Archive of Our Own

The thing about moving into a dorm room is that you’re supposed to show up with a reasonable amount of stuff. Clothes, toiletries, maybe a laundry basket and some snacks. Normal things that normal people bring to college — at least, according to Lara, and her dad, and other people considered more “reasonable” and “responsible” than Megan (whatever that means).

Problem one: Megan is not a normal person.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone when she shows up with three suitcases, two duffel bags, an entire box dedicated solely to string lights and fairy lights and every other kind of decorative lighting known to mankind, another box full of snacks — because what if her roommate had a peanut allergy and she’d only brought peanut butter crackers, or what if her roommate was vegan and she’d only brought jerky, or what if her roommate was religious and couldn’t eat pork and she’d only brought a ham sandwich, or what if her roommate was lactose intolerant and she’d only brought cheese; the possibilities for social catastrophe were literally endless — a mini fridge that her mom insisted she needed even though the dorm came with a communal one, a corkboard pre-decorated with polaroids from high school that she’d spent three hours arranging the night before, and a concerning number of stuffed animals that she’d convinced herself were absolutely essential for her mental health.

Her dad had given her a look when they were loading up the car. Just a look. The kind of look that said Megan, sweetie, you know you’re only going to be two hours away, right? You can come home on weekends if you forget something

But Megan had resolutely ignored it, smiling wide and shoving another bag into the trunk, because this was college, this was her fresh start, and she was going to do it right.

Now, standing in the doorway of her empty half of the room, she’s starting to think she may have overdone it. 

The room is small. Like, smaller than she’d imagined, even though she’d looked at the dimensions online approximately forty-seven times and had drawn out a floor plan on graph paper. With colored pencils, because she’s extra like that, and also because it helped her visualize where her desk would go versus where her bed would go versus where she’d hang the full-length mirror that she definitely needed. There’s an unmade bed in the corner, a bare mattress with those weird plastic covers that crinkle when she sits on them. She tries not to cringe at the sound. Directly across: her desk, empty and far too clean for a Megan-inhabited-space, except for a single mysterious stain in the corner that Megan’s trying not to think about. Her closet is tiny, probably couldn’t fit half her wardrobe even if she Tetris’d the hell out of it. When she peers out the window overlooking the quad, she can already see people throwing frisbees even though it’s, like, 8 AM and move-in just started.

Anyway.

Her side of the room is going to be perfect. 

She’s already planned it out: fairy lights strung up around the window and above her bed, posters on the walls (she’s brought seven and will definitely have to narrow it down, but that’s a later problem), photos everywhere, her stuffed animals arranged on her bed in a way that looks casual but is actually very deliberately organized by size and color, and —

The door opens.

Megan spins around so fast she almost drops the box of lights she’s holding, and her heart does this stupid jumpy thing in her chest because oh god, oh god, this is it, this is her roommate, and what if her roommate hates her, what if her roommate takes one look at all of Megan’s stuff and decides she’s too much and requests a room change, what if —

There’s a girl standing in the doorway.

She’s tall. Taller than Megan, which is saying something because Megan’s 5’6” (and a half, thanks), meaning she usually feels on the tall side of things. But this girl has to be 5’7”, maybe 5’8” — with long dark hair stringing down her shoulders, and an oversized gray hoodie and black sweatpants fastened on despite the fact that it’s like 90 degrees outside and the dorm doesn’t have air conditioning yet because apparently the facilities people think September counts as “already autumn” and “not hot enough to warrant turning the AC on.” Which, seriously? 

The girl, her roommate for the remainder of the year, is holding a single suitcase. One suitcase. A creeping sense of horror fills Megan as she glances back at her own pile of belongings that’s starting to look less like “prepared college student” and more like “I’m a stuffed animal hoarder.”

She’s looking at Megan with this expression that Megan can’t quite read. Not unfriendly, but not exactly friendly either. Just… neutral. Observing. She feels like a specimen being analyzed by a scientist. 

Problem two: Megan has never quite mastered the art of silence.

Silence is dreary, awkward, wildly uncomfortable. After approximately two seconds — which feels like a reasonable amount of time to Megan — she can't stand it any longer.

“Hi!” Megan exclaims, way too loud. She knows it’s too loud because the girl’s eyes widen a fraction. She tries not to crawl into a hole and die. “You must be, um… You’re my roommate, right? I’m Megan!”

“You must be, um.”

Stellar job, Megan. She’s really killing this social interaction thing.

The girl nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m Yoonchae.” Her voice is quiet, a little flat. Megan can’t tell if she’s shy, unimpressed, or if this is just how she talks. 

Megan sets the box down on her bed — well, drops it, really, because her hands are sweaty and the cardboard is slipping, and she’s pretty sure she heard something inside break (please don’t let it be the fairy lights, please don’t let it be the fairy lights) — and wipes her palms on her shorts before sticking her hand out for a handshake. Because that’s what she’s supposed to do when she meets someone new, right? Be professional? Confident? Like Megan’s at a job interview, except the job is “roommate” and the interview is “the next nine months of your life”?

Lovely.

Yoonchae glances at Megan’s outstretched hand, then back up at her face, and for a horrible, gut-wrenching second, Megan thinks she’s going to leave her hanging. But then she shifts her backpack and shakes Megan’s hand. Her grip is firm. Her hand is cool and dry, unlike Megan’s, which is definitely still clammy and gross, and, oh god, what if Yoonchae thinks she has sweaty hand disease or something? Is that even a thing? Can she make a bad first impression based solely on hand moisture?

“Nice to meet you.” Yoonchae smoothly cuts through the train chugging in her head, before letting go and properly stepping into the room, dragging her singular suitcase behind her.

Megan watches her for a second, until she realizes she’s still standing there with her hand half-extended like an idiot. She quickly drops it and tries to look like a normal person who definitely wasn’t just spiraling about hand sweat.

Yoonchae surveys the room — her gaze lands on Megan’s pile of stuff, lingers there for a moment, and Megan swears she sees the corner of her mouth twitch (with amusement? judgment? hell, gas?) — before gesturing at the empty side of the room. “This side is mine?”

“Oh! Yeah! I got here super early because I’m, like, chronically incapable of being late to anything ever.” She has to gasp for breath because, unfortunately, oxygen is a necessity, but her big stupid mouth won't close no matter how much her brain wills it. She’s like a waterfall, spewing incomprehensible word vomit to a roommate who’s most likely going to hate her two weeks in. Housing will be seeing her sooner than she thought. “It's a whole thing, my friends used to make fun of me for showing up to parties like an hour early and just sitting in my car until it was socially acceptable to go inside. Uh, yeah, anyway, I just picked this side, but if you want to switch we can totally do that! I’m not picky. Well, I mean, I kind of am picky, but not about this specifically. I just want you to be comfortable!”

Yoonchae blinks at her. Once. Twice. 

Simultaneously, Megan regrets her existence. Once. Twice.

“…It’s fine,” she says finally. “This side is good.”

“Okay! Cool! Coolio!” Megan chirps, clapping her hands together. She immediately regrets it because the sound is way too loud in the small room and Yoonchae’s eyes awkwardly flick to her hands and then back up. Megan is starting to sweat for reasons that have nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning.

Yoonchae sets her suitcase down on her bed and unzips it, and Megan tries not to stare. It’s hard not to when Yoonchae moves with this sergeant-like efficiency that Megan has literally never possessed in her entire life. Everything Megan does is loud and involves at least three false starts and some minor injuries; Yoonchae just… does things. No fuss, no commentary. She pulls out a stack of neatly folded clothes and sets them on the bed. Once satisfied with her arrangement, Yoonchae takes out a laptop, a pencil case, a water bottle — more and more and more. Megan starts to lose track. But everything is organized, like she planned this out, like she didn’t just throw things into her suitcase at the last minute while her dad yelled at her to hurry up because they were going to hit traffic.

It’s kind of mesmerizing, actually.

Megan realizes she’s been staring for like thirty seconds and quickly looks away, busying herself with unpacking her own stuff. She plugs in her fairy lights first (thankfully they’re not broken, crisis averted), then starts hanging up posters: one of Paramore, one from her favorite anime (she’s not a huge anime person but she did watch Haikyuu!! with her friends and developed a mild obsession with Kenma, who she related to on a spiritual level because he also hated physical activity), and one of a sunset over the ocean in Hawaii — her hometown, where she learned how to walk, learned her alphabet… among other things that makes her too sad to think about — that she took last year and got printed at Walgreens for fifteen dollars. It had seemed like too much for such a small photo, but her mom said it was “investing in memories” so Megan went with it.

She’s debating whether to put up the fourth poster (it’s a motivational quote that says “Good Vibes Only” in curly font and she’s not sure if it’s cute or cringe) when Yoonchae speaks again.

“You have a lot of stuff.”

Megan freezes, poster in hand, and turns around. Yoonchae isn’t looking at her, crouched down and busy pulling more clothes out of her suitcase, but there’s a tiny smirk on her face that makes Megan’s stomach do a weird little flip.

“I, uh, yeah.” Megan laughs nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I might have overpacked a little. Or a lot. My dad said I was moving in, not moving the entire house, but I just wanted to be prepared, you know? What if I forgot something important?”

“Like seven posters?”

Megan’s face flushes hot. “They’re for ambiance!”

“Uh-huh.” Yoonchae stands up, holding a stack of t-shirts, and finally looks at Megan. Her expression is still neutral, but her eyes are glinting with something that might be amusement, and Megan doesn’t know what to do with that. She’s used to people either loving her energy or being annoyed by it. There's not usually an in-between. For some reason, she finds herself liking it. Yoonchae being an anomaly. Her uniqueness. 

“I like your hoodie,” Megan blurts out, because she doesn’t know what else to say and her mouth can’t keep a lid on itself when her brain checks out.

Yoonchae glances down at herself, then back up at Megan. It’s a plain gray hoodie. It’s nothing special. Yoonchae probably got it years ago, and thinks Megan is a complete and total weirdo for even mentioning it. But if Yoonchae’s weirded out by Megan’s whole… Megan-ness, she expresses none of those grievances out loud, only tossing Megan a quick “thanks”. Megan’s eternally grateful for that.

A pause. It’s not long before Megan’s hands forgo decoration in favor of fidgeting with the edge of her poster, crinkling the corners. She forces herself to stop before she ruins it completely. 

The silence stretches out — it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it’s not comfortable either — and Megan, god damn it all, is physically incapable of letting silence just exist without trying to fill it with something.

“So!” she starts brightly. “What’s your major? I’m doing Econ right now, but honestly I’ll probably change it later. I’m kind of all over the place. My mom says I have commitment issues but I think I just have, like, a lot of interests, you know? Like, I did gymnastics for eight years but then I quit to focus on dance, and I did vocal lessons when I was younger but I stopped because I wanted to try other stuff, and I was in drama club for a bit but then I realized I didn’t actually like being on stage that much, I just liked the idea of it, and —”

“Biochem,” Yoonchae interrupts.

Megan blinks. “What?”

“My major. Biochemistry.”

“Oh! Oh, wow, that’s so cool!” Megan perks up, bouncing a little on her heels. “That’s, like, super smart. I’m terrible at science. Well, not terrible terrible, I got a B in AP Bio, and passed the exam with a 4, but I had to study so hard for it and I still barely understood half the stuff we were learning. Especially the Krebs cycle. Like what even is that? Why does it have so many steps? Who decided that was necessary —” She cuts herself off, realizing she’s rambling again. “Are you good at science?”

Yoonchae stares at her for a long moment, and Megan feels pinned under her gaze. It’s like Yoonchae is trying to figure her out, trying to decide if Megan is worth the effort of a real conversation or if she’s just going to be the overly chatty roommate who Yoonchae will learn to tune out over the next nine months. Dear god, she hopes her reputation isn’t the overly chatty, overbearing roommate. Prays, even.

Then Yoonchae’s mouth quirks up at the corner, just barely. Megan chooses to take it as a roommate-does-not-hate-me win. “I wouldn’t be majoring in it if I wasn’t.”

“Right. Yeah. Obviously.” Megan laughs a little too loud. Then she’s thinking oh crap and covering her mouth with her hand because sounding like a hyena was so not the image she wanted to give Yoonchae. “Sorry, I’m being so weird right now. I’m not usually this weird, I promise. Well, actually, I kind of am this weird, but usually people find it charming? Or at least tolerable? I’m just excited! And nervous! Excited-nervous. Is that a thing? I feel like that should be a thing.”

“It’s fine,” Yoonchae replies, unfazed, and turns back to her unpacking.

They settle into a rhythm after that: Megan chattering away while she unpacks, Yoonchae responding with the occasional word or hum of acknowledgment. It’s not exactly the bonding experience Megan had imagined — though, to be fair, she’s a home-schooled kid that pictured them staying up late talking about their lives, their dreams, their fears, maybe braiding each other’s hair or doing some other roommate activity imbedded into movies — but it’s not terrible either. Yoonchae seems content to let Megan fill the silence, and Megan is more than happy to oblige.

By the time they’re both finished unpacking, it’s past noon and Megan’s stomach is growling so loud she’s genuinely concerned it might be audible from the hallway.

“Do you want to get lunch?” Megan asks, trying to sound casual. She fails. Completely. Wonderful. “I think there’s a dining hall downstairs?”

Yoonchae considers this for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

“Cool! Let me just —” Megan pauses, glancing at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the door. Her hair is a mess. There's a suspicious stain on her shirt and she charges the morning breakfast sandwich she ate half-asleep in the car with the crime. Megan looks generally disheveled, with eyebags and glasses crowding her features. Yikes.  “Should I change?”

“You’re fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Yoonchae looks like she means it, and it seems genuine. It fills Megan with a sense of pride, that genuineness presented toward her, and, well — Megan’s a sucker for kindness and decides to take her word for it, grabbing her phone and following Yoonchae out of the room.

The dining hall is exactly what Megan expected: overwhelming, smelly, and breaking thirty health code violations.

It's huge, first of all, with rows and rows of tables stretching out in every direction. Inside it lie approximately seven thousand freshmen who all seem to know exactly where they're going and what they're doing, while Megan stands frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights. Or rather a deer that got hit by a car, survived, and is now stumbling around trying to figure out what just happened. Either way, she’s clueless and lost.

Yoonchae walks in like she owns the place.

Megan scurries after her, trying to match her pace but also trying not to look like she's following too closely, because that would be weird, right? They just met. They're not attached at the hip. Megan has to be cool about this. Casual. Normal.

Problem three: Megan is none of those things.

“Have you been here before?” Megan asks, after ducking a third swinging arm, and narrowly avoiding a one-two punch to the head. She’s waddling like a new-born chicken, while Yoonchae navigates through the crowd with the confidence of someone who's done this a thousand times. The thing is, Megan is like, 87% sure this is Yoonchae's first time here too, which means either Yoonchae is just naturally good at everything (a distinct possibility that Megan is trying not to be jealous of), or she's really good at faking it.

“No,” Yoonchae says simply.

“Oh.” Megan blinks. “But you seem like you know where you're going.”

Yoonchae glances back at her, and there's that little smirk again, the one that’s been making Megan's brain short-circuit all morning. “I'm just walking. You're the one following me.”

“I —” Megan's face flushes. “That's — okay, fair point.”

They get in line for food. It feels silent despite all the yells ringing in her ears. Like she can only feel the quiet when Yoonchae isn’t speaking. 

Megan tries very hard not to stare at Yoonchae. While somewhat successfully controlling her gazing problem, she tries to figure out what the hell to get, because there’s so many options and Megan has never been good at making decisions. Especially food decisions. Especially when there's someone watching her make food decisions. 

She ends up grabbing a sandwich because it's a safe, non-messy choice, some fruit in a desperate attempt to look healthy and responsible, and a bag of chips, because she's still Megan and needs something slightly bearable.

She already regrets not picking the pizza.

Yoonchae gets a salad. Just a salad. A depressingly small salad with, like, three pieces of lettuce and some sad-looking tomatoes.

“Is that all you're getting?” Megan questions, pointing at Yoonchae’s dish before she can stop herself. 

Yoonchae looks down at her tray, then back at Megan's overflowing plate. “Is that all you're getting?”

Megan's face burns. “Touché.”

They find a table in the corner, away from the gaggle of other freshmen centered around the middle of the hall. Megan sits down with far too much enthusiasm and tries not to cringe when her tray makes a loud clatter against the table that has a few people glancing over. She tries to ignore them, focusing instead on unwrapping her sandwich and looking like a normal person who eats food normally. 

She wants pizza. She wants chicken nuggets. She wants anything but this sandwich. Yoonchae sits across from her, picking at her salad with all the enthusiasm of someone attending a funeral, so, yay, it seems she isn’t the only one regretting her meal choice.

“So,” Megan starts, because the silence is back and she can't handle it. “Where are you from? Like, originally?”

“Korea,” Yoonchae responds, spearing a lettuce with her fork. It sags like it’s been killed.

“Oh! That's so cool! I'm from Hawaii. Well, I was born there, but I've been living in California since I was, like, ten.” Megan takes a bite of her sandwich, then realizes she's talking with her mouth full, and quickly swallows. Because. Well. Gross. Stellar roommate impression. “Sorry. Um, so you're an international student? That must be so hard, being so far from home and everything. Do you miss it? Korea, I mean. Have you been to the US before or is this your first time? How's your English? I mean, it's obviously good, you're speaking English right now, but —” She cuts herself off, realizing she's doing the thing again where she asks seven questions at once and doesn't give the other person time to answer any of them.

Yoonchae is looking at her with that unreadable expression again, and Megan wants to crawl under the table and live there forever.

“Exchange student,” Yoonchae corrects. “I've been here for a year. My English is okay.”

“Oh.” Megan feels stupid. Obviously Yoonchae's English is more than okay if she's been here for a year. Obviously. Of course. God, why is she like this? “That's, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, I didn't mean to assume.”

“It's fine.” Yoonchae takes another bite of her salad, chewing slowly. Megan watches her for a second too long before remembering that staring is a weird, socially unacceptable activity, and that she should probably eat her own food.

The sandwich is dry. Megan takes a sip of water and tries to think of something else to talk about, something that won't make her sound like an idiot or like she's interrogating Yoonchae about her life story.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Megan tries. Safe question. Normal question. The kind of question that normal people ask each other when they're trying to get to know each other.

Yoonchae shrugs. “Not really. I study, mostly.”

“That's…” Megan pauses. “That's kind of sad, actually.”

Yoonchae's eyebrows raise slightly, and Megan immediately backtracks.

“I mean — not sad sad, just — you should do stuff for fun, you know? Like, college isn't just about studying! It's about the experience! Meeting new people, trying new things, making memories!” Megan gestures wildly with her sandwich, nearly dropping it in the process. “I'm planning to join, like, at least three clubs. Maybe four. I haven't decided yet. There's this list of all the clubs at the activities fair tomorrow and I'm gonna check out all of them and see which ones seem cool. You should come with me! It'll be fun! Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Yoonchae echoes, which Megan is learning might be Yoonchae-speak for “no, but I'm too polite to say no directly.”

“What about back in Korea?” Megan presses, because she can't help herself. “Did you have hobbies there? Before you came here?”

Yoonchae is quiet for a moment, and Megan thinks maybe she's pushed too far, asked too many questions, been too much, as usual, but then Yoonchae says, “I liked gaming. Sometimes.”

Megan gets so excited her ears tinge pink. Finally! Common ground! Not all hope is lost! “Gaming? Like video games?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, me too!” Megan's practically vibrating in her seat now, like a kid hooked up on far too much candy. “What do you play? I'm really into Roblox right now, which I know is, like, embarrassing because it's technically a kids' game, but there are some genuinely challenging obbys and —”

“Roblox?” Yoonchae's mouth twitches, and Megan can't tell if she's amused or judging her. Maybe both. Yoonchae’s reactions are so miniscule, but Megan can’t help honing in on it. Like it’s a siren call.

“Don't laugh! It's fun!” Megan defends, pointing her sandwich at Yoonchae accusingly. “Have you ever tried Tower of Hell? It's insanely hard. I've been stuck on the same level for nearly two weeks.”

“I've played it,” Yoonchae admits. “It's not that hard.”

Megan gapes at her. “Excuse me? Not that hard? Are we talking about the same game?”

“Maybe you're just bad at it,” Yoonchae shoots back, and there's definitely amusement in her voice now, a slight teasing lilt that makes Megan's heart somersault in her chest. She chooses to take that as a sign of potential organ problems as opposed to any other alternative. 

“I am not bad at it! I'm strategically challenged!”

“That's the same thing.”

“It’s not!” Megan argues, even though it definitely is. “I’m just learning! Improving! Slowly! Like that turtle story! Slow and steady wins the race.”

Yoonchae hums, focusing back on her salad. Megan decides this is a battle she's not going to win. Yet. She'll prove herself eventually. Maybe she'll even get Yoonchae to play with her sometime, and then Yoonchae will see that Megan is not bad, she's just — okay, she's a little bad, but she's trying! She swears!

They finish eating in a comfortable-ish silence. Or, well, at least as comfortable as silence can be when Megan is internally screaming the entire time. When they're done, Yoonchae stands up first, grabbing her tray, and Megan scrambles to follow.

“Thanks for getting lunch with me,” Megan says as they head back toward their dorm. “I know we literally just met and you probably have better things to do than hang out with your weird, overly-talkative roommate —”

“You're not that weird,” Yoonchae interrupts.

Megan blinks. “Really?”

“You're a little weird,” Yoonchae amends, one of her hands coming up to smoothen her hair. Megan shouldn’t be watching as closely as she is. Alas, curiosity is a demon and she is its host. “But it's fine.”

It shouldn't make Megan as happy as it does, but warmth blooms in her chest anyway, and she grins so wide her cheeks hurt. “Cool. That’s — Yeah, cool.”

When they get back to the room, Yoonchae immediately goes to her desk and pulls out her laptop. Megan takes that as her cue to give her roommate some space. She flops onto her bed, staring up at the fairy lights she'd hung up earlier, and pulls out her phone.

She has seventeen texts, courtesy of Lara — who she'd been friends with since their teenage years, despite Megan being homeschooled and Lara attending high school in person, who’d decided to go to a different college because she’s a traitorous traitor — most of them asking how move-in went and if her roommate is cool or if she's already planning to request a room change.

megstar [1:55]: 

roommate is cool!! very quiet but seems nice

also she's really pretty

like REALLY pretty

is that a weird thing to notice about your roommate

probably

anyway i think we're gonna be friends!!

She doesn't mention the part where she's maybe, already, in the past few hours, developed a tiny (and completely manageable) crush on her roommate, because that's not relevant information and also because Lara would never let her hear the end of it.

Megan glances over at Yoonchae, who's focused on her laptop screen, face illuminated by the blue light. Her expression is serious and concentrated, and Megan wonders what she's working on. Yearns to know. Probably something smart and biochem-related that Megan wouldn't understand even if Yoonchae tried explaining it to her.

Yoonchae is pretty. That's an objective fact. Nice bone structure, clear skin, eyes that are dark and sharp and kind of intimidating but also kind of mesmerizing, and, oh my god, Megan needs to stop staring before Yoonchae notices and thinks she's a creep.

She forces herself to look back at her phone, scrolling through social media mindlessly, but her attention keeps drifting back to Yoonchae. This is fine. This is normal. It's normal to notice that your roommate is attractive. It doesn't mean anything.

It definitely means something. But Megan is choosing to ignore that for now.

Her phone buzzes with a notification, and Megan's eyes light up when she sees it's from Tumblr. She'd almost forgotten — she'd queued up a post earlier this morning, when her dad finally reprieved her from driving. It’s a long meta analysis about Jay and why he's actually the best ninja despite what certain people (cough, Zane stans, cough) might think.

It’s a recent development.

Both the ‘Ninjago’ thing and the ‘arguing on Tumblr’ thing.

Megan had gotten into Ninjago approximately three months ago, which she’s aware is extremely late to the party, considering the show has been around for years. Better late than never, right? 

She'd started watching it as a joke, something to put on in the background while she did other things, but then she'd actually gotten invested in the characters and the plot. Before she knew it she was binging entire seasons in one sitting and reading fanfiction at 3 AM.

And then she'd discovered the Tumblr fandom.

Which is where she'd encountered her nemesis, archenemy, devil of her eye, worst person alive, blah blah blah: chipoftheyoon.

Megan scrolls through the notes on her post, a smirk finding its way onto her face when she sees it's gotten a decent amount of attention. There's a good amount of reblogs, filled with tags like #yeah!! and #jay my beloved and #finally someone who gets it. Megan's about to close the app and bask in her vindication when she sees it.

It being a reblog from chipoftheyoon.

Her nemesis, archenemy, devil of her eye, worst person alive, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post:

this is the worst take i've ever seen. jay is annoying and his jokes aren't funny. zane is objectively the best ninja because he actually has character development and depth. also he's not constantly screaming. do better.

Megan's eye twitches.

She’s about to beat a bitch up.

Watch and learn, young padawans.

Megan cracks her knuckles, a slight huff of indignation slipping past her lips, before her fingers start flying.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post:

EXCUSE ME?? jay has TONS of character development what are you even talking about!! he goes from being insecure about his place on the team to becoming one of the most reliable ninjas!! and his jokes ARE funny you just have no sense of humor!! zane is boring and robotic (pun intended) and i will DIE on this hill!!

A pout forms on Megan’s lips before she can halt its path, already regretting the fact that she let herself get rage baited by one of chipoftheyoon’s awful takes. She slouches on the bed, burrowing under the covers. This is fine. She's fine. She's not actually mad. It's just—  chipoftheyoon always does this. Always. She shows up on Megan's posts with her pretentious takes and her holier-than-thou attitude, acting like her opinion is the only one that matters, and it drives Megan up the wall.

She's been fighting with chipoftheyoon for weeks now, ever since Megan made a post about Jay being underrated and chipoftheyoon had the audacity to reply with “he's underrated for a reason”. It had been war ever since.

The worst part? 

chipoftheyoon is everywhere. Megan cannot escape her villainous, evil grasp. Every Ninjago post Megan makes, every meta analysis, every gif set, every everything, chipoftheyoon is there, ready to disagree with her. It's like she has a Google alert set up for Megan's username or something.

And okay, maybe Megan has also been seeking out chipoftheyoon's posts just to argue with them, but that's beside the point.

Her phone buzzes again. Megan already knows what it's for. chipoftheyoon has responded. She sits up fast enough to give herself whiplash, eyes straining to read.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post:

“die on this hill” yeah that's exactly what your argument is doing. dying. jay stans are so predictable. can't defend him with actual evidence so you just resort to yelling. typical.

Megan's jaw drops. The audacity. The absolute audacity.

She’s going to actually beat a bitch up. Well — she isn’t, not really, but she wishes she could make chipoftheyoon sweat a bit. She’d do anything, seriously, anything, to see chipoftheyoon on her toes, to see her slightly scared of Megan. Or awe. In awe of Megan. That works too. God. It’d feel so good.

She starts typing, so loud and obnoxious it could’ve been heard across campus.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post:

OK FIRST OF ALL i have PLENTY of evidence i just didn't think i needed to write a dissertation to prove that jay is great!! second of all YOU'RE the predictable one!! every time someone says something nice about jay you show up like some kind of zane defense squad!! get a hobby!!

She's about to keep going, about to write an entire essay in the tags about why chipoftheyoon is wrong about everything, starting with ‘#never seen a more wrong opinion in my life #kill all zane fans #the depth of jay: he isn’t just some funny, comedic relief guy #lets start back in season one, when the snakes —’ when Yoonchae's voice cuts through her concentration.

“Are you okay?”

Megan glances up, startled. Yoonchae is looking at her with mild concern, and Megan realizes she's been scowling at her phone for the past five minutes like it personally offended her.

Which it has. In a way. chipoftheyoon hogs a majority of her screentime, anyway. Megan should make her pay for her phone bill. 

“Yeah! I'm fine!” Megan quickly answers, plastering on a smile. It’s unnatural. She’s always been bad at lying, her emotions easily bleeding through. Heart worn on sleeve and all that. “Just internet stuff. People being wrong on the internet. You know how it is.”

Yoonchae hums, turning back to her laptop. “You should probably not let internet people make you angry.”

Duh. But Yoonchae seems to seriously mean it, so Megan doesn’t have it in her heart to throw out some sarcastic remark. Deflecting route it is.

“Some girl on the internet isn’t making me angry,” Megan lies. “I tend to be very… passionate. About my opinions. I clash with people because of that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Megan slumps back against her pillows, staring at her phone. Yoonchae's probably right. She should just ignore chipoftheyoon. Block them, even. Move on with her life and focus on more important things, like her upcoming classes and making friends and definitely not developing a crush on her roommate who she's known for approximately six hours.

But…

Her phone buzzes again, loud and shrill, and Megan can't help the mix of loathing and excitement that blossoms in her when she sees chipoftheyoon has sent her a rebuttal. 

This is going to be a long year.

The second week of college is when Megan starts to realize that maybe, just maybe, she got really lucky with her roommate assignment.

Okay. She’s lying. It’s more than a “maybe”. It’s a “totally, completely, never been more sure of anything else”.

It starts small. 

Tuesday morning, Megan wakes up to find that Yoonchae has already left for her 8 AM class (because she's insane and willingly signed up for an 8 AM), but spots a granola bar sitting on Megan's desk with a post-it note stuck to it. It’s precisely placed, a tell-tale sign of it being Yoonchae’s doing. 

Megan stalks toward it, her sleep-addled bones leaving her to stumble not once, not twice, but thrice on the carpeted floor. 

She peers at the note, eyes squinting from the struggle of fighting tiredness and keeping them open.

She memorizes how pretty the handwriting is before she even begins to read the actual content.

You said you always skip breakfast. - Y

Megan stares at the note for a solid thirty seconds, and she strangely feels like running around her campus no less than one-hundred and fifty times. Her heart is…being weird again. She should go to the doctor soon. Get that checked out. 

It's just a granola bar. It's not a big deal. Yoonchae probably just had extras.

Megan eats it on the way to class and saves the post-it note in her desk drawer, and that's nobody's business but hers.

It’s also nobody’s business if she stares at the note like it’s an energy drink whenever she knows she has a steep pile of work to stifle through but feels her will draining post-lecture.

Wednesday afternoon, Megan’s sprawled on her bed, blanket kicked to the floor in frustration. She’s staring at her Econ textbook in hopes that if she glares at it hard enough, the words will start making sense. They don't. They never do. Econ graphs look like abstract art, and not the good kind. Hell, it isn’t even abstract art. It’s just nonsensical. Like that billion dollar banana art.

It’s just — she hates the repetition. It confuses her. They taught her the aggregate supply and aggregate demand curve, told her that demand was shifted to the right or left by CIGX (she knows this: consumer, business, government, and exports so, hah, take that, whoever assumed she’d fail) and that supply was shifted to the right or left by PITA (this one… alludes her slightly. Production, uh, technology, uh. Good enough). 

When they’d closed off the AD-AS curve, Megan felt a semblance of confidence in her abilities. Maybe she could do this after all. Her high school AP Microeconomics teacher, albeit online but still nasty all the same, would rue the day she doubted Megan’s prowess and talent!

Then the financial sector happened and her Microeconomics teacher proved right.

It suddenly felt far more complicated than it had to be: It wasn’t just about knowing the AD-AS curve, no, but knowing how to connect it to both the Money Market graph and the Loanable Funds Market graph.

In short: pure gibberish mumbojumbo.

Now she was stuck memorizing expansionary and contractionary actions for both monetary and fiscal policy, words like OMO and Tax cuts and Gov’t Spending and Discount rates jumbling in her head, and from there knowing that a change to the Money Market graph would shift AD, or that a change to AD would shift the demand for loanable funds.

What the fuck.

“You're doing it wrong.”

Megan frowns, lifting her head from the textbook that was about to be a home for her tears to find Yoonchae standing by her desk, backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at Megan's notebook from across the room with the grace of a hawk. Megan couldn’t fathom how she did it. To be fair, Megan was also near blind and wore glasses, but. Still. It shouldn’t be humanly possible.

