The hospital room is too bright, sterile white walls reflecting the overhead lights in a way that makes my eyes hurt, and I’m sitting on the examination table in a thin gown that doesn’t quite close all the way while Dr. Xi presses carefully on my abdon, his expression professional and focused.
Bael is standing against the wall, arms crossed, watching everything with that controlled mask he wears when he’s hiding what he’s actually feeling.
"Does this hurt?" Dr. Xi asks, applying gentle pressure to the left side of my stomach.
"A little," I admit.
He nods, making notes on his tablet, then does the sa thing on the right side before stepping back.
"The baby is fine," he says, and I feel tension I didn’t realize I was holding release all at once. "Heartbeat is strong, developnt is progressing normally, no signs of distress."
Thank god.
"The cramping was caused by overexertion," Dr. Xi continues, looking between and Bael with an expression that suggests he knows exactly what kind of overexertion he’s talking about. "Stress, exhaustion, and particularly... vigorous physical activity."
My face burns hot enough that I’m surprised I don’t spontaneously combust.
"Early pregnancy requires more care than later stages," he continues, apparently determined to make this as mortifying as possible. "The body is adjusting to significant changes, and excessive strain can cause complications. You need proper rest, regular als, adequate hydration, and absolutely no repeating the kind of exercise that brought you here this morning."
He looks directly at Bael for that last part, holding his gaze with clear aning.
Bael’s expression doesn’t change, doesn’t show any reaction at all, but I see his jaw tighten slightly.
"Understood," he says quietly.
Dr. Xi nods, then turns his attention back to .
"Bed rest for the next two days, light activity only for the rest of the week. If you experience any more cramping, bleeding, or unusual pain, co back imdiately. No exceptions."
"Okay," I manage to get out, still wanting the floor to open up and swallow .
He hands a prescription for prenatal vitamins and so supplents, gives us both another pointed look, and then leaves us alone to get dressed.
I slide off the examination table carefully, my body still sore in ways that make the conversation we just had even more humiliating, and reach for my clothes.
Bael moves to help , his hands gentle as he assists with the shirt, and the careful way he’s touching now compared to last night makes sothing uncomfortable twist in my chest.
We don’t speak during the drive ho.
I watch the city pass by outside the window, still processing everything, still trying to reconcile the panic I saw in Bael’s eyes this morning with the brutal way he’d been fucking hours before.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded, and finally I can’t take it anymore.
"Why are you so quiet?" I ask, turning to look at him.
He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, fingers drumming once against his thigh before going still.
"Wasn’t it your plan to keep in bed all day?" I continue. "You should be happy it worked."
"Yes," he says after a mont, voice carefully controlled. "But I never ant to hurt you."
The words land strange, settling sowhere in my chest that makes breathing difficult.
Then his hand lifts, coming to rest on top of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair in a gesture that’s almost unbearably tender.
"I’m sorry," he says quietly, and my heart stops completely. "I’ll be more careful from now on, alright?"
I stare at him.
Bael just apologized.
Bael, who never admits fault, who never backs down, who approaches everything with absolute certainty in his own correctness, just said he’s sorry.
And the expression on his face, even though it’s composed and controlled like always, there’s sothing underneath it that makes my heart beat faster, makes heat flood through that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with sothing far more dangerous.
I want to tell him that even though he was rough, even though it hurt, it wasn’t that bad and he shouldn’t bla himself for this.
I want to say that I enjoyed it, that I asked for his attention and got exactly what I wanted even if the consequences weren’t what I expected.
I want to close the distance between us and—
But the words stick in my throat, refusing to co out, and all I can manage is a subtle nod, not trusting my voice to stay steady.
His hand stays in my hair for another mont, then withdraws, and we spend the rest of the drive in silence that feels different now, charged with sothing I don’t want to examine too closely.
***
Mrs. Wen sohow already has soup prepared when we arrive ho, steaming and fragrant, arranged on a tray in the dining room like she knew exactly when we’d be back.
Grandmother is there too, seated at the table with her tea, and one look at her expression tells she knows everything.
Of course she does.
Nothing happens in this house without her being aware of it.
"Sit," she says, and it’s not a suggestion.
I sit, and Mrs. Wen imdiately places the soup in front of , along with several other dishes that look specifically chosen for their nutritional value.
"Eat," Grandmother commands. "All of it."
I pick up my spoon, acutely aware of both of them watching , and start eating while my face burns with humiliation.
"Early pregnancy is delicate," Grandmother says, looking at Bael who’s taken a seat across from . "I trust you understand that now."
"Yes," Bael replies evenly.
"Good." She takes a sip of her tea. "Runze, you should rest for the next two days. No going out at all. No exceptions."
I open my mouth to protest that I’m fine, that bed rest seems excessive, but her sharp look makes close it again.
"Yes, Grandmother," I mutter.
The rest of the al passes in uncomfortable silence, and by the ti I’m finished I just want to escape to the bedroom and hide from everyone’s knowing looks.
Mrs. Wen collects my dishes with a gentle smile that sohow makes it worse, and I excuse myself as quickly as possible without being rude.
Bael follows upstairs, his presence a warm pressure at my back, and when we reach the bedroom he helps change into comfortable sleep clothes with the sa careful gentleness from the hospital.
It’s unnerving.
I’m used to Bael being intense, demanding, occasionally cruel in his teasing.
This careful, solicitous version of him is unfamiliar territory and I don’t know how to navigate it.
He helps into bed, actually tucking the blanket around like I’m fragile, and the gesture is so unexpectedly sweet that I don’t know how to react.
"Rest," he says quietly. "I’ll be back later."
Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone in the too-quiet room, staring at the ceiling and trying to process everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours.
Trying not to think about the way my heart skipped when he apologized.
Trying not to think about how much that small change in his behavior is affecting .
Trying not to acknowledge that this careful version of Bael is sohow more dangerous than the brutal one, because at least I knew how to handle brutality, I could write it off as just sex, just physical, just the arrangent we have.
But this?
This gentleness makes it harder to keep pretending I don’t care.
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