Not long ago, at a checkup, they had heard the baby’s heartbeat. For something so impossibly small, the sound was startlingly strong — as if it were announcing its existence to say, just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean you get to doubt me. That day, Yuhan had looked more shaken than Jinwoo — whether from shock or from being moved, it was hard to tell.
He felt as though he could hear that heartbeat in his ears right now.
“This artist works with salvaged industrial materials….”
He hoped Yuhan, who had his arm wrapped around his waist — careful not to press too tightly — couldn’t hear his own heartbeat as they walked slowly, matching each other’s pace. Thud, thud — it was as if his heart had turned to stone, aching with every beat.
“I thought it would appeal to you — it has that kind of sensibility.”
It wasn’t just the date he had arranged. Many of the genres featured here had been introduced in the magazines and columns Jinwoo had been quietly interested in over time. He must have known all of it. There was no other way he could have spoken with such certainty.
He felt embarrassed, confused — and bewildered. This was exactly why Jinwoo had wanted to draw a line. Early on in their cohabitation, they had exchanged nothing more than obligatory greetings, and even those were skipped more days than not. The “evening tea time” that had suddenly materialized one day was no different. He had agreed that it wasn’t good for them to be too cold toward each other — appearances mattered — but the physical closeness had been steadily increasing. Is this okay? he would wonder, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to push it away because his body felt at ease right now.
What is he trying to do. Yuhan, who kept adjusting himself more and more to suit Jinwoo, felt unfamiliar — and…nice.
“Jinwoo? Are you uncomfortable somewhere? Does your stomach hurt…?”
“Oh — no. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you’re not feeling nauseous? You didn’t eat properly this morning either.”
“I had something before I came out.”
The people around them stirred at the sight of Yuhan’s undivided concern. Murmurs rippled through the crowd — they seem so in love, so the whole business marriage thing was a lie — voices circling around the two of them. Listening to it all, Jinwoo genuinely began to feel sick.
Only the two of them knew how different the reality was from what everyone else saw. That gap dragged his buoyant mood all the way down to the floor.
“Ah…. Huu….”
He had actually been fine. But his stomach turned over rapidly.
“Just a moment….”
He pushed Yuhan away and ran toward the restroom. The sticky, clinging gazes on his back were unbearable.
There was nothing to bring up when he retched. He had said he’d eaten something before coming, but the truth was he hadn’t eaten at all. The grief of not knowing when the morning sickness would end welled up and spilled over. Jinwoo told himself the sudden emotional shift was just hormones. Thinking that the envious looks surrounding him and Yuhan had only ever come from something Yuhan had staged — something performed for show — made it hurt even more.
Had he planned this from the beginning. If he appeared untroubled on the outside, his standing would only grow stronger — so he might have naturally drawn Jinwoo into that picture for exactly that reason. Saying nothing would make the reactions seem more real.
“Hk….”
He sank to the floor. He had hoped alone, imagined alone, and now he was falling apart alone.
Could anything be more miserable than this.
He knew he had to go back. He needed to tidy himself up, blame the morning sickness, walk back out with a smile, apologize for the disruption, and make clear that everything was fine. That was what Yuhan would want.
He tried to force himself up, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. He just wanted to sit here exactly like this for an hour, two hours, without moving at all.
Then, from beyond the door, he heard Yuhan’s voice.
“Jinwoo, are you okay? Open the door for me.”
He must have finished handling the situation outside and come after him. Jinwoo didn’t want him to see the state he was surely in. Whether Yuhan had used him or not — he still didn’t want to be seen like this, undone and unguarded.
“I’m — fine.”
Whether from the stomach acid he had brought up, his throat stung. He cleared it with a small sound and said it again, I’m fine — but all that came back was: if you’re fine, open the door. After a brief hesitation, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and unlocked it. Yuhan, who pushed inside the next second, looked more urgent than Jinwoo had ever seen him.
“Look at me. Where does it hurt? Is it just your stomach?”
He didn’t have the energy to answer the rapid-fire questions one by one. Looking at Yuhan’s worried face as he checked him over, the grief surged back up and clogged his throat.
“Jinwoo? Is it bad? This won’t do. Let’s go to the hospital.”
“No, that’s —”
“Even if you don’t want to, I’m not letting this go.”