Yoonchae’s words finally catch up to her. “I haven't even done anything yet,” Megan protests.

“Exactly.” Yoonchae plops her backpack on her bed before coming over. She politely perches herself on the edge of Megan's mattress. A beat passes and she gives up pleasantries, scooting herself directly next to Megan. They aren’t touching, but she’s close enough that Megan can smell her perfume. It smells good. Floral? Megan sniffs the air like a dog, and resolutely ignores the weird stare Yoonchae gives her. She’s not, like, smelling her roommate or anything. She’s smelling what the next-door neighbors are cooking, okay? She’s also definitely smelling the horrific boys that live upstairs, because, whew. “You're just staring at it. That's not studying.”

“I'm mentally preparing,” Megan groans, leaning her head back until she knocks into her pillow. She positions herself upright and prepares to do it again. Lean…and… she’s not leaning? Yoonchae’s hand on her shoulder halts her movements. Steady, consistent. It halts her brain for a little bit too. 

Yoonchae’s hand, the one resting on her shoulder, starts moving in a patting motion, but it’s so mechanical that it feels more like a towel cleaning a car than a comforting gesture. It comforts Megan anyway, because it’s Yoonchae. “You've been mentally preparing for twenty minutes.”

“How do you —” Megan pauses. Flushes. Indignant. “Have you been timing me?”

Yoonchae's mouth twitches. In the two weeks Megan has known Yoonchae, it’s the most common reaction she’s had. Amused? Mouth twitches. Annoyed? Mouth twitches. Concentrating on getting her super smart degree? Mouth twitches. Megan might be paying far too much attention to her roommate’s mouth. “You're very loud when you sigh.”

“I don't sigh that much.”

“You do.” Yoonchae reaches over and taps the textbook. As her hand leaves the textbook, it brushes Megan’s own palm, a hair away from intertwining them. It drives her crazy. But, like, Yoonchae would never do that. That being holding Megan’s hand. That would be crazy. What a crazy thought. Ha. So. Crazy. So. “What are you stuck on?”

This is probably what Megan appreciates about Yoonchae the most. 

Back in high school, most of her teachers had treated her like a dumb kid. 

The thing was, she’d made the decision to go online long before her dyslexia seriously started impacting her school. Megan had been in, like, sixth grade, and back then the most literary challenging book they were given was ‘Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life’. So, like, the first few years had been fine. Then she got to junior year of high school, and Megan’s teacher was suddenly telling her to read books like ‘The Scarlet Letter’ and ‘Great Gatsby’ and ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ and, well — dyslexia became a problem after all.

Audio books helped, but the audio book voices were never the exact tone or accent she wanted and that would only serve to irritate her. Then she’d get so distracted by the sheer awfulness of the voices that half of the book’s plot would go from one ear out the other.

Her teachers hadn’t really given her a chance.

Just checked her off as dumb. A little slow. Whatever.

It’s been only two weeks, but Megan knows Yoonchae is different. She’s never once called her a mean thing or critiqued her academic abilities even though she’d be well within her rights to do so, because Megan knows just how smart Yoonchae is. Like, full-ride to UCLA, on an incredibly hard pre-med path, acing said incredibly hard pre-med path, with shining extracurriculars and a near-perfect SAT score, foreign-exchange student who learned English in less than a year. Does it get any better than that? The gates to John Hopkins practically await her. 

Not that any of that matters to Megan. She doesn’t care how smart Yoonchae is. She cares about the fact that Yoonchae cares.

And Yoonchae does. Care, that is. She’s quick to ask Megan what's wrong, questions what she’s struggling with, always eager to help — it’s eerily reminiscent of a puppy. Yoonchae’s exterior is identical to a black cat, with fortified walls and small bits of affection, but Megan’s been learning that most of that’s a facade. There’s a puppy inside of her, barking to be let out. Megan’s sure of it. She’s a bit of a puppy herself, anyway. They can puppy together.

…And that's when her thoughts get weird.

Regardless, Yoonchae cares. It’s nice. To not be afraid to tell someone about her academic struggles.

“Everything?” Megan admits, feeling her face heat up. It still stings, somewhat, to be so clueless in the very thing she’s majoring in. But she knows Yoonchae won’t judge her. “I don't know, I just… the professor talks so fast and I can't keep up with notes when his writing is akin to a donkey scribbling on the board. On top of that, trying to actually understand what he's saying at the same time, leads me to get behind and then I'm lost and —” she cuts herself off. Even Megan has a limit on the amount of struggles she’ll share with Yoonchae. “Sorry. I'm being whiny.”

“You're not.” Yoonchae shifts slightly, angling herself so she can see the textbook better. Before, she’d just been next to Megan. Now, they were directly shoulder-to-shoulder. Yoonchae’s warmth as their skin touches is extremely distracting and Megan tries her best to feel normal about that. “Show me what you're working on.”

And so Megan does. It’s easy when Yoonchae asks. She points out the practice problems she's been staring at, her confusion on how she’s supposed to smoothly connect all three graphs. She nearly waits for Yoonchae to give up on her as a lost cause.

But Yoonchae wouldn’t.

Instead, Yoonchae just nods, like everything Megan expressed is completely reasonable. Yoonchae probably had this concept down by the time she was ten. Still, she doesn’t judge Megan. It makes her heart ache. “Okay. Let's start simple. What are the three monetary policies?”

“Uh, open market operations, discount rates.” Megan’s hand finds her head, scratching slightly. She knows she has it. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of her tongue. Yoonchae nudges her, tracing an R in the air, and, ding. “Oh! Reserve ratio requirement.”

“Yes,” Yoonchae says, and she sounds proud. Proud of Megan. A wound she thought would never close begins to seal itself shut. “Now, specifically, what action is taken when you’re using expansionary policy?”

Expansionary. That’s during a recession. Megan knows that. So it must be… “Uh, buy bonds, lower discount rate, or lower reserve ratio requirement.”

When Yoonchae lets a small smile creep onto her face, holding her hand up to high five Megan, she feels like she’s on cloud nine. “Exactly! And by using expansionary policy, what’s happening to the Money Market graph?”

“The money supply is shifting to the right?” Megan lets out, hesitant.

“First graph down.” Yoonchae points to the Money Market graph pictured in her textbook. “Now, you have to also remember that when the money supply is increased, it shifts right —” she drags her finger to the right as Megan watches, hypnotized, “— and leads to a decrease in the interest rate.”

“Right,” Megan says, her voice muffled by virtue of the pen now slotted between her lips. She’s chewing on it because it helps her think. It does, really. A part of her worries that Yoonchae finds it gross, but she’s probably accepted Megan’s intricacies and flaws by now. “But… how does it connect to the other two graphs?”

“Don’t worry. I’m getting there,” Yoonchae reassures, like there had ever been a doubt in Megan’s mind about that. There wasn't. She knows Yoonchae, knows she knows the material and knows it good. Megan’s just impatient. “So, with a decrease in interest rates, what are businesses doing more of? Consumers too?”

“...Uh… Investing …?” 

Yoonchae’s small smile brightens the room far more than any of the lights can. “They’re investing more, yes. If businesses, and consumers, are investing more, what’s happening to aggregate demand?”

Megan blinks. Rubs her eyes. Blinks again. Because, oh! She gets it. She’s getting it. “It’s increasing.” Megan tries not to throw out a fist pump. She barely succeeds. She’d exited class today feeling like a failure; The professor had spent half the class emphasizing the failure rate on their financial sectors exam — at a 70% with a D or lower — and when he’d finally gotten into content, she’d been so distracted by his words that it’s all that was running through her head, for the remainder of time.

But with Yoonchae?

For once, she’s flying.

Two graphs down.

“I don’t think I need to help you with connecting the loanable funds graph. You can do it. Just think. You already know the information.”

Megan pouts, immediately ready to protest, but sighs and nods when she sees the hope on Yoonchae’s face. Yoonchae believes in her. She’ll be damned if she lets her down. “Well, I guess, like, if investment is increasing, and aggregate demand is increasing, then businesses and consumers are seeking more funds for investment and spending. So, um.” Megan falters. She jerks her face away from Yoonchae to hide her frustration. Yoonchae believes in her, god damn it. She needed to be better. She was so close. Fuck. She was so close. Now Yoonchae was going to think she’s stupid and slow and unable to —

“Hey.” Yoonchae’s voice is hard, riddled with something other than monotone for once, successfully capturing Megan’s attention. She clicks her tongue. Megan briefly wonders how she’d been able to pick up on the tone shift that well. Has she become good at reading people? Does she only pay this much attention when it comes to Yoonchae? “You know this. Keep going. They are seeking more funds, so what does that do to the demand curve on the loanable funds graph?”

The puzzle forms. “It’s also shifting right.” A thought bubbles in her head. She feels like she’s in a Socratic form and can actually contribute something, for once. “But wouldn’t that increase interest rates?”

“It would.” Yoonchae agrees. “But that’s the joy of the economy. It rights itself back to equilibrium in the end.”

They keep going.

They work through the entire chapter together, and by the time they're done, it's almost dinner time and Megan's hand is cramping from writing notes. But she actually understands the financial sector now. Like, genuinely understands it. 

“Thank you,” Megan whispers. It’s soft, barely heard, but she means it with her entire chest. “Seriously, you're a lifesaver. You should be a tutor or something.”

Yoonchae shrugs, casual. Like it wasn’t a big deal. As if she hasn’t just saved Megan’s econ degree two weeks in; as if Megan isn’t staring at her with stars in her eyes. “It's not hard to explain. Your professor just makes it complicated.”

“Still. You didn't have to help me.” Yoonchae’s busy with her own work too. Though, she… she actually doesn’t know how Yoonchae’s classes are going. Curiosity piqued, Megan inches forward while absently fixing her clothes. “What about you? How’s your classes?”

It’s like a switch is activated inside Yoonchae at the mere mention. Her face ages twenty years and her hand starts stress-ruffling her hair. “You wanna know something?” Megan’s about to nod, a silent go on, but Yoonchae doesn’t even seem to notice, barreling through. “Firstly. I don’t mind having 8:30’s. Not necessarily. But why am I hauling my ass —” Yoonchae cursing. Megan has to keep her jaw from dropping. She never thought she’d see the day. “— out of bed, every single day, wasting a solid twenty minutes that could go toward studying, only for her to never teach. Never. And then I’m doing a three-hour long lab and the only thing running through my head is questions. Like, look at this problem.”

Megan wasn’t even aware that Yoonchae had pulled out her Chemistry textbook till it sat on her bed, looking less like school material and more like a demon’s scroll — which she’s certain it is.

She squints, carefully reading the problem: The copper in a 2.00 g mineral sample was determined quantitatively by the following reactions… 

2 Cu2+ + 4 I– → 2 CuI + I2

I2 + 2 S2O32– → S4O62– + 2 I–

If 31.4 mL of 0.0500 M Na2S2O3 solution was required for the titration, calculate the percent by mass of Cu in the mineral.

It’s like reading a foreign language. 

Yoonchae sagely nods her head. “I know. Like why the fuck —” Curse count number two. Megan almost starts tearing up. She’s so, so proud. “— am I looking for percent by mass of copper prepared via three different equations. They make everything harder for us. And, oh my god, why don’t they just give us everything in SI units. The entire point of having a standardized unit system was to make everything standardized.” Yoonchae heaves a breath. Megan wants to ask if she needs water. “I cannot be converting four entirely different variables only to make one singular viscosity calculation. At bare minimum, one variable calculator for one viscosity calculation. Like, come on. Basic etiquette. And it’s not even hard, okay? It’s just so time-consuming. My exams are forty questions and I can’t spend twenty on each one because of the sheer amount of calculations. I have better things I could be doing. I’m so sick of this class.”

The room gets so silent that she could probably hear a pin drop.

It’s the most expressive Megan has ever — albeit it’s been two weeks — seen Yoonchae. It’s kinda scary. Robot myths debunked. 

Yoonchae doesn’t give her a chance to respond, returning to her usual level of calm. It’s high. Or, at least, much higher than Megan’s. But is it really? Yoonchae’s forever damaged her calm facade in the eyes of Megan after that whole rant. “Do you want to get dinner?”

Megan's stomach growls loudly in response, having grown tired of the neglect Megan subjected it to for the sake of saving her Econ grade. Yoonchae's mouth starts twitching, and she knows her well enough to know it means she’s trying not to smile — Megan’s trying to not to stare at it.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

chipoftheyoon takes up an embarrassing amount of her time.

Everyone notices.

And, well, Megan knows that her followers being divided between her and ‘chipoftheyoon’ is nothing new, but, still, did they really have to do it under the replies of her new amazing (if she does say so herself) jay post?

It goes like this: 

meganfox67 has posted:

thinking abt jay in skybound arc. his frustration. his insecurity over nya. questioning his role on the team. is he just there for comedic relief? 

its such an important point in the show for him. and i know people have their vices about the characterization that came from that season, but can we appreciate the fact that skybound is the most fleshed out we ever EVER EVER EVER AND I MEAN EVER!!!!!!!!!! see jay

#jay lover forever #forced myself to stop before i ranted about the entire season #craving skybound jay #yearning for skybound jay #take me back to the good old golden days

Megan sets her phone down and leans back against her bedroom wall with a satisfied sigh. It’d taken her several (five or six) all-nighters, three skipped classes (okay, that part wasn't great, and she'd had to frantically message people for notes, but worth it), and an unholy amount of coffee to finally rewatch up till skybound. She’d been dying to dump her thoughts about that season on Tumblr, but had wanted to wait till she saw it again and could form better opinions then jay awesome and jay goat and jay makes grown people cry.

The post had taken her another two hours to write, because she'd kept going off on tangents and had to delete entire paragraphs. She'd actually written a 2000-word essay at one point before realizing that was insane and cutting it down to something resembling a reasonable length. She has a problem.

She runs a hand through her hair, focusing her attention back to the screen and scrolling through the notifications she’s been ignoring: texts from Lara, people introducing themselves in an emotional support econ chat a classmate created, a reminder that she has a paper due in three days that she hasn't started, and…

Comments. On Tumblr.

Her post already has notes. Fifty-three notes in under an hour. That's pretty good. Megan feels a little flutter of pride.

master-of-flames has replied:

waiting for chipoftheyoon to start beefing 

anti-frag1le has replied:

@chipoftheyoon ur wife has posted and we are waiting to see the results

laffaboutsophia has replied:

love this take!!! but we all know who ur waiting for a response from

nyas-girlfriend-real has replied:

the fact that i was more GAGGED at chipoftheyoon not yet being in the notes

techno-color-zane has replied:

grabs popcorn here we go again

strapdaddy has replied:

btw this is a really good post!! very well thought out!! but also chipoftheyoon is gonna tear u apart lol

There’s about a dozen more with the exact same premise.

chipoftheyoon is Megan’s nearest and dearest enemy and she’s sure that they feel similarly towards her. It motivates Megan. Where would she be without their constant hatred and criticism of her opinions? She’d probably be more productive. Definitely better rested. Possibly passing Econ with more than a C+.

But also, definitely, bored out of her mind.

She never has to wait long for chipoftheyoon. 

In fact, she refreshes the page, just to see if there are any new notes, totally casual, and —

There it is.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

jay fans may claim to “love” the skybound arc (and i do those quotes on purpose, yes, to highlight the awfulness of the arc) but the truth of the matter is that it’s entirely a mischaracterization. for example: zane would never risk that encounter with nadakhan

now, here’s what you might be saying: but, chip! chip! isn’t that pretty in character? he operates by logic so he probably ran through the logistics and landed on “i know how his wishes work and know how he exploits weakness. i can use this knowledge to trap nadakhan.”

but don’t you see the clear problem? zane would never underestimate people like he did nadakhan. zane's whole thing is calculating risks and planning for every outcome. the skybound characterization throws that out the window just to make jay look better by comparison. and that's bad writing.

also skybound nya is just. terrible. but that's a whole other essay.

Now that’s just wrong. Megan starts typing faster than she can blink, finishing an argument in record time. 

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post:

ur entirely incorrect because ur thinking about the arc wrong. nadakhan was never the real conflict. a majority of skybound was about the ninjas facing personal, non-ninja struggles. it was a personification of jay and nya trying to face themselves.

also the reason zane made that choice wasn't because he underestimated nadakhan. it was because he was willing to take that risk for his FRIENDS. his FAMILY. zane's calculating but he's not emotionless (ironic considering he's a nindroid). he CARES about people and sometimes that makes him take risks he wouldn't normally take!!!

and u can't just say "skybound nya is terrible" without elaborating. if ur gonna come for my favorite season at least put some EFFORT into it!!!

She hits post, her heart racing with the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with every chipoftheyoon argument. She's breathing hard, like she’s just run a marathon. In part, this is ridiculous. It's a children's show about Lego ninjas. Why does she care so much? Why does chipoftheyoon care so much? They’re both college students. They should be better, really. She eagerly waits for a response anyway.

chipoftheyoon has replied:

personifications a pretty big word. are you sure you know what it means? 

Megan’s jaw drops, cartoonish enough that if her dad were here, he’d have told her to “close her mouth before she catches flies.” 

meganfox67 has replied:

OH I'M SORRY ARE WE DOING GRAMMAR CHECKS NOW?? BECAUSE I CAN POINT OUT THAT YOU FORGOT THE APOSTROPHE IN "UR" BUT I WAS BEING POLITE!!!

AND YES I KNOW WHAT PERSONIFICATION MEANS!!! IT MEANS GIVING HUMAN CHARACTERISTICS TO NON-HUMAN THINGS!!! WHICH IS WHAT THE ARC DID WITH JAY AND NYA'S INTERNAL STRUGGLES!!!

MAYBE IF YOU SPENT LESS TIME BEING CONDESCENDING AND MORE TIME ACTUALLY ANALYZING THE SHOW YOU'D UNDERSTAND THAT!!!

chipoftheyoon has replied:

still doesn’t change the fact that you used personification incorrectly but go off i guess

She hates her. She actually hates her.

Thursday night, Megan makes a mistake.

The mistake is asking Yoonchae if she wants to watch a movie.

She steals a glance at the stack of work in front of Yoonchae. Well. Maybe?

“I have studying to do,” Yoonchae says, predictably, her default response to everything that isn’t class or eating or sleeping.

“You always have studying to do,” Megan harrumphs and folds her arms over her chest. “Come on, it's not even midterms yet. You can take one night off.”

“I have a quiz,” Yoonchae counters, slowly, “tomorrow.”

“Have you studied for it already?”

Yoonchae rolls her eyes. “...Yes.” Because of course she has. Yoonchae probably started studying for this quiz a month ago. Hell, before classes even started. It fuels Megan to push, and get what she wants.

“Then you're fine! One movie won't kill you. I promise.” Megan, with insurmountable effort, pushes herself up into a sitting position, giving Yoonchae her best puppy dog eyes. Lara always used to tell her how brutally good they were. She prays that they still work. “Please? I'm so bored and I don't want to watch alone. It's sad watching movies alone.”

Yoonchae stares at her for a long moment, and Megan can see the exact second she gives in. Her shoulders drop slightly, and she lets out a small sigh. She still has it in her after all. “Fine. One movie.”

“Yes!” Megan bumps her own two fists together, then immediately tries to play it cool. Because. Like. Seriously? Not even a fist pump? A bump with herself? Oh, crap, she’s pathetic. “I mean, cool. Yeah. What do you want to watch?”

“I don't care.” Yoonchae tosses out, in the midst of packing up her supplies. She’s really going to stop studying for Megan; she can hardly believe it. She feels herself getting emotional. “You pick.”

Problem: this is how Megan discovers that picking a movie is infinitely more stressful when someone else is involved. What if she picks something Yoonchae hates? What if it's too childish? Too boring? What if Yoonchae thinks Megan has terrible taste and regrets agreeing to this? Will Yoonchae ever speak to Megan again after this?

She scrolls through all of her streaming services for approximately ten years while Yoonchae waits patiently, until finally Yoonchae interrupts, “Just pick something. Anything.”

Which, okay, fair. So Megan blocks out any rational thought and picks the first thing her cursor lands on. It's some action movie that looks like it has explosions and minimal emotional investment required. 

Megan’s bored five minutes in.

Another problem: they’d ended up sitting on Megan's bed because it has a better angle to her laptop, and Megan is hyperaware of every single inch of space between them. Yoonchae sits with her back against the wall, legs crossed, and Megan mirrors her position, laptop balanced on a pillow between them.

The movie is fine. Mediocre. Megan honestly couldn't summarize the plot if someone paid her because she's too busy being conscious of Yoonchae's presence next to her. At some point during an explosion scene, Yoonchae reaches over to adjust the laptop screen, and her hand brushes against Megan's knee. It's barely a touch, featherlight and accidental, but Megan's brain decides to make it a whole thing.

Halfway through the movie, Megan chances a glance at Yoonchae and finds her actually engaged, eyes focused on the screen, a slight furrow between her eyebrows during a tense scene. Out of the corner of Megan’s vision, she distantly registers someone dying on-screen. But it’s too late to save her attention span. She allowed herself one glance, and now all she can do is blatantly stare at Yoonchae. It’s just — she's so pretty it's actually unfair. Like, genuinely unfair. How is Megan supposed to concentrate on anything when Yoonchae exists in her vicinity looking like that?

“Are you watching the movie or watching me?” Yoonchae asks suddenly, not looking away from the screen.

Megan's face flushes hot. “The movie! Definitely the movie. I'm very invested in…” She glances at the screen, where something is exploding. “...that explosion.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. Her mouth twitches, the same way it always does, and Megan wants to die for multiple reasons.

When the movie ends, Yoonchae doesn't immediately leave to go back to her desk. Instead, she stays where she is, looking thoughtful.

“That was good,” she says finally.

“Really? I thought it was kind of generic.”

“It was,” Yoonchae agrees. “But it was fun. We should do this again.”

Megan's heart does a kickflip. Successfully makes the landing. She’ll live for another day, unfortunately. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yoonchae stands up then, brushing non-existent crumbs off her jeans. “Next time you pick, I'll pick the time after.”

Megan’s brain stops working entirely — Yoonchae wants to do this… again? With her? Willingly? She feels her mouth sounding out “deal” more than she hears herself saying it. It’s most likely too eager, a tiny hop, skip, and a jump away from desperate, but Yoonchae doesn't seem to mind.

It becomes a thing.

Thursday nights are movie nights. Sometimes they watch in comfortable silence, sometimes Megan can't help but provide commentary and Yoonchae tells her to shush — but not in a mean way. Never in a mean way. She just sounds fond. It's nice. Really nice.

Yeah.

The third week of September — and the third week since college officially began — delivers a devastating heat wave that makes their already non-air-conditioned dorm feel like a sauna. Megan wakes up on Saturday morning sweating, her t-shirt sticking to her back, and seriously considers lying on the floor and becoming one with the tiles.

“It's so hot,” she groans into her pillow. Megan wrinkles her nose when she comes face-to-face with a heaping pile of drool. “I'm dying. This is how I die. Tell my family I loved them.”

“You're so dramatic,” Yoonchae says; to anyone else, it’d be reprimanding, but to Megan, she can spot the affection inlaid in her voice. Megan has truly mastered the art of Yoonchae, learning to recognize her different tones — the slight warmth when she's amused, the fond patience when she's being sincere. Or, well, on the downside: the flat disinterest when she's truly annoyed. Right now it’s amusement, which Megan ticks off as a win. "Get up. We're going out."

Megan lifts her head, but even that takes too much force out of her drained body, and she’s quick to plop it back onto the pillow. “Out where? It's a million degrees outside.”

“Ice cream.” Yoonchae is already dressed — how does she look so put-together when Megan feels like a melted popsicle? — and she's holding Megan's sandals. “Come on. It'll be good.”

“Ice cream,” Megan repeats, finally sitting up. “You want to get ice cream?”

“You're the one who keeps complaining about the heat.”

“I know, but —” Megan pauses. Gasps dramatically. Yoonchae loves her. She’s so overcome with affection that she starts pinching Yoonchae’s cheeks with the aggression of an overbearing grandma. “Are you asking me to hang out? Like, voluntarily?”

A huff of indigitation leaves Yoonchae, and she swats away Megan’s hands. Megan lets them fall to her side, like a scolded child. She’s just about ready to drag this out — far longer than necessary, because she’s a theatre kid at heart — by letting a pout grace her face, but Yoonchae cuts in. “Do you want ice cream or not?”

“Yes! Yes, I want ice cream. I'm getting up. I'm up.” Megan scrambles around the room, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. “Just give me five minutes to look like a human person.”

“You look fine.”

“I look like I got hit by a truck.”

“A cute truck,” Yoonchae says, so casually that Megan almost misses it.

Wait.

"What?"

But Yoonchae is already heading for the door. “Five minutes, Megan. I'm leaving without you.”

Megan stares after her, trying to process what just happened. Did Yoonchae just call Megan cute? Or was she calling the hypothetical truck cute? Is there a cute truck? What's happening? WHATTTTTTTTTT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

“Megan!”

“Coming!”

Megan starts sniffing her clothes with haste, too smelly, too smelly, too smelly, and jackpot, grabs the first clean-ish clothes she can find. 

Clothes on, check. 

She’s hopping on one foot, trying to shove her sandals on while heading toward the bathroom. Her hair is a mess of tangles, and her bangs have never looked worse. Megan runs a brush through her hair exactly twice, and decides that's good enough. 

She's out the door in four minutes, which she thinks deserves some kind of award.

The ice cream place is a fifteen-minute walk from campus, which normally wouldn't be bad except the sun is literally trying to murder them. By the time they get there, Megan is sweating bullets through her shirt and sorely regretting her choice of long pants.

But then they step inside and the air conditioning hits her like a blessing from the heavens, and it's all worth it.

“Oh my god,” Megan sighs, standing directly in front of the AC vent. “This is amazing. I'm never leaving. I live here now.”

“You can't live in an ice cream shop.”

“Watch me.”

Yoonchae actually laughs at that — a real laugh, not just a huff of amusement — and Megan feels like she’s just won an award of some kind. Megan Skiendiel, everyone, winner of the 2025 Grammys! Three away from an EGOT. She wants to make Yoonchae laugh like that all the time. She wants to record it and play it back when she's sad. She wants — yeah. She wants —

“What flavor do you want?” Yoonchae asks, jolting Megan out of her thoughts.

They're standing at the counter now, looking at what has to be at least thirty different flavors. There’s the basics: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. Then there’s madness: milk and cookies, peanut butter banana fudge, cosmic brownies (how did that even work as an ice cream flavor?). Megan's brain immediately blanks. Too many choices. How in the hell is she supposed to pick?

“Um,” Megan intelligently begins. “I don't know. What are you getting?”

“Probably, uh, vanilla.”

“Vanilla?” Megan glances at her in mock horror; dramatics, dramatics. Her speciality. “Yoonchae. There are thirty flavors and you're getting vanilla?”

“What's wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing's wrong with vanilla! It's just so... safe. Boring.”

Yoonchae raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling me boring?”

“No! I'm calling your ice cream choice boring. There's a difference,” says Megan before turning back to the display case and studying the options. “You should get something adventurous. Live a little. What about... uh…” She squints at the labels. “Cookies and cream? That's like vanilla but better.”

“That's just vanilla with cookies in it.”

“Exactly! Seeeeeee? Improvement.”

Yoonchae's mouth twitches. “What are you getting?”

“Something with chocolate. Obviously.” Megan points at a flavor that looks promising. “That one. The chocolate peanut butter one.”

“You're getting something safe too, then.”

“Chocolate peanut butter is not safe! It's a classic!”

“So is vanilla.”

“That,” Megan pauses. “Okay, fine. You got me there. Mine is more special though.”

They order their ice cream — Yoonchae does get vanilla, the absolute madwoman, and Megan gets her chocolate peanut butter — and find a table by the window. The shop is mostly empty on a Saturday morning with just them, an elderly couple in the corner, and a stressed-looking college student with a laptop as the only customers.

Megan takes a bite of her ice cream and immediately makes an embarrassing noise of satisfaction. “Oh my god. Dude, this is so good.”

“It's ice cream. It's supposed to be good.”

“Yeah, but this is really good.” Megan takes another bite, then notices Yoonchae watching her with an amused expression. Which. It’s not like she’s complaining, per se. She likes knowing that Yoonchae notices her as much as Megan notices Yoonchae. It’s just that Yoonchae never really gives her a look like that unless Megan’s doing something entirely embarrassing. So. “What?”

“You have ice cream on your nose.”

“I — what?” Megan grabs a napkin and wipes at her face, feeling her cheeks heat up. She knew it. She knew she had to be doing something entirely embarrassing for Yoonchae to be looking at her like that. She’s never eating ice cream again. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just did.”

“You let me sit here with ice cream on my face!”

“For like five seconds.” Yoonchae takes a delicate bite of her vanilla ice cream, perfectly neat, because of course. Not a speck out of place. It’s Yoonchae. “You're very messy when you eat.”

“I am not messy!”

“Megan, you have syrup on your shirt from yesterday’s breakfast.”

Megan looks down. There is indeed a syrup stain on her shirt from yesterday’s breakfast. Damn it. She thought this shirt was still clean. “That's — okay, that's unrelated.”

“Is it?” Yoonchae waggles her finger, ultimately shooting a thumbs down in Megan’s direction, a clear message of not likely bleeding through.

Megan is nothing if not a defender of herself. Even when she’s wrong. “Yes! That was breakfast. This is ice cream. Completely different situations.”

Yoonchae just smiles into her ice cream cup. It’s bright — in Yoonchae’s own way; not loud or showy, but genuine — and Megan can feel her defensiveness curl up and die. If this was a football game, the other team would have forty points on her right about now. 

Megan decides she's going to die. In this ice cream shop, from a combination of heat and embarrassment, and the way Yoonchae looks when she smiles.

They eat in comfortable silence for a bit, and Megan finds herself relaxing. 

This is nice. 

Just sitting here, eating ice cream, not having to fill every silence with conversation. She's always been bad at silence. It makes her nervous, like she needs to perform or entertain or be interesting. Or, well, annoying. Anything to leave no space uncovered. But with Yoonchae, the silence feels okay. Natural.

“Can I try yours?” Yoonchae asks suddenly.

Megan blinks. “My ice cream?”

“Yeah. I want to see if it's better than vanilla.”

“It is,” Megan says confidently, pushing her cup across. “Try it.”

Yoonchae takes a small bite, and Megan watches her face carefully for a reaction. Her expression doesn't change much, but her eyes widen slightly — Megan’s incredibly proud to have caught that, thank you very much.

“Well?” Megan prompts. “Is it life-changing?”

“It's good,” Yoonchae admits. “But I still like vanilla.”

“You're impossible.”

“Mm.” Yoonchae pushes the cup back. “Do you want to try mine?”

Megan does, even though she knows it's just going to be vanilla. But Yoonchae is offering, and there's something about eating from the same spoon that makes Megan's brain go fuzzy.

It’s… vanilla. But good. Better than expected. She ignores the fact that it’s probably because her roommate’s mouth was on this less than a second before her.

God.

She’s screwed.

By the time October rolls around, Megan has fully committed to three things:

1. Her Economics degree (kind of, she's still considering switching)
2. Proving that Jay is the best ninja (definitely, no wavering on this one)
3. Her absolutely debilitating crush on her roommate (very much so, getting worse by the day, send help)

The third one is a problem. A big problem. Because Yoonchae is her roommate. Which means Megan sees her constantly. Which means she's subjected to Yoonchae existing in her space 24/7. Which means noticing her doing things like tucking her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating, or making that little humming sound when she's thinking, or wearing those stupid oversized hoodies that should not be as attractive as they are.

It's torture. Absolute torture.

