The operation takes longer than either Narae or Siwon expect, and silently, they shoot quick glances at each other when they think the other isn't looking. Siwon has no idea what to say; he wants to apologise - to tell Narae that he never wanted this to happen, and that he loves Hyerin and would do anything for her. He wants to say that he is so grateful that she did what he couldn't: stand by her, whatever.

But most of all, he just wants Hyerin and the baby to come out of this okay. He might not have any claim to this baby; Hyerin might not want him with her, but it doesn't stop him caring. It doesn't stop him wanting to be there for her, because - despite his mistakes and his stupid, stupid mouth - the only thing he really wants is her.

And now she's a package deal, he wants the baby too. The baby, who has come too early and is probably struggling to survive right now, all because he said the worst thing he could have said, and pushed Hyerin out into that throng of bloodthirsty reporters.

"D'you think they'll be okay?" He says abruptly, looking up from his hands, elbows driven into his knees.

Narae shrugs, a casual gesture, but her true fear is belied by her white face. "I hope so." Her features draw into a tight, unhappy look. "God, I hope so."

Their enmity is forgotten in that brief moment, as they both acknowledge that they are the two people who love Hyerin the most in the world.

The spell is shattered, however, when the doctor walks through the door. Her face is naturally grave, but it splits into a small smile when she sees them waiting. "They're both fine," she says, smoothing an errant lock of greying hair behind her ear. "You can see Hyerin-sshi in a minute, but the baby is being transferred to the Neonatal Unit."

Siwon feels the blood drain from his face, and he doesn't doubt Narae's face looks similar. The doctor seems to sense their fear - or maybe she's just used to it - and holds out her hand. "Don't worry. This is normal procedure for premature babies. He's doing remarkably well, and I know this is probably small comfort, but he's only a moderately early baby. That means he'll be home with you quicker."

"Can we see him?" He asks immediately, even though he knows that's not what Hyerin wants. Narae shoots a dirty glare at him, but he ignores it.

The doctor does not seem to sense the tension. "Of course. We recommend that parents and," - she shoots a quick smile at Narae - "family spend as much time with the baby as possible. But you must remember that he's more delicate than a full-term baby. Coping with the outside world is a massive shock for him. He's going to need to stay in hospital for several weeks."

The joy that welled up at being told he could see him begins to dissipate. "But he'll be okay, right?"

She sits down in the free chair next to them, and leans forward, hands clasped. "Yes. He's come out of this as healthy as he can. At the moment, I think he stands a chance of making a full recovery. But he's too small to leave the hospital yet; he can't keep himself warm and we're finding that he's having trouble breathing." At the look of horror on his face, she hastily adds, "which is typical for preemies. Once he can breathe on his own, he can come home."

Home. Furtively, Siwon wonders where home will be for this poor, tiny little boy. "Thank you," he says, and he hears Narae chime in with a thank you of her own, "this..." he trails off, unable to think of the words, "it means a lot," he says simply.

The doctor smiles again, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "It's my job," she reminds him.

***

They wheel Hyerin into a hospital room, and Siwon follows, unable to leave her alone. She's so pale, so still, wearing nothing but an ugly hospital gown, and he's never seen her like this before. She's usually so full of life – even when screaming at him – that seeing her like this is almost a punch to the face.

As soon as they leave the room, he scrambles to be close to her side, clutching at her cold hand like a lifeline. He draws it to his lips in a manner of times long gone by, hand shaking. “Hyerin,” he says quietly, brushing his lips against her knuckles, “Hyerin.”

She doesn't stir, but then he doesn't expect her to – they knocked her out with anaesthetic and she's so exhausted, the doctors told him she'll likely stay out for a while. He doesn't mind. He wants her to recover – wants her to be well enough to shout and be scornful at him, so that he knows she's okay.

He doesn't get a chance to sit with her in peace, however, because the door opens almost as soon as he settles down next to her, and a nurse walks in. She smiles apologetically at him.

“We thought, as mummy is, uh, indisposed for the moment, daddy might like time with baby,” she says kindly. 

He is aware that he must look like a deer caught in headlights, but he can't help it. He doesn't bother correcting her – he doesn't want to. If they believe he's the father, then they'll let him stay with her.

And the baby, but he tries to quash that thought. They haven't even let Narae in, seeing as she couldn't prove she was related – despite the fact that she pushed and pushed to be let in. Eventually, she stood back, but the look she gave him was pure poison.

“You better not upset her,” she snapped, her eyes flashing, “take care of her, d'you hear?”

He did hear, loud and clear. And here he is, about to do something that Hyerin will probably not like at all.

“Um,” he says, unable to come up with anything more eloquent than incoherent mumbling, “okay."

She gestures to the door, smiling, "This way," she says, and with wobbly legs, he follows her.

