, clearly excited.

The moment they step through the front door, the heat hits Sophia first. Warm bodies with the air sticky, and the kind of humidity that comes from too many people dancing in too small a space. The music is louder inside, vibrating through the floorboards and rattling the windows.

But the second thing she notices, the thing she really notices, is the silence.

Not actual silence, but a sudden dip. A shift.

It’s subtle, and only barely a second, but a handful of heads turn toward the door as if drawn by some magnetic force.

Sophia feels it immediately. Eyes. Lots of them.

Two girls by the kitchen island pause mid-pour, while another group near the stairs slows their conversation. Someone sitting on the back of the couch straightens, looking them up and down.

Megan notices it too. Of course she does. She leans down as she whispers through a smirk, "Told you we’d make sapphics gag."

Sophia elbows her in the ribs, but Megan just laughs and pushes her Ghostface mask fully over her face, letting it drop low and menacing. The effect is immediate, three girls near the hallway giggle and whisper.

Sophia wants to disappear into the floor. She’s not used to this kind of attention. Sure, she’s spent her whole life being stared at by men. Whether she’s in a dress or drowning in hoodies, the comments always find her. But girls? Girls openly checking her out? Eyes lingering not out of entitlement but interest? It hits different. It flusters her in a way she isn’t prepared for.

She keeps walking while she adjusts her sleeve cuffs to have something to do with her hands. But that only makes it worse.

Because as she passes, someone whistles softly.

"Holy shit, Clark Kent looks hot tonight," a girl near the snack table murmurs, not nearly quiet enough.

Sophia freezes for half a second as heat rushes to her face. She is very suddenly aware of the loose lock falling over her glasses and the way her shirt clings in the right places. Even the faint swipe of gloss Daniela insisted on earlier through text.

And she has no idea what to do with the sudden realization that girls are looking at her like that.

Megan elbows her this time, clearly delighted. "See? Told you."

Another voice joins in, this time from someone leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. "I didn’t know nerd chic could hit like that."

Sophia’s ears burn. She pushes her glasses up again even though they haven’t slipped as her brain goes into static.

Megan, meanwhile, is thriving. She yanks off her mask and lets it dangle from her fingertips as she shoots a wink at a group staring at her exposed arms. Glitter catches the multi-colored LEDs, lighting her up like a disco ball. She's loving the attention and Sophia doesn't blame her.

The reaction is instant as two girls practically swoon.

Sophia noticed unfamiliar faces among the crowd, probably from other schools. That explained why suddenly half the girls inside seemed to be staring at her and Megan as if they were magnets.

Sophia swallows hard. “This was a mistake.”

"Nope." Megan slings an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into the crowd. "This mistake will be the best night of your life."

Sophia’s heart thudded but she didn’t protest. Megan’s confidence was infectious, and despite herself, she felt her nerves settle slightly. Maybe this was going to be interesting.

With Megan leading, they move through a few rounds. The alcohol tastes bitter on Sophia’s tongue, and even on her third shot, it doesn’t get any easier. Across the dance floor, someone in a furry suit is doing splits and breakdancing. The mirrorball scatters green, red, and yellow light in fractured shards and it makes her head spin.

So far, the night has been… okay. Megan hasn’t left her side, which is a relief since the last time this girl dragged her to a party, Sophia spent half of it wandering alone and trying to find her. She’s already halfway through her fourth shot when the energy in the room abruptly shifts.

It’s subtle at first as the chatter dims and the music seems to pulse differently. Then the crowd parts. Whistles slice through the noise as eyes swivel and heads turn.

Daniela has arrived.

Sophia’s chest tightens as heat creeps up her neck and her cheeks. She wants to act indifferent, wants to look away and pretend it doesn’t matter, but she can’t.

Fashionably late, as always. Confident and untouchable. Every head in the room seems to gravitate toward the it-girl.

While Sophia's stomach flips, ignoring the way her pulse suddenly races. And she realizes with a pang of panic that tonight, she can’t pretend she doesn’t notice, she can’t pretend she doesn’t care.

The whole house is packed. Costumes crowd the space along with some decorations swallowing each corners, and the music pulses in waves. Yet through it all, Daniela’s eyes move with a single purpose: scanning the room for one person. Sophia.

When their eyes meet, there's an obvious light that shines on Daniela's features. Before Sophia can even process it, Daniela is already striding toward her with that confident and deliberate strut.

Of course, that takes her breath away, because Daniela did show up with the costume Sophia picked. A tiny jersey paired with the barely-there shorts, topped with fluffy bunny ears that bobble with every step. The sight sets a low hum stirring in Sophia’s stomach, and she curses herself for noticing.

Daniela's makeup sparkles beautifully under the mirrorball lights and her lips are shaded with bold red tonight. Sophia shakes off the thought of it beautifully smudged later, but it lingers anyway.

When Daniela reaches her, she doesn’t hesitate. One of Sophia’s hands is seized, and another lands on her hip, steady and possessive. Daniela’s eyes sweep her over, slow and approving, before a satisfied smile curves across her face.

“You look like a wonderful treat tonight, babe.”

Sophia gets flustered as she realizes how warm Daniela’s palm is resting against her hip, and it feels almost too hot like it could burn if it lingers another second. Megan’s cackle drifts through her awareness, a teasing whisper reaching her ears.

"I’ll give you two some alone time, lovebirds."

And just like that, Megan sashays off to dance with a group of furries and someone in an Iron Man suit.

Sophia barely has time to protest before Daniela tilts her chin, snapping Sophia’s attention back to her.

"You already had some drinks without me?" Daniela asks, a small pout tugging at her lips. It does nothing to slow Sophia’s racing pulse. "My girl now knows how to have fun without me."

Sophia swallows as she tries so hard to focus, but it’s impossible. Daniela’s palm is still warm, anchored against her hip, and every step the music takes makes it feel heavier. She can’t decide whether she wants to pull away or lean into it.

Daniela smirks, tilting her head slightly as if reading Sophia’s thoughts. "You’re staring," she says softly with her voice low enough that Sophia feels it in her chest. "And I like it."

Sophia bites her lip. She doesn't even know what to do with that information so she helplessly tries to blurt out whatever comes first. "I… I wasn’t—" she stammers. Her words die in her throat as Daniela leans just a little closer, her face brushing a hair’s width from Sophia’s. The air between them feels thick and too charged.

"You were," Daniela corrects, a teasing glint in her eyes. "But it’s okay. I like it when you stare. Shows me you’re paying attention."

Sophia can’t help the small laugh that escapes her breathlessly. She doesn't really know what to say. It's like every time she's with Daniela now, her brain starts to fizzle.

Daniela’s grin widens, looking at Sophia that's just staring dumbly, as her hand squeezes Sophia’s hip ever so lightly. Just enough to make Sophia shiver.

Then, in one smooth motion, she spins Sophia gently toward the dance floor. "Come on. If we’re going to survive this party, we might as well have some fun. Together."

Sophia’s pulse spikes, but she nods. And even as the flashing lights and loud music crash around them, it feels like they’re in their own bubble, two people perfectly out of sync with the chaos, yet perfectly in sync with each other.

The music thumps heavier now as they get nearer with the bass shaking the floor. Daniela doesn’t let go of Sophia’s hand. Instead, she guides her into the center of the dance floor, spinning her with ease before pressing close.

Sophia freezes for a fraction of a second as her eyes widen. Daniela is so close. Too close. She can smell the strong scent of vanilla and marshmallows along with the sweat and alcohol around them. And then, somehow, she’s grinding against Sophia with hips perfectly in rhythm with the beat.

Sophia’s mind goes blank.

"D-Dani—" she stammers, trying to take a step back, but Daniela laughs softly, a low and teasing sound that vibrates against Sophia’s chest.