Especially now that they've developed actual routines together. Thursday movie nights, turned Friday movie nights for ease of time. Saturday morning coffee runs, which turned into a thing after the ice cream incident. Study sessions where Yoonchae patiently explains concepts that make Megan's brain hurt. They even have a whole system now where if one of them is having a bad day, they'll leave a candy bar on the other's desk as a silent "hope this helps" gesture.

Megan is drowning in love and she's only known this girl for a month.

"You're staring again," Lara's voice crackles through Megan's phone.

Megan jerks her gaze away from the door, where she’d been envisioning Yoonchae sitting at her desk, bathed in the warm glow of her desk lamp, completely absorbed in whatever biochemistry nightmare she's working on. 

"I'm not staring," Megan lies. Well — it’s not necessarily a lie, but she’s also currently hiding in a communal bathroom because Yoonchae is in their dorm and Megan needed to vent to someone before she exploded. So. She thinks Lara might be winning this battle.

The bathroom is not an ideal venting location.

It echoes, for one thing, and she's sitting on the floor with her back uncomfortably against the door like some kind of feral bathroom gremlin. On top of that, someone definitely just knocked and she had to pretend she was sick. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"You're definitely staring. I can tell by your voice."

"How can you tell by my voice? That doesn't even make sense." Megan picks at a loose thread on her sock, twisting it around her finger until the tip turns white.

"You get this weird tone when you're thinking about her. It's like... I don't know, lovey-dovey? The voice of Shakespeare as he wrote love poems? It's gross."

"I hate you," Megan says, but there's no heat in it. She unwraps the thread from her finger and watches the blood rush back in.

"You don't hate me. You love me. I'm your best friend."

"You abandoned me to go to a different college."

"We've been over this. Berkeley has a better program for what I want to do." Lara's voice goes muffled for a second, like she's moved the phone. "Anyway, what happened? You don't usually call me on Thursday nights. That's your movie night with Yoonchae."

"We moved it to Fridays permanently," Megan explains, which isn't the point but her brain is scrambling. Though, is her brain really scrambling, when all thoughts in her head lead back to Yoonchae? The path is circular. The path being Yoonchae. "Lara, I can't keep doing this. She's so pretty. And she's funny. Like, her humor is so dry and sarcastic and I never know if she's joking or not but when I figure it out it's hilarious." Megan pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her free arm around them. "And she's smart, obviously, she's a biochem major. And sometimes she does this thing where she pushes her hair back and I swear to god I almost die every single time —"

"Megan."

"— and the other day she smiled at me, like a real smile, not just the little smirk thing she usually does, and I literally forgot how to speak. I just stood there like an idiot —"

"Megan."

"— and I can't tell if she likes me or if she's just being nice because we're roommates and she has to tolerate me —"

"Megan."

Megan stops, her chin resting on her knees. "What?"

"Breathe."

Megan listens. Takes a breath. It comes out shaky. God, she's a mess.

"Okay. Now. Have you considered, and hear me out here, maybe telling her how you feel?"

"Absolutely not." The answer comes out easy, automatic, said with the conviction of someone who has considered this exact scenario no less than seven hundred times and come to the same conclusion every instance.

"Why not?"

"Because we're roommates! If she doesn't feel the same way it'll be so awkward! We have to live together for the entire year! I can't risk that!" Megan's voice is rising now, echoing off the tile walls. She remembers how thin the walls are. If a passerby strained their ears hard enough, they could most definitely hear Megan bemoaning her existence. She winces and lowers it. "Plus, what if housing gets involved? What if she requests a room change? What if I lose the one friend I've actually made here?"

"Okay, first of all, ouch," Lara says, but she sounds amused rather than hurt. "Second, you have other friends. What about those people you talk to online? The Ninjago people?"

“They're online friends. We've never met in person." Megan shifts against the door, her back starting to ache from the uncomfortable position. "I mean, they're great, don't get me wrong. We message all the time and they're really funny and I love talking to them about the show. Some of them send me memes at like 2 AM and some give actually good advice about stuff. But it's different, you know? It's not the same as having someone here."

"So Yoonchae is your only in-person friend."

"Yeah." Megan says it quietly, like admitting it makes it worse somehow. "I mean, I talk to people in my classes sometimes. But it's all surface level stuff. 'Did you do the homework?' or 'What did you get for number five?' That kind of thing. Yoonchae is the only person I actually hang out with. We get meals together, and we have movie nights, and she helps me study, and..." She trails off, realizing how pathetic this sounds. "God, I'm so lonely."

"You're not lonely, you're just introverted."

"I'm not introverted! I talk all the time!"

"You can be talkative and introverted," Lara points out, and Megan can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Being introverted just means socializing drains you.” Because Lara is a psychology expert now, apparently. “And I know you, Megan. You come home from parties exhausted. Or after talking to people for too long. That's, like, textbook introversion."

"Okay, but —" Megan pauses, considering this. "Okay, maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with my roommate and I can't do anything about it."

"You're in love with her?" Lara's voice perks up with interest and maybe a little bit of glee. Megan internally curses. Fuck. She should’ve kept her big, dumb mouth shut. It’s like giving a kid the last slice of cake. Lara’s going to hang this over her head till she dies. Beyond that too. She’ll have something along the lines of ‘tragically in love with her roommate’ put on Megan’s gravestone. "I thought it was just a crush."

"It — I —" Megan sputters, her face heating up even though Lara can't see her. "I didn't mean love love. I meant like. I'm in like with her. Heavy like. Extreme like."

"Sure, Megan."

"I hate you so much."

"You love me," Lara says cheerfully. Someone knocks on the bathroom door again, harder this time, and Megan hears an annoyed voice from outside asking if she's going to be much longer. "Is someone knocking on your door?"

"Bathroom door. I'm hiding in the bathroom."

"Jesus, Megan."

"I'm in a crisis!"

"You're being dramatic." But Lara's voice is fond, the same tone she's used since Megan was fourteen and crashed a skateboard outside her house. Lara had taken one look at her and decided they’d be friends for life. "Look, I'm not saying you have to confess your undying love right now. But maybe just... try to figure out if she's interested? Drop some hints?"

"I don't know how to drop hints." Megan lets her head fall back against the door with a soft thunk. "Every time I try to flirt it comes out wrong. Like, the other day I told her she had nice handwriting and then I immediately followed it up by saying my handwriting looks like a drunk chicken walked through ink and then died on the paper."

Lara snorts. "That's not… okay, yeah, that's pretty bad."

"See? I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless. You're, um, enthusiastic."

"That's just a nice word for annoying."

"It's not!" Lara insists, and Megan can hear the sincerity creeping into her voice. Contrary to popular belief, Lara does care. "Some people like enthusiastic. Maybe Yoonchae is one of those people. You don't know until you try."

The knocking comes again, more insistent now, accompanied by muffled complaints. "Um, hello? Are you okay in there? Some of us actually need to use the bathroom!"

"I'm fine!" Megan calls out, cringing at how her voice echoes. "Just, uh, stomach issues! Might be a while!"

"Oh my god, Megan," Lara groans through the phone.

"What! I panicked!"

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm in a crisis!" she repeats.

"You're being dramatic," Lara repeats back, choked out between fits of laughter. "Okay, real talk though. I've known you for four years. I've seen you have crushes before. But I've never seen you like this about someone. Like, you're really into her."

"I know," Megan laments miserably. "That's the problem."

"That's not a problem, that's a good thing! It means she's special. Worth the risk and all that.”

"But what if —"

"No what-ifs. Not right now." Lara's voice goes soft. Gentle. It’s nobody’s business but Megan's if her eyes are pricking with tears. "Just... think about it, okay? You don't have to do anything right now. But don't write it off completely. Promise?"

"I promise," Megan lies, because she's already written it off completely and they both probably know it.

"Good. Now get out of that bathroom before someone calls campus security."

"They wouldn't.” Megan snorts. Then she pauses because. Well. Wait. “Would they?"

"Megan."

"Okay, okay, I'm going. Love you. Miss you. Wish you were here so I could be having my crisis on someone else's bed instead of on the bathroom floor."

"Love you too. And Megan?"

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I think she'd be lucky to have you."

Megan's throat tightens. "Thanks, Lara."

She hangs up before Lara can say anything else that might make her sob, and takes a moment to collect herself. She’s usually never this emotional. Is she starting her period? Is that it? God, she hopes not, because going to an Econ lecture in the throes of withering pain is a one-way ticket to hell.

Her legs have gone numb from sitting on the cold tile for so long, and when she stands up pins and needles shoot through her feet. She hops around for a second, shaking out her legs, and catches sight of herself in the mirror.

Yikes. Her hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles from where she's been running her hands through it. Her face is flushed, probably from the conversation, or maybe from the lack of ventilation in this tiny bathroom. There are pillow creases on her cheek from her nap earlier. She looks exactly like what she is: a disaster.

She splashes some cold water on her face, tries to smooth down her hair, before deciding that's as good as it's going to get.

When she opens the door, there's a girl waiting outside who gives her a look that could kill. "Finally. I've been holding it for like ten minutes."

"Sorry," Megan mumbles, scurrying past her and speed-walking back to her dorm room like her life depends on it. It probably does. That girl seemed ready to throw hands at her.

Back in the room, Yoonchae glances up from her laptop. She’s wearing glasses. Megan has never seen her wear glasses. She catalogs it in the back of her mind, adding it to a growing folder of ‘things she should know about Yoonchae.’ Said glasses have slid down her nose a bit, and she pushes them back up with one finger in a gesture that should not be as cute as it is. The simple motion makes Megan's heart do something acrobatic and probably medically concerning.

"You were gone a while," Yoonchae observes, her voice neutral but her eyes slightly curious.

"Yeah, I was, um —" Megan's brain frantically searches for an excuse that isn't hiding in the bathroom having a crisis about my feelings for her roommate. "— talking to my friend. Lara. From high school. She goes to Berkeley now."

"Oh." Yoonchae nods, her attention already drifting back to her screen. Her fingers move across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. Megan tries not to be nosy, but she’s already jotting down how Yoonchae’s computer looks like it has seventeen tabs open. "How is she?"

"Good! She's good. Busy with classes and stuff." Megan hovers near her bed awkwardly, not sure what to do with her hands. She settles for shoving them in her pockets. A beat passes. It’s too awkward. There’s paper and pens, among other things, inlaid in the deep end of her pocket, leaving her unable to comfortably place her hands within the enclosure. She takes them out, letting them hang limply at her side. No. Even more awkward. Megan finally settles on crossing her arms over the square of her chest. Good enough. "How's your studying going?"

"Fine. Organic chemistry is terrible." Yoonchae's nose wrinkles slightly, and it's so cute that Megan wants to scream. Then she wants to scream at herself for wanting to scream. "I have an exam next week and stereoisomers are a waste of time."

"I don't know what that is."

"Good. Keep it that way." Yoonchae finally looks up properly, giving Megan her complete attention, and Megan feels pinned down under her gaze. But. She also feels… good? It’s nice to have Yoonchae’s entire genius brain directed toward her. Nobody else gets this treatment. Megan’s special. Which, yay. "You look stressed. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Megan's voice comes out too bright, too cheerful, like a children's TV show host on too much caffeine. Yikes. She clears her throat and tries again. "I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Just the usual college stress, you know? Classes and homework and stuff."

"Stuff," Yoonchae repeats, one eyebrow raised slightly.

Megan’s about to bullshit harder than she’s ever bullshitted in her life. She’s about to get her bachelor's degree in bullshitting. Graduating from the bullshit school with the bullshit degree, preparing to go into the life-long and extremely fulfilling field of bullshitting.

"Yep. Stuff. Very stressful stuff."

"Mm." Yoonchae tilts her head slightly, studying Megan with those dark, sharp eyes that always make Megan feel like she's being seen right through. Like Yoonchae can read every embarrassing thought written across her face. "If you need to talk about anything, I'm here. We're roommates. That's what roommates do, right?"

Something warm blooms in Megan's chest, spreading through her like honey. It's the same feeling she gets when Yoonchae leaves granola bars on her desk, or when she laughs at Megan's stupid jokes, or when she sits close during movie nights. 

It's dangerous, this feeling. It makes Megan want things she can't have.

"Right. Yeah. Thanks, Yoonchae." Megan forces a smile that she hopes looks natural and not like she's internally screaming.

Yoonchae nods and goes back to her studying, settling back into her usual position — shoulders slightly hunched, bottom lip caught between her teeth when she's concentrating really hard, one leg tucked under her. Megan has memorized all of these details without meaning to, catalogued them into the other folder in her brain, labeled ‘things I should not be noticing about my roommate.’

She’s down so bad.

The thing is, Megan's addiction to arguing with chipoftheyoon has gotten worse.

Like, significantly worse.

It started innocently enough. An increase in disagreements here, a counterargument there. But now it's evolved into something that Megan checks more frequently than her email, her grades, or even her bank account — which, okay, is probably not a great sign, but she's choosing to ignore that particular red flag.

It's Tuesday night, and Megan is supposed to be writing an essay. It’s on some Economics podcast, because her teacher is weird and eccentric and unable to give them any assignments that’re on the side of normal. It goes like this.

“Economics is not all Macro and Micro,” the host starts, like that’s supposed to make it sound exciting. “One of the most interesting and developing fields is behavioral economics.”

Megan pauses the episode. Behavioral economics. She can already tell this isn’t going to be about graphs or GDP or any of the things she half-understands from class — it’s about people. About how they’re supposed to make rational choices, but don’t. About how they make decisions that don’t make sense, and how that’s… basically everyone.

Thaler — yeah, that Thaler, the guy from The Big Short, standing next to Selena Gomez in the casino scene. Megan can’t quite take it seriously either — says something about how humans are not perfectly logical creatures, and Megan just sits there for a second, staring at her blank Google Doc, thinking: obviously. People are irrational all the time. She herself bought a $6 latte that morning even though she has coffee at home. She tells herself she’s “saving money” by not going out, then buys another book she won’t read for three months. Rational? Not even close.

She tries not to groan, typing slowly: The idea that people always act rationally doesn’t really work, because people don’t think that way in real life. We make decisions based on feelings, habits, or what everyone else is doing. Behavioral economics looks at that and tries to explain why. It makes sense that if we understand how people actually act, we can make better choices and policies.

And… Megan’s giving up. Good run.

She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced precariously on her knees, when her phone buzzes with the Tumblr notification she's been waiting for.

She tosses her laptop to the side with the speed of a madman.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

you claim jay has "significant growth" in the later seasons but he literally makes the same mistakes over and over. he never learns. that's not character development, that's character stagnation. zane actually evolves as a person (well, nindroid, but you get the point). he goes from being purely logical to understanding emotions and forming genuine connections. that's what real development looks like.

#jay fans never learn #zane clutched the show #save us from these heathens

Megan's fingers are flying across her keyboard before she even fully processes what she's read.

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

OKAY FIRST OF ALL jay making mistakes is HUMAN. or ninja i guess but whatever!!!!! people don't just magically fix all their flaws overnight!!! that's literally the point of his character!!! he struggles with insecurity and self-doubt and those are things that take TIME to work through!!!

and saying zane "understands emotions" is such a surface level take i'm actually embarrassed for you. zane's arc is about him learning he's DIFFERENT and accepting that. jay's arc is about him learning he's ENOUGH despite being different. two completely different narratives that you're oversimplifying to make your fave look better

#jay fans learn more than zane ever did #if we wanna be real shady

She hits post with more force than necessary, the following clack reverberating around her dorm room. God, she needs help. This is not normal behavior. Normal people, in this day and age, when asked what they did today, say things like  “Oh, just went to work! Ate a sandwich!” You know, normal people things. Megan’s answer would include no less than a fifteen minute rant on chipoftheyoon. She’s just so wrong about everything. Someone needs to set the record straight, and if that someone has to be Megan at 11:47 PM on a Tuesday when she has a morning class tomorrow, so be it.

She glances up from her laptop, and that's when she notices Yoonchae is also on her phone. Which isn't unusual — Yoonchae is often on her phone, probably texting someone back home or checking her class schedule or doing something productive. Something that Megan should also be doing. 

But. But, but, but. There's something about the way Yoonchae's thumbs are moving rapidly across her screen, the twitch of her eyebrow, the way her mouth has pressed into a thin line like she's annoyed about whatever her screen is showing her.

Megan wonders, briefly, what could make Yoonchae look that irritated. Chemistry-related, maybe? One of her group project partners not pulling their weight? Yoonchae had complained about that last week — well, "complained" in the Yoonchae way, which meant she'd said "my group is incompetent" in a flat tone and refused to elaborate.

She’s pulled out of her questioning when her phone buzzes again.

chipoftheyoon has replied:

"embarrassed for me" that's rich coming from someone who thinks jay's constant whining is "character depth"

Megan gasps out loud. Yoonchae glances up, but Megan doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed, already back to typing, indignation fueling every keystroke.

meganfox67 has replied:

ITS NOT WHINING ITS CALLED HAVING EMOTIONS!!! EXPRESSING FEELINGS!!! BEING VULNERABLE!!! maybe if you weren't a robot like your fav you'd understand that.

She regrets it the second she hits send. That was too far. That was mean. chipoftheyoon is annoying and wrong about everything, but Megan doesn't actually want to hurt her feelings.

She's about to type out an apology when chipoftheyoon responds.

chipoftheyoon has replied:

wow. real mature. and you wonder why no one takes jay fans seriously.

Okay, yeah, Megan's apology evaporates instantly.

meganfox67 has replied:

PEOPLE TAKE US SERIOUSLY BECAUSE WE HAVE VALID POINTS LIKE UGH YOURE JUST TOO STUBBORN TO ADMIT WHEN YOURE WRONG

chipoftheyoon has replied:

i'm not wrong. you're just delusional.

meganfox67 has replied:

DELUSIONAL??? DELUSIONAL????

chipoftheyoon has replied:

yes. delusional. it's a pretty common word. do you need me to define it for you?

Megan wants to scream. She wants to reach through the screen and shake chipoftheyoon by the shoulders. She wants to write a ten-thousand-word essay about why chipoftheyoon is wrong about literally everything.

Instead, she shuts her phone off and tosses it on her desk. The harsh clattering of it makes Yoonchae look up from her phone again.

"You okay?" Yoonchae asks, sliding her own phone face-down on her desk.

"Fine," Megan grits out. "Just. Internet people being wrong."

“Again?”

"Yeah." Megan groans, dramatically, staring up at the ceiling. Her fairy lights cast soft shadows across the room. It makes everything seem more miserable. She hopes chipoftheyoon is just as miserable as Megan is. "There's this one person who makes me so mad. They're wrong about everything and they're so smug about it."

"Have you considered blocking them?"

"I can't block them! Then they'd win!"

Yoonchae makes a sound that might be amusement. "That's not how blocking works."

"It is in spirit." Megan turns her head to look at Yoonchae, who's watching her with that expression that Megan has started to recognize as fond exasperation. "They'd know I blocked them because I couldn't handle their arguments. They'd think they won."

"So instead you're going to keep arguing with them forever?"

"Yes," Megan says stubbornly. "Exactly. Until they admit I'm right."

"That seems healthy."

"Your sarcasm is noted and ignored." Megan stands, skulking over to her phone to check if chipoftheyoon has responded again. They haven't. "Besides, it's not like it's affecting my real life or anything. It's just online stuff."

Yoonchae hums noncommittally, turning back to her laptop. Megan takes that as agreement and opens Tumblr again.

No new notifications.

She refreshes.

Still nothing.

She refreshes again.

"Megan."

"What?"

"Stop refreshing. They'll respond when they respond."

Megan's face flushes hot. "I'm not — how did you even know I was refreshing?"

"You have a tell. You do this thing with your nose." Yoonchae scrunches her own nose in demonstration, and it's so adorable that Megan temporarily forgets to be embarrassed about being called out.

"I do not do a thing with my nose."

"You do. It's..." Yoonchae trails off, and there's something in her expression that Megan can't quite read. "It's kind of cute, actually."

Megan's brain short-circuits.

Cute?

Did Yoonchae just call her cute?

Or did she call the nose-scrunching thing cute?

Is there a difference?

Should Megan read into this?

She's definitely reading into this.

"I —" Megan starts, but her phone buzzes, cutting her off.

It's a Tumblr notification.

chipoftheyoon.

It's not a direct response to Megan, just a new post on their blog, but Megan clicks on it anyway because she's nosy and also a masochist.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

some of you need to learn the difference between "character development" and "a character just existing through multiple seasons." just because jay appears in later seasons doesn't mean he's grown as a person. he's the same insecure, annoying comic relief he's always been. zane, on the other hand, has actual narrative progression. anyway. this is my last post about this tonight because i have better things to do than argue with jay stans who can't accept that their fave is mid.

#safe space for jay haters #truth nuke

Megan's eye twitches.

Mid.

Mid?!

Her fingers transform into an airplane taking flight. She’s petty and makes her own post, instead of reblogging chipoftheyoon, but the entirety of the Ninjago fandom inhabiting Tumblr knows who the message is for.

meganfox67 has posted:

jay is NOT mid and the fact that you can't see his character growth just proves you have the media literacy of a brick wall!!! he goes from being insecure about his place on the team to becoming one of the most reliable ninjas!!! he saves the DAY multiple times!!! he's the one who figured out how to defeat the —

Wait. Backtrack. She needs to be careful about spoilers. Some people haven't watched all the seasons. Megan has a heart and empathy, thanks. chipoftheyoon lacks both.

— he's the one who figures out major plot points!!! he's smart and capable and just because he ALSO has flaws doesn't make him a bad character it makes him a GOOD character!!! three-dimensional!!! Complex!!!

and calling him "annoying comic relief" just shows that you don't understand the point of his humor. he uses jokes as a COPING MECHANISM because he's ANXIOUS. it's a defense mechanism!!! it's DEPTH!!!

also "i have better things to do" ok sure jan. we both know you'll be back here in 20 minutes. you're as obsessed with this argument as i am. except i'm right and you're not. ❤️

#better truth nuke

She adds the heart emoji because she knows it'll piss chipoftheyoon off. They hate when Megan uses emojis in arguments, and even went so far as to call it “juvenile” once.

Megan posts it, feeling victorious, and immediately her phone starts buzzing with notifications. Other people are replying and reblogging her post, adding their own commentary.

jay-defense-squad has replied:

OP IS RIGHT AND THEY SHOULD SAY IT

ninjagooooooad has reblogged your post: 

finally, god, someone who understands. jay is sooooo overhated for no reason…

But also, inevitably:

zaneakgae has replied:

this is such a reach lmao. jay stans will do ANYTHING to make their fave seem deeper than he is.

And then, because the universe hates Megan:

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post:

"sure jan" did you just use a 2015 meme? are you 30 years old? also using a heart emoji doesn't make you cute it makes you look desperate. like you're trying SO hard to seem unbothered but we both know you're seething right now.

and re: the "coping mechanism" thing... that's fanon. that's not canon. you're projecting. jay uses humor because the writers needed a comic relief character and they chose him. that's it. that's the whole reason. there's no deeper meaning. you're doing the writer's job for them by inventing depth that doesn't exist.

also i wasn't going to come back but you posted something so wrong i couldn't ignore it. you're welcome.

#the ACTUAL truth nuke #nuke so explosive half of earth’s gone

She’s prepared to reply, gearing up to set her laptop on her desk that tripled as a vanity and late-night dining table, pushing the cluttered, half-empty coffee cups, before a noise stops her in her tracks.

It’s Yoonchae — snoring.

Not loud or graceless, but a soft, almost apologetic sound, like a cat attempting to quietly dream in sunlight. Megan blinks, the corners of her mouth turning upwards despite herself. Yoonchae’s head is tipped back against her desk chair’s cushion, mouth slightly parted, one hand still curled around her phone like she fell asleep mid-scroll. Her hair’s a mess, one lock plastered to her cheek, the rest forming a sort of halo that catches the faint blue glow of the screen.

She looks…

Megan should stop staring. Should draft her essay response to chipoftheyoon on why her opinion is absolutely incorrect. Should chuck her phone out the window entirely and start thumbing through the pile of work that’s been breathing down her neck all evening —  instead, she just stands there, letting herself look. There’s something ridiculously endearing about it: the snoring, the way Yoonchae’s face forms creases even in sleep, like she’s fighting the demon that’s chemistry as she rests. It wouldn’t surprise Megan. 

Her irritation for chipoftheyoon is momentarily forgotten, dissolved into something feather-light and stupidly fond. God, she looks so cute.

Megan can already feel the smile threatening at the edges of her face as she exhales through her nose, quiet, indulgent, allowing herself to breathe in Yoonchae. Not in a creepy way. Just. Yeah. 

So, problem: Megan has never been good at minding her own business.

It's Friday afternoon, late enough that the sun is slanting through the library windows at a particularly glaring angle. It forces Megan to peer at her laptop screen with her eyes half-shut. She belatedly wishes she'd remembered her glasses, and Megan’s warm enough that she's rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie twice already. She's camped out at her usual spot — third floor, corner table, surrounded by the quiet scratch of pens on paper and the occasional cough from someone three tables over.

Boredom settles in like a warm, itchy blanket. She should probably write the Econ essay, or at least, open a blank document and look like she’s thinking, but her attention refuses to cooperate. Instead, her fingers hover over her laptop keyboard and she clicks back onto Tumblr, almost reflexively, scanning her dashboard without any real purpose.

Yoonchae has a lab report. Something about titrations and chemical equations and other things that make Megan's brain hurt thinking about, which means she'll be stuck in the science building until late, which means Megan has the entire afternoon to herself to procrastinate on her Econ homework by doing literally anything else.

Now that she’s opened Tumblr, it’s obvious where to go next, because Megan is a delusional masochist. AKA, she’s convinced herself that if she understands her enemy better, she'll be able to win their arguments more effectively.

She won’t. 

But.

The truth is closer to the fact that chipoftheyoon is infuriatingly interesting and Megan can't help but want to know more about the person who's been the bane of her existence for the past few months.

It isn’t the first time she’s stalked chipoftheyoon, per se; Megan simply tended to get distracted five minutes in by spotting a horrible Jay post and having to comment, her hand forced, truly, kick-starting their arguments again and preventing her from snooping further.

chipoftheyoon's blog is surprisingly normal, all things considered: chemistry memes that go over Megan's head, aesthetic photography of cityscapes at night with rain-slicked streets, the occasional post about studying that makes Megan feel guilty about her own lack of academic discipline, and of course, the Ninjago content, the posts dragging Jay that make Megan's blood pressure spike even when she's just scrolling past them.

She's about to close the app, she really is. Megan’s going to actually start her homework like a responsible adult, then hit the gym, and absolutely not — she scrolls past something that makes her stop.

A reblog from chipoftheyoon, subtle, not flashy, tucked between an art post and some screencap of a Ninjago episode. Megan squints at it. It’s a screenshot of a screen with a crosshair centered on a digital enemy, health and shield bars glowing in the corner, and a rank emblem she vaguely recognizes from late-night scrolling through Reddit threads she doesn’t usually visit. Valorant. chipoftheyoon plays Valorant.

The reblog's caption reads: finally hit immortal. only took 300 hours of my life that i'll never get back. worth it? debatable.

Below that, someone has reblogged and added: CHIP PLAYS VALORANT???

And chipoftheyoon has responded: unfortunately. someone has to carry these lobbies.

Megan sits up so fast that her chair scrapes against the library floor, harsh, loud enough that the girl at the next table shoots her a dirty look. Megan barely registers because her brain is too busy processing this new chipoftheyoon information.

Valorant.

chipoftheyoon plays Valorant.

Megan plays Valorant, has been playing since summer, when Lara convinced her to download it. She’s spent the last four months climbing from Iron to Gold before getting stuck there like a rat in a trap. She's not bad, not exactly. Megan’s certainly not the person who runs directly into enemy fire every round or forgets to buy weapons or flames her teammates in chat. She's just not good, either; rather perfectly, frustratingly average. The kind of player who has decent aim when she's not panicking and okay game sense when she remembers to use it but a major tendency to forget her abilities exist until it's far too late to use them.

But that's beside the point.

The point is: chipoftheyoon plays Valorant, and Megan plays Valorant, and this is an opportunity. A chance, a way to finally prove she's better than chipoftheyoon at something concrete and measurable. Something not subject to interpretation about fictional character development.

She clicks through chipoftheyoon's blog with the focus of a detective solving a murder, scrolling past more Valorant-related posts. Spots complaints about teammates who don't communicate, clips of gameplay where chipoftheyoon pulls off shots that make Megan's jaw drop, one post that just says if one more person instalocks jett and then dies first every round i'm uninstalling with seventeen tags of increasingly specific complaints on ranked matchmaking.

Megan chews on her bottom lip — an old habit her mom used to scold her for — and considers her options.

She could just ask chipoftheyoon to play.

It's a bad idea. Almost certainly. They hate each other, or, at least, argue like they hate each other, all caps, condescension, neither of them willing to admit when the other makes a good point. 

Why would chipoftheyoon want to play Valorant with Megan? Hell, why would Megan want to play with someone who's going to be better than her? Someone who’s probably going to make comments about it the entire time?

But also.

What if this is how Megan finally wins something?

Because here's the cream of the cake: chipoftheyoon might be right about some stuff. No, not Jay, but other things — narrative structure and character arcs and media analysis that Megan can't quite argue against even when she wants to. chipoftheyoon is smart. Noticeably smart. The type of smart that makes Megan feel stupider than usual, which is a feat.

Valorant is different. 

Valorant is a game, measurable and concrete. It’s a place where she either wins or loses, gets kills or doesn’t. There’s no subjective interpretation or "well actually if you think about it from this perspective —"

If Megan can beat chipoftheyoon at Valorant, that's proof. 

Real, undeniable proof that she's better at something.

This isn’t being petty. This is… helping her ego.

She opens Tumblr's messaging feature before she can talk herself out of it, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a solid thirty seconds while she tries to figure out how to word this in a way that doesn't sound desperate or weird. Or like she's been stalking chipoftheyoon's blog, which she definitely has been, but doesn't want to admit.

meganfox67: hey so i saw you play valorant

She hits send and immediately regrets everything. It’s full-body regret, hitting her with its knuckles and making her want to throw her phone across the library, transfer schools, and move to a different country where she can start fresh.

Her phone buzzes.

chipoftheyoon: are you stalking my blog?

Megan's face flushes hot, a prickly, uncomfortable heat that starts at her chest, crawls up her neck, and settles in her cheeks. Everyone can see it. The girl at the next table is staring now, probably wondering why Megan looks like she's having a crisis over her phone. Which she is. Absolutely is. That doesn’t mean she wants to admit it.

meganfox67: NO i was just scrolling and your post came up on my dash

meganfox67: its not like i was specifically looking at your blog or anything

meganfox67: that would be weird

chipoftheyoon: uh huhhhhhh

chipoftheyoon: sure.

meganfox67: I WASNT

meganfox67: anyway thats not the point

meganfox67: the point is you play valorant and i play valorant

chipoftheyoon: and?

meganfox67: and i think we should play together

There's a pause, and it’s long enough that Megan starts to panic. Starts refreshing the chat like a madman, as though it’ll make chipoftheyoon respond faster. Unhelpfully, her brain starts conjuring up scenarios: chipoftheyoon screenshotting this conversation and posting it with some caption about how pathetic Megan is.

chipoftheyoon: why would i want to play with you?

Okay, rude. But also… fair. They are mortal enemies. What sane person wanted to play with their mortal enemy?

Good thing Megan isn’t a sane individual. She’s banking on chipoftheyoon being batshit crazy too.

meganfox67: because we can settle once and for all whos better

meganfox67: you think youre so much smarter than me right? so prove it

meganfox67: unless youre scared :)

It's a cheap tactic. Playground-level manipulation that shouldn't work on a college student, but Megan knows chipoftheyoon and knows she’s being competitive enough to take the bait.

