One-shots (Jensoo)

Unplanned

The loft apartment smelled of rich coffee and old vinyl, the comfortable scent of two lives meticulously blended. Jennie and Jisoo had been married for one beautiful, breathless year. Their relationship was a masterpiece of planning, their wedding was exactly six months after Jennie finished her production residency, their honeymoon perfectly timed before Jisoo would get busy with work.

Jennie, with her sharp, creative mind and striking features, was enjoying a newfound stability. She had always navigated the world with a certain masculine confidence, comfortable in the skin she was born into, yet entirely devoted to the partner she had chosen. Her identity was complex, but her love for Jisoo was the simplest truth she knew.

They were young, Jennie was twenty-four, Jisoo twenty-five, and their future was a detailed five-year plan involving international travel, career milestones, and, perhaps much later, a tiny golden retriever. Children belonged to the distant, mythological age of stability, reserved for when their bank accounts looked like phone numbers.

One Tuesday morning, their perfect timeline shattered.

Jisoo had been battling waves of nausea for two weeks, dismissing it as stress from work. She was sitting on the edge of the sleek, tiled bathroom floor, a cheap drugstore test resting like a tiny, white grenade on the bathmat.

Jennie knelt beside her, rubbing small circles on her back. "It's probably just the flu, my love. Or maybe you shouldn't have eaten that suspiciously green street taco yesterday."

Jisoo didn't laugh. She stared at the two blue lines, faint but undeniable, that glowed accusingly in the morning light.

"Jennie," her voice was a thin, unfamiliar whisper. "It's... it's positive."

Jennie froze. Her hand stopped moving on Jisoo's back. For a long moment, there was only the frantic hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"No," Jennie finally stated, a nervous laugh escaping her. "That's impossible. We're so careful. We track everything."

"I missed a few days last month, remember? Stress." Jisoo picked up the test, her hand trembling. Her own body, which she had always treated like a well-oiled machine, had staged a rebellion. "It happened, Jennie."

The initial shock gave way to a surge of pure, cold panic in Jennie's chest. This wasn't just a deviation, it was an abandonment of the blueprint.

"We can't," Jennie said, standing up and running a frustrated hand through her hair. "Jisoo, listen to me. We aren't ready. We have the Tokyo residency in October. We haven't even paid off the wedding debt fully. This isn't how our life is supposed to look right now."

Jisoo looked up at her wife, seeing the fear starkly etched on her face, a fear that masked itself as logistical rage.

"It's not perfect timing, I know," Jisoo said softly, tears welling up. "But it's ours. It's a baby, Jennie."

"It's an obstacle," Jennie retorted, the words sharper than she intended. She saw Jisoo flinch, and instantly regretted the cruelty, but the fear was too overwhelming to retract. "It changes everything we worked for. We need to talk about options."

The simple word 'options' hung in the air, thick and poisoned. Jisoo stood up, her jaw set.

"Don't. Don't even finish that sentence, Jennie," Jisoo said, her voice now hard and fierce. "I just found out five minutes ago, and already, I feel something shifting inside me. This life, however unplanned, is happening. I am keeping this baby."

—

The next two weeks were a study in strained politeness. They ate dinner in silence, slept inches apart, and spoke only in clipped functional sentences, "Did you pay the electricity bill?" "I'll be late tonight."