Alive

The Weight of the Truth

A sudden rush of nausea swept through you so hard it almost bent you in half. You pressed a hand against your stomach and stumbled up from the bed.

"Ah—I need to use your bathroom," you blurted, your voice sharp with panic.

Jaebeom's brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his dark eyes, but he didn't press you. He only nodded once, silently granting you space. You rushed out, barely making it in time before you collapsed in front of the toilet.

The sound of retching filled the small tiled room, ugly and raw. Your chest heaved, and your hands clutched desperately at the cool porcelain rim, grounding yourself. The world felt too bright, too heavy. When your body finally gave you a reprieve, you leaned back against the bathtub, trembling, your skin clammy.

Your vision swam, head light and dizzy. That's when you heard the soft creak of the door.

"I got you some water," Jaebeom said quietly, crouching in front of you. His large frame folded down with unexpected gentleness, one strong hand steady as he passed you a glass.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, fragile but sincere. "Thank you..." Your voice cracked as you accepted it. The cool rim pressed to your lips, and you took small, careful sips, not trusting your stomach for more.

Jaebeom didn't speak right away. He only watched you, worry tightening his features, as you flushed the toilet weakly.

"I'm really sorry about the preg—" he began, his voice low, but you cut him off before the word could leave his mouth.

"It's fine," you lied, almost too quickly. A sigh slipped from your lips, one hand dragging over your face. Your eyes burned, but you refused to cry here, not now.

He didn't argue. Instead, he reached forward, brushing stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, tucking them tenderly behind your ear. The gesture, so simple, made your chest ache.

"The doctor said we need to go back in a week," he murmured, his tone firm, almost commanding. "So I want you to take it easy until then."

There was no room for debate in his voice. It wasn't a request—it was a decision. You only nodded, too tired to resist.

With effort, you rose from the tiled floor, legs shaky. "I'll... I'll shower and get dressed. Then maybe make some breakfast," you whispered, trying to sound normal, stable. But the words fell flat. Without waiting for his response, you left the bathroom, needing the thin barrier of a door between you.

In your own room, you shut the door behind you and leaned against it for a long moment. The silence pressed heavy against your ears. You forced your legs toward the bathroom, turned on the water, and began to undress, peeling away layers as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

The steam fogged the mirror, blurring your reflection. You stood there, naked, raw, vulnerable, your hand pressing against your stomach.

"I can't be pregnant," you whispered, the words breaking off into a bitter laugh. Louder this time, as if to force conviction, you muttered, "Go away. I'm not ready yet."

Your voice cracked.

The door behind you clicked open.

"What's going on—" Jaebeom's voice cut through the hiss of the shower, then stopped short. He sighed, heavy and deep, before stepping closer. "It's going to be okay."

You startled, pulling your hand away from your belly as though you'd been caught doing something shameful. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be loud," you stammered, embarrassment flooding your chest.

For a long moment, he only looked at you, gaze unreadable, jaw tense. Then, softer, he said, "It's alright." He paused, then added with unexpected casualness, "How about we shower together tonight?"