Another pause, shorter this time.

chipoftheyoon: i'm not scared. you're probably bronze.

meganfox67: im GOLD actually

meganfox67: which is average thank you very much

chipoftheyoon: so... mediocre.

meganfox67: ITS AVERAGE

chipoftheyoon: fine. we can play. but i'm not using voice chat.

meganfox67: what why not?

chipoftheyoon: because i don't want to. text only.

Megan frowns at her phone, trying to parse chipoftheyoon’s brain through the screen. Most people use voice chat in Valorant, relying on it for callouts, coordination, and all the things necessary when playing as a team.

But whatever. 

If chipoftheyoon wants to be difficult about it, fine. It’s on brand for them anyway.

meganfox67: okay fine text only

meganfox67: but dont blame me when we lose because we cant communicate properly

chipoftheyoon: we're not going to lose.

chipoftheyoon: what's your username?

meganfox67: meganfox67

meganfox67: dont laugh

chipoftheyoon: i'm laughing.

meganfox67: I SAID DONT

meganfox67: whats yours?

chipoftheyoon: chipoftheyoon. i'll add you.

chipoftheyoon: 6pm tonight?

meganfox67: yeah okay

meganfox67: see you then

Megan sets her phone down, her heart doing something complicated and arrhythmic in her chest. She stares at her Economics textbook without really seeing it.

This is fine. This is normal. She's playing a video game with someone she argues with on the internet. People do this all the time. It’s practically a modern bonding experience — right up there with trauma-bonding over group projects and sharing memes about hating college.

She glances at the time: 2:47 PM. That gives her approximately three hours to finish her homework, grab dinner, and get to somewhere she can actually play without Yoonchae seeing her because that would require explanations that Megan doesn't want to give.

She texts Lara first: playing valorant with my tumblr enemy wish me luck

Then she opens her Econ textbook and stares at the same paragraph about the Phillips Curve for fifteen minutes without absorbing a single word.

At 5:45 PM, Megan’s ready, set up in one of the empty study rooms on the fourth floor of the library. It’s stuffy, with the glass walls and door that actually locks, but the desk’s size allows her to spread out her laptop, and it’s far enough from her dorm that Yoonchae won’t have to witness her ‘defeating chipoftheyoon’ quest.

The room smells awful. It’s got traces of the faint chemical tang from whiteboard cleaner, overlaid with the artificial scent of an energy drink from whoever occupied the room before her. The overhead lights are harsh, making everything look slightly sickly and washed out. Through the glass walls, she can see other students scattered throughout the floor, bent over textbooks or laptops or sprawled across beanbag chairs in various states of academic despair. In short: a beautiful view. 

She logs into Valorant at 5:47 PM, leg bouncing under the desk in such a jerky motion that a tsunami’s happening on the desk overhead, laptop wobbling with each passing second. 

Ah.

There's a friend request waiting from chipoftheyoon, one she accepts with hands that are absolutely not shaking. Well — they are shaking. But it’s just because she's cold. The library always runs to what feels like the near negatives during the evenings and she left her jacket back in the dorm.

At 5:59 PM, chipoftheyoon's status changes from offline to online.

At exactly 6:00 PM, a message pops up in the Valorant chat.

chipoftheyoon: ready?

meganfox67: born ready

chipoftheyoon: that's the cringiest thing you've ever said.

chipoftheyoon: and you've said a lot of cringe things.

meganfox67: WOW okay rude

meganfox67: can we just play?

chipoftheyoon: fine. but we're playing unrated. i'm not risking my rank with you.

meganfox67: DOUBLE RUDE

chipoftheyoon has already started a party, queuing them up with the speed of someone who wants this finished as quickly as possible. Megan watches the loading screen with her heart doing that thing again, where it feels like it's beating both too fast and too slow.

The match loads in. It’s Bind, one of Megan's better maps, filled with tight corridors and angles she's actually memorized. She instalocks Sage because she always plays Sage. It’s mostly because she likes to be able to heal herself when her health stupidly drops to near death level, which is often, but it’s also because nobody ever gets mad at someone for playing Sage.

chipoftheyoon instalocks Jett.

Of course chipoftheyoon plays Jett. Of course she's one of… those people.

meganfox67: ofc you play jett

chipoftheyoon: problem?

meganfox67: jett players are so predictable

meganfox67: let me guess you dash into site and die first every round?

chipoftheyoon: let me guess you hide in the back and never use your abilities?

Megan gasps out loud, the sound echoing in the small study room. She has to physically restrain herself from typing out a response in all caps. Because chipoftheyoon may succeed in working Megan to anger beyond belief, but she doesn't need to know that. She’d absolutely hang that over her head.

meganfox67: i use my abilities!!!

meganfox67: im just strategic about it

chipoftheyoon: sure.

The game starts and immediately Megan realizes she might be in over her head, might have made a terrible mistake, might be about to embarrass herself in front of the one person she absolutely does not want to embarrass herself in front of.

chipoftheyoon moves through the map with a fluid confidence Megan has never possessed in any aspect of her life. Smooth crosshair placement, perfect timing, the kind of game sense that comes from hundreds of hours of practice. Megan checks corners carefully, second-guesses every decision, tries to remember which agent abilities do what. Meanwhile, chipoftheyoon is already halfway across the map getting kills, making plays that are over before Megan even processes what happened.

The scoreboard at the end of the first round is brutal: chipoftheyoon has three kills. Megan has zero. One death — walked directly into enemy fire while too busy watching chipoftheyoon's screen tag flash across the kill feed.

chipoftheyoon: you good?

meganfox67: im FINE

meganfox67: just warming up

chipoftheyoon: im sure……

They play another round and another and another, it becoming increasingly clear that chipoftheyoon is way better than Megan — not even in the same league, division, or possibly even the same game. While Megan fumbles through corridors, still trying to figure out where the enemies are, chipoftheyoon has already dropped two of them and is working on a third. Her aim is sharp and precise, the kind of accuracy that makes Megan's stomach twist with something that's just competitive jealousy. Absolutely not admiration.

But here's the surprising thing, the thing Megan didn't expect: chipoftheyoon is actually good at communicating through text. She somehow manages to type out strategies between rounds, call out enemy positions, tell Megan where to put her walls, and when to use her heal. chipoftheyoon does it all in short, blunt messages, but they’re more helpful than condescending, and Megan can clearly picture the cursor’s owner blinking patiently as she processes each instruction.

When Megan does something right — gets a kill, makes a good call, doesn't, like, immediately die — chipoftheyoon types out a quick "nice" or "good job" that makes warmth unfurl in Megan's chest. It’s a feeling akin to validation. Pride. Maybe relief that she's not completely terrible. Heat creeps up her neck each time, caught off-guard by genuine praise.

They win the match 13-7, mostly because chipoftheyoon carries them so hard that Megan could’ve been AFK half the rounds and they still would’ve won. Megan ends with a scoreline that makes her want to sink into the floor: 12 kills, 15 deaths, 4 assists. chipoftheyoon has a whopping total of 28 kills, paired with a mere 8 deaths. The numbers glowing on the screen like an accusation.

Megan’s lost. 

chipoftheyoon: not bad.

meganfox67: i was TERRIBLE

meganfox67: you literally carried

chipoftheyoon: you weren't terrible. you were just... okay.

meganfox67: thats worse somehow

chipoftheyoon: you have decent crosshair placement. and your ability usage got better as the game went on.

chipoftheyoon: you just need to work on your positioning. you stand in the open too much.

Megan stares at her screen, at the chat log, at chipoftheyoon's messages that sound like actual genuine advice instead of the condescending lectures she's used to from their Tumblr arguments.

meganfox67: are you being nice to me right now?

chipoftheyoon: don't get used to it.

chipoftheyoon: want to play another?

Does she? Megan glances at the time — 6:47 PM — and knows she should probably head back to her dorm, work on the homework she's been ignoring all day, do literally anything productive.

But this is kind of fun, this weird competitive camaraderie where they're on the same team instead of arguing across Tumblr posts. Where chipoftheyoon is giving her advice instead of tearing apart her opinions, where Megan can focus on improving her gameplay instead of defending her media literacy. The glow of her laptop washes everything else in the room into shadow, makes the rest of the world feel distant and unimportant.

meganfox67: yeah okay one more

chipoftheyoon: try not to die as much this time.

meganfox67: I WILL DO MY BEST

meganfox67: no promises though

They queue up again, and this time, the match is on Haven. It’s got three sites, too many angles, and long sightlines that make Megan nervous just looking at them.

meganfox67: i hate this map

chipoftheyoon: it's not that bad.

meganfox67: it has THREE sites

meganfox67: thats TOO MANY SITES

chipoftheyoon: just stick with me. i'll tell you where to go.

And chipoftheyoon does, typing out clear and specific instructions between rounds: play back site, put a wall here, watch this angle. Megan follows them as best she can. Somehow someway she’s miraculously dying less this game, even getting a few kills in. Kills that she's actually proud of, like the one where she walled off a chokepoint exactly when chipoftheyoon tells her to and they catch three enemies in a crossfire.

chipoftheyoon: GOOD WALL

meganfox67: !!!

meganfox67: did you just use caps lock

meganfox67: are you EXCITED

chipoftheyoon: no.

chipoftheyoon: maybe.

chipoftheyoon: shut up.

Megan is grinning so hard her face hurts, hunched over her laptop in the study room with fingers sticky from sweat and eyes starting to ache from staring at the screen for too long. She has absolutely zero regrets about any of it.

They win again, 13-9, and Megan's scoreline is slightly better: 15 kills, 13 deaths, 6 assists. Still not great, and definitely not carrying her weight, but it's an improvement. Her chest feels warm and bright, nonetheless, like she's not a hopeless cause after all.

chipoftheyoon: see? told you that you weren't terrible.

meganfox67: you literally just called me mediocre like an hour ago

chipoftheyoon: that was before i saw you play.

chipoftheyoon: now i've upgraded you to "acceptable."

meganfox67: wow thanks im so honored

meganfox67: really feeling the love here

chipoftheyoon: don't push it.

There's a pause, and then:

chipoftheyoon: we should do this again sometime.

Megan's brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process this, trying to figure out if chipoftheyoon is being serious or sarcastic or if this is some kind of trick.

meganfox67: yeah?

chipoftheyoon: yeah. you're not completely insufferable in-game.

chipoftheyoon: unlike in our tumblr arguments.

meganfox67: !!!! RUDE

meganfox67: you know what

meganfox67: speaking of which

meganfox67: i still think youre wrong about jay

chipoftheyoon: oh my god.

chipoftheyoon: we're not doing this right now.

meganfox67: im just SAYING

meganfox67: skybound was a good arc and jay had real development and if you cant see that then idk what to tell you

chipoftheyoon: skybound was a mess and jay learned nothing.

chipoftheyoon: he made the same mistakes in the next season.

meganfox67: BECAUSE GROWTH ISNT LINEAR

meganfox67: people backslide!!! they make mistakes!!! thats REALISTIC

chipoftheyoon: it's bad writing.

meganfox67: ITS GOOD WRITING

chipoftheyoon: you know what? fine. agree to disagree.

meganfox67: we are NOT agreeing to disagree

meganfox67: im RIGHT and you need to ADMIT IT

chipoftheyoon: i'm logging off.

chipoftheyoon: same time tomorrow?

Wait.

meganfox67: wait are you serious

chipoftheyoon: about logging off? yes.

megnanfox67: no i mean about playing tomorrow

chipoftheyoon: yeah. if you want.

chipoftheyoon: unless you're scared i'll carry you again.

meganfox67: IM NOT SCARED

meganfox67: and you didnt CARRY me i HELPED

chipoftheyoon: sure.

chipoftheyoon: tomorrow. 6pm.

meganfox67: fine

meganfox67: but im gonna practice tonight and then im gonna be SO MUCH BETTER

chipoftheyoon: looking forward to it.

And then chipoftheyoon's status changes to offline, leaving Megan staring at her screen in the fluorescent-lit study room with her laptop battery at 12% and a smile on her face that she can't quite shake.

This is weird.

A week ago, chipoftheyoon was her seriously, seriously annoying Tumblr nemesis. The person who showed up on every post to disagree with her. And now they're…what? Gaming buddies? Is that what this is?

Megan doesn't know exactly what to call them, this development in their relationship, but she knows she's looking forward to tomorrow at 6 PM. Knows she's going to toss out any thoughts of studying and instead spend the rest of the night watching Valorant guides on YouTube. Megan’s going to become the greatest Valorant player of all time, bar chipoftheyoon. She’ll be so impressed.

She packs up her stuff — her laptop and mouse, tossing a spare wrapper she spots on the floor because Megan’s trying to be more environmentally friendly — and heads back to her dorm through the darkening campus, past students walking in groups, couples holding hands, and solo wanderers with their headphones in and their heads down. The air has that autumn bite to it, sharp enough that she’s picking up her pace to a near jog, in hopes of reaching the comforting warmth of her dorm sooner rather than later.

When she gets back to the room, Yoonchae is already there, fresh from her lab and looking tired in that particular way she gets after dealing with incompetent lab partners. Hair slightly mussed, a frustrated set to her shoulders.

"How was your lab?" Megan asks, dropping her bag by her desk.

"Terrible," Yoonchae says flatly. One…two…and she’s launching into a detailed explanation of everything her lab partner did wrong. Megan tries to follow along, because Yoonchae clearly needs to vent, and Megan is happy to be the person she vents to, but a majority of the words are gibberish.

Later, after they've both eaten the dining hall stir fry that's mostly raw vegetables and a sad attempt at seasoning, after Yoonchae has gone back to her homework and Megan has pretended to work on hers, Megan pulls out her phone and opens Tumblr.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged her post from this morning, the one where Megan had written another long defense of Jay's character development.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

still wrong but i respect the dedication to being wrong. also your point about jay's anxiety being a consistent character trait throughout the series is... not entirely terrible. i'll give you that one. JUST that one.

#don't let this go to your head #you're still wrong about skybound

Megan reads it no less than three times, something satisfied settling in her chest, and before she can overthink it she reblogs it herself.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

did you just give me a point??? are you feeling okay??? do you need to see a doctor???

#this is going in my victory folder #screenshot and everything #checkmate

She plugs her phone in to charge, the cord frayed at the end from too many nights of scrolling in bed, and catches herself wondering if chipoftheyoon is still online. If she's playing another match with someone else, racking up kills with that same effortless precision.

In the bathroom, Megan brushes her teeth and stares at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Toothpaste foam at the corners of her mouth, the dreary lighting making her look washed out and pale. She spits, rinses, and that unbidden smile creeps back across her face — the memory of "good job" in the chat still sitting warm in her chest.

Back in the room, Yoonchae is already asleep, curled on her side with her physics textbook still splayed open on her desk. Megan climbs into bed as quietly as she can, the mattress creaking under her weight. 

She closes her eyes and sees crosshair placements and perfect walls and chipoftheyoon typing out "good job" in green text, the words glowing behind her eyelids like something she wants to hold onto. 

The next day, 6 PM arrives with Megan already making her home in the same study room. Same glass walls, same chemical smell, except this time she's brought snacks, a full water bottle, and she's wearing her glasses because she learned her lesson on eye strain.

She's been thinking about it all day. 

Through her morning Econ lecture, where she barely paid attention, too busy doodling Valorant map layouts in her notebook margins. 

Through lunch, where Yoonchae told her about her biochem homework, and Megan nodded along, not fully there because she was having an in-head agent ability memorization quiz. 

Through her afternoon study session, where she read the same paragraph four times, not the slightest bit of knowledge retained. 

At 5:59 PM chipoftheyoon's status changes to online.

At 6:00 PM, because chipoftheyoon is nothing if not punctual:

chipoftheyoon: ready?

meganfox67: yep!!

chipoftheyoon: you practiced?

meganfox67: i watched SO MANY youtube videos

meganfox67: i know all the angles now

meganfox67: im gonna be UNSTOPPABLE

chipoftheyoon: we'll see.

They queue up, and Megan feels a fire light under her spine. She’s determined to do better. She spent her free time — time that could’ve been used toward…useful ventures — watching guides on crosshair placement, ability usage, and map positioning. She logged in at the break of dawn and practiced in the range until her wrist hurt and her vision went blurry.

She still gets headshotted immediately in the first round because she peeks a corner too wide.

meganfox67: OKAY THAT DOESNT COUNT

meganfox67: i was still warming up

chipoftheyoon: sure.

Megan tears open a bag of chips with more force than necessary. It’s salt and vinegar, the kind that makes her mouth pucker and her jaw feel disjointed, but it’d been the last bag of chips in the vending machine outside the library. She crunches through a handful while she waits to respawn, trying not to feel embarrassed.

But the thing is, Megan does actually do better. Not by a lot, but enough that she notices. More importantly, enough that chipoftheyoon notices.

chipoftheyoon: your crosshair placement is better.

meganfox67: RIGHT???

meganfox67: i told you i practiced!!!

chipoftheyoon: it shows.

And okay, that shouldn't make Megan as happy as it does. 

But it really does. 

That simple acknowledgment that she improved, that her effort meant something — and above all, that chipoftheyoon saw it. She takes a sip of water, the bottle now lukewarm despite being cold when she filled it an hour ago, and can't stop grinning.

They play three matches. Megan's performance is inconsistent but trending upward — one game where she actually keeps up with chipoftheyoon's kill count, one game where she dies embarrassingly often, one game where she's somewhere in the middle. Through all of it chipoftheyoon keeps typing out encouragement, advice, and the occasional roast. It's nice. Surprisingly nice. This weird little collaboration where they're working together instead of against each other.

Between matches, while they're in queue, they end up talking. Megan fishes out a granola bar from her bag, the chocolate chip kind that leaves crumbs all over her keyboard.

chipoftheyoon: what rank are you trying to get to?

meganfox67: idk honestly

meganfox67: plat maybe?

meganfox67: what about you?

chipoftheyoon: radiant eventually.

meganfox67: RADIANT???

meganfox67: thats like

meganfox67: the top rank

chipoftheyoon: i know what it is.

meganfox67: youre insane

meganfox67: (complimentary)

chipoftheyoon: thanks?

chipoftheyoon: what else do you play?

meganfox67: mostly just valorant and roblox

meganfox67: OH and i play stardew sometimes

chipoftheyoon: stardew?

meganfox67: stardew valley!! the farming game

meganfox67: its very relaxing

meganfox67: you should try it

chipoftheyoon: i don't really do relaxing games.

meganfox67: ofc you dont

meganfox67: let me guess you only play competitive games where you can destroy people

chipoftheyoon: yes.

meganfox67: CALLED IT

After the third match — which they win with a nail-biting 13-11. For once, Megan actually clutches the final round and doesn't completely choke under pressure — chipoftheyoon goes idle for a minute. Megan wipes chip grease off her fingers onto her jeans and takes another long drink of her water.

Then:

chipoftheyoon: i have to go soon.

meganfox67: aww really?

meganfox67: one more match?

chipoftheyoon: can't. have assignments to do

chipoftheyoon: tomorrow?

meganfox67: YES

meganfox67: i mean

meganfox67: yeah sure whatever

chipoftheyoon: you're not subtle.

meganfox67: IM JUST ENTHUSIASTIC

chipoftheyoon: same time?

meganfox67: same time

chipoftheyoon: cool.

chipoftheyoon: oh and meganfox67?

Megan's fingers freeze over her keyboard, a half-eaten granola bar still in her other hand. chipoftheyoon never uses her actual username, always responding without addressing her directly. Seeing her username typed out feels weirdly personal, intimate, like they've crossed some invisible line.

meganfox67: yeah?

chipoftheyoon: you're getting better.

chipoftheyoon: keep practicing.

And then chipoftheyoon logs off.

Megan sits there in the study room with the overhead lights humming and students visible through the glass walls, her laptop screen dimming toward sleep mode. Something settles in her chest that's not a crush — definitely not a crush because that would be insane — but maybe something like respect or comradery, or the beginnings of an actual friendship with someone she's supposed to hate. She finishes the granola bar, sweet chocolate melting on her tongue. The taste feels like victory.

When she gets back to the dorm, Yoonchae is at her desk with her headphones in. Megan flops onto her bed with her phone and pulls up Tumblr where chipoftheyoon has just posted something.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

played valorant with someone today who was actually tolerable despite being a jay stan. miracles do happen i guess.

#they're still wrong about jay though #but decent at sage #i'll give them that

Megan screenshots it immediately, posting it with the caption "CHIP CALLED ME TOLERABLE THIS IS A WIN," and then stares up at her fairy lights with a smile she can't quite explain.

Everything implodes on a Friday.

At Lara’s behest, Megan’s at a party.

The party is at some off-campus house that Lara found through a friend of a friend, the kind of place with sagging furniture and suspicious stains and walls so thin she can hear the upstairs neighbors arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash.

It's fairly okay, though.

Granted, Megan doesn't have much to compare it to aside from the one birthday party she went to junior year where someone's mom supervised and they played Uno and ate store-bought cake, or the parties she's seen in movies where everything is either pristine Instagram moments or complete chaos with someone's house getting destroyed. There isn't any of that here, though. 

In this cramped house, with its string lights drooping from the ceiling and its folding table covered in handles of cheap vodka and cases of beer and a massive orange cooler full of jungle juice that someone labeled with sharpie: DRINK AT YOUR OWN RISK. Music blares from a bluetooth speaker propped on the windowsill — some playlist that's all repetitive bass and lyrics Megan half-knows from TikTok — warm bodies crammed into every nook and cranny, some dancing in the cleared-out living room, some squeezed onto the sagging couch in heated conversation, some spilling onto the back porch where a handful of people pass around vapes and cigarettes.

It's kind of nice, actually.

It feels more like a gathering than a proper party, which takes some of the pressure off Megan's shoulders. She doesn't feel obligated to work the room or make small talk with every person she makes eye contact with or pretend to know the words to songs she's never heard before.

She's posted up in the kitchen — less crowded, better lighting, multiple exits — leaning against a counter that's sticky with spilled alcohol and God knows what else, nursing her second cup of jungle juice that tastes like someone dissolved packets of Kool-Aid in rubbing alcohol and called it a beverage. College students sucked at bartending, clearly. 

Her jeans dig into her waist, too tight, leaving marks she'll regret tomorrow, and the crop top Lara convinced her to wear keeps riding up every time she moves, making her tug it down self-consciously.

Lara is somewhere in the living room, hair wild and movements loose, dancing with a cluster of Berkeley students she seems to know. Her whole body is uninhibited, in that way that comes from three drinks and natural extroversion. Megan had tried dancing for maybe five minutes, before retreating to the kitchen where she could stand still and observe and not feel like everyone was judging her inability to move rhythmically.

The alcohol is settling into her system now, warm, buzzy, and making everything feel softer and further away. Like someone wrapped cotton around the sharp edges of her thoughts. She's not drunk, not really, not yet, but tipsy enough that the party feels less overwhelming. Her anxiety has dialed down from screaming to humming.

A guy stumbles into the kitchen — tall, baseball cap on backwards, that glazed look that suggests he's several cups deeper than everyone else — and makes eye contact that lingers a beat too long, opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

Megan immediately looks down at her phone, the universal signal for “I'm busy, don't talk to me.”

She opens Tumblr without thinking, partly muscle memory, largely due to the fact that she's been checking it obsessively for two weeks straight, refreshing her dashboard every ten minutes just in case chipoftheyoon posts something worth arguing about.

And there it is.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

hot take: the ice chapter is the worst part of the entire series and i will die on this hill. the pacing is terrible, the character motivations make no sense, and the resolution is cheap. yep! fight me.

#ninjago #controversial takes #but am i wrong? no

Megan's hand tightens around her cup, the plastic crinkling, and she can feel her face twisting into an exasperated glare.

The ice chapter isn’t the worst part of the series. Not even close. It’s not even in the bottom ten. Inlaid is a few of the best character moments of the series, incredibly important emotional beats, and some genuinely heartbreaking scenes. 

chipoftheyoon is wrong, completely and utterly wrong. And, well — maybe not entirely wrong. But what was once a daily nightmare — arguing with chipoftheyoon — has become her sanctuary.

Her thumbs are moving before her brain catches up, typing fast and clumsy.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

WORST PART???? are you KIDDING ME right now??? the ice chapter has some of the best emotional beats in the entire show!!! zane's sacrifice? iconic. the team's grief? heart wrenching. just because YOU don't understand pacing doesn't mean it's bad

#youre wrong and you should feel bad #ice chapter defense squad #this is a terrible take even for you

Megan hits post, toasting her cup with the air and chugging a majority of her jungle juice. It burns going down, too sweet and too strong, leaving a nasty chemical aftertaste. 

She waits.

Three minutes.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post: 

"emotional beats" okay but emotion doesn't fix bad pacing. the entire chapter rushes through important moments and lingers on irrelevant ones. zane's sacrifice would have been more impactful if the build-up was better structured. you're letting your feelings cloud your judgment of the actual writing quality.

#this is why we can't have nice discussions #jay stans and their inability to see flaws

Megan gasps out loud, sharp and indignant. The guy with the backwards cap, who’s been spinning circles in the corner for the past couple minutes glances over, but she ignores him completely.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

FEELINGS ARE PART OF WRITING QUALITY!!! if a scene makes you feel something it's DOING ITS JOB!!! and also??? "jay stans"??? this has NOTHING to do with jay??? you just brought him into this to be annoying!!!

#imagine being this wrong #could not be me #also the build up WAS good you just weren't paying attention

She's typing too fast, her fingers sliding on the screen, having to backspace and correct words that come out as gibberish. The kitchen is getting louder, more people filtering in and out. Someone’s laughing too loud near her ear, but Megan is tunnel-visioned on her phone.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post: 

feelings are part of writing quality but they're not the ONLY part. you can't just say "it made me cry so it's good" and call it media analysis. that's not how this works. and i brought up jay because you consistently prioritize emotional response over narrative structure. it's a pattern.

#media literacy 101 #which you clearly failed

Megan drains the remainder of her cup in one go, the jungle juice hitting harder now, making her thoughts louder and less filtered.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

okay FIRST OF ALL i did not fail media literacy i got an A in english thank you very much!!! SECOND you're acting like narrative structure and emotional impact are separate things when they're actually deeply connected!!! THIRD you're just mad that you don't have feelings and can't relate to normal human emotional responses to media!!!

#got your ass #checkmate #feelings are valid

She shuts her phone off and immediately goes to refill her cup, not bothering to measure, just scooping the ladle until it's full.

The music has gotten louder, changed into a beat that has more bass, and it thrums in Megan's chest. Lara appears in the kitchen doorway, flushed and sweaty and grinning.

"There you are!" Lara has to shout over the music. "Come dance! You're being antisocial!"

"I'm not being antisocial, I'm —" Megan's phone buzzes and she looks down immediately.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post:

i have feelings. i just don't let them override my critical thinking skills. also an A in english doesn't mean you understand narrative analysis. half of english class is just bullshitting about themes until your teacher gets tired of arguing with you.

#which explains a lot about your arguments actually

"Megan?" Lara waves her hand in front of Megan's face. "Hello?"

"Sorry, I'm just —" Megan gestures vaguely at her phone.

"You're on Tumblr? At a party?" Lara sighs, exasperated. Fond. "Are you arguing with that person again?"

"She started it with her bad take."

"You're always in an argument." Lara reaches over and takes Megan's cup, sips it, makes a face, hands it back. "Jesus, what is in this?"

"Probably paint thinner." Megan is already typing again.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post:

OH SO NOW YOU'RE SAYING IM A BULLSHITTER??? COOL COOL COOL GREAT TOTALLY NOT RUDE AT ALL

#this is why no one likes you #except wait people DO like me #unlike you probably #youre probably so lonely

She sends it and immediately feels sick. Like she crossed some invisible line. Like she went too far. The rational part of her brain is screaming to delete it but the stubborn part of her brain wants to see how this plays out, so she doesn't. Just takes another drink — Megan’s become so numb to the taste that she hardly even cringes from sips anymore — and waits.

Lara is talking to her about something, but Megan is barely listening, nodding at what she hopes is the right points and staring at her phone screen.

The response takes longer this time, long enough that Megan refreshes twice.

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post: 

wow. okay. going for personal attacks now? real mature. for the record, i'm not lonely. i have friends. and unlike you i don't need to get validation from strangers on the internet by posting bad takes about kids shows.

#but sure go off i guess #clearly the alcohol is doing wonders for your argument skills

Megan’s eyes are stinging in a way that means she might cry or throw up or both.

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

IM NOT DRUNK

She hits send and immediately follows up:

meganfox67 reblogged chipoftheyoon's post: 

okay maybe im a LITTLE drunk but that doesnt mean im wrong!!! you started it with your bad take!!! and i DO have friends!!! im at a PARTY right now with my FRIEND so actually maybe YOU'RE the lonely one projecting onto me!!!

chipoftheyoon reblogged your post:

you're at a party and you're arguing with me on tumblr? that's really sad actually.

#go socialize #get off your phone #this is embarrassing for you

Megan stares at her phone, at chipoftheyoon's words that land like a slap. She knows objectively that chipoftheyoon is right, that this is sad, that she should put her phone away, dance with Lara, and actually participate in the party.

But knowing something and doing something are two different things when she's drunk.

She types out three responses and deletes them all, her fingers fumbling over the keys, autocorrect working overtime. Finally she just closes Tumblr and shoves her phone in her pocket.

"Okay," she says to Lara, louder than intended. The music seems to have gotten even more aggressive, bass thrumming through the floor and up into her bones. "Let's dance."

Lara lights up, her whole face transforming with excitement, and drags her back to the living room where the music is louder and the crowd is even thicker. Bodies pressed together, arms in the air, everyone moving like it's effortless. Megan tries, really tries. Tries to move to the beat and not think about chipoftheyoon calling her sad, tries to just exist here like a normal person at a normal party.

She can't stop thinking about it though.

Can't stop replaying chipoftheyoon's words in her head like a song stuck on repeat. Can't stop thinking about how she pointed out exactly what Megan is most insecure about: that she doesn't know how to be present, doesn't know how to put her phone down and engage with real life, doesn't know how to make connections outside of screens and usernames and carefully curated posts.

She lasts maybe ten minutes before the room starts spinning. The lights blur together, red and blue and purple streaking across her vision. She has to excuse herself, pushing through the crowd back to the kitchen, mumbling apologies as she goes. Someone spills a drink on her shoe and she barely notices.

In the kitchen, she refills her cup again even though she shouldn't, even though she knows she's had too much. The jungle juice tastes worse than ever, syrupy and thick and turning her stomach, artificial fruit flavor coating her tongue. Megan drinks it anyway, letting the grimace soak her face, because what else is there to do?

She pulls out her phone.

chipoftheyoon hasn't responded, hasn't posted anything new. Megan refreshes three times before accepting that chipoftheyoon is done, has logged off to do something more productive than argue with a drunk girl at a party.

Megan tries to type out an apology. Her fingers won't cooperate and it comes out "sorty rhat wqs mena" and she deletes it with a frustrated noise.

Tries again: "you were rude first though"

Ugh.

Tries again: "why do you even care"

No.

She's alone in the kitchen now, everyone else migrating to other rooms or other conversations. The counter is sticky under her elbows, scattered with empty cups, bottle caps, and someone's abandoned phone charger. With a sudden clarity, Megan realizes she doesn't want to be here anymore. Doesn't want to be at this party with people she doesn't know, doesn't want to keep drinking, doesn't want to keep embarrassing herself.

She wants to go home.

Back to her dorm, back to her room, back to quiet and her bed and her fairy lights.

She finds Lara still dancing, and has to tap her shoulder three times before she turns around. Has to yell over the music.

"I'm heading out!"

"What? Already?" Lara's face falls, lipstick smudged at one corner. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired!" Not entirely a lie. She is tired, bone-deep exhausted from too much social interaction and too much alcohol and too much thinking about chipoftheyoon. "I'll text you when I'm back!"

"Want me to come with you?" Lara looks genuinely concerned now, reaching out to steady Megan with a hand on her elbow.

"No, you stay! Have fun!" Megan forces a smile that feels too wide. "I'll text you if I need anything. And drink water!"

