"We're going to the hospital."
Ha-rin said it like she was announcing an execution.
I paused while tying my shoes.
"Going," I repeated. "Now?"
"Yes. Today. Right now."
Internally, my thoughts began running in tight circles.
Hospital. Doctors. Public places. Cameras. Breathing. Is my breathing normal?
Externally, I stood up calmly.
"Understood," I said.
She squinted at me. "Why do you look like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to attend a meeting."
"This is a meeting," I said. "With medical professionals."
She groaned and grabbed her cap. "You're unbelievable."
The taxi ride was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ha-rin sat by the window, arms crossed, knee bouncing slightly. I sat straight, hands folded, eyes forward.
If someone recognizes her, what is the protocol? Do I lie? Run? Pretend to be furniture?
"Stop staring," she muttered.
"I am not."
"You're thinking loudly."
"That is not possible."
She huffed. "You're nervous."
"No."
She turned to me slowly. "You are."
I hesitated for half a second too long.
"…I am prepared," I corrected.
"That's not what I said."
I looked out the window.
"Prepared people," she continued, "don't grip their sleeves like that."
I released my sleeve immediately.
Silence.
"…You don't like hospitals?" she asked, quieter.
"I dislike variables," I replied. "Hospitals contain many."
She stared at me, then clicked her tongue.
"Tch. You should've said that earlier."
She shifted closer.
Not touching.Just closer.
My heart rate betrayed me again.
The clinic was discreet. Thankfully.
Still, Ha-rin walked like someone expecting a flashbulb to explode at any moment.
"This way," I said, holding the door.
She paused. Looked at me.
"…You don't have to do that."
"I know."
She walked through anyway.
Inside the consultation room, Ha-rin sat stiffly on the edge of the chair.
The doctor spoke gently. Too gently.
"We'll just do a routine checkup."
Ha-rin nodded aggressively. "Yes. Routine. Normal. Nothing special."
The doctor smiled. "Of course."
I sat beside her.
Close enough that our arms almost touched.
Do not move. Moving will be noticeable.
The doctor asked questions.Ha-rin answered quickly. Too quickly.
"Yes.""No.""I'm fine.""I said I'm fine."
Her foot kept bouncing.
The doctor glanced at me. "And you are…?"
"Han Seo-jun," I said. "Related."
Ha-rin shot me a look.
"Related?" she hissed.
"Involved," I corrected.
The doctor nodded like she understood far too much.
After a few minutes, the doctor left to prepare tests.
The room fell silent.
Ha-rin exhaled sharply and leaned back.
"…I hate this."
"That is reasonable," I said.
She rubbed her temples. "Everyone keeps looking at me like I'm fragile."
"I am not."
"I am aware."
She glanced at me. "You're bad at comforting people."
"I am trying."
She stared at me.
"…You're trying?"
"Yes."
Her expression softened for exactly one second.
Then she turned away.
"Don't misunderstand," she muttered. "I'm just stressed."
"Understood."
"…And don't think this means I trust you."
"That would be premature."
She frowned. "Why do you agree so easily?"
"Because arguing would increase your stress."
She looked at me again.
"…You're annoying."
"Yes."
She hesitated, then quietly said—
"…Stay here."
"I am here."
"No. I mean—don't leave the room."
My chest tightened.
"I will not," I said.
Internally, I had already decided that.
When the doctor returned, Ha-rin straightened instantly.
Back to idol posture.Perfect. Controlled.
I watched it happen.
So that's how she survives.
As the checkup began, Ha-rin reached down and tugged my sleeve—small, quick, like she didn't want anyone to notice.
I didn't move.
I stayed still.
Calm face.Steady voice.Heart racing.
This was not part of my plan.
But neither was letting go.