25 weeks

The buzzing of her phone wakes her up, insistent and irritating. She groans, but sits up anyway – it's not like she was enjoying her dreams.

One arm wraps around her belly, an unconscious gesture to soothe the baby – it seems as if he believes he needs to start causing a ruckus as soon as she's awake, and as the weeks have gone on, his kicks have become ever more forceful.

It's not a call, as she expected. Instead, it's a Gossip Girl blast. That alone would be enough for her to ignore it, but the name in the header stops her.

Kim Jongdae.

Her heart stops. Oh god, no. Not Jongdae – not kind, happy Jongdae. The can't have got to him too. What is wrong with this woman (person? She's honestly not sure if it's a man or woman; no one is)? Does she have some kind of personal vendetta against her?

Against her will, she clicks on the malicious little notification. It's a short little piece, this time, but it doesn't need to be long: the picture that accompanies it does all the talking.

My, my, little Jongdae. My, my...

Her stomach turns, and – perhaps in reaction to her rapid heartbeat – the baby kicks even harder. Oh, no. It's not a surprise – she has known Jongdae for almost all of his life; the knowledge that he is gay is nothing new – but the photo is far too intimate, as he kisses another man for all he's worth.

“Oh, Jongdae,” she murmurs, a horrible sense of helplessness settling over her. This will kill Narae, she knows it; the fact that she couldn't protect her baby brother will break her heart, and Hyerin can't help but feel guilty. She's only here because of her, after all.

Perhaps her mother was right, she thinks dryly; she really does ruin people's lives.

***

She knows Narae has read the blast when she hears the soft, wordless squeak – verging on a scream – from the next room, and her best friend barrels into her room, hair a mess and nightgown askew.

It's strangely comforting to see her normally perfect best friend a mess.

“Have you seen this?” She s her phone at her, hands shaking, “have you seen what my idiotic brother has done?” The word idiotic comes out breathlessly, as if Narae cannot contain her fury. Hyerin knows that it is not really aimed at Jongdae; it is aimed at herself, for not being able to stop this getting out.

It doesn't matter that there is nothing she could have done. Narae will still blame herself, because that is the kind of person she is.

“I have,” she says quietly, shifting a little in her bed so that Narae can sit next to her. The baby churns inside her at the change in positions, and she her belly uneasily. “I'm sorry, Rae,” she says, as Narae lays her head on her shoulder tiredly.

“S'not your fault,” Narae mumbles, and Hyerin wraps an arm around her tightly. She swallows. “It's just....”

“He'll be okay,” Hyerin speaks with more confidence than she feels, “it's not like they can prove it's him, anyway.”

Narae snorts. “Oh, that's definitely my brother.” She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “I recognise the bar. It's one of his favourites.”

“Ah,” Hyerin says delicately. There really is no response to that. “Well, he can always deny it's him.” Of course, that depends on Jongdae wanting to deny it's him, and they both know how stubborn he can be.

It's a difficult situation. Jongdae is not Zhou Mi, apart from their circle of gossip by the fact he provides them with the means to be more beautiful than anyone else. Nor is he Kyuhyun, so much a wild-child that sleeping with men is old news.

He is fair game, and that alone will crush his reputation, much like it did hers.

***

The next morning, she declines any breakfast, studiously avoiding Sungah's probing look as she flicks through a magazine she sent her out to buy specifically. She leaves Narae in the dining room, and curls up in the living room, feet tucked under her.

It's a fashion magazine, and the various pages of clothes would usually be something she'd be interested in, but – mindful of her expanded waistline – she ignores them, not quite masochistic enough to put herself through that much torture.

She finds the page she's looking for easily enough. It's not just a cliché to say she'd recognise his face anywhere; she genuinely would, which is both extremely sad and embarrassing.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Narae materializes without a sound, that unerring ability of hers to just appear when she's doing something she shouldn't be flaring up once again.