"You drink water," Lara counters, but she hugs her tight, smelling like an avalanche of drinks were spilled on her. "Text me when you're back safe, okay?"

"I will."

The walk back to campus is longer than Megan remembered. There’s countless answers why — she's drunk, her feet hurt in these stupid heels she borrowed from Lara, the night air is cold against her bare arms. None of them particularly matter. It’s all a distraction from what’s truly on her mind.

The streets are empty, minus the occasional clusters of students wandering between parties, their laughter carrying in the quiet.

Megan keeps her head down and her arms wrapped around herself, trying to preserve what little warmth she has left. Streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance a car alarm goes off and then stops just as suddenly.

She checks Tumblr as she walks even though, deep down, she knows there won't be anything new.

There isn't.

chipoftheyoon's blog is silent. No new posts, no activity, nothing.

Megan types out a message and deletes it.

Types another and deletes it.

By the time she reaches her dorm she's checked Tumblr fifteen times and chipoftheyoon still hasn't posted and Megan is starting to feel genuinely guilty. It's heavy guilt, the kind that sits in her chest and makes breathing harder, makes her throat feel tight.

She fumbles with her keycard at the entrance, drops it twice before getting it to work on the third try. The metal is cold against her fingers. Takes the stairs because the elevator is too slow and she needs to move, needs to do something with the anxious energy building under her skin.

The hallway is quiet when she finally reaches her floor, most people either out or asleep. All that’s left is the hum of the vending machine at the end of the hall, distant music bleeding through someone's door, and Megan's footsteps that sound too loud against the tile.

She stands outside her door for a moment, key in hand, listening. Trying to figure out if Yoonchae is awake, trying to be quiet because Yoonchae might be asleep and the last thing Megan wants is to wake her up and have to explain why she's home early and drunk and pathetic.

She unlocks it slowly, eases it open, slips inside.

The room is dark except for Yoonchae's desk lamp and the blue glow from her laptop screen. Megan's first thought is that Yoonchae fell asleep studying again, something she does at least once a week, too absorbed in her work to notice exhaustion winning.

She has.

Yoonchae is slumped over her desk, head pillowed on her arms, dark hair falling across her face and obscuring her features. She's wearing that oversized hoodie, the gray one that's too big for her frame, and there's something peaceful about her expression that Megan never sees when she's awake. When she's guarded and carefully composed and always slightly frowning at something (usually Megan).

She's cute.

Really cute.

Objectively cute in a way that makes Megan want to take a picture or brush the hair from her face or stand there staring like a creep for the rest of her life.

Megan takes a step closer, quiet and careful, her heels left by the door. The carpet is rough under her feet. Her eyes land on Yoonchae's laptop screen and she's not trying to snoop, really, she's just glancing, just happening to look.

The screen shows Tumblr.

And.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

chipoftheyoon's blog.

More specifically, chipoftheyoon's dashboard, logged in, with the new post button, Zane profile picture and notifications icon in the corner.

Megan's brain short-circuits.

She blinks, sure she's misreading, sure the alcohol is making her hallucinate. But no, it's there: chipoftheyoon's dashboard, logged in, on Yoonchae's laptop. The cursor is blinking in the post box like it's waiting for something.

Megan leans closer, eyes scanning desperately for confirmation.

There's the post history, chipoftheyoon's posts that Megan knows by heart. At the top is tonight's post about the ice chapter. Below that, in drafts, half-written: played valorant again today. teammate is getting better but still dies too much. kind of fun though.

Megan's hand flies to her mouth.

chipoftheyoon is Yoonchae.

Yoonchae is chipoftheyoon.

Her roommate is the person she's been arguing with for weeks, the person she eats with and watches movies with and has built this routine with. The same person who called her sad less than an hour ago.

The room spins and it's not the alcohol. It's the sheer absurdity, the cosmic joke of it all.

She backs away slowly and sits hard on her bed, the mattress springs creaking under her weight.

How did she not see it?

But now that she knows, it's obvious. The way they type, sparse and efficient. The way chipoftheyoon says "uh-huh" like Yoonchae does. The way chipoftheyoon plays Valorant at the exact times Yoonchae is busy.

God.

She's an idiot.

She pulls out her phone with shaking hands and scrolls through tonight's argument, reading it with new context. Every word from chipoftheyoon is actually from Yoonchae.

you're at a party and you're arguing with me on tumblr? that's really sad actually.

Yoonchae thinks she's sad.

Yoonchae called her embarrassing.

And she was right.

Megan looks at Yoonchae still asleep, still peaceful, hair still crooked and splayed across her face. She knows she should wake her, should address this now before it gets worse. But she can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except sit and stare and try to process the impossible reality that her Tumblr nemesis has been sleeping three feet away from her this entire time.

Yoonchae stirs.

Small at first, a shoulder shifting, then she's lifting her head and blinking against the laptop light. Her hands rub at her eyes.

She sees Megan immediately, still in her party clothes, and straightens up with visible confusion. "You're back," she says, voice rough with sleep and laced with concern. "What time is it?"

Megan's mouth opens but nothing comes out. Her tongue feels thick and useless in her mouth.

Yoonchae frowns, more awake now, clearly registering something is wrong. She leans forward slightly, studying Megan's face with that careful attention she gives to everything. "Are you okay? Did something happen at the party?"

"I know," Megan says. The words come out flat, stripped of inflection.

"Know what?" Yoonchae tilts her head, genuine bewilderment in her expression.

"chipoftheyoon. You're chipoftheyoon." The accusation hangs in the air between them, heavy and undeniable.

Confusion crosses Yoonchae's face, her brows drawing together in that familiar way they do when she's trying to work out a particularly difficult physics problem. "What?"

"You're chipoftheyoon," Megan repeats, and this time it sounds like a revelation, like something she can't quite believe she's saying out loud.

The confusion transforms into something else, something Megan can't quite read. There's a long silence where they simply stare at each other, the laptop screen casting blue light across Yoonchae's features and making her look almost ghostly.

Then Yoonchae's eyes flick to her laptop, to Tumblr still open on the screen, and understanding dawns across her face like sunrise. "Oh."

"Oh?" Megan's voice pitches higher than she intends, breaking on the single syllable. "That's it? Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"I..." Yoonchae closes her laptop slowly, deliberately, the soft click of it shutting somehow louder than it should be. "How long have you known?"

"Thirty seconds. You fell asleep with it open." Megan gestures at the laptop like it's evidence at a crime scene, like it's proof of some great betrayal.

"Shit," Yoonchae mutters, the curse uncharacteristic and so unlike her usual careful speech that Megan almost laughs except nothing about this is funny. Nothing about this makes sense.

"You've been chipoftheyoon this whole time. You've been arguing with me about Ninjago while we eat together. Playing Valorant with me and then we act normal afterward like nothing happened." The words tumble out faster now, gaining momentum. "How is that even possible?"

"I didn't know it was you," Yoonchae says quickly, urgently, like she needs Megan to understand this part. "Not at first. Not until..."

She stops, mouth snapping shut with visible effort, teeth clicking together.

"Until when?" Megan demands. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Yoonchae looks away, something like embarrassment coloring her features and turning the tips of her ears pink. "Until we started playing Valorant together."

"You knew?" Megan's voice goes shrill, cracking on the last word. "You knew it was me and you didn't tell me? You let me keep playing with you, talking to you, and you knew the whole time?"

"I was going to tell you! I really was, I swear." Yoonchae stands up now too, her chair scraping against the floor. "I kept trying to figure out how to say it. And then it got weird and the longer I waited the weirder it got and I thought maybe if I didn't say anything it would be fine, that maybe we could keep going like this and it wouldn't matter."

"How is this fine?" Megan stands as well, pacing between their beds with quick, agitated steps. The carpet is rough under her tights, grounding her when everything else feels surreal. "You called me sad tonight. You said I was embarrassing."

"You were being embarrassing!" Yoonchae's voice rises to match hers, defensive and sharp in a way Megan has never heard from her before. "You were at a party, supposedly having fun with your friends, and instead you were arguing with me on Tumblr about a children's show. How is that not embarrassing?"

"Because you posted a bad take!" Megan whirls around to face her fully, heat flooding her cheeks. "The ice chapter doesn't have pacing issues, you're reading it wrong!"

"It wasn't a bad take! The ice chapter absolutely has pacing issues and if you actually paid attention to narrative structure instead of getting lost in your feelings about Jay, you'd see that!" Yoonchae's hands are on her hips now, her usual composure completely shattered.

Megan stares at her. At Yoonchae with her sleep-tousled hair and that flush creeping up her neck, so different from the careful, controlled version of herself she usually presents. For a moment neither of them speak, both breathing hard like they've been running instead of standing still.

Then Megan turns away. She grabs her pajamas from where they're draped over her desk chair and heads to the bathroom without another word, leaving Yoonchae standing there in the middle of the room.

The door closes behind her with a soft click. She leans against it for a moment, forehead pressed to the cool wood, trying to steady her breathing. Her reflection in the mirror looks as wrecked as she feels, mascara smudged under her eyes and lipstick worn off hours ago.

She changes mechanically, brushing her teeth with more aggression than the task requires. The minty toothpaste burns her tongue but at least it's something concrete to focus on, something that isn't the impossible revelation waiting for her on the other side of the door.

When she finally comes back out, Yoonchae has retreated to her bed, already under the covers with her back turned to Megan's side of the room.

Megan climbs into her own bed without turning on the fairy lights. The sheets are cold and unwelcoming, and she pulls them up to her chin, staring at the ceiling where the glow-in-the-dark stars she'd stuck up there in September cast faint green shapes in the darkness.

She can hear Yoonchae breathing across the room, and can tell from the pattern that she's not asleep either.

Neither of them say goodnight.

Megan’s still drunk and confused and stuck with chipoftheyoon's — Yoonchae's — words echoing in her head.

that's really sad actually.

Yeah.

It kind of is.

Megan wakes with a headache that feels like someone drove a spike through her temple and abandoned it there, the metal pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. Each throb sends fresh waves of nausea through her stomach, and when she opens her eyes the morning light cuts through the gaps in the curtains like knives, sharp and unforgiving.

She lies motionless for several seconds. Moving seems impossible. Thinking seems worse. Existing seems like a particularly cruel joke that the universe is playing on her specifically, because of course she’d get the worst hangover of her life on the same night that her entire world imploded and revealed that her roommate — her roommate — has been her sworn Tumblr enemy for months, and oh god — oh god, she's going to have to face Yoonchae eventually. What the hell is she supposed to say? "Hey, sorry I called you a friendless loser online, pass the toothpaste?"

The memory surfaces, slow and inevitable as blood welling from a wound: the laptop screen glowing in the darkness of their room. The Tumblr dashboard. Yoonchae's username appearing in a reblog, and Megan staring at it for forty-five seconds (she'd counted, because time had gone weird and syrupy) before her brain finally connected the dots. The terrible, dawning realization that had crashed over her like ice water, stealing her breath and making her forget, for one merciful moment, that she’d been three cups of jungle juice deep at a party and had definitely told Jonah from her econ class that she thought his presentation on supply and demand curves was "giving trasholympics" which, in retrospect, made zero sense.

Yoonchae is chipoftheyoon.

Her roommate. The person whose breathing she hears every night before falling asleep — soft and even, sometimes with this tiny hitch that Megan has learned means she's having a dream — whose presence has become as familiar as the arrangement of furniture in their shared space. That same person is the one she has been arguing with for months. The one whose every post makes her want to throw her phone across the room (she's come close exactly seven times, but her phone case is only rated for six-foot drops and she's not risking it), the one who dismantles her arguments with surgical precision and never, ever, ever concedes a point, not even when Megan is obviously right, which is most of the time, thanks.

Megan forces herself upright, moving with the careful deliberation of someone defusing a bomb. Or, more accurately, someone who thinks they might vomit if they move too fast. Her skull protests with a fresh wave of throbbing that makes her vision blur at the edges. Her stomach lurches, threatening revolt, staging a coup, preparing to overthrow the government of her entire digestive system. She braces one hand against the mattress — the sheets are twisted around her legs, which means she definitely thrashed around in her sleep, which means she probably woke Yoonchae up at least twice, which means Yoonchae probably hates her even more now — and looks across the small space that separates their beds.

The space usually feels small. 

The space that now feels like a canyon and a closet at the same time, which doesn't make sense, but nothing makes sense when Megan’s hungover and her life is falling apart.

Yoonchae's bed is occupied. By Yoonchae. Which, duh. It’s Saturday morning; where else would she be?

Yoonchae herself lies curled on her side, facing the wall, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. The curve of her spine is visible through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt — it's the blue one, the one she wears when she's stressed. Megan has, of course, catalogued it, because she has a problem of paying attention to Yoonchae's clothing choices like a creepy roommate stalker. 

She could be asleep. She could be pretending. There is no way to tell, and Megan doesn't know which option is worse: Yoonchae peacefully sleeping while Megan suffers, or Yoonchae lying there awake, also suffering, both of them just existing in their separate miseries like the world's saddest parallel play.

The fragments of last night are starting to arrange themselves in Megan's mind with agonizing slowness. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces are the same shade of oh god why did she do that. Their voices raised, in this very room, accusations and denials, Megan saying something about honesty and Yoonchae saying something about emotional maturity and both of them saying things they probably shouldn't have said, but did anyway, because apparently alcohol makes Megan think she's a debate champion when really she's just loud and wrong. Yoonchae saying her opinions suck with that almost-smile that Megan has learned means she’s enjoying herself. Except last night it hadn't looked like enjoyment, it’d looked like something else entirely. Something Megan couldn't read and something Megan didn't want to think about. The two of them retreating to their respective beds without resolving anything, and Megan lying there in the dark listening to Yoonchae's breathing and wondering, like an idiot, if Yoonchae was also lying there listening to her breathing.

Megan needs water. She needs painkillers. She probably needs to throw up, but Megan’s trying very hard not to think about that because thinking about it makes it more likely to happen. She’s already humiliated enough without adding "vomited in front of her secret internet enemy roommate" to the list.

Megan swings her legs over the side of the bed, foot catching in the twisted sheets, and she nearly face-plants onto the floor before catching herself on the desk. It wobbles, and a pen rolls off, hitting the floor with a sound akin to a gunshot in the quiet of the room. Megan freezes, certain she's woken Yoonchae, but there's no movement from the other bed. Just that same still shape. Some part of her exhales with relief.

The bathroom they share with the adjacent room is mercifully empty when she stumbles inside. Megan’s balance is off, like a newborn baby, holding onto the doorframe and then the sink as though they're life preservers. 

She catches sight of herself in the mirror: mascara smudged into dark crescents beneath her eyes — Megan, the racoon, everyone. Albeit, an exhausted raccoon who’s made bad decisions at a party and who would definitely lose a fight with a trash can right now, but a racoon nonetheless — hair matted on one side and sticking up at improbable angles on the other, skin pale with a faint greenish tinge around her mouth that faintly reminds her of that time she ate bad sushi and spent six hours curled around the toilet. She looks like she’s been in a fight and horribly lost. She looks like someone who definitely should not have had that third cup, or that fourth one, or — oh god, was there a fifth? There might have been a fifth.

She brushes her teeth twice, scrubbing at her tongue until it hurts and she can taste blood underneath the mint. Trying, and failing, to erase the words she'd yelled at Yoonchae at one in the morning. The water she drinks straight from the tap is lukewarm and utterly disgusting, but she cups her hands beneath the stream and drinks until her stomach feels sloshing and full. Maybe if she just keeps drinking water she can wash away the entire night and start over.

When she returns to their room — moving slowly, like she's walking through molasses — Yoonchae is awake. She’s propped against her pillows, phone in hand, and changed into different clothes. It’s the black sweatshirt she usually wears to Saturday morning study sessions, which means she's been awake for a while, which means she was definitely pretending to sleep earlier, which means — Megan's brain is spiraling again, which. Great. Fantastic. Exactly what she needs right now.

For half a second, their eyes meet. They both look away, just as fast. Megan studies the floor with sudden intense interest. She notices a particularly interesting stain by her desk that looks like coffee. Has that always been there? How’d she never notice? Oh god, Is this what rock bottom looks like? Analyzing floor stains instead of actually dealing with her problems?

"Morning," Yoonchae says, voice is carefully neutral. It’s the tone one might use with a stranger in an elevator, or with someone who’s cut you off in traffic. Or, Megan glumly supposes, with your roommate who you’ve discovered is your internet nemesis and who called you lonely and friendless in a post that got thirty-seven notes.

"Morning," Megan echoes, scratchy and rough, like she's been gargling gravel. She clears her throat. It doesn't help.

The awkwardness is… suffocating. It fills the room like smoke, stealing oxygen, making it difficult to draw a full breath. 

The elephant between them is not merely present but massive, crushing. It’s taking up every available inch of space until Megan feels like she's being compressed into a two-dimensional version of herself. The elephant is the size of their room. The elephant is the size of the entire building. The elephant has its own gravitational field.

Megan cannot stand it.

She physically cannot stand it, like her body is rejecting the awkward silence the same way it's rejecting last night’s drinks. She's either going to throw up or start talking, and talking seems like the safer option, even though with her track record it definitely isn't. Take, for instance, last night.

"So," she begins, lowering herself onto her bed and drawing her knees to her chest. The position’s defensive. Megan learned it in that one psychology class she took in high school, before deciding psych wasn't for her because the teacher used too many Freud examples and not enough actual science. She does it anyway, wrapping her arms around her shins and making herself appear smaller. It’s the exact opposite of what a person’s supposed to do in a confrontation but, whatever. She's not exactly winning any tactical excellence awards this morning. "Last night."

"Last night," Yoonchae repeats, carefully setting her phone down on her blanket. Her hands are shaking, a tiny tremor that nobody else would catch, but Megan’s spent three months living with Yoonchae, and what feels like her entire life, being in love with her. Right now, Yoonchae is nervous. This should make Megan feel better, because, hey, at least she's not the only one freaking out. Instead it makes everything worse. It makes the whole situation feel more real and less like a nightmare she can wake up from.

"We should probably talk about it." Megan picks at a loose thread on her blanket, watching it unravel, pulling it longer and longer until there's a small hole forming in the fabric. She should stop. She doesn't stop. The thread is pale blue, and growing. Soon she'll have unraveled the entire blanket, turned it into a mere pile of threads — wouldn't that be a perfect metaphor for her life right now?

"Probably." Yoonchae shifts her position, mirroring Megan's drawn-up knees.

The silence that follows isn’t comfortable. It presses against Megan's skin, heavy and expectant. Like it's waiting for her to say something, to fix this. To somehow navigate this conversation without making everything worse. She continues decimating the blanket thread, watching her fingers work, and tries to organize her thoughts into something resembling coherence.

Problem five: it’s like trying to organize a junk drawer. Everything's jumbled, nothing fits right, and half of it should’ve been thrown away years ago.

"I'm sorry," Yoonchae starts before Megan can formulate an opening. Megan's head snaps up so fast that her vision swims. Her headache surges back with a vengeance. She gives Yoonchae her full attention anyway. "For not telling you. When I figured it out."

The apology catches Megan off-guard. She’d been preparing for Yoonchae to immediately go on the offensive position, the way she does online. This…she hadn’t expected this. Not the quiet admission, not the Yoonchae who looked almost — vulnerable? Can Yoonchae even do vulnerable? Megan’s seen thousands of emotions on her ranging from confident to annoyed to seventy-three variations of neutral, but vulnerable is new.

"When did you figure it out?" Megan asks. She’s pretty sure she asked this last night, but her memory past oh shit you’re chipoftheyoon has alluded her. The hole in Megan’s blanket is getting bigger, and she mournfully says her goodbyes to the cash she’ll be dropping at Target to get a new one.

"The first time we played Valorant." Yoonchae adjusts her grip on her knees. She’s not making eye contact, staring instead at a point somewhere over Megan's left shoulder. It makes Megan mad, for some unknown reason. She wants Yoonchae to look her in the eye. She can’t explain why, but she does. "You said something that reminded me of a text you sent earlier. And then I checked, and it was a match, and it simply made sense."

"And you just didn't tell me?" The words come out sharper than Megan intends. Like they're weapons instead of questions. Her head throbs in protest at her own volume and she winces, pressing her free hand to her temple in hopes that sheer will can push the pain away.

"I didn't know how." A voice crack leaves Yoonchae’s voice and Megan isn’t quite sure how to deal with that. The emotional one between them is supposed to be her. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hello, by the way, I am the person you have been arguing with online for weeks'? That makes everything strange. That ruins everything."

Everything. What everything? Their roommate relationship where they coexist peacefully and occasionally share snacks? Their gaming sessions where they actually work together pretty well despite Megan's (or, well, meganfox67) tendency to rush in and die immediately? Their —

"It's already strange!" Megan shouts, despite the fact that her head feels like it's splitting open. She resolutely ignores the fact that yelling probably isn't the best strategy here, because when has Megan ever been good at strategy? "You knew, and you just let me continue arguing with you without telling me. You let me say all those things about —"

She cuts herself off. The memory of what she said makes her nausea come roaring back: those posts about chipoftheyoon being lonely, about her not having friends, about her spending too much time online because she had nothing better to do. 

Except chipoftheyoon is Yoonchae. Yoonchae, who has friends, who goes to study groups, who FaceTimes with someone back home every Tuesday night. Yoonchae, who laughs so quietly that Megan can’t hear it through her headphones, but will purposely start shutting off her music so she can hear those wonderful, tiny sounds. Yoonchae, who’s a lot of things, but definitely, definitely not lonely.

God, Megan is an asshole.

"About me being lonely?" Yoonchae finishes. Megan watches on as Yoonchae's jaw clenches, fingers tightening around her knees until the knuckles go white. "Yes. That was particularly enjoyable to read."

"I was drunk when I wrote that!" Megan protests. As soon as the words exit her mouth she knows they're a terrible defense, knows that "I was drunk" is what people say when they mean "I said what I actually think but don't want to be held accountable for it".

"You’ve said worse sober." Yoonchae's voice is flat now, factual, like she's reciting data from a lab report.

"So have you!" The words burst out of Megan before she can stop them, before she can think about whether this is productive or helpful or anything other than escalating. But. It isn’t fair, okay? She’s been holding this in for months, and while Megan knows this isn’t the best time, her mouth has made a bed to lie in. Her hands are shaking now. She shoves them under her thighs to make the tremors stop. It doesn't work. "You’ve called me stupid, said my opinions are worthless, told me I don’t understand basic media analysis!"

"I never called you stupid." Yoonchae zips a hand out, indignant, nearly hitting the bed post. "I said your arguments were flawed. There’s a difference."

"Not to me, there isn't!" Megan’s face is getting hot. She can feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, which is just perfect, exactly what she needs right now, to start crying in the middle of an argument like she's some kind of emotional disaster (and she is, she absolutely is an emotional disaster, but she doesn't need to advertise it).

"Then maybe that’s part of the problem!" Yoonchae stands up, abruptly. She starts pacing, moving back and forth in the tiny space on her side of the room. Megan’s never seen her this agitated. She doesn’t allow herself a single moment of shock over that fact.

They’re both speaking too loudly now. Voices filling the room, bouncing off the walls and most likely disturbing their neighbors. Hell, the neighbors are probably listening to this entire ordeal unfold. 

Megan’s beginning to feel her frustration from the previous night returning, the embarrassment and anger and confusion that she’d hoped would dissipate with sleep. Or, at least, with a massive amount of water and some ibuprofen. Instead, it's been coiled like a spring, and here it is, here they are, doing this all over again. Except, worse, because Megan's head is ready to keel over and die and her stomach is churning, and — scratch her previous statement, because her entire body, not just her head, feels like it might keel over and die from this hangover. 

"You know what?" Megan matches Yoonchae, standing. Her legs wobble from the effort it takes, and she’s forced to grab the edge of her desk to steady herself. "This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so condescending. You’re acting like you’re correct about everything and everyone else, like me, is simply too unintelligent to understand —"

"Okay, wait, I don’t act like that—" Yoonchae spins to face her. Their pacing patterns almost intersect in the middle, but they both stop short. Which, thank God, for that, because Megan might’ve seriously died if she’d tripped and Yoonchae had to play knight in shining armor, breaking her fall.

"You literally do!" Megan throws her hands up. "Every single post, every single argument, sums up to 'you’re wrong and here is why' and 'you clearly do not understand' and 'this is basic analysis' —"

"Maybe if you actually listened to what I was saying instead of becoming defensive —" Yoonchae crosses her arms over her chest. It isn’t aggressive, rather protective, like when someone’s trying to hold themselves together. Megan would’ve had more sympathy for it if her rage hadn’t grown to the size of a hurricane.

"Oh, come on, I’m not defensive!" Megan growls out, and, oh, the irony.

"You’re being so defensive right now!" Yoonchae counters, but her voice is trembling, and — is she about to cry? Are they both about to cry? Is this what their neighbors are listening to, two girls, on the verge of tears, yelling at each other over Ninjago Tumblr?

Megan stops pacing. 

She stares at Yoonchae, whose eyes are slightly shiny, in a way that Megan recognizes, because she's pretty sure her own eyes look exactly the same.

They’re going in circles. The same arguments, cycling through the greatest hits chipoftheyoon and meganfox67 have blown at each other, except now they’re happening face-to-face rather than through the buffer of impersonal names and screens. It makes it worse. The proximity transforms everything. It makes all of Megan's emotions feel too large for her body. She feels like a bottle of soda that someone shook up, and the pressure is building, and building, and eventually, she's going to explode and make a huge mess that someone (probably Lara) will have to clean up.

"I need coffee," Megan announces, defeated, all the fight draining out of her. She grabs her phone from where it's fallen beside her pillow — she doesn't remember putting it there, has zero memory of anything after storming into the bathroom last night. Her phone shows more than forty notifications, from people and things she doesn't want to deal with right now. Megan simply turns on do not disturb and shoves it into her hoodie pocket.

"Okay,” is all Yoonchae says, turning away and facing the window, presenting Megan with the same curve of spine that Megan woke up staring at.

Megan leaves without another word. 

She walks across the small room — four steps, one, two, three, four — and pulls open the door. The handle’s cool under her palm. It’s a relief from her boiling aggression. 

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

She stands in the hallway for a moment, listening to the sound of her own breathing, and wonders when, exactly, everything got so complicated.

The dining hall thrums with the energy of hungover college students seeking salvation in shitty breakfast food and caffeine. Everyone moves slowly, squinting against the lights as though personally offended by their brightness — which, honestly, fair, because the lights are aggressive. It’s like tiny suns are mounted to the ceiling. Whoever designed this place clearly never considered or cared for the life of parties and general student antics. 

Megan collects a plate of scrambled eggs that look concerningly wet and toast that's burnt on one side and perfect on the other (because the dining hall toaster has no concept of consistency). She pushes it around without eating. Her stomach is still staging its rebellion. Not revolution, because it only counts as one if it’s successful. Her government teacher would’ve been proud of Megan for remembering that.

She drinks the coffee far too quickly, tilting the mug back and letting the scalding liquid hit her tongue, her throat, burning all the way down. It’s akin to the drink-chugging she partook in last night. Megan winces, body protesting the pain, but doesn't stop. Pain is better than thinking, for one, and the caffeine might fix her brain. Or make her brain functional enough to deal with whatever fresh hell her life has become.

She sits at a table near the window, the one overlooking the quad. The same frisbee people from yesterday are out again (do they ever sleep? Do they have classes? What is their secret?).

Megan keeps looking, giving herself another minute before boredom wins.

She pulls out her phone. 

Her thumb finds the Tumblr app before her brain has fully registered the motion — it's instinct at this point. The same way some people check their texts or their Instagram, Megan checks…Tumblr. She's done it at least eight thousand times. She could do it in her sleep. She's probably done it in her sleep, which is a concerning thought she chooses not to examine right now.

The dashboard loads, its familiar blue interface appearing, and Megan's eyes scan automatically for new posts, for updates, for —

chipoftheyoon has posted three minutes ago.

Her stomach drops. 

The post sits at the top of her dashboard, waiting like a landmine:

chipoftheyoon has posted:

sometimes people mistake passion for correctness. just because you feel strongly about something doesn't make you right. anyway. back to chemistry homework.

#vague posting? maybe #but also true

Megan's jaw clenches so hard her teeth ache. The ache shoots up into her already-throbbing temple.

Her fingers tighten around her phone until the case creaks slightly, and she's vaguely aware that she's leaving indents in the silicone but she doesn't care, can't care, because —

That is about her. That is definitely, unmistakably, about her. 

Yoonchae went on tumblr after she left and immediately, immediately posted something passive-aggressive about their argument. About Megan. Instead of, oh, she doesn't know, processing her emotions like a normal person, or talking things out, or literally anything other than running to Tumblr to subpost, Yoonchae decided to air their dirty laundry to her — Megan does quick mental math — approximately 980 followers.

Fine.

Fine.

If Yoonchae wants to play this game, Megan will play. Megan invented this game. Megan has been playing this game for three months and has gotten good at it, and if Yoonchae thinks she can just vaguely post about Megan and get away with it, if she thinks Megan is going to sit here and take it, then she clearly doesn't know who she's dealing with.

Except she does know. She knows exactly who she's dealing with. That's the whole problem.

Megan's fingers move across her phone screen with a speed born of practice and spite. She types so fast she makes three typos and has to backspace. Which, embarrassing, but whatever.

meganfox67 has posted:

sometimes people mistake being analytical for being smart. just because you can pick apart every little thing doesn't mean you understand the bigger picture. also some of us have emotions and that's NORMAL actually.

#also vague posting #but also TRUE

She takes another long sip of coffee, burning her tongue again. She's watching her notifications with grim satisfaction, with vindication, watching the notes start to tick up — a like from someone she doesn't recognize, a reblog from one of her mutuals with the tag "#oh tea," another like, another reblog.

It takes five minutes.

Well, less.

It takes four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, actually. Not that Megan is counting. Not that she's been sitting here, refreshing her dashboard obsessively, and watching the timestamp. 

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

having emotions is normal. letting emotions cloud your judgment is not. also "bigger picture" is what people say when they cannot defend their argument with actual evidence.

#this is exactly what i'm talking about #thank you for proving my point

The response makes Megan's blood pressure spike — can feel it, can feel her pulse hammering in her neck, in her wrists, in her stupid hungover head that is absolutely not equipped to handle this right now. 

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

OR maybe "bigger picture" is what people say when someone is so focused on tiny details they miss the entire point of the narrative. not everything needs to be dissected to death. sometimes art is meant to be FELT.

#you wouldn't understand that #clearly

She immediately pounces for her coffee, except she's drained the entire mug without realizing it. Her mouth closes around empty ceramic. She stares at the mug for a second, betrayed, then sets it down far harder than necessary. It makes a loud thunk against the table. The person sitting two tables over glances at her. Megan refuses to look back.

Within two minutes (one minute and forty-three seconds), chipoftheyoon has reblogged again:

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

art can be felt AND analyzed. they are not mutually exclusive. this is literally what i mean about you being defensive instead of actually engaging with criticism.

#"you wouldn't understand" great argument #really convincing

Megan is in the midst of composing another response, something cutting about how Yoonchae wouldn't recognize emotional depth if it hit her in the face, maybe something about how being smart doesn't mean she’s right, or, or, oh, something about how —

Someone sits down across from her.

Megan's head snaps up so fast her neck audibly cracks. She finds herself staring at a girl from her Economics class. Her name’s either Sophia or Sarah or possibly Sally — something with an S, she's pretty sure. Then again, her track record’s piss poor and she could be completely wrong. 

She’s looking at Megan with an expression of mild concern, eyebrows drawn together. She has a plate of pancakes in front of her — they look significantly better than her sad eggs and Megan curses herself for not picking them up — and she’s holding a fork suspended halfway to her mouth.

"You good?" she asks, nodding toward her phone. "You look like you’re about to commit murder."

