The next few weeks for Sandara had been terrible. She had been reading a book called "What to expect when you're expecting," so she had thought that knowing of morning sickness would prepare her for it. But reality was never as easy as a bunch of paragraphs. The word throw up doesn’t account for the dizzy spell where she half thought she would faint, doesn’t make up for the fact that throw up felt a lot more like crawl up, and by that she means her stomach crowding , and that vile, sour stomach acid that clings to her tongue.

At first she thought she could still keep her schedule, wake up fifteen minutes earlier for her scheduled puke and go on her way, but her mornings don't start as she plans. She wakes up early feeling okay, after her shower and putting on her perfectly ironed clothes that was when her stomach churns, that was when she hurts. And she would spend thirty minutes squatting over the toilet heaving, choking and gagging on spit mixed with bitter sour, bile. After that she tries to collect herself, smooth her once perfectly manicured hair, blink away the tears, straighten her pristine make up, brush her teeth but the hit of mint would send her sprawling back to the toilet for an encore of her hurling her guts out. And she couldn't really eat breakfast, the thought of dry cereals and dairy made her stomach growl in protest. So she just wouldn’t eat.

And for the life of her being caffeine-free was nothing short of a night mare.

So her first few weeks, she was disgruntled and upset and constantly hungry. She would always come to work tired and tired-looking. Her hair would be damp and carelessly unstyled, her skirt creased and blouse haphazardly tucked. Everyone in her office takes notice, but weirdly enough some of the men thought it was a bit y. There was a certain panic in her that made the men think of the elusive Sandara vulnerability. She found so many "do you need help, Miss Park?" thrown at her that made everything even more. Because no one can help! No one can make anything better. And with each day that pass, with each night she lost sleep because of stress and worry, she grew more and more aware of how alone she is on this. Motherhood, her penultimate dream, seems so depressing.

And Seung hyun did not call, and a part of her resented him, but she understood that as much of a best friend Seung hyun is, he is not her husband, not someone she should blame, or rely on. She wanted this. She was a strong, independent woman.

But somehow, most nights, as she tries to sleep, alone in bed, independent begins to sound lonely in her head.

---

On the third month, Seung hyun had finally managed a short break from shooting and was heading for back home to Korea. Sandara would never admit to it, but the news of him homeward bound made her ecstatically happy.

She had been in her office, despairing at the communication plan she was writing, despairing at the timelines she was constructing, of plans and measurable goals and all this bull about controlling other people's impression when she could not even keep her lunch down most days. That was when he called her, on the verge of desperate, angry tears.

"Santokki, I'm coming home!"

He announced as soon as she takes his call. And there was unexplained elation in her. The sound of his voice sends her hand pressing on her still flat stomach like a pat of confirmation to their child. Baby, please stop being mean to mommy, daddy is coming home.

She felt desperately better and she misses him terribly. She doesn’t even know how to begin to express her feelings.

She was almost on the verge of tears. "Yay”, she tiredly explained.

Seung hyun chuckles. "Just in time for your first sonogram! Ugh. I am so sorry for not being able to check in as much. How have you been?"

And Sandara wanted to whine, and cry and tell him how she was desperately sleepy but how coffee was absolutely out of the question. She wanted to be his best friend, the old best friend who would cry to him at the silliest of provocation. But her hand was pressed to her stomach, her body a host to her child, his child, and somehow, she couldn't really be baby when she was having one. So she bites her lip and maturely said, "I've been well. How are you?" And she listens to his complaints about work and how he still has this photo shoot the first day he comes home then he would blubber a rushed "bye, Tokki, my trainer is calling me. See you soon."

And he hangs up, missing that slip of vulnerability as Sandara whispers, “Bye. I miss you.”

---

Seung hyun was tired and sore from the flight back to Korea, not to mention the endless fight scenes he has repeatedly done. He felt like a nap that would last his lifetime. But of course napping was not in his schedule. Not yet at least, and as he was driven to his photo shoot sight, he groans. He remembers that day when he was scouted to be an actor slash model. How that agent told him it would be easy, that his looks would be enough and how he'd do close to nothing. Then she would say how charming he was and that she was confident that acting would be his way of expressing his inner self. What the hell does that mean anyway?

Why the hell did Dara talk him into this?

He drags the van door with a little exasperation and there stood his agent, his best friend. She looked the same, only a bit different. Her usually pristine hair is carelessly tucked in a bun. She was wearing... his eyes grows big in wonder... sweatpants! It wasn’t really noticeable, but Dara’s slacks always had that crisp straight iron line. And this, this cotton fabric that hugged her leg was obviously cotton. Well, obvious for him. Seung hyun nearly snorted a laugh. But then he notices her hand that balanced her keys in a finger. Her wrist peaking out of her coat sleeve. He stalks towards her and grabs at her wrist and blurts out, "how are you pregnant and get thinner?"