She looks up from the magazine in her lap. “Doing what?” She asks, deliberately vague. She knows exactly what she's doing, of course – but for some reason, she feels a need to force Narae to vocalise it.

Narae gestures to the photo-spread she's been looking at. “Keeping up with him like that.”

Her stomach clenches, for once not from indigestion. “I was just looking,” she says, like a child caught stealing something important. “It's okay to look.”

Narae sighs, walking over to sit next to her. “It's not when it's going to make you sad.” She smooths an errant lock of hair behind her ear, looking disappointed. It's the disappointed look that always does it, Hyerin thinks. If she was angry, or annoyed, it would be easier to deal with.

Disappointment just makes her feel helpless.

She swallows, shrugging helplessly. “I,” she pauses, taking a deep breath. The baby flips inside of her, the movement causing her to shift uncomfortably. “I can't help it,” she mumbles, “it's like a compulsion.”

“Do you want to go back to him?” Narae tries her best to sound calm, playing the question off as an expression of interest, but she can hear the tension behind it. She knows Narae will never forgive him for leaving her like that. She supposes it is only fair; if it were the other way round, she would be planning to tear him to pieces, too.

Instead, she's just stuck wanting him.

She stares down at the shiny, perfect photos in her lap. It's just a fashion spread, something about menswear by a famous brand – but that's not why she's interested in it. She's more interested in the pensive looking man wearing the clothes. It's the shoot he had in London, she realises faintly; she recognises the landmarks.

He looks amazing, but then he always does. “There's no point,” she says finally, unable to answer the question directly. It hurts too much. “He doesn't really love me.”

Silence reigns for a moment, as Narae gives her a knowing look that she refuses to acknowledge. “He does love you, though,” it takes a lot for Narae to admit that, she knows, “if that's what the problem is.”

She laughs at that. “Narae, I think the problem is me carrying my ex-boyfriend's child instead of his.”

Narae's response mirrors Kyuhyun's. “He could get over that,” she says grudgingly. “If he loves you like he says he does, he should love your baby as much as he loves you.”

She runs a hand over her stomach, wishing – for the thousandth time – that she wasn't so huge. Her belly is almost the size of a melon, round and obvious; it declares her fecundity boldly, despite her desperate attempts to hide it with a wardrobe of empire-line dresses. It doesn't matter that she barely goes out and that there's no one to see it – if she could, she'd hide it even from herself. “I'm not going to keep it,” her tone is hard, a warning that she doesn't want to talk about this. “My lack of a maternal instinct is enough to drive him away.”

“That's not true, Hyerin,” Narae says softly, but she's not listening, her attention back on the magazine. closes – why does he always have to look so perfect?

Her stomach rolls, empty and aching, but she ignores it. She's not hungry, and there's no point in eating. It all ends up in the toilet, anyway. “I don't care,” the words are ashes on her tongue, “I don't.”

Narae doesn't look convinced – why would she, when it's so obviously a lie? – but lets it go when the doorbell rings. They turn to each other in confusion, their previous conversation rendered irrelevant.

“Who the hell is that?” Hyerin asks, more than a little afraid. “You don't think...” She trails off, but Narae doesn't need an explanation, her own wide eyes mirroring Hyerin's scared expression.

“No,” she reassures her, and holds out her hand. Hyerin takes it with a death grip, and they walk towards the door side-by-side. Sungah – always prompt – is already at the there. When she opens it, they are confronted with a windswept Jongdae, who pushes back his hair, and grins nervously.

“Hey, noonas,” he says, setting a bag down at his feet. It is then that they notice that he has several large bags with him, and comprehension begins to dawn, “you couldn't, uh, pay the taxi fare for me, could you?”

Narae is torn between the desire to pull her baby brother into a bone-crushing hug and slap him silly.

***

“I told you to stay out of trouble,” Narae snaps, once the taxi driver has been pacified, and Sungah has provided her usual (fantastically varied) breakfast. She points her fork at Jongdae, who is hastily gulping down the restorative cup of tea Sungah foisted on him as soon as he set foot in the door. “I told you you'd get caught!”