"Nope. You’re mine for this song," she murmurs, pressing even closer, letting her hands slide down Sophia’s arms, then her waist, tilting her hips in perfect sync.

Sophia can feel it all. The warmth, the pressure, the subtle sway of movement that makes her stomach flip, and her chest tighten with her thoughts dissolving. She tries to focus on the song, on the crowd, on anything, but Daniela’s eyes lock on hers, playful and hungry, and suddenly nothing else exists.

She wants to protest, wants to push back, but the way Daniela moves confidently and teasing. Definitely effortless. It makes her body betray her. Her hands fly to hold onto Daniela’s waist, just to have something to do, while her mind spirals with thoughts of, Is this allowed? Is this legal? Why does it feel like everything in me is on fire?

"Relax," Daniela whispers, brushing a loose strand of hair from Sophia’s face. "I’m not going anywhere. Just dance with me."

Sophia swallows hard. She wants to obey. She wants to move, but every beat is a battlefield with hips, hands, chest, heat, closeness, and pressure. She’s dizzy and flustered, panicking quietly inside her own skin, yet the only thing she can do is follow Daniela’s lead.

Sophia’s heart is hammering so hard she’s sure everyone on the dance floor can hear it. Every time Daniela grinds closer, every time her hands brush against Sophia’s sides or slide over her waist, she feels like she’s short-circuiting. She wants to step back, to tell herself to calm down, but her body refuses to cooperate.

"You’re ridiculously easy to fluster," Daniela murmurs, her lips brushing just shy of Sophia’s ear. The teasing tone makes Sophia’s knees weak. She swallows hard, trying to focus on anything but the heat radiating from Daniela.

"I-I… um…" Sophia stammers as her hands twitch uselessly against Daniela’s waist. She can’t figure out where to put them. On her shoulders? Her hips? Her back? Every option feels like the wrong one, like she’s committing some cardinal sin by being this close.

Daniela chuckles low, a sound that vibrates against Sophia’s chest, and she then leans closer. Her forehead almost brushes Sophia’s. Sophia can feel the heat radiating from her, the easy confidence she exudes.

Then Daniela’s hand moves to Sophia’s collar. She doesn’t just adjust it, she lingers while brushing the fabric in a slow and careful motion. She lets her fingers graze Sophia’s skin longer than necessary. Her touch is light and gentle, and Sophia swallows hard, caught somewhere between wanting her to stop and needing her to keep going.

Finally, Daniela straightens, pats her hand lightly on Sophia’s neck, and murmurs, "You look good."

The simplicity of the words is lethal. It’s casual, yet somehow intimate, like a private compliment in the middle of chaos. Sophia’s head swims. All the contact with them swaying, the grinding, the subtle pressure against her thighs, it's all too much. Her brain is fried with her stomach a riot of heat, and her pulse feels like it’s trying to leap out of her chest.

They keep dancing too closely, definitely not in a kid-friendly way with how Daniela grinds against her. And a man whistles with predatory eyes. He follows it up with a comment about how he wishes he's in the middle right now.

Sophia's ears ring and she glares, but her gaze immediately snaps back to Daniela, who is completely unbothered by the interruption. She presses even closer, hips sliding perfectly with the beat.

Sophia swallows hard, realizing with a mix of panic and thrill that she’s trapped in the most exhilarating and mortifying dance of her life. And the sudden gnawing thought that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Megan watches with a grin as her best friend gets thoroughly worked over on the dance floor, completely red-faced and pinned to Daniela. She's clearly enjoying every flustered reaction Sophia throws off as she leans back on the sidelines, downing her fifth shot with casual precision. The Ghostface mask perched crookedly atop her head when the music shifts, a soft breakdown letting the lights stretch and sway across the room. Then her eyes flick toward the entrance, and everything else pauses.

Yoonchae steps in.

Everything slows. The crowd blurs. The flickering LEDs reflect off her angel costume, silver and white, scattering like sunlight on water. Megan’s heart stutters as it gets caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. Every step Yoonchae takes is graceful and impossible while the noise around her fades. Even the pounding bass seems distant and irrelevant.

Megan freezes mid-step, her fifth shot still clutched in one hand. Her Ghostface mask rests halfway on her head, hiding her expression, but inside it's just chaos. Heat in her chest, electricity in her veins, and a sudden, unsteady flutter in her stomach.

Yoonchae’s eyes swept over the room, scanning, clearly panicked for being late and not spotting anyone familiar. Then they lock on Megan. And in that instant, Megan forgets how to breathe. The world sharpens as the crowd, the mirrored balls, and the swirling costumes all melt into insignificance.

Just her and Yoonchae.

The angel’s gaze is steady and glittering as a soft smile starts curving her lips. The sight is effortless and radiant, twisting something in Megan’s chest that is a mix of longing and panic. She swallows hard, knowing she should step back, should pretend she’s fine, but every part of her wants to sink into that gaze and never look away.

And then, as if Yoonchae can sense the effect, she tilts her head slightly, acknowledging Megan. A subtle nod, a half-smile that feels like it belongs only to her. Megan feels herself melting in response, drunker than any shot could make her, suspended in a moment of pure, disorienting tension.

Even from the sidelines, Sophia and Daniela are still dancing, oblivious. Megan can’t help the pang of contrast. Sophia, lost in flustered chaos with Daniela, while here stands Yoonchae, serene and untouchable, and her eyes… they’re fixed on her.

Megan’s pulse races, and for once, the party feels small. Tiny. All that matters is Yoonchae, the lights, the slow pull of her attention and Megan has no idea how to exist outside of it.

Megan’s trance shatters when the crowd suddenly erupts in a chant, Seven minutes in heaven. A classic party staple, and of course, they’re doing it this Halloween. The wave of people carries her along to the sizable dining room, where most of the guests have packed in like crashing tides. At the center, an emptied vodka bottle sits on the table, waiting to be spun a hundred times over in the chaos of the night. Megan exhales, taking in the scene even from the front row. Everything. The tables, the lights, and the crowd is laid out in a perfect and dizzying view.

A tug at her hand makes her flinch. She looks down and stiffens.

Yoonchae.

A small grin spreads across the girl's face, the humidity in the room making Megan’s cheeks burn inside her mask as she realizes just how close they are.

"Hi, Ghostface."

Megan blinks, momentarily caught off guard then quickly adjusts her mask to clear her throat.

"You shouldn’t be too friendly with strangers," she says, trying her best to make her voice sound low and casual, "or you might end up as the final girl."

Yoonchae laughs. Genuine and soft that it makes Megan’s chest tighten. Her eyes form perfect little crescents under the dim yellow dining room light, and Megan swears she almost forgets to breathe.

"You can’t scare me, Megan," Yoonchae says, stepping closer. Her wings shift slightly with the movement, catching the light. "You literally jumped and ran with me at the haunted house in the amusement park."

Fair point, Megan thinks, smirking despite herself.

She can feel the pull of Yoonchae’s gaze which is warm and teasing, and suddenly the tipsy confidence that had been keeping her upright feels a little fragile. Megan wants to play it cool, but her fingers twitch against the edge of her mask, betraying her.

The crowd cheers as the game finally kicks off. A boy with messy blonde curls spins the bottle first, an annoying grin on his face as everyone leans in. They wait as it circles, spinning faster and faster then it slows to a stuttering rhythm. Until it lands, unmistakably, near Megan.

She looks up and sees Sophia, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. At the other end of the bottle is a girl she recognizes from the theater club. Lexie.

A shy smile graces Lexie’s delicate features, and Megan can’t help the grin threatening to break across her own face.

Because Daniela, is pissed.