"I'm fine," Megan lies. It comes out strained and absolutely not convincing. Ugh. She forces her face into what she hopes is a smile. In reality, Megan’s sure it looks more like a grimace, like someone showing their teeth to prove they're not a threat. She turns her phone face-down on the table, as though hiding the screen will make Yoonchae's post disappear. "Just… uh… internet drama."

"Ah." She nods with the air of someone who understands completely. She takes a bite of her pancakes, chews thoughtfully, swallows. "I used to be deep in Twitter drama last year. You know you could always delete it, right?”

"Yeah," Megan agrees, though she knows with absolute certainty that she’s never, and she means never, deleting Tumblr. She can’t. Not now, when chipoftheyoon is Yoonchae, and Yoonchae sleeps three feet away from her every night. Deleting Tumblr would be like deleting a part of herself. Even if that part of herself is currently engaged in a petty argument with her roommate. "Social media is wild."

"Right?" Maybe-Sophia stabs another piece of pancake, and syrup drips onto her plate in a way that makes Megan's stomach turn. "Like, why do people air out their drama online? Just talk it out in person."

Megan makes a sound that might be agreement or might be choking. She's not sure which. The irony isn’t lost on her — the irony is hitting her over the head with a sledgehammer, actually — but she can't exactly explain to maybe-Sophia that she tried talking it out in person and it went so badly that they're back to internet fighting. Except now with the added bonus of knowing exactly who they're fighting with.

“You know…” she leans in, waving her fork like a weapon. “Sometimes, though, those silly little internet arguments work out in your favor. It’s actually how I met my girlfriend. On NBA twitter. We live together now.”

Girlfriend?

NBA twitter?

Megan’s prepared to question this maybe-Sophia or maybe-Sarah before her phone buzzes against the table.

The vibration’s loud in the relative quiet of their corner. She should not look. She knows she should not look. Looking is a terrible idea, possibly the worst idea she's had all morning, and she's had a lot of bad ideas this morning (starting with getting out of bed, continuing to argue in the room, definitely including engaging with Yoonchae's post in the first place).

She flips it over.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

also for the record: the ice chapter is still poorly paced. i will die on this hill.

#bringing it back #fight me

The ice chapter.

The ice chapter.

Yoonchae is bringing it up now? Right now? After everything that happened last night and this morning, Yoonchae decides that what this situation needs is to resurrect a Ninjago argument they’ve already hashed?

Megan's vision tunnels slightly.

She’s so mad.

Her blood is lava.

She’s going to, ugh, she’s going to, fuck, she’s going to — Megan realizes she's been holding her breath when thinking gets harder. She forces herself to exhale. To breathe. To be normal. Unfortunately, Megan’s pretty sure normal left the building sometime around discovering her roommate was her internet nemesis.

"I have to go," Megan announces, already pushing her chair back with a loud scraping sound that makes several people turn to look.

Maybe-Sophia blinks up at her, fork frozen halfway to her mouth again. "Oh. Okay. See you in —"

But Megan’s on the move, weaving between tables with her coffee mug still in hand. She forgot to put it down and now she's committed to carrying it. She hadn’t even thrown her tray before leaving, because, no, being a Ninjago nerd, Tumblr addict, and world-class roommate relationship ruiner isn’t enough. She’s also a terrible person who leaves messes for the dining hall staff. Add that to the list of things she's doing wrong today, Satan.

She storms back toward her dorm with fury hot in her chest.

The frisbee people are still out there, still throwing their stupid frisbee. One of them waves at her as she passes. Megan doesn't wave back. She's on a mission. She has a purpose. She's going to march back to that room and she's going to —

Actually, she doesn't know what she's going to do. She hasn't thought that far ahead. Her brain is running on pure spite, which is not great for rational decision-making. Then again, rational decisions are for people who aren't currently engaged in a Tumblr war with their roommate.

This is not over.

This is nowhere close to over.

The ice chapter is perfectly paced, and Yoonchae is about to learn exactly why.

The week unfolds like a social experiment: how much two people can communicate online without speaking in person.

Monday: Megan goes to her morning Economics class, comes back to find Yoonchae's already left for her lab. They pass each other once in the hallway — "hey" and "hey" and then silence, and Megan spends the next ten minutes overthinking whether her "hey" sounded hostile, or if Yoonchae's "hey" sounded hostile, or if they both sounded hostile and are now in some kind of mutually-assured hostility situation. That night, chipoftheyoon posts about whether the Ninjago movie counts as cinema or just "corporate content." Megan doesn't even care about the movie that much, but she writes a 600-word defense anyway. Because apparently this is who she is now. It gets 89 notes. She doesn't feel good about this.

Tuesday: Megan spends her spare moments checking Tumblr, which she knows is a problem, but it’s a problem she can't stop. chipoftheyoon, Yoonchae, has posted about optimal grocery store navigation — apparently there's a whole strategy to grocery shopping. Megan, who has never once thought about grocery store navigation in her entire life, suddenly has very strong opinions about it. They argue about it for three hours. Megan misses lunch. When she gets back to the room, Yoonchae’s at her desk with headphones in, and neither of them acknowledge the other's existence. Megan eats a granola bar over her trash can and feels deeply, profoundly stupid about all of her life choices.

Wednesday: Nothing. Static. chipoftheyoon doesn’t post and part of her dies inside. In return, she takes a forty-minute shower to avoid awkwardly seeing Yoonchae in their shared dormitory. 

Thursday: Megan wakes up to find that chipoftheyoon has posted a tier list of breakfast foods at 2 AM. Eggs are in C-tier. C-tier. Megan doesn't even like eggs much — she thinks they're fine, they're whatever — but writes an entire post about how eggs are versatile, foundational, and belong in at least B-tier. They argue about breakfast foods. About breakfast foods. Megan is arguing with her roommate about the hierarchical value of scrambled eggs while sitting three feet away from said roommate, both of them typing furiously on their respective devices. At one point, Yoonchae's phone buzzes with a notification and Megan knows it's her post. Neither of them say anything. This is what her life has become. She goes to class and doesn't retain a single word because she's mentally composing a follow-up post about how Yoonchae's tier list is "reductive and probably based on limited cooking experience." She posts it during the ten-minute break. She gets six notes in three minutes. She hates herself a little bit.

And then it’s Friday, and a week has rolled around since her… discovery.

Friday night is supposed to be movie night.

It's been their thing, their routine, ever since the second week of classes.

But it's Friday now, and neither of them have mentioned it — not during the awkward breakfast, where they both got cereal and sat at opposite ends of the table, not during the even more awkward passing-each-other-in-the-hallway incident where they both said "hey" at the exact same time and then both fell silent like some kind of horrible synchronized performance. 

Megan doesn't know if they're still doing it, or if movie night is another casualty of their argument. Another thing ruined by the fact that they can't seem to exist in the same space without arguing. It makes Megan want to crawl out of her own skin.

She’s lying on her bed, pretending to read for her Econ class — they're supposed to be analyzing market equilibrium and supply curves for Monday's quiz. Megan understands the concept. She does. It's not that complicated. She finds herself staring at the same graph. It's figure 4.7, a supply and demand curve that looks like a sad X, and she's read the caption almost fourteen times: "When supply increases, the equilibrium point shifts right, resulting in..." and then her brain wanders off. She keeps thinking about Yoonchae at her desk three feet away, about the fact that Yoonchae is typing something. Is it homework? A Tumblr post? A manifesto about why Megan’s wrong about everything? About —

"Are we watching something tonight?" Yoonchae's voice cuts through the silence. Megan's head snaps up so fast her neck protests. Again. She really needs to stop doing that. She's going to give herself permanent neck damage at this rate. Then she'll have to explain to a doctor that she got whiplash from constantly spinning around to look at her roommate, which is…a no-go, to say the least.

Yoonchae’s turned halfway around in her chair — the chair’s squeaking slightly, a sound that used to drive Megan crazy during the first week, until she got used to it, until it became a Yoonchae-staple — and her expression is unreadable. 

Megan sets her book down, dog-earing the page. It doesn’t matter, because Megan hasn’t retained a single bit of knowledge for this quiz and will almost certainly have to start over from the beginning of the chapter, but it allows her to remain quiet for a few more seconds. "Do you want to?" she asks, voice smaller than she intended. Less certain than she wanted to appear.

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

They're being ridiculous. Dancing around the question like they're afraid of the answer. Like it’s a competition and whoever admits to wanting to watch a movie first is somehow losing. 

The silence stretches out between them, heavy with uncertainty. Megan starts picking at that same blanket thread she formed last week, largely to calm her nerves. The hole is bigger now, definitely visible, her mom is going to ask questions when she comes to visit. She seriously needs a new blanket.

"Yes," Megan says finally, forcing the word out before she can overthink it. It’s too late. She's already overthought it. She's been overthinking it since approximately 4 PM, when she realized it was Friday and started having an internal crisis about whether movie night was still happening. "I want to watch something. If you do."

"Okay, Megan," Yoonchae says, and something in her face softens — not a smile exactly, but a relaxing, like she'd been holding tension that was only released by Megan’s admission. "It’s your turn to pick."

Right. 

Megan's turn. 

She'd almost forgotten they had a system, that they've been taking turns for weeks now, that this is a thing they do, a thing they did, a thing they're apparently still doing even though everything else has gone sideways.

Megan typically spends the entire week deciding her pick; she gives it five seconds of thought this time, blindly choosing the first one she sees. 

They end up in their usual positions: Megan's bed, laptop between them, both of them leaning back against pillows propped against the wall.

It's almost normal.

Almost.

Except Yoonchae is sitting slightly further away than usual, maintaining a careful distance — there's maybe six inches between their shoulders instead of the usual two or three, but Megan is hyper-aware of the space, of the gap, of the fact that Yoonchae is very deliberately not touching her, even accidentally. 

Neither of them say anything beyond the occasional comment about the movie ("that guy is so obviously lying to her," Yoonchae observes at one point, and Megan responds with "it's a rom-com, everyone lies until the third act," and Yoonchae huffs out something that might be a laugh).

Halfway through, during a scene where the main couple has their inevitable misunderstanding — the love interest saw something out of context and is now storming off, because nobody in movies knows how to just have a conversation, which is particularly akin to her own life right now so, well, maybe she can’t judge — Megan's phone buzzes against her leg.

She checks it without thinking.

It's a Tumblr notification. Someone’s reblogged her post about Jay from this morning — wait, no, not this morning, from two days ago. Time is fake and with her and Yoonchae no longer speaking, Megan has lost track of what day anything happened. That’s another thing she won’t be processing right now — and added a long comment agreeing with all of her points, praising her analysis, saying it's "the best defense of Jay's character arc I've ever read" and "finally someone gets it."

Megan can't help the smile that crosses her face. 

"What?" Yoonchae asks, glancing over. 

Megan’s been caught. But, if Yoonchae’s noticing her smile, she’s been watching her instead of the movie, which means…no. It means nothing. Megan cuts off her train of thoughts.

"Nothing. Just someone agreeing with me about Jay." Megan turns her phone screen so Yoonchae can see, because — well. Sharing their Tumblr victories is a thing now, like they haven't spent the entire week arguing about everything from breakfast foods to Ninjago.

"Of course they are." But there's no heat in it. Just that familiar dry tone, the one Megan knows is Yoonchae's version of affection. Unbidden, her chest warms.

"You could agree with me too, you know." Megan tosses the olive branch at Yoonchae, abandoning all pretense of watching the movie.

"Where's the fun in that?"

And there it is — that almost-smile, the one that Megan craves, the one that means Yoonchae is enjoying this, enjoying them, even when they're arguing.

They finish the movie in comfortable-ish silence. Not entirely the way it was before, but close enough.

When the credits roll, Yoonchae doesn't immediately retreat to her own bed. She sits beside Megan, even after the laptop’s been closed, and Megan’s prepared to brush her teeth and return to the ‘ignoring my roommate’ limbo they’ve been in.

Yoonchae’s hands are folded in her lap, fingers interlaced. She's doing that thing where she's chewing on the inside of her cheek, which Megan has learned means working up to saying something.

"What?" Megan breaks the silence.

"Nothing. Just..." Yoonchae trails off, eyes flicking away and back. "This is nice. I miss this."

"We literally just did this." But Megan knows what she means. Knows exactly what she means.

Yoonchae knows that too, giving her an exasperated look. "You know what I mean."

Which, yeah. She misses this too. Misses the easy companionship they had before everything got complicated. Before she realizes chipoftheyoon was Yoonchae and had to reconcile the Yoonchae who constantly bashes her Jay posts with the Yoonchae who laughs at her stupid jokes during movie night. 

"We could do it again next week," Megan offers. Partially because she’s a sucker for pain, partially because she doesn’t want to live without being around Yoonchae.

"Yeah," Yoonchae agrees. Shy. She’s not quite meeting Megan's eyes, but there’s a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. Megan attempts to redirect her eyes to the ceiling. "We could."

Silence. Again.

She doesn't move back to her own bed. 

Neither of them move. 

They just sit there as the credits finish. The screen goes dark, the laptop fan whirring softly between them, and Megan thinks maybe, possibly, they could figure this out after all.

Saturday morning, Megan wakes up to a plethora of notifications on Tumblr.

Not scattered throughout the night, not a slow accumulation over hours — all notifications span from the past forty-three minutes. All from chipoftheyoon. All blowing up Megan's dashboard like Yoonchae woke up and chose to eat ‘being the bane of Megan’s existence’ for breakfast.

chipoftheyoon went on a posting spree sometime after Megan fell asleep (Megan had crashed around 1 AM, still thinking about movie night). 

It’s a series of text posts and reblogs, all meticulously — because of course they're meticulous, Yoonchae doesn't know how to do anything that isn't meticulous — tearing apart various elements of Ninjago's narrative structure. There's one about pacing in season three, another about character consistency, a third one that's literally just a numbered list of "structural problems that could have been avoided with better planning," which, okay, unnecessarily harsh. Yoonchae has formatted it with bullet points, sub-points, and multiple breakpoints, and Megan is annoyed at how… Yoonchae it is.

Megan lies in bed reading through them, squinting at her phone screen in the early morning light. It’s 8:47 AM, which is way too early for Megan and way too early for this. 

She takes time to watch Yoonchae's still-sleeping form across the room. Her blanket’s pulled up to her shoulders, hair spilling across her pillow in a way that looks deliberately artistic. Megan feels something complicated twist in her chest. It's not quite anger. Not anymore. Not quite frustration. 

By the time Yoonchae wakes up — stretching, yawning, that little sound she makes when her back cracks that Megan has learned to recognize as Yoonchae is now conscious and will be functional in five minutes — Megan has already responded to three of the posts. Maybe four. She lost count.

"Morning," Yoonchae says, voice rough with sleep and gravelly in a way it never is during the day. The heel of her palms dig into her face.

"Morning," Megan echoes, not looking up from her phone, busy composing a response to Yoonchae's fifth post surrounding Ninjago’s narrative structure.

There's a pause. Megan can feel Yoonchae looking at her, but she keeps her eyes on her screen.

"Are you arguing with me right now?" Yoonchae asks. There's something in her voice that might be amusement.

"Maybe." Megan finally glances up, pursing her lips in annoyance. She finds Yoonchae propped up on one elbow, hair messy, nose scrunched in an attempt not to laugh. Megan’s eyes narrow further. The nose scrunch wilts. Good.

"While I'm in the room?"

"You started it. You posted first." Megan turns her phone screen toward Yoonchae, showing her the timestamp on the first post — it reads 4:23 AM, which is frankly an unreasonable time to be awake and posting, even for Megan. Let alone posting about narrative structure. "At four in the morning, apparently. Who even are you?"

Yoonchae makes a sound that might be a laugh, or might be exasperation, or might be both. She reaches for her own phone from where it's charging on her desk — she has to lean over, stretching, and her sleep shirt rides up. Megan very deliberately looks back at her own phone, because that's not something she needs to be noticing right now.

Thirty seconds later, Megan's Tumblr notifications go off with a familiar bzzz sound.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged her post.

Of course she has.

They spend the next hour like that, both of them in their respective beds, typing furiously — Megan can distantly hear the rapid-fire clicking of Yoonchae’s nails on the screen — and engaged in a heated argument about general Ninjago pacing while being fully aware that the person they're arguing with is less than ten feet away. 

Megan posts something about emotional beats being more important than perfect structure. Yoonchae reblogs with a counterargument about how structure creates the framework for emotional beats to land properly. Megan responds that Yoonchae is being reductive. Yoonchae responds that Megan is being defensive. Someone else reblogs with "are you two okay" and three crying-laughing emojis. Neither of them acknowledges it.

It's absurd. 

It's exactly what they've been doing all week, except now they're doing it in their pajamas, while both of them are still morning-breath gross.

"This is insane," Megan groans, plopping her phone down on her chest and staring at the ceiling. There's a water stain shaped like a duck. She's noticed it before, but never really looked at it. It's very clearly a duck. "We're literally in the same room."

"So?" Yoonchae doesn't look up from her phone, still typing.

"So maybe we should just…talk? Like, out loud? With our actual voices?" Megan turns her head to look at Yoonchae, waiting for her to look back. Failure must be Megan’s middle name because Yoonchae doesn’t even bother, still focused on her screen.

"We are talking." Yoonchae scoffs, like there's no difference between Tumblr discourse and actual conversation.

"You know what I mean."

Yoonchae meets Megan’s stare. Her eyebrows are raised in challenge. Like she's waiting for Megan to back down first. Which — no. That is definitely, absolutely, not happening. "Fine. You want to talk? Let's talk. Explain to me why you think emotional impact is more important than structural integrity."

"I don't think it's more important, I think they're equally important!" Megan exclaims, gesturing with her hands, even though Yoonchae is across the room and would have to squint to see the nuance of her hand movements. Whatever. She does it anyway.

"That's not what your posts say." 

"That's not what you're reading in my posts!" Megan's voice rises.

"I'm reading what you wrote!"

"You're reading what you want to see so you can prove I'm wrong!"

And they're off again, voices rising. 

They're arguing about structure versus emotion, about anything and everything, really, and that's the thing she can’t shake about them.

They’re arguing about Ninjago when they should be arguing about what happened last weekend. About the discovery. About chipoftheyoon and meganfox67 and the fact that they spent five months fighting online before realizing they sleep three feet away from each other.

But that conversation is too big. Too scary. Too real.

Megan realizes with sudden, sinking clarity — like ice water down her spine — that this is what they do.

This is their dynamic. 

They argue and push and challenge each other and neither of them is willing to back down. It’s not because they hate each other, but because they're both so invested, so passionate, so convinced they're right.

Except now it feels different. More hollow. 

She should hate it. 

Should be tired of it by now, exhausted by the constant back-and-forth. Ready to give up in the face of the fact that Yoonchae will argue about literally anything from breakfast foods to narrative structure. 

But she…

She doesn't know what she feels anymore.

She doesn't know anything at all, when it comes to her and Yoonchae, actually.

The realization sits heavy in her chest, true and undeniable.

Because Yoonchae is right about one thing — well, multiple things, but Megan's not ready to admit that yet — and it’s that Megan has never met anyone else who…engages with her like this. Who cares enough to argue back. Who takes her opinions seriously enough to dismantle them piece by piece, instead of just dismissing them. 

Her friends from home would agree with her or change the subject if they disagreed. Her parents would smile, nod, and say "that's nice, sweetie" when she got passionate about something. 

But Yoonchae listens, really listens, and then tells Megan exactly why she's wrong with receipts, and somehow that feels more respectful than agreement ever did.

Except right now it doesn't feel respectful. It feels exhausting. Like they're trapped in a loop of their own making, arguing about fictional characters because it's easier than addressing the elephant in the room.

"You're doing the thing," Yoonchae says suddenly. Her voice has dropped back to normal volume, no longer arguing, but there's an edge to it. Frustration, maybe. Or weariness.

"What thing?" Megan blinks out of her head.

"The thing where you zone out in the middle of an argument." 

"I'm not zoning out, I'm thinking." Megan fidgets with the edge of her blanket. Her feet twitch to run from the room. She hates being read so easily. Yoonchae is so irritatingly good at it, and she hates that beyond belief.

"About?" Yoonchae leans forward, and is she — is she interested? Does she actually want to know what Megan was thinking?

"About..." Megan pauses. She could deflect. Make a joke. Nothing’s forcing her to be honest. Yoonchae would give her a look that screamed shit-faced liar, but she wouldn’t say anything out loud. Megan goes with honesty anyway, and internally cringes. Because apparently spewing her feelings to chipoftheyoon is what her life’s become. "About how…I don’t know. It’s frustrating. How we're arguing about a kids show at nine in the morning."

It’s the most honest she’s been in months.

"It's not just a kids show," Yoonchae defends, automatically, a little brittle on the edges. There's a hidden piece of fondness that arises in Yoonchae’s voice at the thought of Ninjago, one that Megan greedily soaks up. It’s soft around the edges, in a way Megan’s only heard a few times, when Yoonchae is tired and her guard is down.

"No," Megan agrees. She wants to smile. Wants to let it spread across her face in some blinding affection. But her and Yoonchae are…weird right now. Too weird for that. "It's not."

The silence that follows is anything but comfortable.

Megan’s skin itches. She starts counting the seconds — one, two, three — and resolutely refuses to let her eyes wander back to Yoonchae.

Four, five, six…

"I'm hungry," Yoonchae interrupts, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She stretches, and Megan has to avert her eyes. She deems it safe enough to stare again when Yoonchae reaches for the hoodie draped over her desk chair. "Want to get breakfast?"

"Yeah," Megan says, surprised by how much she means it. It’s easy to say yes to Yoonchae. It’s easy to pretend that they weren’t just fighting about Ninjago fifteen minutes ago, overridden by how much she wants to sit across from Yoonchae in the dining hall. They’d probably continue arguing about narrative structure, but it’d be over sad scrambled eggs and coffee, and somehow that sounds ten times more appealing than rejecting and staying in her room. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Yoonchae pulls on her hoodie — the gray one, always the gray one — and shoves on her shoes. She stops a few feet short of the door, looking back at Megan who's still sitting on her bed, hair definitely sticking up in weird directions.

"You coming?" 

"Give me two minutes." Megan bursts into action, scrambling for her own jacket, looking for her shoes (no, seriously, where are her shoes? Why can she never find her shoes?).

She follows Yoonchae out the door, following her into whatever this is becoming.

Megan has a problem.

She says this much to Lara, while stabbing her fork into her waffle, when they meet for brunch on a slow Monday. A piece of butter goes flying onto the next table, leaving a greasy smear, but neither of them acknowledge it.

Lara looks up from her phone, eyebrows raised. "Does this problem involve your roommate?"

"How did you —"

"Megan." The phone hits the table face-down, Lara's full attention now fixed on her in that way that makes Megan feel like a cornered animal. She tries not to shiver. "You've mentioned her, like, eight times since we sat down. And we've only been here for ten minutes."

Which, okay, fair but also…rude.

Megan blinks. "I have not."

"You literally said 'Yoonchae would hate this syrup' when the waiter brought it over."

"Well, she would. It's that fake stuff." The words tumble out before Megan can stop them. "She has this whole thing about artificial maple —" She catches Lara's pointed look and stops mid-sentence. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I've mentioned her a few times."

Lara takes a bite of her eggs benedict, chewing with deliberate slowness. Swallowing. It ticks up Megan’s anxiousness by a thousand. "So what's the problem?"

Where does Megan even start? How does she explain that she's been arguing with her roommate on Tumblr for three months without realizing it was her roommate? That said roommate is all she can think about? That they’ve had maybe five full-fledged conversations since the reveal and it’s slowly killing her on the inside?

Megan settles with: "We're not really talking." The waffle gets pushed around Megan's plate, syrup pooling in the squares. "Like, we talk. But we're not... talking talking."

Lara makes a face. "You're going to need to be more specific."

"We had this... thing. This fight. Kind of." Megan watches the syrup swirl, golden and fake and nothing like the real stuff Yoonchae insists on. "And now everything's weird. We do movie nights still, but it's not the same. And we're constantly arguing online about —" She stops herself before she says 'Ninjago.' Lara doesn't need to know about the Ninjago situation. About the fact that chipoftheyoon is Yoonchae. That’s a secret she’ll take to the grave, thanks. "— about stupid stuff. But we won't just talk about it in person."

"So talk about it in person." Lara says it like it's the simplest thing in the world, fork pausing halfway to her mouth.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because!" The volume makes the couple at the table next to them glance over. Megan lowers her voice, hunching forward. "Because what if I say the wrong thing? What if it makes everything worse? What if she —" What if she realizes that Megan actually likes arguing with her? What if she figures out that Megan has started checking her phone obsessively for chipoftheyoon post, for months on end? That it’s all she thinks about from dawn to dusk?

"What if she what?"

No answer comes. Megan takes a huge bite of waffle instead, chewing slowly to buy herself time. It's soggy now, drowning in fake maple syrup that Yoonchae would definitely hate. The thought makes something in her chest ache.

Lara watches her with that knowing look and Megan wants to crawl under the table. "You miss her."

"She's my roommate. I see her literally every day." Megan nods with all the defensiveness of someone who knows they’re absolutely full of shit. “What’s there to miss?”

Lara's fork clatters against her plate. "That's not what I mean." She leans forward, elbows on the table. "You miss her. Like, actually miss her. Even though she's right there."

The words hit Megan like a truck.

Because Lara's right, even though it’s the last thing she wants to admit.

She does miss Yoonchae. Misses the version of Yoonchae from before everything got complicated. The Yoonchae who would sprawl across Megan's bed during movie night, who'd steal her snacks without asking, who'd laugh at her stupid jokes. Who’d help her with Econ, who’d speak so thoroughly in order to let Megan completely understand it. Who’d show hints of herself, letting Megan see flickers of a smile and complaints on her own class as time went on.

They still do things together, but it’s not the same. Movie nights — stilted, awkward, in a way it never was before. 

"I really miss her." The confession comes out quiet, something cracking in Megan's voice. "Like, all the time. Even when she's right there. Especially when she's right there, because I can see her and I know we're not — we're not us anymore. We're just… I don't know what we are."

Lara reaches across the table, hand warm over Megan’s. "I can't just —"

"Why not?"

"Because what if —" Megan stops. Takes a breath. The answer comes out lame. "What if she says no?"

"No to what? You're not asking her to marry you, Megan. You're just trying to fix things with your roommate." A pause, Lara studying her face. "That is what you're trying to do, right? Fix things with your roommate? Please tell me you aren’t marrying her.”

A sharp “No!” quickly bursts out of Megan.

But Megan can’t help and think about Yoonchae's small smile during movie night. About the way she'd said "this is nice" with that soft, almost-shy tone. 

About how none of that feels like just wanting to fix things with her roommate.

"Yeah." The lie tastes bitter. "Just roommate stuff."

Lara gives her a look that clearly says she's not buying it, but doesn't push. "Then talk to her. Actually talk to her. Face to face." Her thumb rubs across Megan's knuckles. "Tell her you miss hanging out. Tell her you want things to go back to normal. The worst thing that happens is she says she needs more time, and you're already in this weird limbo anyway, so what do you really have to lose?"

Megan considers this. What does she have to lose? The answer is: potentially everything. 

But the thing is… they’re already broken.

Maybe they can't get more broken.

Maybe they can only get better.

Or maybe Megan is catastrophically wrong about all of this and is about to make everything infinitely worse.

"You're thinking too hard." Lara's voice cuts through the spiral, slightly muffled by her food. "I can literally see you doing it."

"I'm not.”

"You've been stabbing that same piece of waffle for thirty seconds."

Megan looks down. Lara's right. The waffle piece is now thoroughly murdered, a mangled mess of dough and syrup. Her fork hits the plate with a sigh.

"Fine." The word drags out of her. "I'll talk to her. Maybe. Possibly. I'll think about talking to her."

Lara's voice drips with sarcasm. "Oh joy, a maybe. That’s all we need in life." But she's smiling, and Megan finds herself smiling back despite the anxiety churning in her stomach.

So, she doesn’t quite talk to Yoonchae.

Nevertheless, they fall into a new rhythm after that, one that involves arguments both online and in person. Sometimes simultaneously. 

It's Tuesday night and they're playing Valorant. Because, yes, even though she’s realized her terrible online enemy is also her roommate, it doesn't mean they’ll stop their weekly Valorant sessions. Priorities, people. Those priorities being high rankings.

Megan’s in the library study room. It’s the same one as always. Small, on the third floor, and with that terribly weird whiteboard cleaner smell. Nobody uses it, outside her, because the door squeaks and the Wi-Fi is supposedly terrible. It’s not terrible. The Wi-Fi, that is. People just say that to keep it empty. Megan figured this out week two and has been exploiting it ever since. 

Yoonchae is presumably in their dorm, at her desk with her blue light-blocking glasses on. She wears blue light because she gets headaches from screens, but then again, refuses to stop using screens. This seems counterintuitive to Megan but she’s learned not to question Yoonchae's personal health choices.

They're in the middle of a match, and it's going badly. Like, really badly. They're down 2-8. Their teammates are either throwing or genuinely don't know how to play — Megan suspects throwing, but she's trying to be optimistic — and she’s getting increasingly frustrated, jaw clenching tighter with each lost round. 

She's playing Sage — she always plays Sage, has mained Sage since they started playing together, because nobody gets mad at Sage, and because someone has to be support and Yoonchae certainly isn't going to do it — and has been dying first almost every round because her teammates won't cover her. Her teammates, except Yoonchae, won't do anything except rush in and die.

This round, something clicks.

Megan watches the enemy team's pattern, predicts their push, and manages to wall off the choke point at exactly the right moment. Two enemies get separated from their team, trapped on the wrong side. Megan swings around the corner, heart pounding, hands sweating on her mouse, and gets them both in a killer clutch move. Headshot on the first one, body shots on the second because her aim isn't perfect. Thankfully, it doesn't need to be. They're dead, she got them, and, holy shit, Megan numbly registers, she actually got them.

The game chat explodes with pings and "nice" messages from their random teammates, but Megan disregards them, eyes immediately falling to the party chat where chipoftheyoon is typing.

chipoftheyoon: THAT WAS PERFECT

Not just "nice" or "good job" or even "good play" — perfect, in all caps. Genuine enthusiasm bleeds through in a way that Yoonchae never does, that chipoftheyoon never does. That this person, who Megan has been arguing with for months and living with for just as long, never, ever expresses because she's carefully controlled and determined not to show too much emotion.

Megan stares at her screen for a full three seconds, rereading and making sure she's not hallucinating. That this is real, that Yoonchae — chipoftheyoon — complimented her without any qualifications or corrections or "but actually" statements attached.

meganfox67: !!!

meganfox67: did you just compliment me

meganfox67: like an actual real compliment

meganfox67: without any criticism attached

chipoftheyoon: don't let it go to your head

meganfox67: too late its already there

meganfox67: its LIVING there now

meganfox67: im never letting you forget this

meganfox67: im getting this tattooed

chipoftheyoon: you're being ridiculous

meganfox67: im being APPROPRIATELY EXCITED

chipoftheyoon: i complimented your gameplay not your personality

meganfox67: ILL TAKE IT

meganfox67: this is the best day of my life

chipoftheyoon: we're literally losing 3-8

meganfox67: I DONT CARE

They win the next round too. Megan is riding high on her success, which translates to better aim, better decision-making, and an overall lack of panic when she hears footsteps. 

They win the round after that, clawing their way back to 8-8, forcing overtime, and somehow, impossibly, winning 14-12. 

Megan screams so loud when the victory screen appears, that the person in the next door study room most likely heard her. She doesn't have it in her to care, unable to pay attention to anything outside the fact that they’ve won three times now and that Yoonchae said her play was perfect.

They queue for another match immediately, because neither of them know how to quit while they're ahead. 