He shrugs helplessly, his expression tight. “What was I supposed to do? Not have any fun?”

“Yes!” Narae shouts, her temper – usually so buried it is as if it is invisible – finally breaking. “You should have stayed quiet while I was gone, so this ,” – she jabs the fork at him again, waving it in a circle – “wouldn't have happened!”

Jongdae shrinks in his seat a little, cowed by his sister's unusually vehement tone. “It was an accident,” he mutters mutinously, “how was I to know there were cameras there?”

Narae sighs, head falling forward into her hands as she contemplates his idiocy. “There are always cameras, Dae,” she tells him softly, “people have them on their ing phones, remember?”

He flinches, but doesn't contradict her. “I didn't think anyone would give a ,” he mumbles, setting his cup down on the table. He regards a platter of fruit sadly. “No one ever did before.”

“Well, that's what happens when your big sister runs away with the girl at the centre this year's biggest scandal,” Narae says briskly, unimpressed, “they turn to you.”

They stay silent for a moment, both passive-aggressively spearing fruit with their cutlery before Jongdae swallows, and speaks up again. “She disowned me,” he murmurs, the words so quiet she barely hears them, “mum, that is. As of now, I'm not her son.”

The news socks her in the stomach, taking her breath away. “What?” She whispers, the fork clattering down onto the congealed mess of cut-up fruit on her plate.

He clears his throat, the words more confident now. Only someone who knows him well would hear the trembling underneath. “I'm disowned,” he says, all forced cheerfulness, “on account of my terrible habit of kissing boys in public.”

Narae – for once in her life – has no idea how to respond. They had always known it was a possibility, but they had assumed – hoped, really – that their mother would just tell him to keep it quiet and pretend she had never heard.

“I told her to go herself,” Jongdae laughs shakily, the sound anything but happy, “and she told me it was still better than me ing men.” His voice hitches, becoming muffled as he puts his face in his hands. His shoulders shake. “I should have lied and said it wasn't me,” he whispers, “I should have just shut up, like everyone else.”

“No,” she says, cursing herself for the uncertainty in her tone, “you should just be you, Dae.” She scoots closer to him, laying a hand on his back. He's shaking so hard that the plate in front of him clatters. “You're – you're not wrong.” He shakes harder, chest hitching as a sob wrenches its way out of him. “Oh, Dae,” she says, as he turns and clings to her like he did as a child, “oh, Jongdae.”

Wearily, she wonders if this is her lot in life: to be here for everyone else.

***

She lets Narae have her moment with her brother first, knowing that she has no place in their familial reunion, but when he comes out of the room, looking chastised and a little lost, she finds a smile for him.

“Hello, Jongdae,” she says, rising from her seat on the sofa. Her dress flares out around her legs as she does so, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. “How are you?”

His lips quirk in something akin to a smile. He looks exhausted, and she wonders if he's had any sleep. “Oh, I'm fine.” He shrugs, rubbing at his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs, sounding very, very tired. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a piece of paper sticking out of his jeans pocket, but doesn't comment on it.

“Well, that's good to hear,” she tries, knowing that he's probably not in the mood for conversation. “There's plenty of free rooms,” how Sungah managed to find a home with so many rooms for three people is a mystery to her, “so go crazy.” She bends down – with some difficulty – and kisses the top of his head gently. “I'll go find Narae.”

She turns to go, and he nods, making an interested noise, before looking at his feet. “Noona, look, are you okay?” The words come out in a rush, and he gives an awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. “You just disappeared,” he says helplessly, not able to come up with anything else.

She smiles wryly, touched by his concern. “I'm...okay,” she pauses, looking away. It's not an honest answer, but as sweet as Jongdae is, he doesn't want to hear how unhappy she is. “Narae told you I'm getting it adopted.”