Her frown is sharp and almost possessive, as her hand clamps around Sophia’s wrist, pulling her slightly closer.

The crowd roars as the first couple heads into the small, cramped room filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. Sophia is flustered, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention, and Megan catches the apologetic glance she shoots Daniela.

Megan can’t stop herself. She bursts out laughing the moment the door clicks shut behind them.

She blinks, and her laughter dies. Yoonchae is gone.

The tips of Megan’s fingers itch with unease. Where did she go? Despite the party just starting to get fun, Megan pushes through the crowd, weaving between costumed bodies, determined to find her before the night gets completely out of hand.

It is silent, inside the stuffy room that is, but the chatter behind the door fades in like broken mumbles. Sophia offers an apologetic smile to the girl just inches away from her, because she can't believe she's here right now.

Seven minutes in heaven. Truly, the universe hates her.

This game is a curse, and never in her life has she expected she'll be participating in it. To be fair, she wants to continue dancing, with Daniela's warmth and scent all close to her, but everyone went to the dining room and they got swept with the wave.

The room smells faintly of Clorox and old paper, a mix that makes her head spin more than the vodka did. A crooked lightbulb hangs low above her and it's close enough that she has to duck slightly. The only other glow trickles in through the thin crack beneath the door.

"So…" Sophia begins awkwardly because the girl next to her hasn’t said a single word since the door clicked shut. Her eyes are just bright and sparkly like she’s been waiting for something. "I’m Sophia."

It feels ridiculous to introduce herself, but what else is she supposed to do? Making out is absolutely not an option. The girl is cute, and undeniably pretty with an angelic face and soft features. And Sophia knows plenty of guys who would kill to be locked in here with her.

But Sophia is not one of them. And even if she were a guy, she doesn’t kiss just anyone.

"I know," the girl says softly. Her voice is gentle and sweet. She shifts her weight and looks up at Sophia, smiling like she’s genuinely happy to be here. "You and your friend are basically legends in the theater club. It’s the first time we’ve had props that good in ages."

Sophia laughs awkwardly and feels flustered. "I… don’t know if that’s a compliment," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "Kinda sounds like it means we have nothing better to do."

Lexie giggles softly as she plays with the hem of her sleeve. "It is a compliment. Really." She hesitates for a second, then adds, "I… actually volunteered."

Sophia blinks. "You volunteered for this round?"

Lexie nods and even if the lights are barely helping, Sophia can see her cheeks turn red. "Yeah. I thought… you might end up being the one." She ducks her head, almost shy. "I took a chance."

Sophia’s stomach flips. Not in excitement, but in pure, startled panic. Why would anyone take a chance on getting stuck in a closet with me of all people?

Before she can respond, a dull thud hits the door. Followed by another. And soon after, they hear everyone chanting KISS, KISS, KISS, KISS—

The chant roars through the walls, and Sophia feels her entire soul evacuate her body. This is impossible. Impossible and cruel. And she has no idea how to tell the girl next to her that she is absolutely, unequivocally not into girls that way.

A buzz in her pocket makes her jump and she pulls out her phone as she flashes Lexie an apologetic smile. When she sees the text, she immediately blanches.

Don't even think about it, Laforteza.

- Dani

Sophia’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull. Why is she texting? Daniela is literally right outside the door. Why would Sophia even think about kissing Lexie? Why does Daniela think that she’d think about it? Why is Sophia mentally defending herself to Daniela when absolutely nothing is happening?

She wants to rip her hair out.

Lexie’s face lights up. "Was that…?"

Sophia squeezes her eyes shut and shoves the phone back into her pocket like it’s radioactive.

"Yeah. Um—" She cuts herself off, because honestly?

What is Daniela doing?

Texting her threats through the door like some jealous cryptid? Pacing outside like a guard dog? Sophia doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything right now except that she wants this seven minutes to end immediately.

Lexie shifts a little closer, clearly trying to make the moment less awkward. "So, we can just talk, if you want," she offers gently. "I’m not expecting anything."

Sophia nods too fast. “Yes! Talking is great. I love that, actually, huge fan of conversations. I'm a big talker."

Lexie giggles, and it’s soft and pretty, the kind of sound that would make a normal person relax. Sophia wants to crawl into the air vent.

Outside, the chanting only gets louder. KISS! KISS! KISS! Someone bangs on the door again.

Sophia jumps. Lexie doesn’t.

"You don’t have to be nervous," she says as she tilts her head. "You’re surprisingly cute when you panic."

Sophia’s brain blue-screens as she chokes on air. Why is this happening? Why is she in here? Why is Lexie saying that?

She opens her mouth to respond, but—

"Can everyone shut up?!" Daniela’s voice snaps through the hallway and it's sharp enough to slice through the door.

The chanting cuts off instantly and Sophia’s blood turns to ice.

Lexie blinks as she turns her head towards the door with an awed expression. "Wow. She sounds… intense."

Sophia forces a painful smile. "She’s just passionate."

Outside, someone mutters, "Relax, it’s just a game—"

And Daniela growls, "Say that again and I’ll shove that bottle down your throat."

Lexie’s eyebrows lift, and she looks at Sophia bewildered. "She’s really protective of you, huh?"

Sophia’s heart does something complicated and stupid and annoying. She crosses her arms defensively. "She’s not protective. She’s just—like that."

"Mm." Lexie smiles knowingly. "Sure."

Sophia wants to evaporate. Because what the hell does that even mean?

From farther down the hall, someone yells, "HAS ANYONE SEEN YOONCHAE? MEGAN’S LOOKING FOR HER—SHE WENT OUTSIDE THE PATIO!"

Chaos everywhere. Just absolute chaos.

Sophia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can this night get any worse?"

Lexie opens her mouth but before she can respond, a loud beep sounds from someone’s phone outside.

"TIME’S UP!" a voice announces and Sophia nearly collapses in relief, she lets out a deep sigh and smiles at the girl in front of her.

Lexie steps back, smiling warmly. "It was nice talking to you, Sophia."

"You too," Sophia manages, voice cracking humiliatingly.

The door opens, and it's not with drama, and not with Daniela storming in, just someone casually pulling it open to usher them out. Daniela stands a few feet away with her arms crossed, shoulders stiff, and fury simmering beneath her carefully neutral face. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to.

Sophia’s mouth goes dry. Maybe the night really can get worse.

She waves awkwardly at Lexie one last time and the girl beams, offering her a shy little flutter of fingers. Sophia turns back and gasps softly when familiar fingers wrap around her wrist. It's warm and firm, and unmistakably Daniela.

Before Sophia can even process it, she’s being tugged through the dining room and out of the crowd entirely.

"Hey— Dani, where are you taking me—?" Sophia stumbles, half-walking, half-getting-dragged, until they finally step onto the quiet front porch. The muffled music thumps behind them which is a sharp contrast to the cold air outside.

Daniela stops. Her grip loosens, but she doesn’t let go.

"We’re going home." Her voice is flat. And it's controlled. Her lips are pressed in a thin, unreadable line.

"But the party isn’t done yet—" Sophia starts, breathless and confused.

Daniela turns her head slowly and gives her a look. Just one look. And Sophia’s protest dies instantly as she swallows and nods, small and automatic.

It hits her only then — she’s arguing with Daniela about staying at a party, when she’s never even liked parties to begin with. Something about tonight is different, off-kilter, sharp around the edges. Or maybe it’s just the cheap booze. Cheap booze is always the culprit.

"Megan was my ride," Sophia says softly, trying to make sense of the sudden exit. "I don’t know where she—"

"I have my own car." Daniela doesn’t wait for a reaction. She’s already walking toward the driveway with sharp and controlled steps as her bunny-ears bob with each determined stride.

