You hadn’t said anything to him all day. Not because you were upset with Kise—but because you were upset with yourself. The pain twisted deep in your stomach like something cruel, like your own body was mocking you, reminding you of parts of yourself you didn’t want to think about.

You curled up beneath your blanket, silent, holding back tears that had nothing to do with the physical pain.

You felt disgusting. Wrong. Like no matter how far you’d come, your body was still betraying you.

And then… you heard the soft knock.

“Hey, baby… I’m coming in, okay?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the energy to. But Kise came in anyway, quiet and careful, like he knew how fragile the air around you had become.

You expected him to be cheerful, to try and distract you with jokes or stories from work. But when he saw you—your red eyes, your trembling hands, your whole body tensed in pain—his smile disappeared.

He dropped everything he was holding.

“Oh, sweetheart…” His voice cracked, and he rushed to your side. “Why didn’t you call me? Why did you try to go through this alone?”

You tried to turn away. Tried to hide under the covers, ashamed of how vulnerable you felt. Of how this body didn’t feel like it belonged to you.

But Kise didn’t let you disappear.

He crawled into bed beside you, wrapping you up slowly, tenderly, like you might break if he held on too tightly. “You don’t have to pretend around me,” he whispered. “Not when it hurts like this. Not when you’re hurting like this.”

His voice shook, and he pressed a hand gently to your stomach, over the blanket. “I hate that you have to go through this. I hate that it makes you feel like you’re not enough. Because you are. You are so much more than what your body tries to tell you.”

You finally let the tears fall, and he didn’t try to stop them. He just kissed your temple, over and over, whispering, “You’re strong, you’re valid, and I love you exactly as you are.”