They settle down into a quiet routine, the four of them: Narae, Jongdae, Sungah, and of course, herself. She supposes she could count the baby, but she doesn't want to. Her feelings about it are far too ambiguous for her to even admit that it is a person.

 That, she decides, is a question for the philosophers of the world. Is a baby a person before it's been born? Who knows, because she doesn't want to care. She is not like most expectant mothers, longing for the day they get to hold their child. Mostly, she's just desperately waiting for the day it comes out of her, and she can go back to doing whatever the hell it was she did before it ruined her life.

 It's strange. She finds it hard to think of what she will go back to; she has lost so much of her life, that really, she might end up with nothing. Siwon might even have moved on by the time she is ready to come back to society.

The idea makes her heart clench, a physical pain that is impossible to ignore. Please, she prays to a god who has seemingly ignored every other prayer she's sent, please. She's not entirely sure what she's praying for. For him to still love her? For it to be easy to go back to him?

He was the only man she ever trusted, and then he broke that trust as easily cutting paper. He made her happy – oh, so very happy – for those few weeks, and even before that – when they were nothing more than friends.

But she's never been a very forgiving person, and though she wants him – longs for him, really – there is something stopping her from taking him back. Maybe it's self-respect, or perhaps self-preservation. A part of her just wishes it would disappear.

She might be happy, then.

***

Back propped up with pillows, her hand hovers over her stomach as she watches the baby move under her skin. Every so often, the skin raises as a tiny foot or hand pummels her insides (he's nothing if not active – which surprises her, as she's never been remotely athletic in her life, and neither has Hyunjae). She's a little fascinated by it, if she's honest; it's both gross and weirdly compelling, and she's struck by the notion that there is really a little person, alive inside of her.

The thought makes her shiver, sometimes. None of that 'the miracle of life business' – this is straight-up madness, including the never-ending backache. Why should she have to play host to some ungrateful wretch of a foetus who seems to have no regard for her personal health?

But other times, when she's alone and she feels a little weepy, the baby will move ever so slightly as if to reassure her he's still here, and she'll think that maybe he's not such a little bastard after all. Well, he is a bastard technically – seeing as he's going to be born out of wedlock and will have no father on his birth certificate – but she hopes to change that. She's not cruel. She'll see that he's adopted into a nice, normal family who don't resent each other and can give him a comfortable upbringing.

It's the least she can do.

Everyone keeps acting as if she's really brave for being so stoic about this, but it just feels like it's all she can do. It's easier than untangling the mess of her own feelings, because then she'll think about Siwon and everything will start to hurt. Even if she did want to keep this baby, what would it matter? There's no real choice.

She gives it up, and her life will go back to normal. Eventually, everyone will forget her little indiscretion, and some day, she'll be accepted back into the societal fold to dance and laugh and pose because that's all she knows how to do. And if she doesn't really want to go back to that life – if she's finding that it's far more fun to be among her real, loving friends than it is among a passel of pretenders – then there's nothing she can do.

“Do you want to stay with me, anyway?” She wonders aloud, blinking when a tiny lump that could be a hand or a foot appears. “Wait, what does that mean?” She asks, prodding her stomach. “Did that mean yes or no?”

The lump appears again, the kick harder this time. “Well, that hasn't cleared up anything,” She's well aware of the fact she's having an argument with a foetus who most likely has no idea what she's talking about. But hey, she's bored, and she might as well leave the situation up to the person who'll be the most affected by it, right?

“Tell you what,” she says, pushing herself upwards with her elbows so that she can cradle her stomach, “you give me two kicks for yes, one for no. How does that sound?”

The little foot kicks up against her ribcage twice, as if he's understood her ridiculous request. She wrinkles her nose. “You can't be serious, kid. I'd be a terrible mother.”

As the baby kicks again, she is forced to admit the churning in her stomach is guilt, and not just him moving inside of her. She still believes getting him adopted is the best idea for the both of them – she's selfish enough to want her life back, but considerate enough to want a good life for him – but lately, she's been thinking about what he'll feel when he realises he's adopted.

He'll probably want to know why she got rid of him. He might even get in contact with her when she gets older. And what is she supposed to say? You ruined my reputation, so I had to make you disappear? You turned out to be the wrong man's child?