“Have you started finding families?” He asks, nodding towards her stomach.

She shakes her head, unable to articulate how scared she is to do anything that revolves around the child inside of her. “It's...it's hard. Everyone acts like I'm going to get over this, that when he's born I'll just magically fall in love with him, but...” She shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I hate it,” she whispers. “I can't even look at it onscreen when I have ultrasounds. I just find it disgusting.”

Jongdae's expression is sympathetic, bordering on pitying, and she finds that she doesn't like that. He doesn't understand – can't understand – and she doesn't want his pity. She just wants this over with. So she straightens up, and changes the subject – something she's always been good at. “You're welcome to stay here for as long as you like, Jongdae.” She forces a smile. “You can join our merry band of renegades and societal rejects.”

He snorts, amused. “Thanks.” He squeezes her hand gently. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hey,” she says, nudging him gently, “all you did was make out with a guy in public. I'm sure it'll blow over far quicker than my little indiscretion.”

The droll look he gives her makes it clear he doesn't think that's true at all. “Noona?”

“Mhm?” She makes to move away again, looking at him. “What is it?”

“What are you going to do about Siwon?” He swallows, choosing his words carefully. “I mean, aren't you guys...married?”

She stiffens, refusing to look him in the eye. “I'm sure his parents are working on an annulment right now,” she tells him, working to keep her voice as lofty as possible. “It'll get sorted out.”

“He's a mess without you,” Jongdae says suddenly, as if he's been sitting on this throughout their conversation. “He's been looking for you. He even asked me where you were.” He tilts his head, considering. “Begged, really. And he looked like .”

For some reason, the idea of Siwon looking like amuses her. She's fairly sure it's impossible. He always looks irritatingly attractive. “He made his choice.” Jongdae can't know how much it hurts her to say that. “And I've made mine.”

“Do you love him?” Jongdae asks, tone deadly serious.

Why does he have to ask that question? She wraps her arms around herself. “I...” Siwon's face flickers behind her eyes, that perfect smile he keeps just for her spreading across his face. “Yes,” she says eventually, hating the tears that build up. “I do. But it doesn't mean anything.”

“I think it does,” Jongdae points out, ready to argue, but she interrupts him.

“No, it doesn't.” There's a sense of finality about her words, a warning in her voice. She doesn't want to talk about this, not when it's all she can think about and it's breaking her heart. “I'm having someone else's baby.” Sometimes, she lies in bed at night and wonders why it had to be Hyunjae's, why she has to be inextricably linked to a man she wants nothing to do with.

It's a funny thing to think about. Right now, she's tied to Siwon by marital vows and ancient laws – but her tie to Hyunjae is something stronger, more permanent. Even once this baby is gone, she'll always have the knowledge that there's a mixture of their genes somewhere in the world.

And Hyunjae gets away with it, scot-free, all by virtue of being a man. It's a man's world, she reflects bitterly. The baby is lucky. It's already won, simply because it's going to be a boy.

“He said he wanted you both.” Jongdae says quietly.

“And therein lies the problem,” she tells him sadly. “He doesn't understand that I don't want to be this baby's mother, especially when it's not his.”

Siwon – however much she loves him, no matter how good a man he is – still believes that she will love her child, because that's what women do.

“If he loves you, he'd understand if you explained it to him,” Jongdae tries, though she doesn't know why he cares so much. “And I think he really does. You two make each other happy.”

“I thought he did,” she says softly. “I thought he'd save me.” A haunted look settles on her face, and she can feel herself drifting back into her sad, contemplative state. “But in the end, he turned out just the same as every other man – present company excluded, of course – and ran away as soon as it got too hard.”

It hurts so much to realise her mother was right.

Title from the Muse song. Jongdae's story is explored in three drabbles: Boys in Bathrooms, Boys Behaving Badly, and Boys in Bed. Kyuhyun and Zhou Mi's relationship is explained in Laser Lights.