This one goes better. Their teammates are blessedly competent, and Megan and Yoonchae have found an unspoken coordination where Megan knows where Yoonchae is going to be without asking and Yoonchae knows when Megan is going to wall without communication. They win 13-7, easy.

chipoftheyoon: okay i'm done for tonight

meganfox67: COWARD

meganfox67: we're on a winning streak

chipoftheyoon: exactly. i’ll be ragebaited if we lose

chipoftheyoon: also i have an exam tomorrow

meganfox67: oh shit really?

meganfox67: why didn't you say something

meganfox67: go study!!!

chipoftheyoon: i will

chipoftheyoon: good games tonight

meganfox67: yeah they were

meganfox67: good luck on your exam

chipoftheyoon: thanks

chipoftheyoon: see you later

chipoftheyoon: well. see you back in the dorm

And then she's offline, the little green dot next to her name going gray.

Megan’s sitting in the study room alone, grinning at her screen like a world-class idiot. She's grinning so hard her face hurts. She looks unhinged and crazy right now, most definitely, but there's nobody here to see her so Megan deems it fine.

Megan heads back, taking the stairs two at a time, too energized to wait for the elevator.

When she gets back to their room, fumbling with her keys because her hands are still a little shaky from the gaming session, Yoonchae’s already in bed. The lights are off, outside of the fairy lights strung above Megan's bed, and Yoonchae’s nothing more than a dark shape under her blanket, presumably asleep.

She tosses her bag to the floor, uncaringly, and is about to head to the shower when a shade of yellow, one that was not on her desk before, makes her stop in her tracks.

It’s a post-it note.

Bright yellow, impossible to miss, and placed directly in the center of her desk. Intended for Megan’s eyes and Megan’s eyes only.

She picks it up, tilting it toward the fairy lights to read it. It’s Yoonchae's handwriting, neat and precise, each letter carefully formed.

Good game. - Y

That's it. 

Three words and an initial. 

Nothing elaborate, nothing excessive.

It feels important in a way Megan can't quite articulate.

Megan keeps it. Obviously, she keeps it. She opens her desk drawer — the top one, the one that's supposed to be for pens and school supplies, but has somehow become a catch-all for random items — and adds it to the collection of post-it notes from Yoonchae that she's been saving in there without really examining why.

She’s been keeping them since the start of their roommate journey, collecting piles of Your alarm went off for 20 minutes. I turned it off. You're welcome and We're out of paper towels. There’s also the ones Yoonchae started writing after the chipoftheyoon-meganfox67 discovery, things like That thing you said about the ice chapter is still wrong but I can see your point. 

And now this one. Good game.

Megan closes the drawer carefully, quietly, trying not to make noise that might wake Yoonchae up. If she's actually asleep, which is questionable at best and a plain lie at worst. Megan has learned that Yoonchae is a very convincing fake-sleeper when she wants to avoid conversation. 

She falls asleep smiling, the yellow post-it note tucked safely in the drawer alongside the others.

Megan’s walking back from class, trying to reintegrate with nature. 

She kicks a few spare pebbles.

Economics had been particularly brutal that day, because the professor decided to cold-call people and Megan had to explain the concept of marginal utility while making direct eye contact with thirty-five other students, all of whom were definitely judging her explanation. Her ‘getting in touch with nature’ journey pauses when she spots Yoonchae in the corner of her eyes, back against a tree and laptop balanced on her knees.

The tree’s one of the big oaks, with roots that break through the ground and make moving hazardous if Megan isn’t paying attention. Megan has already tripped on them twice. 

Yoonchae’s claimed a spot in the shade, legs stretched out in front of her and ankles crossed. She’s wearing those black sweatpants that she practically lives in, but the navy blue hoodie is one Megan hasn't seen before. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth in that way that means she's concentrating hard, really absorbed in whatever she's doing.

And… okay.

Megan needs to stop.

Megan should just walk past. Should let her focus, head back to the dorm and work on her own assignments that are piling up like some kind of academic avalanche.

Megan never does what she should do.

She pivots, exiting the pathway and onto the grass, sneakers leaving tracks in the recently-watered lawn.

When Megan finally reaches her destination, she drops her backpack on the grass next to Yoonchae with a soft thud. Yoonchae's shoulders tense for a second, only relaxing when she realizes who it is.

"What are you working on?" Megan asks, crossing her legs criss-cross apple-sauce. She regrets it almost immediately, because the grass is damp and the moisture’s now seeping into her jeans. Great. Fantastic. She's going to have a wet butt for the next hour.

Yoonchae glances up, surprised, like she didn’t expect Megan to speak — her eyes widening slightly, her typing stopping mid-word — then directs herself back to her screen. "Lab report."

"The chemistry one?" Megan picks at the grass, thumbing a hole into it. Dirt covers her hand. She already knows it's the chemistry one, because Yoonchae has been complaining about this lab report for three days straight, both out loud — Megan savors those moments — and via strategically-timed Tumblr posts on how "academic science requires too much writing for a field that's supposed to be about numbers and experiments."

"Yeah." Yoonchae doesn't look up from her screen, fingers resuming their movement across the keyboard in quick bursts, type-type-type-pause-type-type. It’s that specific rhythm she has when she's editing as she goes. Megan pinches herself for remembering that. "Due tomorrow and I hate everything about it."

"Want me to keep you company?" The words come out before Megan can second-guess them. She ignores the fact that Yoonchae might not want her here and is just being polite.

"You're already sitting here." Yoonchae points out, dry. 

There’s no actual irritation in it, but it makes Megan want to push.

"I could leave." Megan makes a move to stand, putting her hands on the ground to push herself up. She has no real intention of leaving, but part of her needs to see what Yoonchae’ll do.

"Don't." It comes out quick, reflexive, and Yoonchae's fingers still for just a moment — frozen mid-keystroke, hovering over the keyboard — before resuming their typing. "I mean, you don't have to leave. If you have work to do. It's fine if you stay."

Megan settles back down, pulling her knees up to her chest to keep a sliver of pants off the damp grass. It’s far too late, the damage done, but, at the very least, she can prevent further moisture absorption.

"I always have work to do," Megan quips, pulling out her own laptop from her backpack — her stickers are peeling on the cover; the one of the dog saying "chat, I don't think today’s gonna be a walk in the park" is beginning to curl at the edges. The laptop makes her knees hurt. She adjusts. It doesn’t help. She adjusts again. Another failure. It’s impossible to find a comfortable angle that doesn't make her legs cramp. The sacrifices she makes for Yoonchae. "That's the college experience, right? Perpetual homework until we die?"

“Comforting.”

They work in silence, side-by-side under the tree. 

The campus spreads out in front of them, scattered with other students on blankets — there's a group of girls in matching sorority shirts doing what looks like homework but is definitely just Instagram photos, and a couple making out on a blanket which, okay, bold choice for 3 PM on a Wednesday — and groups tossing frisbees. It’s the same frisbee tossers, as always, and Megan is convinced they never attend class. Do they even go to school here? 

She shifts her glance, and gets the joy of witnessing someone trying to slackline between two trees. It’s with very little success. They keep falling off, catching themselves, climbing back on, falling again. Megan watches them for about thirty seconds, before deciding she could do better, even though she's never slacklined in her life, and would absolutely eat shit if she tried.

The afternoon is warm. It’s a particular October warmth that comes with sun, cool breezes, and the smell of fallen leaves.

Megan's laptop is hot against her legs — it’s full of dust, and she should clean it, but that requires effort and care that Megan doesn't possess — and she can hear Yoonchae's keys clicking next to her. 

It's nice. Peaceful in a way that their dorm room hasn't been lately.

Out here, it's easier. Out here, they're just two people doing homework under a tree.

"Hey," Megan says after maybe twenty minutes — she's been working on an essay for her econ class about market failures, and she's gotten maybe three paragraphs done. It’s not great but also not terrible. It’s not her fault she keeps getting distracted by watching the slackliner fail. "Can I ask you something?"

"You're going to anyway." Yoonchae doesn't look up, resigned.

"Why did you start arguing with me? On Tumblr, I mean. That first time." Megan’s been thinking about this for weeks. Turning it over in her mind, trying to understand the moment that started everything.

Yoonchae stops typing. Completely stops. She looks over at Megan, weighing, like she's deciding how much to tell her. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah." Megan closes her own laptop — the essay can wait in the face of Yoonchae — and gives Yoonchae her full attention.

"Because your post showed up on my dash and it was wrong." 

Megan feels her face transform into a scowl. That familiar spike of indignation rushes up in her chest, because, okay, rude. "That's it? Just because you thought I was wrong?" 

"No." Yoonchae closes her laptop too, setting it carefully on the grass beside her. "Because you were passionate about it. Most people just post their opinions and move on but you actually cared, actually constructed an argument. Even if it was flawed. And I wanted to see if you'd defend it or just get mad and block me."

"And I defended it." Megan remembers that first argument. The way she'd spent two hours crafting her response. She’d wanted every point solid. Wanted to make sure every piece of evidence was there. 

Yoonchae cracks a smile, like she’s reminiscing on the same thing Megan is. "You did. Badly at first, but you got better."

"Wow, thanks. Generous of you, our all-mighty lord of arguing, to say that," Megan remarks, rolling her eyes.

"You asked,” Yoonchae shoots back with lightning speed, leaning herself further back on the tree. It looks like it hurts. If Yoonchae thinks so, she gives none of that away. "You kept arguing back and it was...interesting. Engaging. No one else really engages like that. Most people will call me a bitch and block me."

"Have you considered that maybe you're a little bit of a bitch?" Megan says, lightly, nudging Yoonchae's shoulder with her own.

"Frequently." 

Megan feels some knot of tension she's been carrying all week loosen.

"For the record," Megan says, allowing her tone to have a more genuine edge. She stares at the frisbee throwers instead of at Yoonchae, because this feels easier to say without eye contact. "I don't think you're a bitch. I think you're contrarian and argumentative and sometimes condescending, but not a bitch."

"Big words. And high praise." 

"I also think..." Megan pauses, choosing her words carefully. She wants to get this right. It feels important, to get this right. She wants Yoonchae to know she means it. That it wasn’t some half-assed thought she threw out. "I think you're probably the smartest person I've met. Like, genuinely. And I know I call you pretentious and annoying and wrong about basically everything, but you're not. Wrong, I mean. Most of the time you're right. I just don't want to admit it because that would mean losing the argument. And I'm glad we're roommates. Even if you drive me insane."

Yoonchae is quiet for a long moment. 

Megan watches her profile from the corner of her eye. The way the afternoon light catches in her hair, the way her jaw works slightly like she's chewing on words.

Her anxiety grows, tumulating into a jumble of thoughts that go please say something please say something please —

"You drive me insane too.”

Inexplicably, Megan wants to jump for joy. It fills her with some weird sense of pride.

"I know." 

"But I'm also glad we're roommates." There’s intensity in the way Yoonchae says it, real intensity that’d make anyone but Megan scared. They’ve always been each other’s exceptions. "Really glad."

"Yeah?" Megan's voice comes out smaller than intended. She tries to ignore how annoyingly vulnerable it sounds.

"Yeah." Then the moment is over, and Yoonchae is breaking eye contact, opening her laptop, and pretending nothing happened. Like she didn't just say something that feels significant. "Now shut up and let me finish this before I fail my class."

Megan grins — can't help it, it spreads across her face unbidden — and goes back to her own work, to her essay about market failures. The words come easier now, flow better. Like Yoonchae’s admission has hooked her up on no less than forty gallons of caffeine. 

They sit there, under the tree, and the afternoon stretches on. The sun starts moving across the sky, and the shadows start getting longer, and still, they sit there. Other students come and go — the sorority girls pack up their blankets, the couple comes up for air and leaves, someone new arrives with a guitar and starts playing badly — but Megan and Yoonchae stay, working in comfortable silence.

It’s only broken by Yoonchae closing her laptop with a satisfied sigh. The kind that in Yoonchae-speak means “Good riddance, I can finally stop thinking about chemistry for at least the next twelve hours.”

"Done?" 

"Done. Yes." Yoonchae places her computer in her bag, zipping it. A beat passes. "I'm going to get food. Want to come?"

Megan saves her document. She’s gotten six paragraphs done, which is far more than she expected. Or, at least, far more than she's written in weeks for anything that wasn’t Ninjago Tumblr. She thinks about Yoonchae’s question, thinks it over her head. But there’s no real doubt in her mind. She already knows her answer. "Yeah. Where are you thinking?"

"Dining hall? Or we could actually go somewhere off campus." Yoonchae stands, brushing grass off her sweatpants and offering Megan a hand. Megan takes it, letting Yoonchae pull her up. Their hands stay connected for a second longer than necessary. Both of them pretend they don't notice.

"Off campus sounds good," Megan breathes, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She falls into step beside Yoonchae as they walk toward the parking lot. Yoonchae doesn’t have a license. But it’s okay, because Megan does, and Megan would waste all her gas and, hell, she’d probably destroy her car if Yoonchae asked. "I'm so tired of dining hall food I could cry."

"Same. I had their pizza yesterday. It definitely violated several health codes."

“Only several?”

They keep walking, reaching her car in record time.

Megan, for a moment, can’t help but think that she’d be happy living in this moment forever. 

Thursday night finds them both in the dorm room, which has become less of a battlefield and more of a shared space over the past week — though Megan's side is still significantly messier than Yoonchae's, with textbooks scattered across her bed and three empty water bottles on her desk that she keeps meaning to recycle but hasn't.

Megan’s on her bed with her Econ textbook open to chapter seven, which is about market structures and monopolies, and is somehow simultaneously incredibly boring and incredibly important. The wonders of economics. She's been on the same page for fifteen minutes, highlighting random sentences that seem relevant but probably aren't, her highlighter running out of ink so half the words are just faint yellow scratches on the page. Yoonchae’s at her desk with her chemistry notes spread out in that steadfastly organized way, color-coded by topic, with sticky tabs marking important sections. Yoonchae's notes are more put-together than most of Megan’s final drafts. That fact is so very Yoonchae.

There's music playing from Yoonchae's laptop, some instrumental study playlist that's all piano and ambient sounds. It’s the kind of music that scientists claim aid in focusing, but it mostly makes Megan feel sleepy and vaguely emotional. It's nice, though. The atmosphere between them, that is. There isn’t much awkward tip-toeing around each other these days. 

It's almost domestic, if Megan can be crazy for a moment. Almost comfortable. It’s comfortable in a way that the Megan of, like, two weeks ago didn’t think they’d ever achieve, not after the revelation and the fighting and the passive-aggressive Tumblr warfare.

Megan's phone vibrates against her thigh — she's been sitting on it, which is a bad habit her mom keeps telling her she needs to break — with a Tumblr notification that she feels far more than hears. 

She should ignore it. She's supposed to be studying. Supposed to be learning about monopolistic competition. Supposed to be a responsible student who doesn't check her phone every five minutes.

But she can't help it. 

Her hand moves before her brain fully processes the decision, unlocking her phone, opening Tumblr, because, well, what if it's important, what if someone responded to her post from earlier, what if —

chipoftheyoon has posted.

The notification sits at the top of her screen, timestamped two minutes ago, and Megan clicks it, filled with that familiar rush of anticipation she gets whenever she sees Yoonchae has posted something new.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

controversial opinion: cole is the most underrated ninja and deserves more appreciation for being the emotional anchor of the team.

#ninjago #cole my beloved #finally moving away from the zane vs jay debate

Megan sits up so fast her textbook slides off her lap and hits the floor with a loud thrump. It makes Yoonchae's shoulders tense. The highlighter rolls under her bed. 

She doesn't care. 

She's staring at her phone screen, rereading the post, making sure she read it correctly, because —

"Did you just say Cole is your favorite?" The words burst out of her before she can stop them, before she can consider that maybe revealing exactly how closely she monitors Yoonchae's blog isn’t a good idea.

Yoonchae spins around in her desk chair, eyebrows raised, amused and incredulous. "You're reading my blog right now?"

"You posted! I got a notification!" Megan waves her phone like that explains everything and having Yoonchae’s — her mortal enemies — notifications on is completely normal.

"So you have notifications turned on for my posts?" Yoonchae's eyebrows climb higher. They’re climbing Mount Everest at this point. Megan’s going to die. She was hoping they’d brush past that detail.

"I..." Megan's face flushes hot, telltale warmth spreading from her cheeks down her neck. Yoonchae can probably see how red her face is, even in the dim lighting of their desk lamps. 

She has notifications turned on for exactly three blogs: Lara, who could make a living off her aesthetic posts, a fan artist she loves, and… chipoftheyoon. She's had them on since the second week of their Tumblr arguments. It was strategic. It allowed her to respond quickly. It ensured she wouldn’t miss any of chipoftheyoon’s horrible, terrible opinions. Not because she wanted to know immediately when chipoftheyoon posted, not because she'd started to crave that little thrill of her opinions being dissed, not because — "That's not the point! The point is you've been arguing with me about Jay and Zane for literal months and your actual favorite is Cole?"

Megan glares, huffing a breath so hard that strands of her hair fly up. Yoonchae shrugs her shoulders. Megan glares harder. "I never said Cole wasn't my favorite. You assumed Zane was because I defend him."

"That's..." Megan stops, her brain frantically scrolling back through months of arguments, through dozens of posts and reblogs and heated debates, replaying conversations in her head. Yoonchae defending Zane's character arc, Yoonchae analyzing Zane's relationships, Yoonchae writing that whole meta about Zane's development across seasons, but never actually saying the words "Zane is my favorite". Just... defending him. Megan's face drops with dawning horror. She’s going to sink into her mattress and disappear. Yoonchae’s right. She never actually said it. Megan just assumed. "Oh my god."

"Yeah." Yoonchae’s definitely smiling now, that cat-got-the-cream look that means she's enjoying being right.

Megan buries her face into her pillow. Breathes. In. Out. In. Out. "I've been arguing with you for weeks about the wrong fucking thing!" Megan's voice comes akin to a shout and she claps her hand over her mouth for a second before dropping it. "For months! I've been arguing about the wrong character!"

"Kind of." Yoonchae spins her chair in a small circle. A little rotation, casual, like this isn't a devastating revelation. Like she hasn’t just altered the trajectory of Megan’s life. Oh, fuck off. "You never asked who my favorite was. You just assumed."

"Because you kept defending Zane!" Megan gestures wildly with both hands, her phone still clutched in one fist. She nearly throws it at the window, but catches herself at the last second.

Yoonchae leans forward, elbows falling to her knees. "Because you kept attacking him! Someone had to balance out your Jay bias!" 

"It's not a bias, it's having correct opinions!"

"It's definitely a bias." 

In lieu of answering, Megan grabs one of her pillows — the blue one with the constellation pattern that her mom bought her specifically for college; sue her, she’s a space nerd — and throws it at Yoonchae with more force than strictly necessary. 

It's not a good throw, wobbling pathetically in the air and Yoonchae easily catches it. She throws it back immediately and unlike Megan, has a killer aim. It hits Megan in the face and bounces onto her lap.

It unlocks something between them. Suddenly they’re both laughing, real, genuine laughter that bubbles up from Megan’s chest. The type of laughter that makes her stomach hurt and eyes water.

"Okay, but seriously," Megan says once she's managed to stop laughing, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She’s clutching the pillow like a shield now, because if Megan can’t get a good throw at Yoonchae, she might as well protect her bearings. "Cole? Really? Like, actually your favorite?"

"He's underrated! Everyone focuses on the flashy characters —" Yoonchae pounds her fist against her heart. Which, wow, Megan absolutely did not realize she loved Cole this much. For one, Yoonchae’s never posted about Cole. Like, not once. Megan would know. Megan has her notifications on. "— but Cole is the heart of the team! He's the one keeping everyone together. He's literally the foundation, both metaphorically and physically, with his earth powers, and people just ignore that because he doesn't have the dramatic backstory of Zane or the romantic plot of Jay!"

"I actually agree with you about that." The words come out before Megan can second-guess them and consider whether admitting agreement will somehow make her lose points in their ongoing sort-of-feud. 

Yoonchae blinks, hand dropping from chest. "You do?"

"Yeah. Cole is great. I mean, Jay is still my favorite —" Megan has to maintain some consistency here, okay?  "— but Cole is definitely in my top three. Probably top two, actually. I've written, like, multiple posts about how underappreciated he is as the emotional core of the group."

"Huh." Yoonchae turns back to her desk slowly. She picks up her pen, the blue one she always uses for chemistry notes, and spins it between her fingers. "Maybe we agree on more than I thought."

"Don't get used to it." Megan flops back onto her bed, pillow still clutched to her chest. "We'll be arguing about something else by tomorrow."

“I lied, by the way.”

“What?”

“Zane is my favorite. Cole’s second place though.”

“Oh my god, are you —”

Friday night, again, movie night, again, and they're watching some horror movie that Yoonchae picked.

"Horror builds tension better than any other genre," Yoonchae had argued when Megan protested. Megan had shot back a "horror gives me nightmares and I hate you", but Yoonchae had merely sent her a half-smile, saying "you'll survive." 

And here they are.

It's covered head-to-toe in jump scares, creepy music, and long shots of empty hallways where she knows something is about to happen but doesn’t know when. There’s that stinging, awful anticipation building in her stomach, making Megan's shoulders tense up around her ears. 

She's clutching a pillow to her chest, even though she knows it's fake. Holding it makes her feel better. Gives her something to squeeze when the music gets particularly ominous. Gives her something to hide behind when she knows a scare is coming.

They're sitting closer than they have been. Or, well, closer than last week, closer than the six inches of distance they’d carefully maintained. They’re close enough that their shoulders are almost touching. It’s just barely not making contact. It’s a tiny gap of space that Megan is hyperaware of. Megan can feel the warmth radiating off Yoonchae's body. It serves better comfort than the pillow does. She simultaneously loves and hates that.

The movie’s starting to do that thing horror movies do where the music gets quiet, too quiet, and the main character is walking down a dark hallway with just a flashlight (why do they always have just a flashlight? Why not turn on all the lights? Why not leave the house entirely?). Megan knows something is about to jump out, can feel it coming, is bracing for it —

Bam.

A particularly bad jump scare happens, with the monster or ghost or whatever literally lunging out of a closet with an awful screeching sound. Megan yelps (it's a yelp, definitely a yelp, not a scream), grabbing onto Yoonchae's arm without thinking.

Yoonchae makes a startled sound — a small "oh!" that might be from the scare or might be from Megan suddenly pouncing her shoulders — but doesn't pull away. Doesn't do anything except tense slightly under Megan's grip.

Megan realizes what she's doing approximately three seconds later, when her brain catches up to her body. The adrenaline spike fades enough for her to process that she's currently death-gripping her roommate's arm. Her hand flies back to the pillow like she's been burned. "Sorry," she mutters, her face hot. Embarrassed. Embarrassed. She’s so embarrassed. She needs to request a roommate change. She should’ve requested one on the first day, after belatedly realizing she was in love with her fucking roommate. "Sorry, I didn't mean to —"

Yoonchae shuts it down. "It's fine." 

She doesn't move away, like Megan expected her to. If anything, she settles in closer. Her shoulder makes full contact with Megan's now, warm and solid and real.

They finish the movie like that.

Close, shoulders pressed together. 

Megan is barely watching anymore — she's too aware of the contact, too focused on the warmth where they're touching, too busy trying not to think about how much she likes this. How right it feels. How she could probably stay like this for hours. 

When another jump scare happens (why are there so many jump scares? Is this entire movie just jump scares?), Megan doesn't grab Yoonchae's arm again, but she does press closer. Yoonchae notices, but she also doesn't pull away.

The movie ends with the main character surviving but traumatized forever, moving into a new house that's definitely also haunted.

Megan breaks the silence. "That was terrible."

"You picked last week. It was my turn." Yoonchae says, tone defensive. But also… not really? Less defensive and more like going through the motions of being defensive because that's what they do. Argue. Fight. Offense versus defense.

Megan shifts, adjusting the pillow in her lap. Their shoulders slide against each other. Neither one of them mention it. "Your turn to pick something terrible, apparently."

Yoonchae turns her head to look at Megan, and they're close, so close, close enough that she can see the reflection of the laptop screen in Yoonchae's eyes. "You're the one who screamed."

"I did not scream!" 

She didn’t. She yelped. There's a difference between a scream and a yelp. Megan will die on this hill if necessary.

"You literally shrieked." Yoonchae says, a glint in her eyes that means she's enjoying getting a rise out of Megan.

A pout forms on Megan’s face, deep and tragic. Quite like her life, right now. Woe is she. "That was a yelp, not a shriek! Completely different sounds! Different vocal ranges! Different levels of distress!"

Yoonchae shrugs. The movement jostles their shoulders again. Nobody mentions that either. "Same thing."

"Completely different things! A yelp is like —" Megan makes a short, sharp sound, demonstrating, "— and a shriek is like —" She makes a longer, higher sound. Then immediately regrets it because it's loud and disturbing their neighbors. She stops regretting it the minute she sees Yoonchae laughing, her nose-scrunching and eyes crinkling at the corners. Megan can see her teeth. Megan can’t help but think about… no.

"Same time next week?" Megan asks, even though she already knows the answer.

Yoonchae nods. "Yeah." Then she adds: "But I'm picking again."

Megan sits up straighter, frowning. It pulls her away from the shoulder contact and she finds herself missing it, wanting to forgo the argument in favor of leaning back in. Unfortunately, she refuses to lose to the likes of Yoonchae. "Absolutely not! You lost your picking privileges! That movie was traumatizingly awful!"

"My room!" Yoonchae shoots back, smirk splayed on her lips. 

"Our room!" Megan corrects. It’s automatic. They've had this argument before, because Yoonchae loves to claim ownership when it's convenient and share responsibility when it's not.

Yoonchae grins wider, bright and just on the side of blinding. "Whatever."

They're so close.

It’s — they’re so close.

Yoonchae drops her phone on the floor.

Megan has never moved faster in her life. She snatches up the phone, partially to turn away from Yoonchae and partially to save it, heart beating a mile a minute, so fast and loud in her ears that she almost doesn’t catch what Yoonchae says next.

“Oh! Thanks.” Yoonchae plucks it from her hands, and their fingers brush, nearly intertwining. "I should probably let you sleep."

"Probably." 

She doesn't want Yoonchae to leave. Doesn't want this moment to end. Doesn't want to go back to their separate beds, separate spaces, and the separate distance they're supposed to maintain as roommates who also happen to be internet enemies.

Yoonchae walks the steps to her own bed, running a hand through her hair. "The movie wasn't that bad."

"It was terrible and you have terrible taste."

"You're going to have nightmares," Yoonchae predicts.

"Probably," Megan admits, scratching her cheek. "I hope when you hear me screaming at 3 AM, you feel guilty."

Yoonchae settles into her pillows. "I'll remind you that you yelped, not screamed."

"I hate you." 

"No, you don't," Yoonchae says, her voice muffled by virtue of her chuckles. 

Megan turns her head to look across the small space between their beds. At Yoonchae's silhouette in the dim light. Yoonchae’s right. As always. "No," she agrees quietly. "I don't."

Megan’s heart does acrobatics.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

"Goodnight, Megan."

Her response comes easy. "Goodnight, Yoonchae.”

It starts with a post about coffee.

Not Ninjago. Not narrative structure, or character arcs or pacing, or any of the things they've been arguing about for months. 

Coffee.

chipoftheyoon posts at 11:47 PM on a Tuesday. 

Megan knows because Megan has Yoonchae’s notifications on and thinks about Yoonchae 24/7 and. And. Yeah.

chipoftheyoon has posted:

people who put sugar in their coffee are just admitting they don't actually like coffee. you're drinking candy. just say that.

Megan stares at her phone screen, lying in bed, six feet away from Yoonchae.

She's been scrolling through Tumblr for the past twenty minutes. Unable to sleep, unable to focus on the economics reading she's supposed to be doing, definitely unable to stop thinking about movie night last Friday when they'd sat so close their knees touched. Sat close, so close, close enough that her breathing was in tune with Yoonchae’s, but neither of them moved away.

And now Yoonchae is posting about… coffee.

Megan takes three deep breaths. 

Counts to ten. 

Considers letting it go. Ignoring it. Going to sleep like a normal person who doesn't take everything personally.

She opens a new post.

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

some of us enjoy things that taste good actually. some of us aren't punishing ourselves by drinking bitter bean water because we think suffering makes us sophisticated.

She hits post before she can reconsider. Watches her notifications. Waits.

It takes forty-seven seconds.

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

if you need to mask the taste with sugar you don't actually like the thing itself. this isn't complicated.

Megan sits up in bed, blood pressure spiking for absolutely no good reason, except that it's been a long week, she's tired, and Yoonchae has been weird ever since last movie night, simultaneously closer and more distant. And Megan doesn't know what to do with that. Still doesn't know how to process the way Yoonchae's hand had lingered on her shoulder when she got up to go to bed. So. She argues.

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

OR some of us aren't pretentious about beverages. OR some of us understand that personal preference exists. OR some of us don't feel the need to be judgmental about how other people enjoy things.

Across the room, she hears Yoonchae shift in bed. The phone’s glow at the ceiling brightens, meaning Yoonchae is sitting up now, reading this, and probably —

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

it's not judgmental to point out that you're fundamentally changing the thing. it's like saying you love reading but you only read spark notes.

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

that's not even REMOTELY the same thing. coffee is MEANT to be customizable. that's why coffee shops have sugar and cream available. they're not there for decoration

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

they're there for people who can't handle actual coffee

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

oh my GOD. you are INSUFFERABLE

And then Megan is typing faster, posts coming out messier, angrier, everything she's been holding back for weeks —

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

do you even hear yourself. "actual coffee" like there's some kind of coffee purity test. you do this with EVERYTHING. nothing is ever good enough for you. everyone is always wrong except you

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

that's not true

Megan hates how short it is. Hates how mad she’s getting and how Yoonchae doesn’t appear affected in the slightest.

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

IT IS TRUE. you've been doing this since we met. everything I like is wrong, every opinion I have is flawed, every argument I make needs to be corrected

chipoftheyoon has reblogged your post:

i'm not trying to correct you i'm trying to have a conversation

meganfox67 has reblogged chipoftheyoon’s post:

no you're trying to WIN. you're always trying to win. do you even LIKE me? or do you just keep arguing with me because you have nothing better to do?

Megan hits post on that last one and immediately feels her stomach drop. Heart hammering, face hot. She shouldn't have said that. She should delete it. She should —

Across the room, Yoonchae's phone screen goes dark.

No response comes.

The silence in their room feels like a physical presence. It’s pressing down on Megan's chest, stealing the air from her lungs. 

She stares at her screen, at the post sitting there not-reblogged and unanswered.

Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen.

Megan's eyes start burning. She blinks rapidly, trying to force the feeling away. It doesn't work. Her vision blurs. Her throat gets tight. 

And then she's crying, silently, thank God, tears streaming down her face and soaking into her pillow. Megan presses one hand over her mouth to keep any sound from escaping because she thinks she’d die if Yoonchae heard.

She's ruined this.

Whatever this was — this fragile thing they'd been building — she's ruined it. Because she couldn't let a stupid post about coffee go. Because she had to push. Because she always pushes, always says too much, always —

Her phone buzzes.

Megan nearly drops it in her haste to check, hands shaking and vision blurry from tears.

It's not a Tumblr notification.

It's a text. 

It’s still from the one person she wanted to hear.

Yoonchae.

Can we talk?

Megan's breath catches. 

She inconspicuously wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. She doesn’t want Yoonchae seeing her cry. 

Across the room, Megan can see Yoonchae sitting up in bed now, silhouetted in the dim light from the streetlamp outside.

Now? Megan types back, hands shaking so badly she has to retype it twice.

Please.

There's something in that single word, urgent and desperate and unlike Yoonchae, that makes Megan's heart do a flip-twist-somersault. It isn’t the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last. It’s the same one she's been trying to ignore for…months.

She sits up. 

Yoonchae does the same. 

They're both sitting there, six feet apart in the darkness. Megan doesn't know who moves first, but suddenly they're both standing, walking toward each other, meeting in the middle of the room.