Yeah, that's just the thing to say to a child. She rolls her eyes at herself, and prays silently that it will never come to that. Hopefully his parents will be so good he'll have no interest in her.

She certainly wouldn't want to know herself. Her genes don't make for a good mother.

She sighs, rubbing her stomach in an effort to soothe the baby. As she pats her belly, an unfamiliar wave of tenderness washes over her. “If only you'd been Siwon's,” she murmurs to the baby, though it can't possibly understand what she's saying and most likely can't even hear her. “It would have been so much easier.”

***

She doesn't know why she's out shopping. Usually, she avoids going anywhere public, for fear that – well, she's not entirely sure what the fear is. Out here, as far away from Seoul as she can get, she's nothing. Nobody knows her, and nobody cares, either. It doesn't stop her hiding, however; it doesn't stop her seeing disgust in every stranger's gaze.

But today, Narae has forced her to be brave, and instead of simply taking her home after her doctor's appointment, she took her to the nearest shopping centre. It has something to do with the doctor's concern about the amount of protein in her urine, she knows (why do they never tell you how much you have to piss into small containers when you're pregnant?), and how she really needs to stop stressing.

The very idea is laughable. There is no way she can stop feeling stressed. She is alone, and pregnant, and the man she loves is halfway across the country. Everything she thinks about scares her, and she's so completely confused about what she feels for this child that its every kick makes her nervous.

In fact, the only way she could stop stressing is if the baby disappeared, and she's fairly sure that's not what the doctor was recommending.

“Come on, Rin,” Narae says, brisk and businesslike, “you love shopping.”

This is true; ordinarily she loves shopping. “Yes, I do,” she snorts, and, very deliberately, gestures to her body, “but not when I'm huge and can't fit into anything.” Every time she finds something she likes, she has to have it let out to the very seams; this does absolutely nothing for her confidence.

Narae sighs. She seems to be doing a lot of that, lately. “Hyerin, you are not huge,” she says firmly, “you are pregnant; there's a difference.” There doesn't seem to be much of one, Hyerin thinks moodily. “And besides,” she nods towards Hyerin's stomach, pushing at the tight fabric of her dress, “you aren't even showing that much.”

It's not true. Hyerin has access to mirrors: she knows she's huge.

“Let's just get this over with,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. It's cold, even in her heavy coat, and she'd really rather be home and in the bath (the hot water does wonders for her backache), but clearly she's not going to get out of this.

Narae affects a lofty, prim look. “I only do this because I love you,” she retorts, and Hyerin has to smile, because it's true. “Besides,” she throws over her shoulder, marching off when she knows Hyerin can't keep up, “I promised my brother I'd buy him a present it he couldn't come out with us.” She throws her hands up. “Boys!”

Hyerin's smile slips. Boys, indeed.

***

It's as horrible as she knew it would be. They drift through several stores that Hyerin is usually very fond of, but after finding nothing that will fit, and after several fits of hormone-induced tears, Narae is forced to give up and let Hyerin sulk on a bench after she whines about how much her feet hurt, and how you'd want to sit down too if you had a baby killing your back.

Her best friend, Narae concludes, is exhausting.

“I told you it wouldn't work out,” Hyerin sounds the tiniest bit smug, under all the grumpiness.

Narae pins her with a hard stare. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she preaches, even as Hyerin scoffs in disgust.

 "Really?" She rolls her eyes. "You're going to quote nonsense at me now?" She tosses her hair, a little of her old fire returning. Narae hides a grin with one hand. "I thought this was about cheering me up?"

Narae shrugs. "It was, but you refuse to be cheered up. What am I supposed to do?"

 Hyerin snorts, but squeezes Narae's arm affectionately. "I love you, Rae," she says softly, "I love you a lot." She turns towards a display of luxury toiletries in a shop window. "But nothing is going to cheer me up." Her fingers wrap around her elbows, and she tries not to sound too bitter. "It just isn't."

 Her best friend sighs, her breath steaming like a dragon's in the frigid air. She says something about hot chocolate or pizza - two of Hyerin's guilty favourites - but she's not listening, her gaze caught on another shop window.