Sophia hurries after her. The cold night air prickles against her skin. And she notices, really notices, how little Daniela’s costume actually covers. Bare arms, bare thighs, tiny jersey doing absolutely nothing against the chill.

Without thinking, Sophia shrugs off the blazer draped around her own arms and slips it over Daniela’s shoulders. Daniela doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t even flinch.

She just keeps walking.

Panic rises in Sophia’s chest. She has no idea what she did wrong or why Daniela suddenly feels so… far away.

So she does the first thing her body decides for her. She reaches out and threads her fingers through Daniela’s.

For a second, a split-second, Daniela’s steps falter. It’s small, almost invisible, but Sophia feels it. Feels the way the girl pauses internally like her heart tripped over itself.

Daniela doesn’t pull away.

Sophia squeezes, gently. Just enough to say I’m here. Whatever this is, talk to me.

"Are you hungry, Dani?" Her voice is soft and careful. "We can stop by the diner on the way home. I’ll buy you something. Anything you want."

Maybe her friend is just hungry or tired so she does a peace offering. A way out of the tension to lighten the mood. Or at least, she hopes so.

Daniela doesn’t answer right away.

They reach her car, the only one in the row not covered in fake cobwebs or toilet paper from party pranksters. She lets go of Sophia’s hand only to unlock the doors then gets inside without a word. Sophia follows with her heart thudding, unsure if she should speak.

The moment the doors close, the silence becomes a living thing.

The engine hums to life while Daniela’s jaw stays tense. Her knuckles are white around the steering wheel.

Sophia sits there, staring at her friend, trying to read the lines of her body, the tightness in her throat, the way she keeps swallowing like she’s trying to force something down.

"I didn’t do anything," Sophia says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Inside. With Lexie. We just talked."

Daniela’s grip tightens.

"I know," she replies, but it’s too fast and too stiff. Too obviously a lie.

Sophia’s heart sinks.

They drive in silence for a while, the neon streetlights flickering across Daniela’s face, all sharp cheekbones, dark lashes, and a storm she refuses to let out.

Sophia exhales softly. "Dani… are you mad at me?"

Daniela’s lips part, then close again. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns onto a residential road Sophia recognizes instantly.

"…This isn’t the path to my house," Sophia murmurs.

"I know," Daniela says with her voice low.

There’s a moment, a breath, where Sophia feels something shifts in the air which is charged and fragile. Daniela pulls into her driveway, parks, then finally looks at her. Really looks at her.

Her eyes are softer now. Still intense, but softer.

"Stay over," she says. Not a command. Barely even a request. Just a quiet, vulnerable thing that slips past her defenses.

Sophia’s breath catches.

"Dani—"

"You don’t have to," Daniela says quickly, her gaze flicking away. "I just… I don’t feel like being alone tonight."

Something inside Sophia melts instantly. All the nerves, the confusion, the panic. They dissolve into one warm, aching truth. She reaches out, fingers brushing Daniela’s arm.

"Okay," Sophia whispers. "I’ll stay."

Daniela finally meets her eyes again, the tension in her shoulders easing just the slightest bit.

Sophia smiles. It's small but sincere. "Let’s go inside."

And for the first time that night, Daniela nods without resistance.

The hallway is quieter here with the bass along with the muffled shouts, it's nothing like the chaos she left behind. Megan shoves her mask up with one hand, peeking into every cracked door she passes.

"Yoonchae?" she calls, voice echoing softly.

No answer.

She’s about to give up and blame the cheap vodka when she notices a dim light leaking from under one of the doors at the end of the hall. She hesitates, then pushes it open.

Inside, Yoonchae sits on the edge of a guest bed, angel wings drooping with her shoulders curled forward. The soft glow of a small lamp casts long shadows across her face but she still looks beautiful, even like this. Especially like this.

Megan freezes at the doorway.

"...Yoonchae?" she says gently.

The angel looks up.

"Oh." Her voice is quiet. "Megan."

Megan steps inside and closes the door behind her, instinctively making the space smaller and darker. More private. "I’ve been looking for you. Thought you vanished. Or got kidnapped by the people in inflatable dinosaur suits."

A weak laugh escapes Yoonchae which is light but real. "No. I just needed… a break." She takes a slow breath. "It got too loud."

Megan’s teasing fades instantly, replaced by something softer. "You okay?"

Yoonchae nods, but it’s the kind of nod that isn’t really a yes. "I just needed space to breathe."

Megan moves closer slowly, like approaching a deer she’s afraid to spook. She drops onto the floor beside the bed, sitting cross-legged so she’s eye level with her.

"Yeah," Megan murmurs. "Parties are a lot"

"You looked like you were having fun," Yoonchae says softly.

"Me?" Megan scoffs. "I was five shots in and watching my best friend get dry-humped by her crush. I was having… an experience."

That gets a real laugh. Soft. Breathless. The kind that makes Megan’s stomach flip. And the room feels warmer now. Or maybe that’s just her.

"So," Yoonchae says, her voice lowering to something calm and unreadable. "Ghostface, huh?"

Megan taps the edge of her mask. "It was this or Sexy Pumpkin Spice Latte."

"I think you chose correctly." Yoonchae’s smile is small, almost like a secret, like she’s trying not to show too much.

Megan’s heart thuds. They talk. Really talk. About the party and Megan’s costume. Again about how her silly little club got scrapped. How she’s been helping the theater kids nonstop. How she keeps showing up, even when she pretends she doesn’t care.

Yoonchae listens to every word, too closely. Then, softly, something escapes her mouth.

"I like having you around."

The words hit Megan straight in the ribs. She laughs too quickly, too nervously. "You—you do?"

Yoonchae shifts closer, settling beside Megan on the carpeted floor, and the movement steals the air from Megan’s lungs. She comes close enough that Megan can hear the slow rise and fall of her breathing in the dim, quiet room. Close enough that their knees brush. A light and accidental touch that sends a bolt of electricity straight up to Megan’s spine.

Megan tries to laugh it off, tries to be normal, but her body betrays her. Her chest tightens just as her fingertips go numb.

Then Yoonchae reaches out.

Her delicate fingers slide under the edge of Megan’s Ghostface mask, feather-light and warm. The touch skims Megan’s chin softly and tentatively, almost reverent, and Megan stops breathing altogether as her whole body locks in place.

The warm lamplight pools gold across them catching on Yoonchae’s knuckles, making every second feel unbearably intimate.

"Megan," Yoonchae whispers, voice trembling at the edges but steady in the center. "I want to see you."

She lifts the mask. Slowly and gently like she’s unveiling something precious. Cool air hits Megan’s flushed face, following the path the mask leaves behind. Her breath stutters as her eyes blink against the sudden light, and when her vision adjusts, there she is. Yoonchae. Up close.

Her porcelain skin with her dark, fluttering eyes. A soft, unsure smile that still somehow looks confident, and she’s looking at Megan like she’s seeing sunlight after weeks of rain.

Megan feels naked.

Her throat goes tight just along as her stomach flips, and her knees threaten to give out even though she’s sitting down. She can’t look away.

Yoonchae’s hand stays near Megan’s cheek. It's not touching, but is hovering and is warm enough to feel. Her fingers tremble the tiniest bit. Until she tilts her head, and leans in. It’s slow, painfully slow, almost like a countdown to disaster Megan can’t stop.

So slow Megan can feel every breath between them, feel her own pulse rabbiting against her ribs, feel her stomach tighten like the moment before a drop. But Yoonchae’s intention is unmistakable. It is soft but certain.

Her lips meet Megan’s.

It is warm, and her soft lips brush against hers gently, almost like it's testing.

A kiss that feels like a question.

