Megan and Yoonchae°

You were nineteen, in college studying to become a professional makeup artist — not because someone told you to, but because you genuinely loved it. The eyeshadow experiments, the new techniques you'd practice on yourself at two in the morning, the little thrill of getting a blend just right. It was the one thing you never got tired of talking about.

Luckily for you, your girlfriends never got tired of listening.

Megan and Yoonchae were both twenty-one and, between the two of them, half of KATSEYE's schedule-chaos problem. Tour dates, rehearsals, interviews — it didn't matter. They always found time for you, mostly because they couldn't get enough of how you lit up whenever the word "makeup" came out of your mouth.

Megan was the loud one. The teasing one. The one who'd steal your brushes just to see you huff at her.

Yoonchae was softer, quieter — the type who'd sit beside you for hours without saying a word, perfectly content just to be near you.

And lately, she'd taken on a new job title: your favorite makeup model.

It was a quiet afternoon at the apartment.

Megan sat at the dining table with her laptop open, hacking away at whatever she'd been avoiding all morning. Every few minutes she'd take a sip of her drink, stare at her screen, sigh, and keep going.

On the couch, Yoonchae was half-watching TV, feet tucked under her, completely at ease.

Peaceful. Suspiciously peaceful.

Until you appeared.

You came down the hall with your makeup bag in one hand, a fistful of brushes in the other, and a very specific mission in mind.

Yoonchae.

Your favorite human-sized practice canvas.

You stopped in front of the couch and looked down at her.

"Yoonchae."

"Hm?" She glanced away from the TV.

"Can I do your makeup?"

She smiled before you'd even finished the sentence. "Of course, baby."

That was all you needed.

You set your supplies on the coffee table with surprising care, then climbed right into her lap, arranging your products around you like a surgeon laying out instruments. Yoonchae — without even thinking about it — wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you.

"Are you gonna make me pretty?" she asked, voice soft, a hint of tease in it.

You gasped. Actually gasped.

"You're already pretty!"

She giggled. "Okay, okay."

At the dining table, Megan glanced up at the sound of your voices. She smiled at the sight — you perched in Yoonchae's lap, unpacking brushes with the deadly seriousness of a professional meeting their most important client — and went back to work.

Or tried to.

Five minutes later, she looked up again.

And that's when she saw it.

You were leaning in close, carefully working eyeshadow across Yoonchae's lid, your little tongue poking out in concentration. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes narrowed. So locked in that you hadn't even noticed Yoonchae wasn't watching TV anymore.

She was watching you.

Yoonchae, for her part, had never looked happier. She sat perfectly still, blinking only when absolutely necessary, the tiniest smile pulling at her lips.

"Baby," she whispered.

"Don't move," you murmured, not even looking up.

Her mouth snapped shut immediately. "Okay."

Megan looked up a third time.

She stared.

Then, slowly, she lowered her laptop screen.

"Oh, my God."

Neither of you heard her.

Megan leaned back in her chair and just… watched. You switched brushes, tilted Yoonchae's chin with two fingers to catch a better angle, completely absorbed. You were taking this job very seriously.

And Yoonchae looked like she'd happily sit there for the next six hours if it meant keeping you exactly where you were.

Megan shook her head, an affectionate smile creeping in despite herself.

She was supposed to be working.

Unfortunately, both of her adorable girlfriends were on the couch, and one of them was currently sticking her tongue out while doing the other's makeup.

Work could wait five more minutes.

Probably.

…Maybe ten.

Make tem long and detailed