Dara’s eyes widen in surprise then narrows in delight. How she missed him. How she missed that voice of worry. She throws her arms around him in welcome. Seung hyun scoops her waist to him, feeling how small she is. He doesn’t really get it, but always, always one of his worries was she’d disappear on him. “Why the heck are you so thin?”

"Welcome home." She answers breathless.

He smells her scent of freesia and vanilla and he exhales. His worry mollified by her warmth. “I’m home.” Then they just embrace each other, each taking comfort on the others presence. When he finally lets her go, she was brushing away stray tears.

"Why are you crying?” He makes her face him, his worry back and in high gear, “Why are you here? Is there something wrong?" He panics.

"No, um. I'm just a bit weepy, you know... I'm pregnant and all that.” She smiles at him weakly. He notes the dark circles on the underside of her eyes, “I’m here because I needed to make sure that the artistic director is going to do as we agreed. He was being difficult on the phone." She sniffs.

Seung hyun wonders why the heck didn’t she tell her she was having a hard time sleeping, or eating? What else has she been keeping from him? He brushes her cheeks with his thumbs, stealing the stray beads of tears on her cheeks. He wanted to ask, wanted to accuse her of keeping secrets, but then again, what were they ten? So he just smiles at her, "I missed you, you know?"

And she looks up to him, eyes sparkling from her impromptu cry, "ugh. Choi, I missed you so much you can't even imagine!"

He laughs and takes her by the shoulder, and guides her to the door. "Let's get this shoot over so we can go home and you can tell me how much you miss me and how you really were. I feel like "fine" is an overestimation. You look worse than I do and someone beat me up 24 hours ago."

Sandara lets herself be ushered through the door, absentmindedly patting her hair down, "do I really look bad?"

He gives her a brief look over, and well, to be honest, she didn’t really look all too bad. Dark circles and slimmer wrists aside, she looks kind of radiant. Maybe a pregnancy glow of some sort. Her cheeks had a healthy flush on them. And well, he noticed she wore lighter make up, and he always thought she looked best without them any way, “Not really,but Dara, you’re so thin. You can’t grow thinner. That would be illegal. Don’t tell me you wear yoga pants because you still go out to the gym?”

She sighs, sweats are just easier to pull off when you're running to the toilet for a little mid day barf. She was thinking of things to defend her choice of bottoms. She bites her lip, what is there to say? In truth, Seung hyun was such a relief to her because she never could lie to him, never needed to, in fact.

“I don’t. I… you know… I have a hard time crouching on the toilet in my slacks. It’s for maternal convenience.” She says nonchalant. Like it wash’t a big deal.

Seung hyun would have said something but the conversation trails off as they were greeted by the staff and the photographer who Seung hyun notes stood up abruptly at the sight of Dara. The photographer i.e. artistic director extraordinaire was the little punk Jongsuk, who he had previously worked with and who had, with littlest subtlety, expressed interest in his agent. That kid Lee Jongsuk has a crush on Dara! Seung hyun could not help but narrow his brows at the boy in suspicion. Has he been giving Dara a hard time so he could finally meet her? What a sly one this kid!

Jong suk is a young photographer prodigy who won so many awards, it was hard not to know him in the industry. He was a fan of beauty, that was his tag line, his belief. And he was a fan of the elusive Sandara Park. He could not keep his grin to himself, obviously pleased at Dara's presence and he bowed at her deeply which the girl returns in mild confusion. Jong suk offers his hand in redundant greeting and Seung hyun finds himself intercepting the handshake.

"Hello, punk." Seung hyun begins, his tone mildly threatening. "I hear you've been giving my agent a hard time."

The threatening tone doesn't escape the younger boy's notice but his smile splits even wider. "Ah hyung, if you had been nice enough to just introduce Ms. Park to me, maybe I wouldn't have to be so hard on her."

Dara looks from one man to another, a little bewildered. "Ah, Mr. Lee, what do you mean?"

Seung hyun doesn't let go of the boy's hand. Jongsuk, however, shifted his attention to Dara. He thought how much cuter she is in person. "I wanted to meet you." The boy said frankly.

Seung hyun gave a terse "tsh." In response. Sauve, kid. Very sauve. He thought.

Dara just stares blankly at the man. At this pretty boy with reddish brown hair and pretty boy complexion that women would be jealous of. He was tall and a little gangly, a touch of youth in his face and limbs. Then it c