Megan kisses back for half a second, half a heartbeat, half a breath. Before her entire operating system blue-screens. She jerks back so fast Yoonchae’s hand drops to the carpet.

"Wait—no—this is— " Megan stammers with her breath shaky. Her chest is heaving wildly and she can't even meet Yoonchae's eyes. "You didn’t—That— that didn’t happen—!"

Yoonchae freezes.

Her eyes widen but it's not angry and not upset. She just quietly hurt. Like she didn’t expect rejection, but she absorbs the hit with grace anyway.

She moves back, just once, and just far enough to give Megan space. But not far enough to hide the way her breath catches, or how her wings tremble behind her.

She says nothing.

And the silence between them breaks Megan more than the kiss ever could.

Chapter Text

Three seconds.

Their lips had parted three seconds ago. And Yoonchae’s hand, which was once warm on Megan’s cheek, now rests on the carpet leaving only the cold stillness of the room behind it. It feels like a ghost had replaced the warmth.

Megan counted.

Three.

Three seconds since she had pulled away from a kiss her crush had initiated. She can’t stop counting. Her body is frozen just as her heart continues to hammer. She forces herself to look up and when she sees Yoonchae’s expression, which is distant and hurt, it is more painful than anything Megan has ever felt.

She can’t bear it. She can’t keep looking at the guilt and confusion written all over Yoonchae’s face.

In a sudden rush of panic, Megan stands, letting her mask fall forgotten to the carpet. Her hand slams against the door, and it rattles as she bolts down the crowded hallway with her feet pounding against the tiles. Her heart shattering with each step.

Her lips are still tingling with Yoonchae’s warmth lingering on them like a spark that shouldn’t exist. Did that really happen? Her mind loops over the last few seconds again and again. Maybe she just imagined it. She must have. Four years of staring from afar, of waiting and hoping… and now her crush had kissed her, and she was sure she misread it. She had to have.

But what if she hadn’t? What if it was real? The thought should have made her leap, made her want to stay, but instead it makes her dizzy with terror. She has put everything she had into this. Every awkward gesture, every ridiculous attempt at catching Yoonchae’s attention, and now it could all crumble in a heartbeat. One wrong word, one flinch, and she’d ruin the only thing she has ever truly cared about.

And then there was the simple, terrifying truth—she wasn’t enough.

Yoonchae is just too elegant and composed. Everything she does is effortless. She's perfect in ways Megan could never be, and Megan is a mess. Loud, chaotic, a disaster in sneakers and corny jokes and bad timing. How could someone like Yoonchae ever want her?

So she stepped back. Just a little. Enough to put distance between herself and the heat of possibility. Enough to hide the storm of hope and fear and longing burning inside her chest. And in that tiny retreat, she tells herself she was being careful. Responsible. Probably even safe.

Then her instincts take over. She bolts. The hall was a blur of costumes, laughter, half-assed decorations, and scattered confetti. Her sneakers squeak against the floor while her chest heaves as if it were about to crack in half. Every footstep drives her further from Yoonchae, from the kiss, and from everything that might undo her careful self-control.

She doesn’t stop until the doors of the party swing behind her or when the cold night air hits her like a slap. Her hair whip around her face as the scent of burnt leaves and pumpkin candles sting her nostrils. She can hear faint music and laughter behind her, and it is muffled and distant, belonging to another world she can no longer touch.

Her car was parked just beyond the driveway with the headlights off, her keys glinting faintly in the fading orange glow of the streetlamps. She fumbles with the lock as her hands shake, teeth clenching against a sob she wouldn’t let out. She throws herself into the driver’s seat as she slumps against the steering wheel, and lets herself collapse into the chaos of her own racing mind.

Yoonchae’s face haunted her vision. The warmth of her hand and the softness of her lips. The unreadable hurt along with the flicker of disappointment. Megan presses her forehead against the wheel. I ruined it. I ruined everything.

The world outside the car was still and quiet, but inside, Megan’s heart was a storm that was wild and relentless. And she didn’t know how to calm it.

She doesn't even know if she can go to school today. How can she even face the rehearsals? How can she breathe the same air as Yoonchae, see her flawless and composed face as she remembers the way she had painted hurt all over it? The memory makes her want to throw up.

Every time she closes her eyes, she sees it. Her face and lips. The ghost of that kiss.

The whirring fan does nothing to steady her racing heart and when her alarm rings for the third time, she throws it across the room letting it clash against the dresser. She forces herself upright and lets her feet sink into the carpet, welcoming the strange sensation. Anything foreign, anything to distract her from the memory is welcome. Even the soft scratch of carpet fibers underfoot is better than the pain of remembering last night.

She moves mechanically, pulling on her hoodie and sneakers as she stuffs her hair into a messy bun. Her fingers tremble as she grabs her bag and with every step towards the school feels like a battle. Each hallway longer than the last.

And then—

"Oop—!"

Megan collides with someone. Her bag flies against her hip with the keys and chains clinking against the strap. She looks up, and there she was.

Yoonchae.

Her eyes are wide and just as unreadable as last night, but it's sharper somehow. Concern? Annoyance? Megan can’t tell, and that makes her panic even more.

"I… I’m sorry—" Megan stammers as she stumbles back. She can't control the burning of her cheeks and how her heart hammers wildly in her chest like it was trying to escape. Her tongue feels heavy and useless as words fail her. She wants to explain or apologize, to run. Maybe everything all at once.

Yoonchae’s gaze doesn't waver. The hallway felt impossibly small, and every noise and footstep echoes in Megan’s skull.

And then, for a brief, terrifying moment, Megan realizes she can’t run away from this. From Yoonchae seeing her like this. Messy, frantic, and chaotic, just as she truly was. Her chest constricts along with the thoughts of wanting to disappear. She wants to laugh. She wants to collapse. Wants everything and nothing all at once.

"I…" Megan tries again, but Yoonchae’s quiet and steady stare stops her cold.

Megan swallows hard as she takes a shaky step back. She fumbles for her bag as if she can hide behind it because the hallway feels endless, and yet right now in this moment, it feels impossibly small.

"Don't miss rehearsals, Megan." Yoonchae says briefly and her tone is casual, her expression still the same as the moment they bumped with each other. Then she turns and walks away, leaving Megan rooted to the spot.

Megan stares at her retreating figure dumbfounded. Why is she acting like nothing even happened?

Megan doesn’t know how she was even standing. Her legs feel like lead and every thought spirals her back to Yoonchae’s lips, and her look that was hurt. She can’t face it again. Not now, not ever, but school demands it. The rehearsals does.

"Come on, Mei! We’re going to be late," Sophia tugs at her arm insistently as she drags her down the hallway like she’d done a hundred times before. Except this time, Megan wasn’t the one doing the dragging.

The contrast was brutal. Sophia is practically glowing. All bright hair, light laughter, and ease, probably still buzzing from whatever had happened with Daniela last night. Ew. Megan thinks even if she feels like she's on the brink of death due to her self-inflicted heartbreak.

She, on the other hand, feels like she’d been run over by a truck, flattened, smudged, and hollowed out. Her hoodie hangs off her shoulders like a shroud, her sneakers scuffing the linoleum with every reluctant step.

"You’re awfully quiet," Sophia finally says while she's poking her in the ribs, grinning. "What’s wrong? Spill."

Megan’s stomach twisted. Honestly, she's too tired and would rather be home. Also, too scared because if she spoke, she’d have to say the words that would make it all real again. The kiss. Yoonchae’s warmth. The retreat and the panic. Every heartbeat along with every flash of that unreadable face would replay in full, vivid color.

She swallows as she forces a shrug. "Nothing," she mutters with her voice hoarse and flat.

