Chapter 8

KATSEYE didn’t get many full days off, and when they did, the six of them made it count.

By late morning, they were already gathered around a café table tucked in the corner of a sunlit terrace. Megan sat between Yoonchae and Lara, head down over her iced coffee, still visibly tired despite the brightness of the day. It was one of those lazy, quiet mornings where nobody felt like talking too loud—except maybe Manon, who was dramatically narrating the menu like it was a Shakespearean tragedy.

“I’m telling you,” she said, flipping the page with flair, “if I have to eat one more dry vegan patty I might combust.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, chewing the straw of her smoothie. “You say that and yet you ordered the same thing last week.”

Lara smiled, eyes flitting across the table. She’d been watching Megan all morning, keeping her distance, not quite sure how to approach it—until now.

“Hey,” she said softly, nudging Megan’s arm, “Can we go grab napkins or something?”

Megan blinked. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

She followed Lara into the little café interior, where it was quieter. They stood by the napkin stand, neither reaching for anything. It was Lara who broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice low but steady. “For reading your journal.”

Megan didn’t answer right away. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, like she had to physically keep herself from closing off completely.

“I didn’t mean to,” Lara added. “But I did. And I saw enough to know I screwed up.”

Megan exhaled, shaky. “It wasn’t just the reading, Lara. You didn’t even talk to me. You just… treated me like I was made of glass.”

“I was scared I’d make it worse.”

“You did.”

That landed like a slap. Lara winced but nodded. “Okay. I deserved that.”

Megan rubbed her eyes. “I just… I already feel like a freak most days. I didn’t need you looking at me like I was broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Lara said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. I just got caught in my own guilt. But I miss you, Mei.”

It was quiet for a long beat. Then Megan whispered, “I miss you too.”

The ice melted between them in that moment, subtle but real. When they walked back to the table, Lara cracked a stupid joke and Megan actually laughed, and for the first time in days, something felt normal again.

The pub later that evening was loud and alive with neon signs and sticky floors. Manon had dragged them there on a whim, promising “real beer and fake flirting.” Megan had half-expected everyone to come, but Sophia and Yoonchae(not like Yoonchae could go anyway) had begged off, already in pajamas by sunset.

So it was just the four of them: Manon, Lara, Megan, and Daniela.

Daniela, who had dressed a little sharper than usual—her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, a silver ring on each finger, black eyeliner just a touch more dramatic than normal.

Megan noticed. Of course she did. She tried not to.

They sat in a booth at the back, drinks in hand, half-yelling over the music.

“This playlist is giving 2015 Tumblr energy,” Lara yelled. “And I’m not mad about it.”

Megan smiled faintly, sipping her drink. It was strong. She didn’t mind.

That’s when she noticed Daniela wasn’t at the table.

She turned—and there she was. Near the bar. Surrounded.

Three guys, maybe four, standing close and laughing at something she said. Daniela tossed her hair over her shoulder, smiling, a drink in her hand she hadn’t bought for herself. One of the guys leaned in, murmured something in her ear.

And she laughed.

Megan felt it like a sting.

It shouldn’t hurt. Daniela was straight. She’d always said so—loudly, casually, offhandedly, like it was obvious. This wasn’t anything new.

But seeing it felt different now. Maybe because Megan had finally let herself hope a little, even if she hadn’t meant to. Maybe because the way Daniela had looked at her lately felt different. Or maybe because deep down, she still hadn’t figured out how to stop caring.

She looked away, forcing her attention back to her glass.

Across from her, Lara was watching too, her mouth pulled tight.

“She’s overdoing it,” Manon said quietly.

“What?” Megan asked, pretending not to understand.

Manon didn’t repeat herself.

But Megan knew what she meant.

Daniela wasn’t just flirting. She was performing.

And Megan hated how well she recognized it.

_______

Meanwhile, across the pub, Daniela laughed too loudly at another guy’s joke. Her heart wasn’t in it, but she smiled anyway. She kept glancing back at the booth, checking if anyone was watching.

They were.

She didn’t know what she was doing, exactly. The flirting came easy—she’d been doing it forever. Compliments, eye contact, that flirty shoulder touch she’d perfected in high school. Boys liked her. It was simple.

And yet it felt hollow tonight.

The guy closest to her leaned in again, clearly hoping to move things somewhere more private. Daniela smiled politely, but her eyes drifted back to the booth.

Megan wasn’t looking.

Lara was. Manon too.

Suddenly she felt transparent, like they all knew. Like they could see through her performance to the confusion underneath.

You’re straight, she reminded herself.
You’ve always been.

But the words didn’t stick as well as they used to.

_________

Back at the booth, Megan excused herself to the bathroom.

She needed a moment.

Inside the dim, graffiti-covered stall, she pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to will the heat away. She wasn’t jealous. She had no right to be. Daniela had never promised her anything. Never even hinted.

Still, the image of Daniela smiling up at that guy clung to her vision like smoke.

Stop it, she told herself. You’re being ridiculous.

But the ache didn’t listen.

By the time she returned, Daniela was back at the table, cheeks flushed and drink half-gone.

Manon raised an eyebrow. “Make some new friends?”

Daniela laughed. “Something like that.”

Megan sat down quietly.

The tension hung invisible but heavy.

Later, when they stepped outside into the cool night, Daniela shivered slightly and pulled her jacket tighter.

Megan walked a little ahead with Lara, silent, lost in thought.

Behind them, Manon bumped shoulders with Daniela. “So,” she said casually, “did the flirting help?”

Daniela blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed… tense. Before.”

Daniela laughed, but it came out shaky. “I just needed a distraction.”

“From?”

She didn’t answer.

But when she looked toward Megan, who was walking just a few feet ahead—shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the sidewalk—it was enough of one.