Chapter Text
The plate breaks at exactly 7:42 PM.
Not that Yoonchae knows that yet.
All she knows, at first, is the sound.
A sharp, clean crack—like something splitting straight down the middle—followed by a scatter of smaller, more frantic sounds as ceramic meets tile and loses the fight. It echoes through their tiny apartment in a way that feels louder than it should, like the walls themselves are snitching.
There’s a pause.
Then—
“Oh my god.”
Megan.
Yoonchae freezes mid-scroll on her phone, her brain buffering for half a second before everything clicks into place.
Kitchen. Noise. Megan.
“Meg?” she calls, already pushing herself up from the couch.
There’s no answer.
Which is immediately worse than if Megan had just said “I’m fine” in that fake-too-casual voice she uses when she’s absolutely not fine.
Yoonchae is in the kitchen in under three seconds.
And yeah.
It’s bad.
Not, like, objectively bad—no fire, no blood, no actual emergency—but Megan is standing there in the middle of the kitchen floor like she just committed a felony. There’s a shattered plate at her feet, pieces everywhere, and she’s holding her hands up awkwardly like she doesn’t know where to put them.
Her eyes are already glossy.
“Oh no,” Megan whispers, like the plate personally betrayed her.
Yoonchae takes one look at her face and immediately shifts priorities.
The plate? Irrelevant.
The crisis? Megan.
“Hey, hey—it's okay,” Yoonchae says, stepping carefully around the bigger shards as she approaches.
Megan doesn’t move.
“I broke it,” she blurts out, her voice trembling in a way that makes Yoonchae’s chest tighten instantly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just slipped and I—”
Her voice cracks.
Oh.
Oh no.
Yoonchae internally goes: abort cleaning mission, we are now in emotional support mode.
“Megan,” she says gently, reaching for her hands. “Babe, it’s literally just a plate.”
“It was your plate,” Megan says, like that changes everything, like this is now a federal offense.
Yoonchae blinks.
“My… what?”
“The one you like,” Megan insists, her words starting to rush together now. “The one with the little blue thing on the edge—like the tiny pattern—I remember you said it was your favourite and now I broke it and I’m so stupid—”
Her breathing is getting uneven.
Yoonchae’s brain short-circuits for a second.
Because one: she has no idea what plate Megan is talking about.
And two: Megan looks like she is approximately two seconds away from crying over… crockery.
“Okay, pause,” Yoonchae says, gently squeezing her hands. “First of all—breathe.”
Megan inhales sharply.
Too sharply.
“Not like you’re being chased,” Yoonchae adds quickly. “Like… like you’re a chill person. Which you are. Very chill. So chill.”
Megan lets out a shaky, almost-hysterical laugh.
“I’m not chill,” she says weakly.
“You are when you’re not having a crisis about dishes,” Yoonchae says.
That earns her a watery glare.
Progress.
Yoonchae softens immediately, stepping closer so they’re basically toe-to-toe—well, as close as they can get without risking stepping on ceramic.
“Hey,” she murmurs, bringing one hand up to cup Megan’s cheek. “Look at me.”
Megan hesitates, then does.
Her eyes are already red.
Yoonchae feels her heart physically ache.
“It’s just a plate,” Yoonchae repeats softly. “I promise you, I do not care about the plate.”
“But I broke it,” Megan says, her voice small again, like she’s back to square one. “I should’ve been more careful. I always do this, I just—like—I don’t think and then things happen and—”
Her words start tripping over each other again.
“And now it’s ruined and you liked it and I just—”
Her breathing stutters.
And then—
“Oh no, don’t cry,” Yoonchae says immediately, because Megan’s lower lip is wobbling and that is never a good sign.
“I’m not—” Megan tries.
A tear escapes.
“…okay, I’m crying,” she admits, voice breaking.
Yoonchae doesn’t even hesitate.
She pulls her into a hug.
Like, full-body, immediate, zero-gap hug.
Megan clings back instantly.