"Nothing?" Sophia presses, nudging her again. "You’re clearly dying on the inside."

Megan doesn’t answer. She lets her mind go blank, letting the hallway blur past her. Lockers gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights with the muffled chatter of students in the distance. The faint scrape of sneakers against the floor. She clings to the motion, letting the world move her forward because stopping meant facing what she had done, what she had let happen, what she couldn’t undo.

Her bag drags against her side like a forgotten weight, just another tether keeping her from floating away into the chaos in her head. Sophia keeps on talking, half-teasing and half-demanding, but Megan hears nothing. All she can feel is the memory of Yoonchae. The ghost of warmth and possibility. And the hollow ache of knowing she had run away.

By the time they reach the rehearsal room, Megan’s lungs burn and she realizes she has been holding her breath the entire way. Sophia pushes the door open, still chirping about timing and props, and Megan stumbles inside as she collapses into a chair. She stares blankly at the floor, too drained to move or speak.

When she lifts up her head, she spots Yoonchae first. Of course she does. Calm and focused while gliding between set pieces with the same composure Megan had admired for years. Her eyes are flicking occasionally while giving out instructions.

Megan’s stomach twists. She had kissed her crush—no, her crush kissed her—and yet Yoonchae was acting like nothing had happened. Nothing.

She would’ve taken anger over this. Coldness? Avoidance? Hatred, even. Just anything but this smooth indifference. Because Megan knows she hurt her, and she hasn’t forgiven herself for it. She hasn't last night or this morning, and probably not ever.

She’s so lost she can barely hold herself together but her eyes keep drifting toward the girl commanding the rehearsal room with a steady voice and perfect posture. There’s just something about Yoonchae that pulls her in and it's magnetic and effortless. In Megan’s eyes, she’s one of a kind. Someone she’ll spend her whole life looking for in other people and never find again.

And she blew it, because she backed away and she ruined everything.

If she hadn’t run, if she’d stayed or kissed her back, what would’ve happened? The question claws at her rib cage.

Megan drags a frustrated hand through her messy hair and forces herself to stand, deciding she should at least look useful instead of sulking in the corner like a kicked puppy. She moves toward the props, crouching to untangle the knotted wires for the moon statue that’s supposed to hang center stage.

She focuses on the wires even if her breath is uneven, trying to drown out the noise of the room. She tries not to look, but something shifts in her periphery.

She glances up.

Yoonchae is hugging one of the club members, arms around her, smiling. Smiling. So wide and bright. And God, it hits Megan like a punch to the gut.

Yoonchae isn’t an affectionate person. Megan knows that better than anyone. The girl carries a tiny bottle of alcohol everywhere so she doesn't have to touch anything dirty. She flinches at unexpected contact. She's careful and restrained, always holding herself just slightly away from everyone else.

But now she’s hugging someone.

Someone who isn’t Megan.

Megan’s body goes rigid while her throat closes. Her vision blurs just a little as she feels her eyes prickle with tears she refuses to let fall.

Fuck.

The first note of Carly Rae Jepsen's Your Type starts bleeding through her earbuds, which she has forgotten in the corner of her bag. It's playing a playlist she hasn’t intended to hear just now. Megan freezes as the lyrics, so painfully specific, wrap around her chest like a vice. She didn’t want this song. Not now. Not here.

But fate is a bitch and CRJ is merciless.

I'm not the type of girl for you, and I'm not going to pretend, that I'm the type of girl you'd call more than a friend—

The line slices straight through her, so painfully on-the-nose it might as well be mocking her. She swallows hard, blinking rapidly as she tries to keep her vision from turning into a watery blur.

Her breath stutters as she presses her palm against her sternum like she can physically hold the ache down, force it back, keep it from spilling out in front of everyone. But she can’t. She’s cracking and it’s visible.

"Megan?" Sophia’s voice cuts through the room immediately. The kind that belongs to someone who notices every shift. "Hey, you okay?"

Megan darts a glance her way, quick and panicked, shaking her head before she can stop herself. It’s subtle and barely a motion but Sophia sees it. Her expression shifts with worry replacing her earlier glow.

And that’s when Yoonchae looks over.

She wasn’t supposed to. She was still mid-conversation, halfway through laughing with one of the members she’d hugged, but Megan’s movement, sharp and wounded, draws her attention like a magnet.

Their eyes meet.

Megan’s breath catches.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

She knows she looks like she’s seconds away from breaking since she can feel it on her face. In the tension around her mouth along with the sting behind her eyes. She knows Yoonchae can see it too. The same girl she kissed last night, the same girl she’s been avoiding since.

Yoonchae’s smile falters. Not much, just a fraction. Barely there. But Megan sees it.

She can’t handle it.

"I— I need a minute," Megan blurts with her voice choked and too soft to be normal. She stands so fast that her chair screeches against the floor, making half the room jump. She doesn’t apologize and doesn’t look at anyone.

Especially not her.

She practically bolts for the doors, shoving past a stack of cardboard props and nearly tripping over a pile of costumes. Her bag smacks against her hip as she pushes through the exit and the theater’s cool air gives way to the hallway’s sharp draft, and that’s all it takes.

Her throat collapses at the same time as her vision blurs. She walks, her pace fast, not caring where she’s going because she just needs to get out.

Out of that room. Out from under Sophia’s worried eyes or Yoonchae’s unreadable stare. Out before she falls apart in front of everyone.

She turns the corner and disappears, the door swinging shut behind her as the music still plays faintly from her bag.

I'm not the type of girl for you…

It feels like mockery.

Like truth.

Like heartbreak.

And Megan finally lets her tears fall.

The next day, the theater room feels different. No one repeats the way Megan froze in the doorway before hurriedly walking away, heart breaking and hands trembling. It hangs in the air anyway almost as if it's a collective secret, the kind everyone chooses not to touch.

Someone clears their throat when Megan walks in while another busies themselves with adjusting a prop that doesn’t need adjusting. A couple of first-years straighten their scripts trying so hard to avoid eye contact. Even Sophia bites her tongue.

And yet, as the room rearranges itself into routine, the memories press on Megan’s ribs. Every time she blinks, she still sees the way Yoonchae's features changed so briefly before she fled.

She tries not to look.

She looks anyway.

Yoonchae stands near the center stage, her posture straight as a spine of steel. Her hair is pulled into its usual precise ponytail, no sign of any frazzled edges with her voice clear and steady.

"Places for Act One. Let’s start from the entrance sequence."

Nothing wavers or cracks. If she’s hurting, you’d never know.

Megan drags a piece of set dressing to its spot, keeping her eyes down but the weight of Yoonchae’s presence pulls at her like gravity. Every time she tries to focus on her own task, she feels that familiar tug that's just too painful and impossible to ignore. And every time she looks up, Yoonchae is… just there. Nearby but never far and never close.

A cold orbit.

Not cold exactly but just the absence of warmth. Like the sun behind clouds.

At one point, Megan nearly drops a prop lantern when she notices Yoonchae approaching. She tenses because she's expecting something. A look or even just a nod. Just any sign, at this point. But Yoonchae brushes past her without meeting her eyes, speaking to a freshman about lighting cues. Her shoulder comes close enough to stir the air between them but not close enough to touch.

Megan’s heart stumbles as her fingers tighten around the lantern’s handle because Yoonchae used to look at her. Maybe not often or not too long, but enough for Megan to feel lit from the inside, and now she doesn’t and she can't help but think that this is worse than anger or clear avoidance.

It’s careful neutrality.

Sophia elbows her lightly when they both crouch to pick up fallen costume sequins.

"You okay?" she whispers.

Megan doesn’t answer. Her throat is too full. She gathers the sequins into a small pile even though they’ll just spill again while her hands won’t stop shaking.