***

The walk to the Neonatal Unit isn't long, but that doesn't stop him fretting about what he'll find there. "He's in an incubator," the nurse informs him cheerfully, "so we can keep him warm."

He nods mutely as she chatters away, kindly explaining what will happen to the baby, and as they reach the large, electronic doors of the ward, she stops. "You'll have to wash your hands," she says pleasantly, "hospital policy, I'm afraid."

He rushes to the dispenser, and soaks his hand in antibacterial handwash. His hands feel sticky, but he doesn't notice, heart thudding at what lies beyond those doors.

The baby. Hyerin's baby.

He takes a deep breath, a funny jolt going through him. A part of him is scared – a fear that somehow, they're lying, and the baby is sicker than he can imagine – but the other part is almost...excited. He's always wanted children; it's been something and he and Hyerin have disagreed on for quite some time, but this is different. This is...Hyerin's baby, and try as he might, he can't quite shake the idea that it's his baby too.

The nurse smiles at him again, and pushes the door open, swiping her ID card. He is immediately assaulted with a deep, all-ading quiet, only the various hummings and and beepings of the machines disturbing the silence. The room is dim, and neatly set out incubators fill the space, tiny babies trussed up with wires and tape in every one.

His heart goes out too all of them, born too soon or too sick to survive on their own, but he only has eyes for one of their number, and it is that baby the nurse leads him to, winding around the incubators with practiced ease.

And then, she stops - and Siwon is suddenly face-to-face with Hyerin's tiny baby boy.

He's wearing nothing but a nappy and a small white hat, his eyes closed and skin a bright pink. His tiny hands are raised above his head, clenched into tight little fists, and his feet are equally small. He is thin; too thin, and there is a tube that looks too big for his face taped to his miniature nose.

But he's breathing, his little chest rising up and down, and he feels weak with relief.

The nurse directs him to a chair next to the incubator, and stiffly, he sits next to the plastic cot, staring as the baby just breathes in front of him. "Can I - Can I touch him?" He asks awkwardly, fingers resting against the clear walls of the cot.

As if he knows they're talking about him, the baby stirs weakly, and the nurse hums approvingly. "He's strong for a preemie. A little fighter."

He finds himself grinning, eyes still on the baby. "He takes after his mother," he tells her.

She laughs. "I don't doubt," she says warmly, and he feels a sudden burst of gratitude for whatever accident of fate led this kind, understanding nurse to them. "And yes," she says, remembering his question. "You can touch him. In fact, he's stable enough for you to hold him."

He rips his gaze away from the baby for one moment, guilt and excitement warring within him. He shouldn't do it; he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but want to. "I can?"

She nods. "You'll have to be careful with him, obviously, but we recommend something called 'kangaroo care,'" she tells him, stepping closer to the incubator. She leans over the open top, and coos gently at the baby, who wriggles at this strange person invading his environment. "It basically means having the baby close to your skin - under your shirt, perhaps."

And – without any warning – she drops the tiny little bundle in his arms, moving them into the right position with practised ease. She steps back, satisfied, and gently nudges his arm upwards. “That's it,” she says encouragingly, “you've got it.”

It does not feel like he's got it, at all, as he gingerly keeps a hold on the tiny baby and prays that he doesn't drop him. The nurse says something further – perhaps a warning – but he doesn't hear, too absorbed in the little person he is holding.

The first thing he thinks is: God, he's small, and as he carefully – oh-so-carefully – adjusts his hold on the baby, he can't help but worry for him. He's premature, so small that he wasn't really ready for his violent entry into this world. He breathes slowly, irrationally afraid of jolting the baby, and looks down at him.

God. What has he done?

He shifts the baby into one arm, an instinctual movement that he finds himself strangely at ease with, and lifts a tiny arm with the other hand. The baby is so small that he looks minute in his hold, but he doesn't complain, merely opening his mouth in a miniature version of a yawn.

And – that's it. Siwon is enthralled. More than enthralled – he's on his way to becoming besotted, and that is not what he should be feeling.

But it's impossible not to, as he sits there with this tiny baby in his arms, and finds himself thinking this could have been ours. And as the baby – held against his chest, one hand cradling his tiny head – starts mewling, he finds a horrible, hopeless sadness settling over him. He has no idea what the baby wants – food, maybe? – and panic begins to set in as he rocks him.

“Shh,” he whispers guiltily, “shh, please, don't – ” The baby ignores him, snuffling into his shoulder and most definitely not placated by Siwon's hesitant rocking.

He holds the baby tightly, cradling him with both arms, and rocks him. "That's it," the nurse encourages from beside him. He barely hears her, too focused on the baby, every cry like a knife in his heart.

The baby's cries subside as he begins to feel more secure, however, and Siwon lets out a huge sigh of relief. He's more than a little proud of himself for figuring it out, and he wonders what on Earth he is doing to himself.

This is not staying apart. This is not keeping his heart guarded.