“I’m sorry,” Megan mumbles into her shoulder. “I’m literally so sorry, I didn’t mean to break it, I just—my hands slipped and I tried to catch it but that made it worse and I feel so dumb—”
“You’re not dumb,” Yoonchae says firmly, rubbing her back in slow, steady circles. “You’re just a human being who dropped a plate. This is a very common activity.”
“I feel like I ruined something,” Megan insists.
“You ruined a ten-pound plate from a shop that probably has, like, fifty identical ones,” Yoonchae says.
Megan sniffles.
“But it was yours.”
“Everything in this apartment is ours,” Yoonchae corrects gently.
That makes Megan go quiet for a second.
Yoonchae presses her cheek against Megan’s hair, lowering her voice.
“And even if it wasn’t,” she adds, “I would still choose you over any plate. Like, instantly. No hesitation. Plate loses every time.”
There’s a tiny, broken laugh against her shoulder.
“Even your favourite plate?” Megan asks.
Yoonchae pulls back just enough to look at her, raising an eyebrow.
“Especially my favourite plate,” she says.
Megan lets out a soft, shaky breath.
Her grip loosens slightly.
Crisis level: downgraded from catastrophic to manageable.
Yoonchae counts that as a win.
“Okay,” she says gently. “Can you do me a favour?”
Megan nods, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Can you step over here?” Yoonchae gestures carefully to a clear patch of floor away from the shards. “Because right now you are standing in a danger zone and I would like to not upgrade this situation to ‘ER visit’.”
Megan glances down, like she’s only just remembered the plate exists.
“Oh,” she says faintly.
“Yeah,” Yoonchae says. “That.”
Megan carefully steps toward her, clinging slightly like she’s still not fully stable.
Yoonchae keeps a hand on her arm the whole time, guiding her away from the mess.
“There we go,” she says softly. “Safe. No injuries. We’re thriving.”
“I don’t feel like I’m thriving,” Megan mumbles.
“You’re emotionally processing,” Yoonchae corrects. “Very different.”
Megan gives her a look.
It’s still watery, but there’s a hint of fondness now.
Progress again.
Yoonchae tucks a loose strand of hair behind Megan’s ear.
“Okay,” she says. “New plan. You stay here. I’ll clean up the plate.”
“No, I should do it,” Megan says immediately, guilt flaring back up like it never left. “I’m the one who broke it—”
“You are the one who is currently on the verge of crying again,” Yoonchae counters gently. “Which means you are not allowed near sharp objects.”
“I can handle it,” Megan insists weakly.
Yoonchae tilts her head.
“Can you?” she asks, not in a mean way—just… honestly.
Megan hesitates.
“…no,” she admits.
“Exactly,” Yoonchae says. “So. You sit.”
“I don’t want to just sit while you clean up my mess,” Megan protests.
“You can emotionally supervise,” Yoonchae offers.
Megan blinks.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you sit there and look pretty while I handle it,” Yoonchae says.
“That sounds fake.”
“It is a little fake,” Yoonchae admits. “But it’s also efficient.”
Megan huffs out a small laugh.
Yoonchae takes that as her cue.
“Stay,” she says, pointing lightly to the counter like Megan is a slightly fragile but very cute cat.
Megan leans against it, arms folded loosely, still sniffling a little but visibly calmer.
Yoonchae gives her one last reassuring look before turning back to the battlefield.
The plate is… very broken.
Like, impressively broken.
There are at least six big pieces and approximately a million tiny ones scattered across the tile.
“Damn,” Yoonchae mutters under her breath. “You really went all in, huh?”
“I said I was sorry,” Megan says from behind her.
“I know,” Yoonchae says quickly. “That was not judgment, that was… observational.”
Megan makes a soft noise that might be a laugh.
Yoonchae grabs a dustpan and broom from the corner, moving carefully.
She keeps half her attention on Megan the whole time.
“You doing okay over there?” she asks.
“Define okay,” Megan says.
