Your first thought was, “Oh my gosh little life are you okay is there anything wrong am I treating you well?”

And then your second thought was, “Oh, .” 

You think about it even more because who are you to interfere with his happiness? Who are you to put this burden on him at the worst time possible? Who are you to carry this child that carries his genes?

You’re truly excited, you really are. Just thinking that there’s this small sprout of life inside your stomach makes you giggle in content. If it’s a girl, you’ll make sure she doesn’t end up too terribly girly. If it’s a boy, you’ll make sure he’s as athletic as his father. 

The happy thinking dies away and your smile is pulled down into a firm line. He’s so busy nowadays, just with their comeback blooming a month ago. You’re okay with him never home, always traveling; it’s the life of idol’s girlfriend.

But what would Minho say?

You start to have a panic attack and breathe in sporadic breaths while spinning around quickly to try to calm you down. It’s not working.

Minho is still a child in many aspects, traces of some naivety still lingering in his blood. He can’t learn through anything else but first-hand experience. Everybody is completely aware of his over-competitive streak and desire to indulge in sweets every once in a while. He treats the other four better than you sometimes, which you actually got quite annoyed with at first, but there was nothing to be jealous of. After all, he’s still yours. 

But the main point is, Minho will probably not take this well whatsoever.

“Hello?” His voice resonates through the apartment.

“In the kitchen!” You all but scream and screw your eyes shut, giving a silent prayer to whoever’s up there that this will go well and things won’t screw up— 

Minho comes bounding in with a childish grin and wraps his arms around your shoulders tightly before holding you out at arm’s length and then pulling you in to play a chaste kiss on your lips. He can feel your somber aura rolling off your body and immediately pulls back to question your sadness.

You sigh lightly at the look he’s currently giving you. He’s egging you to give in, to tell him all your problems. But once again, you have no right to burden him like this.

What should you do? Leave the city? Find another place? Raise the child on your own? Come back and possibly find that he’s moved on and your child will never be able to meet his biological father?

“______?” He calls out tentatively. Your eyes are trained to the ground and hoping that tears don’t even bother to threaten to spill out of them. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Minho,” you whisper pitifully, your voice cracking at the sudden catch of breath in your throat. Your stomach swirls painfully and you subconsciously place a hand on top of the gradually growing bulge. You’re already attached to this small life inside of you, but Minho—

His hand gently pushes your face up to look him in the eyes.

“I know you’re busy,” you start before he can say anything with his open mouth. He closes it and nods slightly to let you know that it’s okay to keep going on. “And I’m really sorry for breaking it to you like this but…I’m pregnant.”

Minho’s hand is suddenly freezing cold and you know you’ve got him. His whole figure is stiff and his eyes are larger than his original size in a state of shock and stupor. You clench your fists and step away from his hold until your back is against the kitchen wall.

He stumbles once he’s returned to Earth and leans against the counter in a daze.

“You’re…what?” He pants as if he’s running a marathon.

“I’m pregnant,” you say a little more firmly, but your tears are rushing down and you don’t care to wipe them. His reaction is more evidence than anything. He doesn’t want this, but you do.

“But…but how?!”

“What else?”

“B-but…I thought you took birth control!”

“I do!” You all but scream as sobs shake your body. Your right arm covers your waist in a feeble attempt to stop your body from shaking so badly.  “And then I got sick and took antibiotics and I’m just sorry, okay?!”

He’s still shaking his head and pinching his forearm like this is all just a dream, that he can wake up and that this isn’t happening and that a child isn’t growing inside of you.

“I’m really happy,” you contradict your current state of mind. “I really want to keep it—“

“But I can’t! I can’t take care of it!” He throws up his arm at you and continues to pace in front of you like a lion in a cage.

“I can take care of it—“

“I can’t do this, ______. Do something, anything! Get an abortion if you have to!” He yells at you.

Your eyes are fixed open.

…Did he just tell you…to get an abortion?

“I can’t kill it,” you whisper. “No, no, no I can’t, I just—“

“But we can’t do—this!” He points to your stomach and you cringe in fear. Minho would never lay a hand on you, but you just want to protect it so bad. “I have work, you have school, you’re so close to getting into that graduate school—“

“We’re busy, yes, I get it. But I can make time!”

“No, you can’t!” he roars.

You tense and hold in a breath before dashing out of the kitchen and under his arm while running towards your room with whatever strength you have left in you. There are clothes at your friend’s place and you’ll do something, anything but abortion. Anything but killing what’s making you happy.

It sounds so wrong and so selfish, but Minho’s being selfish, too. He just wants things to be normal like other couples who aren’t engaged yet but on their way to and just what’s left of normalcy behind his career.

He doesn’t stop you.

He just watches your back slink out of the front door.

And then he turns to give the wall a very nice and painful punch.

-

-

If you lose Minho, then so be it.

-

-

“______.”

Knock knock knock.

“_______.”

Knock knock knock.

“_______.”

Knock knock knock.

“WHAT?!” You growl and yell at whoever is disturbing your wonderful sleep that you need.

The door slips open and in all honesty, Minho looks terrible.

The eye circles under his eyes are even darker now, his eyes showing more red veins than usual. His hair is disheveled like he’s just gotten up from bed and his hand twitches at the side. He has to stop himself from pulling you into his embrace.

Yes, he’s showed up at the friend’s house you were staying at for the past couple of days.

Minho closes the door behind him and cautiously sits on the edge of your bed, his hand feather light on your blanket-covered ankle.

“I thought about it,” he quietly reveals, his gaze directed towards other objects of the guest room.

“I was just really scared about everything. I didn’t want a child, but then I thought of Yoogeun. Of course, our child wouldn’t look like him, but I remembered how happy I was with him.”

His body starts to tremble and you quickly sit up to comfort him and forget that you’re still angered.

“We can do this together. I’ll make sure everything’s okay and that we can just do all this together. I’m…”

He takes a shaky breath.

“…sorry.”

It’s all going to be okay.

And that’s all that really matters.