It wasn’t until Yuhan’s hand brushed across his cheek that he realized. I’m crying.
Whether it was a physical reaction from the retching, or because his gentleness was simply too much to bear — he couldn’t tell.
Even with Yuhan’s support, his legs refused to move properly, and in the end he was carried out of the building entirely, cradled in his arms. Not wanting to hear the murmuring voices, he buried his face in Yuhan’s shoulder and covered his ears. Even on the ride to the emergency room, he stayed in his arms and didn’t pull away. He resented him, wanted nothing to do with him — but being apart felt even worse.
The far corner of the emergency room was unpopular with patients because the medical staff rarely looked over that way — but for Jinwoo, it was a relief. He had barely begun to relax when a procession of doctors arrived in succession: the emergency medicine professor first, then internal medicine, then obstetrics — unsettling him all over again, though it was unavoidable protocol.
“There are mild signs of malnutrition and dehydration. How would you feel about staying for one night so we can monitor you?”
“That much seems unnecessary —”
Before he could finish refusing — he’d thought it was just a momentary dip in energy, not serious enough for a hospital stay — Yuhan cut through his words.
“Yes. We’ll do that.”
The composed, almost cool expression on his face felt unfamiliar. It was the same look Jinwoo had seen often just a few months ago — and yet now, the Yuhan who didn’t wear it anymore felt more like himself. He was struck by the irony of realizing, in a place like this, how much more at ease they had grown with each other.
Once Yuhan gave the word, everything moved swiftly. Three IV bags were hung from Jinwoo’s arm after he changed into a hospital gown — vitamins, fluids, one after the next. With all of that dangling from him, there was nowhere to go. He was a proper patient now, stuck in place.
The nurse and the secretary had both stepped out, leaving the two of them alone in the hospital room at last. The silence felt particularly heavy. In a space where only the steady drip of the IV marked the time, Jinwoo wrung at the blanket in his hands for something to do. Yuhan sat in the bedside chair, watching him.
“Earlier — I’m sorry for running off like that…. I tried to hold on, but…….”
With the person who was supposed to be overseeing everything having disappeared midway, people would talk. He had put a dent in Yuhan’s reputation. Today’s exhibition had undoubtedly taken tremendous effort and preparation. They had married for mutual benefit, and Jinwoo had done the opposite — he had dragged Yuhan down. He would have accepted it quietly, even if Yuhan got angry and demanded compensation.
The sound of Yuhan rising from the chair reached him. He wouldn’t resort to violence — not in his nature — but there might be a side to him Jinwoo had never seen. Jinwoo shut his eyes tight and braced himself for whatever was coming.
But his hand reached not for his face — but for his own, which had gone white.
“Don’t make me feel so useless….”
He had every reason to say something like that — Jinwoo had let people see him refusing to lean on his husband in front of everyone who mattered. But —
“Ah…, I’m sorry….”
He hadn’t expected it, so the apology came again on instinct. He didn’t know if it would ease Yuhan’s frustration, but it was better than saying nothing.
Yuhan’s head, which had been bowed low, slowly rose. Jinwoo had been certain it would be twisted with anger — but —
“Yuhan…? Why are you….”
It wasn’t anger. His expression looked as though he might cry, and Jinwoo’s own chest lurched in response.
“I thought you when you said you were fine, you actually were. You said you were managing to eat somehow — and like an idiot, I believed that. If I had known you were struggling this much, I wouldn’t have pushed for it….”
Jinwoo was confused. His words were not about his own career or reputation — they were riddled with guilt and self-reproach directed entirely at Jinwoo.
“I’ve been living in my own little paradise this whole time, completely unaware that your body had already fallen this far apart.”
His eyes had gone red, and looked as though a single touch would send the tears spilling over.
His thoughts were spinning. It had been only a matter of hours since he had made up his mind not to hope for anything. He had run to that bathroom, brought everything up, and even as the tightness in his chest refused to lift, he had beaten at it with his fist and made a vow. And yet —
“Why are you doing this, really…?”
He pressed his hand shut, though the needle made it hard to form a proper fist.
“Saying things like that — makes me…, expect things. Why do you keep doing this, really….”
“Have I…, made you expect things, Jinwoo…?”