“Not crying,” Yoonchae says.
“I’m… less crying,” Megan replies.
“I’ll take it,” Yoonchae says.
She starts sweeping the smaller pieces into a pile, working methodically.
There’s a quiet moment.
Then—
“I really am sorry,” Megan says again, softer this time.
Yoonchae pauses.
Then straightens up, turning to face her.
“Hey,” she says gently. “We’re not doing that.”
“What?”
“The repeating apology loop,” Yoonchae says. “You already apologized. I accepted. Case closed.”
Megan looks unconvinced.
“But—”
“No ‘but’,” Yoonchae says, walking back over to her. “Come here.”
Megan doesn’t even question it this time.
She lets herself be pulled into another hug.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” Yoonchae murmurs into her hair. “You’re allowed to drop things. You’re allowed to exist without being perfect all the time.”
Megan’s grip tightens slightly.
“I just hate messing things up,” she admits.
“I know,” Yoonchae says softly. “But you didn’t mess anything important up.”
She pulls back just enough to look at her again.
“Nothing about us is affected by a broken plate,” she says.
Megan searches her face, like she’s checking for any hint of a lie.
There isn’t one.
“…okay,” Megan says quietly.
“Okay,” Yoonchae echoes.
They stay like that for a second.
Then—
“Also,” Yoonchae adds, a little more lightly now, “that was not even my favourite plate.”
Megan blinks.
“…it wasn’t?”
“No,” Yoonchae says. “My favourite one is the slightly chipped bowl that we refuse to throw away.”
Megan stares at her.
“The ugly one?”
“First of all, don’t call it ugly,” Yoonchae says, offended. “It has character.”
“It has a crack,” Megan says.
“Character crack,” Yoonchae corrects.
Megan lets out a small, genuine laugh this time.
“Okay, that makes me feel… a little better,” she admits.
“Good,” Yoonchae says. “That’s the goal.”
She gently wipes under Megan’s eyes with her thumb, catching the last of the tears.
“No more crying over kitchenware,” she adds.
“I’ll try,” Megan says.
“Trying is acceptable,” Yoonchae says.
There’s a beat.
Then Megan glances past her, toward the mess still on the floor.
“…it’s still broken though,” she says.
“Yeah,” Yoonchae says. “That part is true.”
Megan sighs.
“I feel like I should help.”
“You can help by not stepping on glass,” Yoonchae says.
“That’s a low bar.”
“And yet it’s very important,” Yoonchae says.
Megan huffs.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m supervising.”
“Emotionally?” Yoonchae asks.
“Emotionally,” Megan confirms.
“Perfect.”
Yoonchae goes back to cleaning, and this time Megan stays close—but safely out of the danger zone—watching her with a softer, steadier expression.
Every now and then, their eyes meet.
Every time, Yoonchae smiles.
And every time, Megan smiles back.
By the time the last shard is swept up and the floor is wiped down, the whole thing feels… smaller.
Like it was never really about the plate in the first place.
Yoonchae straightens up, stretching slightly.
“All done,” she announces.
Megan steps closer, peering at the now spotless floor.
“…you’re so efficient,” she says.
“I’m built different,” Yoonchae says.
“That’s not true, I’ve seen you lose your mind over losing your phone when it was in your hand,” Megan says.
“That was one time,” Yoonchae protests.
“It was yesterday,” Megan says.
“Time is a social construct,” Yoonchae replies.
Megan snorts.
And just like that—
Everything is okay again.
Yoonchae looks at her for a second, taking in the now-dry eyes, the faint smile, the way her shoulders have finally relaxed.
“Better?” she asks.
“Better,” Megan says.
“Good.”
There’s a pause.
Then Megan steps forward and hugs her again.
Not tight and panicked like before.
Just… soft.
Grounded.
“I love you,” Megan murmurs.
Yoonchae smiles into her shoulder.
“I love you too,” she says.
And yeah.
The plate is gone.
But somehow, everything that actually matters feels even more intact than before.