Yoonchae's face is difficult to read in the dim light, but Megan can see enough: the tension in her posture, the way she's worrying her lips between her teeth, the way her hands are clenched at her sides like she's physically restraining herself from — from what?

"I'm sorry," Megan says, rough and thick with tears. "I shouldn't have — I didn't mean —"

"Do you really think I don't like you?" Yoonchae interrupts.

Megan swallows hard. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like all we do is argue. Like you think everything about me is wrong."

"That's not —" Yoonchae cuts herself off, taking a breath. Her hands unclench, then clench again. "I argue with you because I like arguing with you. Because you're the only person who argues back. Because —" She stops, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, they're fixed on Megan with such an intensity it makes Megan's next inhale come out shaky. "Because I like you. Obviously."

The word hangs in the air between them.

Obviously.

Like it should have been clear. Like Megan should have known.

"Obviously?" Megan repeats, voice cracking on the word. "How is that obvious? You — we've been fighting for months —"

"We've been flirting for months," Yoonchae corrects, color rising in her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. "At least, I thought we were. I thought you knew."

Megan stares at her. "Flirting."

"The hand-holding. The movie nights. The —" Yoonchae gestures vaguely. "All of it. I thought —" She laughs, short and sharp and bitter. "God, I'm so stupid. I thought you were just — that you were waiting for me to —"

"To what?"

Yoonchae takes a step closer. 

Another. 

They’re less than a foot apart now, close enough that Megan can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She could count Yoonchae’s eyelashes if she wanted to.

"To do this," Yoonchae whispers, and then she's cupping Megan's face in both hands and kissing her.

For a moment, Megan's brain completely short-circuits.

Yoonchae is kissing her. 

Yoonchae — her roommate, her internet enemy, chipoftheyoon, who she's been arguing with for months, Yoonchae, who takes biochemistry notes with color-coded tabs and makes her bed with hospital corners and has exactly three facial expressions that Megan has learned to read like a second language — is kissing her.

Yoonchae's lips are soft, warm, and slightly chapped. Her hands are cool against Megan's face, a tad bigger than her own. They dwarf her face. Megan’s obsessed. Spends twenty seconds alone locked in on that thought.

Yoonchae smells like her floral shampoo, tastes like the mint toothpaste she uses religiously, and Megan's hands are uselessly hanging at her sides. She's frozen. Her stupid mind can’t process what's happening.

Move, idiot! Move!

But Yoonchae’s already starting to pull back — Megan can feel the loss of contact, mourns the absence of warmth — and that, thankfully, breaks the spell.

Megan surges forward, fisting her hands in the fabric of Yoonchae's sleep shirt, and kisses her back like she's been drowning and Yoonchae is air.

Yoonchae makes a small surprised sound against her mouth. It’s something between a gasp and a whimper that goes straight to Megan's stomach, setting up residence there, hot and tight. Her hands slide from Megan's face into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling Megan closer, until their bodies are pressed together and Megan can feel Yoonchae's heartbeat hammering against her own chest.

Or maybe that's Megan's heartbeat. 

At this point, she honestly can't tell where she ends and Yoonchae begins.

Megan tilts her head, deepening the kiss. Yoonchae's lips part on a sigh that Megan swallows down like it's precious, meant to be hoarded and replayed in her memory forever. 

She tastes like everything Megan’s ever dreamed of and she wants more, wants everything, wants to catalogue every single detail of this moment so she never forgets it.

When they finally break apart — because breathing is apparently still necessary, who knew? — Megan’s panting, lips tingling and entire body feeling like it's been electrified. Yoonchae, for her part, is in the same situation. Her pupils are blown wide, face swollen and red, and she's staring at Megan like she's just made an incredible discovery.

"Oh," Megan says, eloquently. Her voice comes out wrecked. "Oh."

Yoonchae's hands are still in her hair. "Yeah," she breathes. "Oh."

They stand there for a moment, foreheads pressed together.

Megan's brain is trying very hard to come back online, but it's difficult when Yoonchae's thumb is tracing small circles against her scalp, and her lips are right there, so close, so tempting —

"I can't believe —" Megan starts, then stops, because there are approximately forty-seven things she can't believe right now and she's not sure which one to address first. "How long?"

"How long what?" Yoonchae's voice is soft, distracted. Like she's not really paying attention to the words because she's too busy staring at Megan's mouth. It makes Megan want to kiss her stupid again. But. No. Focus. Focus, Megan. Come on.

"How long have you —" Megan gestures vaguely between them. "This. How long?"

Yoonchae's cheeks flush darker. "Um. A while."

"That's not an answer."

"Since the quad," Yoonchae admits, looking away, focusing on something over Megan's shoulder. "When we did homework under the tree. Maybe before that. I don't know. It kind of built up? I didn't realize until then."

The quad. That was weeks ago. Weeks. Megan has been spiraling, overthinking, and analyzing every single interaction for weeks, and Yoonchae has apparently been feeling the same way, and neither of them said anything, and they could have been doing this the entire time.

God.

She feels like an idiot.

A stupid idiot who decides her priority is making up for lost time.

"I'm going to kiss you again," Megan announces, and then does exactly that before Yoonchae can respond.

This kiss is different from the first one.

Less desperate, less frantic, but somehow more intense. 

Megan takes her time, mapping out the curve of Yoonchae's lips with her own. She wants to live in Yoonchae forever. She wants to reach into her ribs and makes a home there. Megan says none of this, instead tracing the seam of her mouth with her tongue until Yoonchae opens for her with a breathy little gasp. It makes Megan's knees go weak.

Yoonchae's hands slide down from her hair to her shoulders then to her back, before settling at her waist and pulling her impossibly closer. Megan's hands are still fisted in Yoonchae's shirt, probably wrinkling it beyond repair, but Yoonchae doesn't seem to care. Doesn't seem to care about anything except kissing Megan like it's the only thing that matters. Megan loves it. Is obsessed. Dear God, she’s so in love with this girl.

When they break apart this time, Megan's legs are genuinely shaking. "We should —" She has to stop, to clear her throat. "We should probably sit down. Before I fall down."

Yoonchae nods, looking similarly unsteady, and they stumble over to Megan's bed because it’s closer, bigger, and already unmade from Megan had been tossing and turning earlier. Megan sits first, and Yoonchae follows, and then there's a moment of awkwardness as they try to figure out the logistics of where their legs go, how close is too close, whether —

"Come here," Yoonchae says, and pulls Megan into her lap.

Oh.

Oh.

Megan’s sitting in Yoonchae's lap, straddling her thighs, face-to-face with her in a way that feels oh-so intimate, even though they're both fully clothed. 

Yoonchae's hands move to her hips, thumbs pressing into the bare skin just above the waistband of her sleep shorts, and Megan has to bite back a whimper because that's…a lot. To say the least.

"Is this okay?" Yoonchae asks, voice low and uncertain. Megan nods so fast she's worried she might give herself whiplash.

"Very okay," she manages. "Extremely okay. So okay that I might actually die."

"Please don't die." Yoonchae leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Megan's mouth, her jaw, the spot just below her ear that makes Megan's breath hitch. "I just got you."

The words sink in slowly, spreading warmth through Megan's chest. "You've had me for a while, actually," she admits, and Yoonchae pulls back to look at her, eyes searching.

"Yeah?"

"Since, uh, I don't know. Since the beginning, maybe? Since you didn't make fun of me for overpacking and invited me for lunch?" Megan's hands have migrated to Yoonchae's shoulders, then up to frame her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. "Or maybe since the first time we argued and you didn't back down. Or since the first movie night. Or, or all of it. All the small things that added up to this."

Yoonchae turns her head slightly to press a kiss to Megan's palm. "I kept waiting for you to say something. Or do something. Give me some kind of sign that this wasn't just one-sided."

"We were shoulder-to-shoulder during movie nights!”

"I do that with everyone!”

"You do not!" Megan pulls back to stare at her. "I've never seen you do that!"

"Well, okay, no, but I thought maybe you thought it was simply, like, friendly?"

"Friendly," Megan repeats, incredulous. "We watched a horror movie and I grabbed onto you like you were a life raft and all you did was settle closer. You didn't pull away. How is that friendly?"

"I don't know!" Yoonchae's voice rises. "You're the one who kept looking at me and then looking away! You're the one who kept finding excuses to be close to me and then acting like it was an accident!"

"Because I didn't know if you liked me!"

"Well, I didn't know if you liked me!"

They glare at each other for a moment, faces inches apart, puffing and panting — and then Megan starts laughing. It bubbles up from her chest, unstoppable. After a second Yoonchae joins in, and then they're both laughing so hard Megan has to bury her face in Yoonchae's neck to muffle the sound because it's past midnight and their neighbors are definitely asleep.

"We're so stupid," Megan gasps out between laughs.

"The stupidest," Yoonchae agrees, her arms wrapping around Megan's, holding her close. "We could have been doing this for weeks."

"Months, if we're counting from when we met online."

"Please don't remind me. I'll die of embarrassment."

Megan pulls back enough to see Yoonchae's face. "You argued with me about the ice chapter for three hours straight. You wrote a 2000-word meta about why I was wrong. You told me my analysis was 'fundamentally flawed on every level’."

"I was flirting!" Yoonchae groans, a frown etching onto her face. "That's how I flirt! I thought you knew!"

"How would I possibly know that?" But Megan is smiling. Can't stop smiling, in fact. Feels like her face might split in half from smiling but keeps smiling anyway. "You called me obtuse."

"You called me pretentious!"

"You are pretentious!"

"You're defensive!"

"I'm not —" Megan stops herself, because, what the fuck? This is absolutely not what she cares about right now. Instead of continuing, she leans in and kisses Yoonchae again. It's becoming her favorite way to end an argument, she's discovering. Much more effective than words.

Yoonchae melts into the kiss, one hand sliding up Megan's back to tangle in her hair again. Megan shifts in her lap, trying to get closer even though they're already pressed together. She wants to absorb Yoonchae. Her hands move everywhere — Yoonchae's shoulders, her neck, her face, her hair. She can't decide where to touch, where to settle, because every part of Yoonchae feels like something she's been waiting to touch for months.

"Megan," Yoonchae whispers against her lips. It’s soft and wanting and reverent. Something in Megan's chest cracks open. "I — can I —"

"Yes," Megan says, even though she has no idea what she's agreeing to. It doesn’t matter. Whatever Yoonchae wants to do, the answer is yes. Always yes. It’s Yoonchae.

Yoonchae's hands slip under the hem of Megan's shirt, palms flat against her lower back. The skin-on-skin contact makes Megan gasp. Her hips jerk forward involuntarily. Yoonchae makes a low sound in the back of her throat — something between a groan and a whimper — and her grip on Megan's waist tightens, fingers digging into her skin.

"Is this —" Yoonchae's face twitches, like the thought hurts her. "Too much? Should we —"

"Don't stop," Megan says, fierce. She’s never been surer of anything than she is of this. Of them. "Please don't stop."

Yoonchae obliges. Her hands slide up Megan's back, crawling over the curve of her spine, the wings of her shoulder blades, the dip of her waist. Her lips take flight, moving to the hollow of her throat. Megan's head falls back to give her better access, one hand fisting Yoonchae's hair and the other gripping her shoulder hard enough to leave marks. It pleases her. The idea of people knowing Yoonchae is hers. Irrevocably and undeniably hers.

When Yoonchae's teeth graze her collarbone, Megan can't hold back the moan that escapes. She feels Yoonchae smile against her skin, cheeky and light, before kissing the spot, soothing it with her tongue.

"You're going to kill me," Megan manages. Her voice doesn't even sound like hers anymore. Too breathy, too high, too everything.

Yoonchae pulls back to look at her, eyes dark. "Good," she says, and then she's kissing Megan again.

Megan loses track of time. 

Could be minutes, could be hours. 

All she knows is Yoonchae's mouth on hers, Yoonchae's hands on her skin, Yoonchae's body warm and solid beneath her. 

She's vaguely aware that they should probably talk. There are things they need to discuss, logistics to figure out, feelings to articulate beyond kissing each other senseless. But every time she tries to pull back and form words, Yoonchae makes a small protesting sound and pulls her back in, and Megan's limited self-control evaporates completely.

Eventually, though, they do have to stop. 

Megan's lips are tingling, almost numb, and her lungs are burning from lack of oxygen, and she's pretty sure if they keep going she's going to do something stupid like suggest they take this further even though they haven't actually talked about what this is yet.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against Yoonchae's. "We should — we should probably talk."

"Do we have to?" Yoonchae's hands are still under her shirt, thumbs tracing idle patterns on her skin. Her heart won’t stop ramming. Can’t stop.

"Yes. Because I need to know —" Megan sighs. Vulnerable. "What is this? What are we doing?"

Yoonchae is quiet for a long moment, and Megan's anxiety starts to creep back in, that familiar spiral of what if I'm reading this wrong what if she just wants to make out what if this doesn't mean what I think it means —

"I want this to be real," Yoonchae says finally. "I want you. Not just tonight. Not just for making out. Or other things. I want —" She cuts herself off, swallows hard. "I want you to be my girlfriend. If you want that too."

Girlfriend. It’s everything she’s ever wanted and more.

"I want that," she says immediately. "So much. I've wanted that for, god, I don't even know how long."

"Since the quad?" Yoonchae asks, a small smile playing on her face.

"Before that. Way before that." Megan traces her fingers along Yoonchae's jaw, still not quite believing this is real, that she gets to touch like this now — the warmth of Yoonchae's skin beneath her fingertips, the way Yoonchae's pulse jumps when Megan's thumb brushes just below her ear.

"That's deeply weird," Yoonchae says, but she's smiling, full and bright, that smile that Megan has learned to treasure. The one that makes her chest feel three sizes too small.

"You're deeply weird. You color-code your notes with sticky tabs."

"You have seventeen stuffed animals on your bed."

"They're for emotional support!"

"They're children's toys!"

"You —" Megan stops, and instead of continuing, she kisses Yoonchae's nose, cheeks, forehead. Moves on to her eyelids when they flutter close. Each kiss tastes faintly of the vanilla chapstick Yoonchae always carries, and Megan files that away as another thing she gets to know. Another detail she's allowed to memorize. "You're my girlfriend now. I get to do this whenever you're being annoying."

Yoonchae's eyes open, soft, warm, and utterly happy, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. "I'm going to be annoying a lot."

"Good. I'm going to be defensive a lot."

"I know." Yoonchae pulls Megan closer, tucking her head under Megan's chin. They sit like that for a while, holding each other. The weight of Yoonchae in her arms feels impossibly right. It’s a weight Megan wants around her forever. "What are we going to do about Tumblr?"

Tumblr?

Yoonchae’s seriously thinking about Tumblr, right now?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… everyone knows us. Everyone knows we argue. Are we going to, like, tell people? Or keep it private?"

Megan hadn't thought about that. 

She's been so focused on the Yoonchae in front of her, that she forgot about the online Yoonchae, chipoftheyoon, about their months-long public arguments, about the fact that they have probably hundreds of mutual followers who've been spectating their debates like a tennis match. The thought of it now feels distant, almost surreal. Like, did that really happen?

"I don't know," she admits. "What do you want to do?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

Yoonchae huffs out a laugh against her chest, warm breath seeping through the thin fabric of Megan's shirt. "We're going to be terrible at making decisions together."

"Probably." Megan runs her fingers through Yoonchae's hair, marveling at how soft it is, like silk slipping between her fingers. She marvels at another thing: how she's allowed to do this now. How touching Yoonchae’s hair, without asking, is just…a thing she can do. Holy shit, Yoonchae’s her girlfriend. Holy shit. "I don't really care if people know. I mean, it's not like we were hiding who we were from each other anymore anyway."

"True. Though the mental image of people's reactions is kind of hilarious."

"Oh god, you're right." Megan pulls back to look at Yoonchae, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Can you imagine? Plot twist: they were roommates the whole time.”

"And they were roommates," Yoonchae quotes, grinning.

"Oh my god, we're that meme." Megan buries her face in Yoonchae's shoulder, torn between laughing and groaning. "We're literally that meme."

"We really are." Yoonchae's hands are tracing patterns on her back again, soothing, gentle, the heat of her palms burning through Megan's shirt and lights a fire in her stomach. If Megan’s wood, Yoonchae’s a match. If Megan’s a car, Yoonchae’s the fuel. Or whatever other philosophical nonsense Shakespeare would say. "But we don't have to decide now. We can, um, we can be us for a while. Figure out the rest later."

"Be us," Megan repeats softly, testing the words in her mouth. She likes the shape of them. "I like the sound of that."

They stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other. They move when it becomes a necessity, with Megan's legs cramping from sitting in the same position and Yoonchae's back protesting from supporting both their weights. 

Now they’re lying down properly, Megan's head on Yoonchae's shoulder and Yoonchae's arm wrapped snuggly around her. The mattress dips under their combined weight, springs creaking softly, and Megan can hear Yoonchae's breathing evening out, can count the rise and falls of her chest.

"This is my bed," Megan points out.

"I'm aware."

"You're in my bed."

"Also aware."

"Are you staying?"

Yoonchae presses a kiss to the top of her head, lips lingering there for a long moment. It feels good. So good. Megan wants to live here forever. She wants to abandon school, abandon life, abandon it all, for the sake of being in this bed forever. With Yoonchae. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Obviously." Megan tilts her head up to look at Yoonchae, and catches the uncertainty flickering across Yoonchae's face. Oh. Does she not want to stay with Megan? Is that it? Did she read this wrong? Oh God, did she read this wrong? "Is that okay? Are you comfortable?"

"Very comfortable. Your bed is better than mine."

"It's the same bed. They gave us the same beds."

"Yours is better because you're in it."

Warmth spreads from Megan’s cheeks down her neck. "That was smooth. When did you get smooth?"

"I've always been smooth. You just never noticed."

"You spent three months arguing with me about Ninjago. That's not smooth."

"It worked, didn't it?" Yoonchae's voice is smug, that particular tone that used to drive Megan up the wall but now just makes her want to kiss her. "You're here now."

"I'm here because you kissed me, not because of your stunning debate skills."

"I kissed you because of months of built-up tension from arguing."

"That's —" Megan stops, considers, replays the past three months in her mind like a film reel. "Okay, that's actually fair."

"I'm always fair."

"You're never fair. You're argumentative and contrary and you play devil's advocate to annoy me."

"You love it."

And the thing is… Megan does. She loves it. She loves arguing with Yoonchae. But she doesn’t just love that too. She loves Yoonchae's careful color-coded notes, her methodical approach to everything, and the way she says "obviously" like the world's most obvious things are the ones Megan never sees coming. She loves the crease that forms between Yoonchae's eyebrows when she's concentrating, the way she taps her pen against her teeth when she's thinking, and the soft sound she makes when Megan says something particularly ridiculous. She loves… so much. Far too much to say right now. Maybe another time. Maybe in a note, because Megan would probably die from saying all of this out loud.

"Yeah," Megan says softly, thumb tracing idle patterns on Yoonchae's collarbone. "I do."

Yoonchae nips her ear, unbidden. Megan absolutely does not gasp. Absolutely does not react. Biting. Biting. Biting. "Good. Because I love that you're defensive and passionate and you care so much about everything that you can't help but fight for it. Even if it's just about a kids show."

"It's not just a kids show," Megan counters. Five seconds later the rest of what Yoonchae said registers. "Wait. You —"

"Love those things about you? Yes." Yoonchae says it simply. Like it's a fact, as undeniable as gravity, or the laws of thermodynamics, or the fact that the ice chapter is poorly paced — Megan's going to let that last one go for now, she decides, even though her fingers twitch with the urge to argue every time Yoonchae mentions it. "I love arguing with you. I love that you argue back. I love your terrible taste in movies and your collection of stuffed animals and the way you can't walk past my desk without reading what I'm working on even though you always say you're not interested in chemistry."

"I am interested in chemistry," Megan mumbles. "When you're the one explaining it."

"See? That. I love that too."

"You can't say things like that." Megan's heart is doing acrobatics in her chest, Olympic-level gymnastics that make her ribcage feel like it might crack open.

"Why not? It's true." Yoonchae shifts so she can look at Megan properly, and there's something raw in her expression, something so open and unguarded that Megan halts entirely. "I'm done not saying things. We wasted enough time because neither of us would say it."

"Say what?"

"That I like you. That I've liked you for months. That I think about you constantly and I save your posts even when I'm arguing with them and I —" Yoonchae's voice drops, trembling at the edges. "That I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with you. If I'm not already there."

Megan's breath catches. She can feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips where they're pressed against Yoonchae's skin. "You…what?"

"I know it's too soon to say that. I know we haven't even been dating for an hour. But I've felt like this for weeks and I'm tired of not saying things, so." Yoonchae's cheeks are pink, but her gaze is unflinching. It’s how Megan imagines her looking like when staring down one of Megan's arguments and refusing to back down. It makes affection creep up in Megan’s soul, affection for Yoonchae and her Yoonchae-like manners and how everything in her life is so stupidly Yoonchae right now, and that’s exactly the way Megan wants it. "I'm saying it. I'm falling in love with you. You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know."

For a moment, Megan can't think. Can’t do anything except stare at Yoonchae and try to process the words that just came out of her mouth. Her vision blurs, and she realizes with a start that her eyes are stinging.

It’s hard to think.

It’s easy to do.

And then she's kissing her, for the fourth or eighth or twentieth time that evening, desperate and messy and uncoordinated. It seems like the best strategy. She needs Yoonchae to understand, needs her to know — her hands fall into Yoonchae's hair, and Yoonchae's grip tightens on her waist, pulling her closer, and Megan can taste salt and doesn't know if it's from her tears or Yoonchae's —

"I love you too," she gasps out between kisses, the words tumbling out unrehearsed and unfiltered. Pure, authentic Megan. She hopes it's what Yoonchae wants. "I think I have for a while. I just didn't, um, I didn't know what it was. I've never —" Shaky breath here, lungs burning like she's been running for miles. "I've never felt like this about anyone."

Yoonchae pulls, until Megan is practically on top of her, their legs tangling together, hearts beating against each other through skin and bone. "Neither have I," she whispers, voice cracking. "You're my first… everything, actually. First girlfriend. First person I've ever felt like this about. First person who made me want to try."

"Try what?" Megan's fingers are trembling where they grasp Yoonchae's face. She can feel the dampness on Yoonchae's cheeks, matching her own.

"Being open. Being vulnerable. All the things I'm bad at." Yoonchae tucks a strand of hair behind Megan's ear, her touch so gentle, it makes Megan's chest ache. "You make me want to try."

Megan's eyes are stinging now, threatening another waterfall of tears. She blinks rapidly to keep them at bay, but a few escape anyway, hot tracks down her cheeks. "You make me want to be brave. You make me feel like my opinions matter. Like I matter."

"You do matter. You matter so much." Yoonchae wipes away Megan's tears with her thumbs. Her face is brighter than she’s ever seen it. Relief. That’s the only name she can give it. Yoonchae’s face is full of relief. Megan wants to stare at it for eternity.

"So do you."

When they kiss this time, it’s slow, like they have all the time in the world. 

And maybe they do. 

Maybe this is just the beginning. 

When they finally settle down for real, Megan feels more at peace than she has in months. 

"Hey," she says softly into the darkness.

"Hmm?" Yoonchae's voice is drowsy, content.

"The ice chapter is still perfectly paced."

Yoonchae's laugh is fond, vibrating through her chest. "No it's not."

"Agree to disagree?"

"Never." But Yoonchae presses a kiss to her cheek, lingering there. "But I'll let you be wrong about it if you want."

"How generous."

"I know. I'm a saint."

The night ends like every night does:

"Goodnight, Yoonchae."

"Goodnight, Megan."

But it’s different too, with Megan falling asleep wrapped in Yoonchae's arms, listening to her heartbeat, knowing that tomorrow they'll probably argue about something ridiculous again, but at night they’ll return to the same bed, and it will be perfect.

It's been a week since they kissed, and Megan's pretty sure she's living in some alternate reality where everything is perfect and nothing hurts.

Well, okay, that's a lie. Things still hurt. Her Economics professor still assigns readings that make her want to cry, her Tumblr addiction still makes sifting through a textbook a nightmare, and she still can't find her left shoe half the time (it's under her bed, currently, and has been there for three days because she keeps forgetting to retrieve it).

But Yoonchae kisses her now.

That's new.

That's extremely new.

And extremely good.

Like, so good that Megan keeps forgetting to do basic necessities, eating, sleeping, or breathing, because her brain is too busy replaying the feeling of Yoonchae's lips on hers, Yoonchae's hands in her hair, Yoonchae whispering "I love you" against her mouth at 2 AM when they should both be asleep.

They've been keeping it… mostly private. It’s not a secret, not exactly, but they aren’t broadcasting it on the news either. They hold hands in their dorm, kiss when no one's looking, and sit unnecessarily close during study sessions. Lara knows, obviously, because Megan called her six seconds after Yoonchae fell asleep that first night and whisper-screamed the entire story. Lara had laughed so hard she cried, Megan had yelled at her no less than five times for nearly waking Yoonchae, and they’d ended the call with a promise of introducing Lara to Yoonchae over winter break.

So, yeah, Lara knows.

But Tumblr doesn't.

Their followers, and the entirety of the Ninjago fandom, who’ve been spectating their arguments for months. None of them know that chipoftheyoon and meganfox67 are roommates, much less aware that they’re also, like, deeply in love and make out on the regular.

It's Wednesday night, and they're both in their room. Megan's on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, pretending to work on her assignment (she's gotten maybe two sentences done in the past hour, both of which are probably garbage). Yoonchae’s in a similar situation, over at her desk: chemistry textbook open, but on the same page for twenty minutes, which means she's either stuck or distracted.

Megan's betting on distracted, because she keeps glancing over in her direction. 

Which, well, Megan can’t say much when she’s doing the exact same thing. But curiosity is an unrelenting beast, and she’s never been able to keep quiet for long.

"What?" Megan asks, hands stilling on keyboard.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm not staring. I'm… observing."

"That's the same thing." Megan tears her glance away from the laptop, turns to face her, and, yeah, Yoonchae is definitely staring. "See? Staring."

"You're cute when you're concentrating." Yoonchae replies, breezily as the wind.

"I'm not concentrating. I’ve written two lines."

"You're cute when you're procrastinating, then."

Megan throws a pillow at her. Yoonchae catches it easily, tossing it back with the skill of a baseball pitcher. Predictably, it hits Megan in the face, bouncing onto the floor with a pathetically sad thwomp sound.

"Rude."

"You started it."

"You called me cute!"

"You are cute." Yoonchae spins in her desk chair to face Megan fully, abandoning all pretense of studying. "Problem?"

"No," Megan mumbles, face hot. She's never going to get used to this. Yoonchae saying things like that, so straightforward and honest. It makes her want to crawl under her covers and hide. It makes her want to kiss Yoonchae stupid. "Just...you can't say things like that when I'm trying to work."

"You just said you're not working. That you’ve only written two lines."

"Semantics."

Yoonchae grins, that bright, sunshine smile Megan loves, and turns back to her desk. It’s clear she’s given up studying, though, when two seconds later, she's closing her textbook and unlocking her phone.

Megan watches her, curious. Yoonchae's doing that devastatingly adorable thing where her tongue pokes out slightly when she's focused, and her thumbs are moving rapidly across the screen. She's typing something. Something long, by the looks of it.

“So…” Megan starts, because she’s a nosy, nosy being. “What are you doing?"

"Updating my Tumblr bio."

Megan sits up so fast her laptop nearly slides off her knees. She catches it at the last second, sets it aside, and starts searching for her phone. Where is it? Did she leave it in the dining hall? In class? Not under the covers…not beneath the pillow…phone phone phone… and success. Found under her bed. Megan doesn’t have the energy or ability to care about anything outside of Yoonchae right now and saves her questions on how her phone ended up there. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah." Yoonchae doesn't look up, still typing. "I think we should... I don't know. Tell people? Not make a big deal about it, just...update our bios. See what happens."

"Like a soft launch?"

"Is that what it's called?"

"Yeah. That's what Lara does. She posts vague stuff about her girlfriend until people figure it out." Megan's already opening Tumblr, navigating to her profile settings with fingers that are definitely not shaking. Not shaking. Not shaking. Not — they’re absolutely shaking. "Are you sure? We don't have to if you don't want to."

"I want to." It tumbles out of Yoonchae, quick. "I want people to know. I don't want to hide this. Hide you."

Megan's chest cracks open, warm, overwhelming, and aching. "Okay," she manages. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."

They both go quiet, focused on their phones.

Megan stares at the bio field on her profile. Currently it just says: "when i pull up to heaven & ask god where jay is!!!!!! & he tells me to GET OUT!!!!!" Which is fine. Serviceable. Fitting. But it needs an update, needs to include the most important thing in her life, which is —

She starts typing.

Deletes it.

Types again.

Deletes again.

This is harder than she thought it would be. How’s she supposed to condense everything she feels about Yoonchae into a mere 512-character-limit Tumblr bio? How’s she supposed to explain that Yoonchae is her person, her favorite person, the person who makes her want to be brave and argue less and also argue more, somehow, all at the same time?

She can't.

So she goes with something simpler. 

"blog dedicated to striking down all jay haters & the spaghetti to my meatballs, the apple to my pie, the milk to my shake, the peanut butter to my jelly... yoonchae"

She reads it over to fix the typos (there's at least five, the first go-around) and then hovers her finger over the save button.

This is real. She's really doing this. She's really about to tell the entire Tumblr Ninjago fandom that she's dating chipoftheyoon.

Fuck it.

She hits “save”.

The bio updates immediately, and Megan stares at it, heart pounding. It's done. It's out there. Everyone who visits her profile is going to see it and know that she's —

"Did you just compare us to spaghetti and meatballs?"

Megan's head snaps up. Yoonchae’s staring at her phone, eyebrows raised and lips twitching. 

"I... yes?"

"Why?"

"I don't know! I was trying to think of things that go together! Things that are incomplete without each other! And I was hungry!" Megan can feel her face burning. This was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake. She should delete it. She should change it to something less embarrassing. "Shut up, okay, I know it's cheesy —"

"It's very cheesy." Yoonchae’s unleashed a smile now, fully committing to her goal of teasing Megan. Evil demon. Megan’s going to sue. "Possibly the cheesiest thing I've ever read."

"I'm changing it."

"Don't you dare." Yoonchae's voice goes firm. "It's perfect. It's so you."

"It's embarrassing."

"It's cute." Yoonchae turns back to her own phone. "Mine is done too. Want to see?"

"Obviously."

Yoonchae angles her phone screen toward Megan. 

"my megan 🦊 | my #1"

That's it. Two lines. A fox emoji partially because of Megan's username, partially because Yoonchae knows how much she resonates with foxes. It’s somehow more romantic than Megan's entire paragraph of food metaphors. It’s so Yoonchae.

"Oh," Megan breathes. Warmth unfurls in her chest and spreads through her ribs. It makes her feel too big for her skin. "Oh, that's —"

Yoonchae cuts in, blinking nervously. "Too much?"

"Perfect. That's perfect." It comes out smaller than intended. Megan tries to blink back the watershed threatening to erupt. "I'm your number one?"

"Obviously." Yoonchae says. "You've been my number one for a while. Better to make it official.”

Megan doesn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she crosses the small space between them — three steps, one two three — and kisses Yoonchae. 

The first thing Megan registers is that Yoonchae tastes faintly of the fruit, but she can’t recall what. Pineapple, maybe, or watermelon, or an apple, or — whatever, it’s something deliciously sweet, and Megan melts into it. 

Yoonchae tilts her head, deepening the kiss, allowing their lips to slide together. The appreciative sound Megan makes is nobody's business but her own. 

Yoonchae’s hair is tickling her face, and her hand is brushing the side of her neck, slowly snaking lower.

Megan can’t do anything but exhale a contented sigh. The Ninjago fandom can wait, because right now, she’s got a girlfriend to kiss.