 It's a baby boutique, bright and full of pastel pinks and blues. It is extremely kitschy and not to her taste at all - if she were seriously considering keeping the baby, this is the last place you'd find her - but for some reason, she finds it impossible to tear herself away.

Her gaze lingers on the smooth, shiny wood of the cot in the window. She peers down at the mattress, covered in twee teddy bear bedding.

It's nothing she would choose for her child, if she were to keep it. Too tacky, too cutesy. Too cheap looking. And yet, she can't help the image that forms in her mind. Her child, lying in that cot, staring up at her. A room full of baby paraphernalia, a pram for walks in the park. Tiny cashmere blankets and soft toys.

Siwon, cradling their son as he rocks him to sleep.

Her stomach lurches, and she turns away. No. It's not to be. Her hands clench, and she swallows, hard, to keep the feelings at bay. It only succeeds in reminding her that is dry, and that her stomach has been protesting at the lack of food for the past hour or so.

It's true, she's been feeling dizzy and a little light-headed, but she's fairly sure those are regular pregnancy symptoms, and nothing to get overly worked up about.

So when Narae suggests eating while they're out, she shakes her head. "No," she says, forcing a smile, "I'm not hungry."

Of course, the gods of irony decide to take that as an invitation.

***

When she wakes up in a hospital bed, a faint, irritating beeping noise somewhere near the region of her head, she winces. . She wasn't supposed to end up here. Not yet.

She can just about remember losing consciousness, though of course, she remembers nothing after the eventual blackout. Someone must have called an ambulance. She grimaces; she's never exactly been fond of hospitals, and she's even less fond of being sick.

The quiet flick of a magazine page cuts through the beeping, and surprised, she turns her head to the right. Narae glares back at her. She sets the magazine down, legs crossed primly.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" She says icily, arms folding. The anger, and yes, the fear, is palpable. "Did you think I would be blind enough to see that you weren't eating?"

Hyerin swallows. When she speaks, is dry. "What are you talking about?" She is cautious, deliberately so; there's no sense in admitting to something without knowing what it truly is.

Narae rolls her eyes, the scornful look on her face marred by the hint of tears. "The reason you're here." She waves dismissively at the ward, full of other women, all of varying ages. "The fact that your blood sugar is so low you fainted and had to be stuck on an IV drip." Her voice gets higher and higher with every word, and she presses her lips together, looking angrier than Hyerin's ever seen her. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

As she gestures at the monitor next to her chair, Hyerin slowly makes the connection to the incessant beeping noise. "You're six months pregnant, Hyerin, whether you like it or not. That baby needs nutrients, you need nutrients. If you wanted it gone, you should have aborted it to begin with!"

The baby stirs as Narae's tirade finishes, perhaps in protest to the idea of being aborted, or simply because he's restless. She places a hand on her stomach instinctively, rubbing small circles to calm him down.

Narae shakes her head in exasperation when she stays silent. It's always her approach to arguments that touch too close to home; stay silent until the other person has worn themselves out. "He's fine, in case you cared," she says, eyeing the hand on her stomach with no little confusion. "They hooked you up to a foetal heart rate monitor."

She nods in response. A small part of her feels relief, but the rest is just a cool sort of gladness she didn't kill him. She tries very hard to push away the thoughts of things being simpler if he had died.

It's sometimes crasser to be unable to display emotions than to be sobbing in public.

"That's good."

"That's good?" Narae snorts in disbelief. "Jesus, Hyerin, what the hell is going on?"

A fury of her own builds up in her stomach, the churning rage that she's been sitting on for a long time now making itself known. "You know why," she tells Narae quietly, pushing herself with both hands to lean against the metal headboard of the bed. "You, of all people," she whispers, the words almost hateful.

Narae looks away, unable to confront the look in her eyes. Because she does know. Because there was a time, and – if she's honest – there still are times, when her relationship with food is more a matter of control than enjoyment. The pressure to be perfect is high, and even outcast – even with no one to impress – the doctrine is so ingrained they follow it without question.

Hyerin has lost her chance to be wanted; lost her allure, her charm. Now she's just someone's sloppy seconds, worn out by another man's child. And the man she loved – oh, the man she loved – baulked when it got too hard and came running back too late.

 She cannot lie and say she does not understand the intense desire for any kind of control, even if it is detrimental to your health.