Chapter 10: The First Step Toward Change (2)
Late lunch was over. As I cleared the empty bowls and turned around, she sneaked a glance toward my bedroom. She'd finished eating, so she was planning to crawl back into the safety of the blankets. Standing behind her, I gave a light push with my words.
"Finish your tasks before you go in."
Her shoulders jerked at my slightly commanding tone. Her body trembled as she turned toward the living room, trudging along like a beast being led to the slaughterhouse.
What a mess. She can't even speak properly. I swallowed a bitter smile inside. If I spoke kindly, she'd collapse like a wounded animal, apologizing nonstop. If I was even a bit curt, she'd tremble like a leaf in the wind. I had no idea what rhythm to match.
But nursing a hurt person requires patience, right? It had only been two days since she'd crawled into my room.
Yeah. I'm the one being impatient. I steadied my mind, grabbed my laptop, and headed to the living room. She hadn't even climbed onto the plush sofa—instead, she huddled on the floor beneath it, knees drawn up tight. As I approached, her body flinched and stiffened. When I moved to sit beside her, she scooted her butt away to avoid me, stared blankly for a moment, then crept back just close enough to see my laptop screen.
At least a sliver of trust remains. Good. It was pitiful, yet reassuring, how she wanted to flee but couldn't leave my side. I powered on the laptop and opened a shopping site and nearby hospital pages side by side. As the screen lit up, a faint spark of curiosity flickered in her dull gray eyes. She craned her neck toward the monitor, but when I glanced her way, she startled and buried her head completely between her knees, hiding away.
"Hospital first? Or clothes?" I tossed her a simple choice she could handle.
She peeked up from her knees, glancing at me cautiously before whispering.
"Clothes…."
"Got it. No need for measurements—I'll pick free-size stuff you can wear."
"Yeah…."
The word "measurements" hit her ears like a shock. Reflexively, she hugged her knees tighter to shield her chest, then wrapped her arms around herself completely. Terrified again, she started edging toward the sofa's end for some breathing room, but when I shifted to follow, she stuck right back to me, butt wiggling closer.
She wants to stay close, but don't look at her body, huh…. It was a bizarre contradiction, but I didn't push her away. So close our shoulders nearly touched, I could hear her soft breaths.
"Dark colors? Or brighter ones?"
"Bright…."
"With a hood? Or without?"
"With hood…."
I didn't give her time for stray thoughts. Any pause, and she'd crumble. Short questions, quick answers, straight to the cart.
For bottoms, she can share my smaller training pants for now.
My scrolling finger paused. The search algorithm was annoyingly perceptive—after a string of free-size clothing searches, the bottom recommendations shifted instantly. The screen filled with colorful bras and panties. Her breath, right beside me, hitched sharply: "Gasp."
My grip tightened on the mouse.
Don't scroll past it now. I didn't avert my eyes. I'd already labeled her a TS disease patient and mentioned OB-GYN visits. Hiding the screen now, as if pretending she wasn't a woman, would poison us both. A woman's body needed women's clothes—at least underwear. It was better for her physically and mentally.
Yeah. This is right. Eyes fixed on the monitor, I spoke dryly.
"At least wear women's panties. It'll be more comfortable for you."
"Uh… ugh…."
The word "women's" from my mouth froze her solid again. Veins bulged on her arms clutching her knees; she groaned miserably, head bowed.
I steeled myself and pushed firmly.
"Honestly, going without is more uncomfortable. This is all for your sake."
I could lend her my boxers, but why do men's and women's underwear exist separately? Men's for men, women's for women—simple as that. And if something like that happened again, she'd panic less prepared this way.
I didn't turn. I stared at the screen, pressuring silently until she answered. Her trembling shoulders tugged at me, but I ignored it. How long passed? A mumble leaked from between her knees.
"Something… as guy-like as possible…."
"Got it."
I clicked a simple design into the cart and sighed inwardly in relief. Underwear done. I added pads for emergencies. The total was hefty, but I hit purchase without hesitation.
"Pay me back later. Once you're fully recovered."
