It started in the morning.
I knew something was wrong because the apartment was too quiet.
Not the normal quiet.The suspicious kind.
I was pouring water into the kettle when I heard it.
The bathroom door slammed.
Then—
"…Ugh."
I froze.
Internally: That sounded unpleasant.Externally, I set the kettle down calmly.
"Ha-rin," I called. "Are you—"
The sound answered for her.
I walked to the bathroom and stopped outside the door.
"Should I—" I began.
"NO," she snapped immediately.
There was another unpleasant sound.
"…I'm fine," she added weakly.
That statement was statistically unlikely.
I waited.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Ha-rin stepped out, face pale, hair tied messily, eyes sharp with irritation.
"This is stupid," she said.
"You appear unwell," I replied.
"I am NOT unwell," she snapped. "My body is just… betraying me."
She took two steps.
Then stopped.
Her hand flew to her mouth again.
I was already holding a glass of water.
I did not remember picking it up.
She stared at it.
"…When did you get that?"
"Recently."
She took it, drank, then glared at me.
"Don't look at me like that."
"I am assessing."
"Stop assessing!"
"I will reduce assessment."
She sank onto the sofa, arms crossed tightly.
"This is not morning sickness," she declared.
"It is morning," I said.
"That's not what I meant!"
She leaned forward suddenly.
I handed her the trash bin.
She paused.
"…How did you know?"
"I anticipated," I said.
That was not entirely true.My heart was racing.
She sat back, breathing slowly.
"…I hate this," she muttered. "I hate feeling weak."
"You are not weak," I said immediately.
She shot me a glare. "Don't say comforting things."
"I was stating an observation."
"That's worse!"
She stood abruptly.
"We're going to the hospital."
"Yes," I said.
"Now."
"Yes."
She paused.
"…Why do you agree so easily?"
"Because delaying would worsen symptoms."
She clicked her tongue. "Annoying."
The taxi ride was quiet.
Ha-rin sat rigidly, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
I watched the reflection in the window.
She's pale.Too pale.This is worse than before.
I kept my hands folded.
"Stop staring," she muttered.
"I am monitoring."
"I don't need monitoring!"
She leaned forward suddenly.
I spoke to the driver calmly.
"Please stop."
The driver did.
I opened the door before she could protest.
She barely made it.
When she came back, she looked furious.
"…I'm fine," she said.
"Yes," I replied. "Obviously."
She glared. "Sarcasm?"
"No. Compliance."
She turned away.
"…This is humiliating."
I hesitated.
Then said, "It is temporary."
She scoffed. "You say that like you're sure."
"I am trying to be."
She went quiet after that.
At the hospital, she walked fast, like anger alone could keep her upright.
The nurse took one look at her and gestured immediately.
"This way."
Ha-rin sat on the bed, arms crossed, expression stormy.
"I told you I was fine," she said.
The doctor smiled patiently. "You're angry."
"Because I feel sick."
"That happens."
"I don't like it."
"I can tell."
The doctor asked questions.
Ha-rin answered sharply.
"Yes.""No.""It started today.""I didn't eat anything weird."
She glanced at me.
"…He's just here."
The doctor nodded. "Support is good."
"I don't need support," Ha-rin snapped.
She paused.
"…I mean—"
"You don't like needing it," the doctor corrected gently.
Ha-rin looked away.
The doctor checked vitals.
"Morning sickness," she said calmly. "Normal. Unpleasant, but normal."
Ha-rin frowned. "It's not just mornings."
"Yes," the doctor agreed. "That's the lie part."
I noted that.
Ha-rin did not appreciate it.
"So what," she said, "I just live like this now?"
"No," the doctor replied. "It will fluctuate."
Ha-rin scowled. "I hate fluctuating."
"That's also normal."
Ha-rin crossed her arms tighter.
"This body," she muttered, "is not listening to me."
I spoke without thinking.
"It does not mean it is against you."
Both of them looked at me.
I cleared my throat.
"…I read."
Ha-rin stared.
"…You read?"
"Yes."
She looked away quickly.
"Tch. That's creepy."
"I will stop."
"Don't."
I stopped stopping.
On the way home, Ha-rin leaned back in the taxi, eyes closed.
"…I hate today," she said quietly.
"I understand."
"…I hate that you're calm."
"I am not," I replied.
She cracked one eye open. "You're lying."
"Yes."
She closed her eye again.
"…Stay close," she muttered.
"I am here."
She sighed.
Angry.Tired.Human.
And for the first time since this started, I understood something clearly.
This was no longer theoretical.
It was happening.