And yet, he can't stop himself – he can't stop his irrational, uncontrollable heart from latching onto this baby and not wanting to let go. Even as he clutches him close, he can see Hyerin in him; the slope of his nose, the elegance of his miniature fingers. Every bone in his body is screaming at him that this is his son, and just as he loves Hyerin, he is falling in love with her son too.

"I'm sorry,” he whisper brokenly, and the baby opens his eyes at the sound, revealing eyes that are almost exact replicas of his mother's – “I'm so sorry.”

***

When Hyerin wakes, groggy and with a mouth that tastes like it has been pasted in chemicals, Siwon notices immediately, that strange sixth sense they have for one another making ignoring her impossible. He looks guilty, as well he might, but it is mixed with relief and she knows - without having to ask - he has been by her bedside for as long as it has taken her to awake.

"Where's Narae?" She asks, needing her best friend by her to buffer the blow of whatever terrible news she's about to hear.

A flash of pain crosses Siwon's features, but it is quickly gone. "They wouldn't let her in. She's, uh, not family."

It seems so stupid to hear that - Narae, who is more family to her than anyone else, kept out because they're not related. Does it all come down to blood in the end?

She nods, and takes a deep breath, stitches pulling. "And the baby?" Her voice is quiet; she almost hopes he doesn't hear - because if he tells her that the baby is -

No. She refuses to think it. He will be fine, because he has to be.

A slow smile spreads across Siwon's lips. "He's perfect," he tells her, and she looks at him sharply, knowing with utmost certainty that he has seen her baby. An unidentifiable, unhappy emotion crawls in her gut. "He's in the NICU, but they think he'll be fine. He can't breathe on his own, yet, but - "

Her eyes widen. No, no, please no - "He can't breathe on his own?"

He realises his mistake immediately, rushing to kneel by the bed. "No, no! It's not like that, they said it's normal for early babies and it will come with time." He takes her hand, and she curls it against his beloved face, taking comfort from the sincerity in his eyes. "He's got to stay in hospital for a few weeks, but they're not overly worried," he tells her, "they think he'll be fine, Hyerin."

She closes her eyes, the relief so profound, she feels it as a physical presence leaving her. "Oh, thank god," she murmurs, her hand sinking to her stomach - empty now - out of habit, "thank god."

"They'll bring you to him now, if you want," he says, smiling. She draws her hand from his face, a heavy, leaden feeling replacing the relief. "I can call for the nurse."

"I don't think there's any need for that," she tells him, her voice shaking the tiniest bit. "Don't want to confuse him, after all." She laughs, but it is high, unconvincing.

She can feel his gaze on her. "Hyerin," he says slowly, "are you not even going to visit him?"

Her heart contracts, and she presses her face into the pillow so that he cannot see the tears that threaten. "No," she swallows, the very idea of being confronted with her baby - an actual physical being, as opposed to disembodied kicks - is too terrifying to contemplate.

"Hyerin..." He tries again, and she hears the chair scrape as he stands up. "He's your son. Don't you want to see him at least once?"

"I can't," she whispers, the words muffled by the pillow.

"You can," he says firmly, the gentle way he leans over to her hair away from her face at odds with his tone. "There's nothing to be scared of. He's just a baby."

He has no idea, she thinks, no idea of what her baby means. He is her ruin; he is her tiny comrade-in-arms against public opinion. He is the wrong man's baby, and still a person who deserves love in his own right.

She cannot face him, not when he engenders too many conflicting emotions, too much resentment and tenderness all at once. She isn't ready for a baby; she isn't ready for him at all.

"I don't - " She closes her eyes, the words like a lie on her tongue. "I don't want to."

Siwon pulls back, eyes searching her face for the lie. She knows it is obvious, but stares defiantly back anyway. His eyes grow shuttered. "Alright," he says, and then delivers the blow. "But you can't stop me from visiting him," he folds his arms, her stubborn, beautiful Siwon once more.

Slowly, she pushes herself upwards, the uncomfortable hospital gown twisting around her. "You have to," she tells him coldly, "he's not yours."

He sets his mouth in a thin line. "We're married," he reminds her, equally coldly, "I'm his stepfather."

She looks down, the rest of the words dying on her lips. She has no idea how to tell him that she can't look at her baby, because if she gets attached - if she sees the little presence who kicked and moved around inside her - she might feel something she's not ready to.

She cannot hold him and pretend to be happy he is here, she knows; there is too much between them, too many regrets and lost chances for her to accept him as her child and forget the pain his very existence caused her.

Oh, he's innocent, she knows that, but he is tied to a man she wants nothing to do with and reminds her too much of her own mistakes. She would rather hand him off to a family who will not blame him: a family who will love him for whoever he turns out to be, because she can't.

She knows she can't.

She falls back against the bedclothes. "Do what you like," she says listlessly.