I kept my eyes on the screen. No cheap pity like "I'm buying this out of sympathy, don't worry about the money." That would be poison now. Better to make it clear: I spent it, so repay me proudly later.
You're not beneath me. I wasn't raising her like a pet or dominating her. We were equals, like old times—friends.
Not wanting to dwell deeper, I closed the shopping site and searched nearby hospitals and OB-GYNs.
"Yeah…."
Then, from her knee-buried face, a soft reply slipped out.
"Good. Pay up when you're better."
Short response, but my heart felt lighter. I scanned hospital locations and sites intently. Luckily, several offered video consults for TS disease patients. A walkable one nearby felt like striking gold.
Let's see. No separate full mutation section. Full mutations were rare even among TS disease cases. No homepage info meant calling directly.
I picked up my phone and told her before dialing.
"I'm calling the hospital now. If it's uncomfortable, go to the bedroom."
I worried OB-GYN talk would trigger her, but she just shook her head silently.
"Good girl."
The praise slipped out unbidden—genuine admiration for staying by my side, facing reality instead of fleeing.
She lifted her head a fraction at my words, then dropped it again.
Maybe more praise later. I pushed the call button.
The line rang a few times before a calm woman's voice came through.
"Hello, Somang Obstetrics and Gynecology. How may I help you?"
"Calling about TS disease treatment."
"Oh, sorry, but we don't have any male doctors here."
Her hesitant tone was the standard reaction. Body female, mind still male—they'd prefer a male doctor. But not for my huddled girl. To her, all men were ravenous demons now; a female doctor was perfect.
"Perfect. It's a full mutation case."
"Ah… Have you gotten a temporary ID issued?"
"No. Transformation just happened yesterday."
"Then no health insurance—it'll be out-of-pocket. Fees add up…."
"Doesn't matter. Video consult possible?"
Cost was never a factor.
"Yes. But for prescriptions, a guardian must come in person."
"Understood. We'll visit tomorrow morning."
"That works."
Call ended. I set the phone down and looked at her. She'd buried her upper body so deep between her knees, her head was invisible. OB-GYN, full mutation, out-of-pocket, prescriptions—her raw reality, voiced by me and a stranger, must've been torture.
"Your neck'll snap. Call's over. Rest in the bedroom if you're tired."
She peeked up slightly.
"Yeah…."
Hands covering her flushed face, she staggered to the bedroom. Her cowed silhouette tugged at me, but I couldn't hurt for her.
I shut the laptop to tidy the living room when the door creaked open. She dragged the thick bed blanket across the floor, circled back to the living room, glanced at me slyly, then flopped onto the sofa. She wrapped herself cocoon-tight, like a thick pupa—leaving just a tiny breathing hole toward me.
What the hell does that mean? Staring at the bizarre bundle, I puzzled it out. The feverish shame from under the blanket lingered. Her room still reeked of her unfamiliar scent. Alone there, it'd trigger self-loathing or terror again. Better the living room.
Her dull eyes peeked through the hole, but I pretended not to notice, closing the laptop casually.
"Boiler stays off even if you're cold."
Playful jab over gentle coaxing. She seemed relieved, wriggling her pupa-body side to side in reply.
I left her to rest, planning to work the remaining time. But sunset brought evening.
Nothing done today. I tried focusing on the keyboard, but no use. My eyes kept drifting to check if she was stuffy or asleep in there. A faint cough from the bundle nearly had me jumping up. All my nerves zeroed on the sofa girl—no losses today was a miracle.
Closing the laptop, a thought struck.
Wait—she had a job. True to her social butterfly past, she worked fashion—trendy, people-facing, calls nonstop weekdays or weekends. Her phone must be buried in missed calls and messages.
But I hadn't fetched it. No need to snoop without permission—and pointless anyway. The man Han Junseo was gone from this world for now. No way the blanket-sick girl could handle backlog or calls.
Fine. Consider us both on extended leave. I leaned back on the sofa, exhaling softly. We existed, but inside these walls, we were vanished—cut off from the world. No company, no predators, no stares. Perfect shelter.
I gazed quietly at the softly breathing blanket pupa. Someday, when she shed it and flew as a butterfly, our vanishing would end. We'd soar back to the world.