That night, I learned two things.
First, Yoon Ha-rin did not sleep easily.
Second, my apartment was no longer quiet—it was cautiously quiet, the kind that waited for someone to say something important.
We sat at opposite ends of the sofa.
There was a respectable distance between us. I measured it mentally. It felt appropriate.
Ha-rin hugged a cushion to her chest, staring at the blank wall like it had personally betrayed her.
"…You're probably wondering," she said, "how I even ended up in this situation."
"Yes," I replied. "I was considering asking. Politely."
She snorted. "You're really bad at being polite."
"I am efficient."
She glanced at me, then looked away again.
"I didn't want this," she said quietly. "Just so you know."
"I assumed."
"That doesn't make it better."
"No," I agreed.
She took a breath.
"My schedule was insane," she continued. "Dieting, tours, recordings, no sleep. I fainted once during practice, and my manager called it 'exhaustion.'"
"That seems insufficient."
"Exactly." She hugged the cushion tighter. "So the company sent me for a checkup. Secretly. They didn't want rumors."
I nodded.
"Doctor said my hormones were a mess," she said. "Too much stress. Too much pressure. He said if I ever wanted kids… I shouldn't wait."
She laughed weakly.
"Imagine being told that at twenty-two. Between dance practice and vocal lessons."
"That is inconvenient timing," I said.
She looked at me. "That's all you have to say?"
"Yes."
She shook her head, smiling despite herself.
"They explained everything so fast," she went on. "Forms, signatures, medical words I didn't understand. My friend was there—the doctor I told you about. I trusted her."
"That was statistically reasonable."
"Don't say it like that."
I stopped.
She sighed. "I didn't know anything went wrong. I thought it was just tests. Preservation. Precautions."
She swallowed.
"Then my period didn't come."
Silence.
"I thought it was stress again," she said. "Everything in my life is blamed on stress."
That made sense.
"Then I fainted. Again." She laughed softly. "This time, the doctor looked like she'd seen a ghost."
I already disliked this doctor.
"She told me," Ha-rin said. "And I thought she was joking."
She finally turned to look at me properly.
"I didn't even know you existed."
"That is understandable."
"That's not comforting!"
She paused, then sighed.
"…But you're not what I imagined."
"What did you imagine?"
She looked around my apartment.
"…Someone louder."
"That would have been unfortunate."
She laughed. Properly this time.
The tension eased a little.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.
"For?"
"For dragging you into this. You just wanted a quiet life."
"That is accurate."
"And now you have… me."
"And a future complication," I added.
She smiled nervously.
"…You're really okay with this?"
I thought about it.
I had planned my life carefully.This situation ignored all planning.
But—
"This problem already exists," I said. "Ignoring it would be irresponsible."
She stared at me.
"…You're not normal."
"That has been established."
She relaxed back into the sofa.
"…I'm glad it was you," she said softly.
I did not respond immediately.
That statement required processing.
"Statistically," I said after a moment, "there were worse outcomes."
She groaned. "Why do you talk like that?"
"Because it keeps things manageable."
She looked at me, eyes softer now.
"…Thank you," she said again.
"You have already said that."
"I know. I just wanted to say it once more."
I nodded.
That night, as I returned to my room, I realized something important.
This pregnancy was not a joke.It was not a scandal.And it was not her fault.
It was simply a situation.
And situations, I could handle.