Sophia doesn’t push but her eyes soften. She knows. And maybe everyone knows as well.

Everyone except—

"Five-minute break," Yoonchae calls out.

Her voice cuts through the room, clean and clipped. Megan watches as people scatter toward water bottles along with their own snack bags and charging cables.

Yoonchae stays exactly where she is, scribbling notes on her clipboard. Composed and untouchable as ever. Her face is unreadable, a still pond Megan can’t see the bottom of. And for a second Megan wonders if yesterday's fiasco had meant nothing to her at all. If the threatening tears and Megan's obvious panic is just a moment to Yoonchae that doesn't really matter.

Then Yoonchae looks up.

Their eyes meet. A flicker, so fast Megan almost misses it, passes over Yoonchae’s expression. Something tight and something held in place, and then her gaze moves on. Just slides away.

Megan exhales shakily.

If she’s hurting, she hides it perfectly. If Megan’s hurting, she couldn’t hide it if she tried.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Maybe that’s why the orbit between them feels so painfully imbalanced. One girl made of light she never lets spill, and the other a collapse barely held together by the hope she can pretend.

The five-minute break ends.

"Act Two entrance," Yoonchae announces.

Everyone moves and so does Megan. They keep moving around each other, careful and stiff, leaving just enough distance that nothing touches and nothing heals.

A cold orbit. But still an orbit. Still circling the same space and pulled by something neither of them will name.

And for now, that’s all they are.

Days blur.

The hours melt together in a rhythm Megan barely survives. Wake up, go to school, rehearse, avoid eye contact, pretend she isn’t unraveling, go home, then repeat.

And the world keeps moving even if she can’t breathe.

Lunch is loud today, louder than Megan can handle, but Sophia wedges herself beside her anyway, shaking off Daniela’s iron grip with an excuse so flimsy Megan is shocked it worked.

Something about needing to “check a thing,” whatever that means and Megan appreciates it. She really does. But appreciating and functioning like a person are two very different things.

They sit in their usual corner of the cafeteria, a tiny pocket of familiarity carved out between the chaos of metal trays and the clatter of shoes. Sophia’s ramen is already half gone with the steam curling past her cheeks, while Megan’s bowl sits untouched.

The broth surface ripples when Sophia leans in, poking Megan’s cheek with one of her chopsticks. "Hey. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, Mei."

Her voice isn’t teasing, not fully, and she scoots closer enough for their knees to bump. Her brows pinch together as she studies Megan’s face, and the concern there is sharp enough to make Megan want to turn away.

It feels exactly like that. Megan almost says. Instead she lifts a shoulder, a shrug that is too heavy to be casual.

Sophia sighs quietly, deciding that she shouldn't push. Not after watching Megan bolt out of the rehearsal room like the walls were collapsing around her that day. But she stays close. Always close. Hooking Megan’s wrist when she walks too slowly between classes, pulling her out of the way of stampeding freshmen, keeping her tethered when she feels like she might float off somewhere dark and unreachable.

Bless her.

And damn her for knowing too much.

Sophia nudges the ramen bowl toward her. "Eat at least the egg," she murmurs.

Megan’s throat tightens. The cafeteria noise fades for a second, replaced by the echo of a memory she keeps trying to forget. Yoonchae’s quiet breathing, her tense shoulders, her face painted with hurt. She swallows hard as she reluctantly picks up her chopsticks and stirs the noodles without lifting them.

She doesn’t look at Sophia again.Because if she does, she knows one poke and question, or one kind look will split her right open.

It happens in pieces. Little things. Small moments Megan tells herself she shouldn’t notice but notices anyway.

One time, Megan struggles through the narrow backstage corridor with two costume racks and a box of tangled fairy lights balanced against her hip. The wheels squeak, scraping against the uneven tiles. She’s sweating as she curses under her breath, already bracing for the impossible task of opening the heavy fire door without dropping anything. Before she can try, the door swings open.

She startles.

Yoonchae stands there, hand braced against the metal bar, holding the door wide enough for the racks to pass.

Her posture is perfect with her usual unreadable expression. Her eyes are carefully fixed on a spot over Megan’s shoulder—anywhere but her face.

"Thanks," Megan mutters, her voice small.

Yoonchae gives a tiny nod and nothing else. She doesn’t smile or even look at her. She just steps aside, letting Megan pass as if she’s nothing more than another piece of equipment moving through the hallway.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Megan’s heart stutters at the sound.

The next one was during rehearsal, Megan was kneeling near the prop table, checking off the moon charm necklace the lead needs for Act Two. Her fingers fumble with the clasp since she can’t get it to release. Suddenly, a hand appears in front of her, holding the correct necklace.

"Use this one," Yoonchae says. Her fingers extend just enough to pass the chain over, nothing more.

Megan reaches out to take it, their hands nearly brushing. But Yoonchae’s hand withdraws the instant before contact, as if the air itself burns. She doesn’t wait for a thank you. She’s already walking away, giving instructions to the ensemble with that same even tone she uses for everything that isn’t Megan.

Megan stares at the necklace in her palm until the metal warms under her skin.

And every one of those moments hurt but not because they’re hostile or because Yoonchae is avoiding her. But because she isn’t. She’s showing up and is doing her job. She’s being polite and poised and impossible to read. She’s doing everything she used to do but with the warmth carved out. Hollowed clean.

Every gesture feels like the shadow of something that almost became real.

Almost.

It’s the almosts that kill Megan the most.

And Megan tries to move on. She really does.

She forces jokes again. Loud, stupid ones that used to make people groan and throw napkins at her. She tries to resurrect the “old Megan,” the class clown, the chaotic life of the party who could pull anyone into her orbit.

She doodles cartoons in the margins of her script. Tiny moons wearing sunglasses pushing stick figures off the stage, a little chibi drawing of Sophia threatening to commit violence with a prop sword then another version with chibi Sophia and Daniela kissing behind the theater room's red curtains.

She blasts music through her earbuds until her ears ring, anything loud enough to drown out the thoughts she’s been trying so hard not to think.

The act works, sort of. People brighten when she walks by, like they’re relieved she’s finally stopped looking like the ghost of someone who used to be fun. But the thing about pretending you’re okay is that it only works until you’re alone again.

And every time the thoughts crash over her in heavy and relentless waves, she repeats the same lie:

It was just a kiss. A meaningless mistake. A moment blown out of proportion.

She says it until the words lose shape. Because it was never “just” anything. Megan knows that. She knows it the way she knows how to breathe.

Because even if Yoonchae goes through each day like nothing cracked open between them that night, Megan feels it everywhere. In the quiet between their footsteps or the way the air shifts when they pass. In the places her ribs ache like something important folded inward and never unfolded again.

The next week bleeds into the one after it. And still, Megan catches herself watching Yoonchae in fragments. Not intentionally or desperately.

It just happens.

A glimpse of her ponytail as she crosses the auditorium. The soft crease between her brows when she reviews blocking notes. The controlled rise and fall of her breathing when she’s stressed. The way she turns her face away exactly one heartbeat before their eyes might meet.

Megan looks down every time she gets caught. Or pretends she doesn’t see. She even resorts to hiding behind her script, her hoodie, or her hair. Anything. And it's making her look ridiculous.

But it keeps happening. Every day.

Because moving on isn’t something you can force. Not when the person you’re trying to forget still exists in the same room and the same air. The same orbit. Close enough to see but far enough not to touch.

And Megan hates how much she feels it.

All of it.

It happens on a Tuesday. A nothing day, really. Just the kind of day that shouldn’t matter.

