Yoon Ha-rin slammed her phone down on the table.
I flinched.
Internally.
Externally, I maintained eye contact with my cup of tea.
"What happened?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
She crossed her arms, leaned back on the sofa, and glared at the ceiling like it had committed a crime.
"…Why are you so calm?" she snapped.
"I am sitting," I replied. "Calmness is a byproduct."
"That's not what I meant!"
She grabbed her phone again and shoved it toward me.
"Look."
I leaned in.
It was a Stargram reel. Someone's voice cheerfully explained:
'When you get pregnant, your belly grows—and even after pregnancy, it might never go back completely!'
Ha-rin froze the video.
"…Why," she asked slowly, "does the internet know?"
I straightened.
My heart rate increased by approximately thirty percent.
I did not show this.
"Algorithms are observant," I said.
She shot me a look. "That's not comforting."
"I apologize."
She sighed loudly and dragged a hand through her hair.
"Do you know what people say about idols?" she continued."They zoom in. Screenshots. Slow motion. 'Her waist looks different.'They notice everything."
I nodded.
Inside my head, I was screaming:This is bad. Say something correct. Don't mess this up.
Out loud, I said, "That sounds stressful."
She stared at me.
"…That's it?"
"I am listening."
She scoffed. "You're impossible."
She stood up and began pacing.
"I didn't choose this," she said. "I didn't wake up and think, 'Wow, today would be a great day to risk my entire career.'"
"I know," I said immediately.
Too immediately.
She stopped walking and looked at me.
"…You do?"
"Yes."
My hands were clenched slightly.
I relaxed them.
"You were placed under pressure," I continued. "Excessive pressure leads to poor outcomes."
She blinked.
"…Why do you talk like you're defending me in court?"
"Because," I said honestly, "someone should."
Her expression shifted—just for a second.
Then she clicked her tongue.
"Don't misunderstand," she said quickly. "I'm not grateful or anything."
"Understood."
"And don't look at me like that."
"I am looking normally."
"You're thinking something."
I was.
I was thinking about how fragile she looked right now.About how angry people often got when they were scared.
I did not say that.
"I am thinking," I said carefully, "that Stargram should be muted."
She huffed. "I tried. It still shows me baby stuff."
"That is unfortunate."
She sat down again, quieter now.
"…Do you think I'll change a lot?" she asked, not looking at me.
My chest tightened.
I chose my words slowly.
"Yes," I said. "But change is not the same as damage."
She frowned. "You say that too easily."
"That is because I am not allowed to value you only for appearance."
She turned sharply. "Allowed?"
"I refuse," I corrected.
Silence.
She stared at me, eyes unreadable.
"…You're really not panicking," she said.
"I am," I replied.
She blinked. "You are?"
"Yes."
She waited.
"I am simply doing it internally."
"…That's worse."
"Possibly."
She laughed—short and surprised.
Then she stopped herself and looked away.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she muttered. "I'm still mad."
"That is acceptable."
"And this living together thing—don't think it means anything."
"I am not thinking that."
She glanced at me.
"…You really aren't, are you?"
"No."
That answer seemed to annoy her.
She hugged a cushion to her chest.
"…Still," she said quietly, "thanks for not making this harder."
My throat tightened.
I nodded once.
"You may complain freely," I said. "I will listen."
She scoffed. "You're weird."
"Yes."
"…But don't leave."
That sentence hit harder than expected.
"I will not," I said calmly.
Internally, I was anything but calm.