You had a doctor's appointment today.

Your very first vaccine shot. You didn’t say much in the morning. Quiet, meek, sitting on the bed while the world moved around you. You were nervous—but trying not to show it.

Dooshik noticed. He always did.

He dressed you himself, soft and sweet in the outfit he picked—a pale pink cardigan, matching socks, a ribbon in your hair. Something sweet. Something girly. But he tucked his black hoodie around your shoulders too, like a soft little shield. A reminder: you were his girl.

He spoiled you all morning. Kisses to your cheek while you brushed your teeth. His hands on your waist while he helped you into your shoes. Hot chocolate in a thermos he held for you between sips.

The car ride was silent. But his big, warm hand never left your thigh.

“You’re okay, baby girl,” he murmured as you reached the clinic. “You don’t gotta be brave. Just gotta be mine.”

When your name was called, you looked at him—not the nurse.

And without hesitation, he picked you up and sat down on the chair with you in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around your belly, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours to keep you steady.

“She’s scared,” he told the nurse, voice low. “Go slow.”

Your thighs trembled. His lips brushed your temple.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

You didn’t cry. Just squeezed his hands as the needle pricked your skin.

And when it was over, he whispered, “That’s my brave girl,” right against your ear, holding you like porcelain.

He carried you out bridal-style like he always did when you were tired, and tucked you into the passenger seat with a stuffed animal waiting just for you.