The hospital lights flattened everything into the same pale color.
Yura noticed it as soon as they were wheeled into the labor room—how the world became practical. Clean. Focused. No romance to hide behind. Just breath and bodies and the blunt fact of time moving forward.
Joon-ho stayed on her left like a shadow that refused to detach.
He had the hospital bag on one shoulder, his phone in his hand, his eyes on her face. Not the monitors. Not the staff. Her.
"Hey," Yura said when the nurse adjusted the bed and the sheet rustled over her legs.
Joon-ho blinked, like he'd been holding his breath for too long. "Yeah?"
"You're shaking," Yura murmured.
"I'm not," he lied instantly.
Yura lifted her hand. Joon-ho grabbed it so fast it was almost desperate. His fingers were warm, but his grip trembled, tiny involuntary pulses she could feel through her skin.
Yura squeezed back. "It's okay."
He swallowed. "You're… calm."
"I'm not calm," Yura corrected quietly. "I'm focused."