Rehearsal ends late, and Megan realizes halfway to the school gate that she forgot her script inside the theater. Cursing softly and doubling back, she jogs through the empty hallways lit by humming fluorescent lights. The building is mostly silent now with just the low rumble of the air-conditioning along with the faint buzz of stage lights cooling.

When she slips into the backstage area, she stops.

Yoonchae is there. Alone.

She’s bent over the director’s table, going through a scattered mess of set lists, blocking notes, prop checklists, and costume reports spread out on the table like a battlefield. The overhead lights are off with only the lamp halo outlining her silhouette. Her hair is pulled tighter than usual, but the ends are frizzed and slightly curled, the way they get when she’s been running her hands through them too much.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she writes.

She pauses, closes her eyes, and presses the heel of her hand against her forehead for a long, tense moment.

Megan swallows.

She should go or she should cough loudly, make footstep noises or fake a phone call. She should let Yoonchae have this quiet moment to breathe without extra eyes on her. But she doesn’t move. Megan just stands there holding a handful of moon confetti she picked on the way like an idiot.

She has never, in all four years of watching Yoonchae from afar, seen her look like this. Defeated and overwhelmed. She’s always been unshakably in control.

But now? Now her armor has a crack.

Seeing all of this hurts in a way Megan can’t explain.

It’s stupid. Completely stupid. Because normal people don’t memorize the frizz in someone’s hair like it’s a roadmap to their emotional state.

Megan’s chest tightens further because it hits her instantly. Yoonchae isn’t hurting because of the musical. She’s hurting because she’s doing everything alone. Because she won’t ask for help and carries everything herself. Just trying so hard to hold things together.

And Megan tells herself she doesn’t get to come now because she forfeited the moment she ran out that night. Megan hasn’t been there, not since Halloween or since she ran.

Not when it mattered.

She inhales sharply as her fingers curl at her sides, stepping forward before she can even stop herself.

"Yoonchae?"

Yoonchae startles and spins around. Her eyes widen just for a second before she smooths her expression back into something rigid and controlled. Something that hurts to look at.

"Megan." Yoonchae straightens. "Do you need something?"

The distance feels like a knife through Megan's chest but she just swallows.

"I… came back for my script," she says. "But—you look—are you okay?"

Yoonchae’s jaw tightens, subtle but telling.

"I’m fine."

It’s the lie Megan herself has said a hundred times and it echoes between them like static. Something inside Megan breaks quietly and gently, an old fear dissolving into something braver.

She steps closer.

"You don’t look fine."

Yoonchae freezes and for the first time in weeks, Megan doesn’t run. She doesn’t back away, doesn’t hide. Because this is the girl she loves and the girl she hurts.

The girl she never stopped wanting.

And right now, she can’t walk away again. Not when Yoonchae is unraveling in front of her or when she has the chance to fix this — even a little.

She steps forward before she loses her nerve.

"Let me help," she says with a voice softer than she intends that its almost a whisper.

Yoonchae goes still. Her posture stiffens as her eyes flick toward Megan with a guarded sharpness. There’s something brewing beneath her expression, something tight and stormy, and it makes Megan falter for half a heartbeat.

But she doesn’t back away. Not this time.

The cold backstage air bites at her fingers as she reaches out. Her hand trembles, but she moves slowly like she's approaching a frightened animal she desperately doesn’t want to spook.

This time, I won’t run away.

Her fingertips brush Yoonchae’s sleeve first, then her palm settles gently on her arm. The contact is barely there, a whisper of warmth through the fabric, but it’s enough. Her heart, which had been a frantic, panicked thing in her chest, suddenly eases into a steadier rhythm. Not calm or safe, but certain.

Megan swallows, words tumbling out in a hush.

"I know it’s hard doing everything alone," she murmurs. "You don’t have to. Just… let me help you. Please."

The air between them tightens. Yoonchae doesn’t pull away but she doesn’t lean in either. She simply stands there, caught somewhere between resistance and relief, her breath trembling like she’s deciding which way to fall. Her eyes are fixed somewhere near Megan’s shoulder like direct eye contact might break something fragile between them.

A long, heavy silence settles.

Megan can hear the distant slam of a locker down the hall along with her own heartbeat thudding slow and thick in her ears. She thinks maybe Yoonchae won’t say anything at all.

"Megan."

Her name leaves Yoonchae’s lips like a careful exhale. Not sharp and cold but just cautious. The tone makes Megan looks up and Yoonchae’s gaze finally meets hers.

First thing she notices is that the brewing storm that was just forming on the girl's face a few moments ago is gone. Just now left with a look that is unbearably earnest.

"Why did you run that night?" The question is so soft Megan almost misses it. So soft it hurts more than if she’d shouted.

Megan's breath catches. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Every answer she’s rehearsed in the past weeks dissolving the moment she sees the small tremor at the corner of Yoonchae’s mouth, the faint tightness around her eyes. She really wants to know. She’s been wanting to know all along.

Megan swallows hard.

"I… I panicked," she finally whispers. "I thought—" She cuts herself off, fingers curling into Yoonchae’s sleeve. "I thought I was imagining it. That I misread everything. That you didn’t mean it."

Yoonchae’s brows pull together, a tiny crease forming between them. "Megan. I kissed you."

"I know," Megan says, her teeth catching her lower lip. "But I thought maybe it was a mistake. Or you were overwhelmed. Or you felt pressured, or—"

"Megan."

This time Yoonchae's voice is firmer but gentle which makes Megan's rambling die instantly.

Yoonchae’s voice softens again, quiet and steady like she’s afraid of startling her. "I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t want to."

The words hit Megan like a punch that her knees nearly give out. She forces herself to breathe, gripping tighter onto Yoonchae’s sleeve to keep from collapsing entirely.

"But I’m… I’m not like you," Megan admits, voice cracking around the edges. "You’re composed. Confident. Perfect all the time. And I’m—" she gestures vaguely at herself, miserable, "—me."

Something flickers across Yoonchae’s face and it's not frustration or confusion but something closer to disbelief.

"Megan," she says quietly. "You running away didn’t hurt because I thought you rejected me."

Megan’s head jerks up. "What?"

Yoonchae’s throat works around the words. She glances away for half a second, the tiniest show of vulnerability Megan has seen from her in months.

"It hurt because…" She exhales shakily. "Because I thought I scared you."

Megan freezes.

"I thought maybe I pushed too far. Or I made you uncomfortable." Her voice gets even softer. "I thought maybe you regretted it the moment it happened."

"I didn’t," Megan blurts. "God, I didn’t."

Yoonchae’s eyes lift toward her again, searching her face and searching for something true. Megan steps closer without thinking.

"I ran because it meant too much to me," she says. "And I didn’t know how to handle that."

Yoonchae’s breath stutters. Their faces are close now. Not kissing-close, but close enough that Megan can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can see the faint tremble in her eyelashes.

"Megan," Yoonchae murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "You could have told me."

"I know." Megan’s voice breaks. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Yoonchae doesn’t move for the longest moment. Then she lowers her head just slightly, just enough that her forehead nearly touches Megan’s. A gesture so subtle, so intimate that Megan feels the world tilt around her.

"I didn’t want distance," Yoonchae whispers.

"I didn’t either," Megan breathes.

There's silence again, but this one is different. It's warm and fragile, waiting.

"…Can we not run away from each other anymore?" Yoonchae asks, her eyes soft and watery on the edges. The sight makes Megan nearly crash out and she nods before she even realizes she's doing it.

"I don’t want to run. Not from you."

Yoonchae lets out a trembling breath, the kind that sounds like relief. Relief so raw it makes Megan’s chest ache. Their hands don’t touch and their faces don’t close the last inch but the space between them feels changed. It's now softer and finally honest.

And it feels like the start of something they’re both ready — truly ready — to reach for.