Chapter 11: The First Step of Change (3)
Clothes bought, hospital appointment booked. With the major urgent tasks roughly handled, all that was left was waiting for morning to break.
I glanced at the sofa where she was. Still buried under the thick blanket up to her head, she wriggled like a giant cocoon. She hadn't moved a muscle, as if she weren't suffocating, but sensing my gaze, she made a tiny peephole in the blanket and peeked out at me through it.
Worried she might be bored, I grabbed the remote rolling around on the living room table. I turned on the TV, flipped through a few channels, and settled on the variety show she always watched whenever she came over.
At least her ears are open, so she'll hear it.
The world on the TV screen was pointlessly bright and flashy, the total opposite of the heavy, damp air in my living room. Flashing subtitles, performers bursting into exaggerated laughter with over-the-top gestures. Those artificial laughs seemed to blanket the suffocating, sinking atmosphere just a little.
But she didn't even turn her head toward the screen. She just kept peeking at me through her blanket peephole, showing no reaction whatsoever to the jokes on TV.
It was a segment observing a guest's daily life—and of all people, it featured someone who used to be a man but became a woman after contracting TS disease, now living as a glamorous influencer.
The woman on screen, with perfect makeup, smiled confidently at the camera, flaunting her successful life.
The moment I saw her, my fingertips went ice-cold. Shit.
That bold, smiling woman on screen contrasted so cruelly with the girl trembling in fear under the blanket on my sofa right now.
Some turned their illness into an opportunity to become famous and get applause, while my friend hid like a bug, abandoned by family and shunned by friends. What would she be thinking seeing that?
Anxious, I glanced at the sofa. Sure enough, her reaction was immediate. She sealed even that single peephole shut and abruptly turned toward the sofa backrest. The blanket lump huddled against the wall looked so pitiful.
Damn... sorry. I didn't think that through.
I rapidly clicked through channels—laughter, music, drama lines—until I landed on the economic news.
> The KOSPI index compared to the previous trading day...
The dry, emotionless anchor's voice filled the room with bland stock indices and exchange rate charts in muted colors. No human feelings mixed in at all. Only then did the rigid blanket lump against the backrest twitch slightly, easing its tension.
Seeing that, I rubbed my stiff neck and let out a small sigh.
Time passed, and before I knew it, night had fallen outside. Lunch's Chinese food had been so late that I wasn't hungry. Considering her shrunken stomach, skipping dinner and feeding her properly in the morning before the hospital seemed best.
I stood and approached the sofa, tossing out the question casually. "Hungry? There's some leftover sweet-and-sour pork from lunch I set aside. Want me to heat it up? Or just sleep?"
Short, clear choices she could handle.
The cocoon facing the backrest slowly shifted toward me. A small peephole opened in the blanket, and in the darkness, our eyes met.
"…."
I was at a loss for words. Under the faint blue glow from the TV, her gray eyes brimmed with clear tears, and the edge of the blanket trembled faintly. She'd bitten her lip to stifle any sound, holding her breath.
She's been crying again.
Did the influencer on screen make her feel pathetic? Or had nightfall brought back those memories? She'd wedged herself in the corner, swallowing silent sobs so I wouldn't see her cry.
But I didn't pry why or pull back the blanket to comfort her. Struggling not to sniffle, she mumbled softly from inside, voice choked. "Wanna sleep…."
"Got it."
I nodded calmly. "I'll turn off the lights, so rest easy here. I'll even crank the boiler for you."
To gloss over her tears like always, I added a tsundere jab. I killed the main living room lights with the remote, then the TV, plunging the room into perfect darkness and silence. I bumped up the boiler controller on the wall, grabbed my laptop to head to my room.
"No funny thoughts. Just sleep."
I tossed that indifferently and started turning from the sofa—
Grab.
A small, slender hand shot out through the peephole, clutching the hem of my hoodie tightly.
"Huh…?"
I froze mid-step. The grip was pathetically weak— one step and it'd slip off easily. But that tiny hand trembled like someone clinging to a lifeline at the cliff's edge.
"What? Need something?"
No answer, just clutching my hem. She wanted me to stay but couldn't say it, protesting with her body instead, terrified I'd vanish into my room.
Having me close might make it worse for her…?
Didn't she freak out before from just a touch? Hormones and that horrific sensation. Was being left alone scarier than the disease's maddening side effects? Being abandoned right now more frightening than the insanity it brought?
No clear answer came no matter how I turned it over. I gave up overthinking, plopped on the sofa's edge near where she lay. Even then, she didn't release my hem.
"Sleeping naked here's cold too. At least let me grab a blanket from my room?"
I lifted the hem to pull free; she gripped harder instead of answering.
"Hah… stubborn as ever."
I couldn't help chuckling. Of all Han Junseo's traits—the noisy, outgoing ones—that annoying pigheaded stubbornness I'd hoped came last had popped up first. But I didn't hate it. It meant fragments of the old shameless guy were returning, escaping the endless apologies and shivers.
So I crammed onto the ridiculously narrow leather sofa for two adults. As I lay close, she finally relaxed; the frozen cocoon began rising and falling slowly, rhythmically.
This… is your brainiac solution?
It was ridiculous on closer look. Touching meant losing control to weird sensations; distance meant abandoned in the world. Her compromise: thick blanket barricade, hem clutched to tether me close. Like kids drawing lines on desks not to cross.
But commendable she'd wracked her head for this after being cornered overnight.
"I'll stay by you, so don't worry. Sleep."
Still blunt and dry; no reply. But she tugged my hem closer under the blanket.
Thus pinned on the sofa's edge, I stared blankly at the dark living room ceiling, trapped.
How much time passed? The small hand clutching my hem like a lifeline slackened and dropped limp.
Finally asleep.
Her steady breaths filled the silence. Today was a spectacle, but we'd survived without disaster. I sighed inwardly in relief.
Ugh… at least body heat means no freezing.
Boiler up or not, winter wind seeped through the balcony window cracks, biting cold. Hoodie alone was chilly, but the massive cocoon's radiating warmth next to me made it bearable.
Fatigue hit; I shifted to sleep—
Yank.
She thrashed in sleep, snatching my arm and pulling it to her chest like a teddy bear or body pillow. My arm sank naturally between her massive breasts, prominent even under the blanket.
"…."
Double barrier of blanket and sleeve, yet the soft, heavy pressure from both sides was vividly clear.
But no cheap male embarrassment or arousal crossed my mind. Just absurdity, a tidal wave of what the hell.
You built a blanket barricade, and now you're shoving my arm in there?
A snort escaped in the dark. Considered pulling out but let it be. Instinctive sleep-cuddle for warmth; no need to wake her for more apologies. Plus, my trapped forearm felt like a handwarmer—decent sleep aid.
Wonder what her reaction'll be come morning.
Me on cramped sofa beside giant cocoon, one arm plunged in its cleavage, staring at ceiling. Absurd picture anyone'd tsk at—but I just closed my eyes.
…
Next morning.
Conclusion: surprisingly good sleep for the cramped sofa. First in view on waking: massive cocoon inches from my nose.
Night's chill layered the floor from balcony gaps, but the cocoon beside me doubled as stellar heater and cushy guardrail against rolling off.
I rolled my stiff neck, checking myself. Right arm still wedged in blanket gap from her chest. Not just wedged—seeking warmth in sleep, I'd unconsciously hugged the blanket lump close.
Time to get up….
Muttering internally, I eased my arm from her grasp, terrified of waking her. Centimeter by centimeter backward; the gap loosened.
Slip.
Arm free, my chilled torso contrasted the toasty right forearm—sole lively warmth in icy air.
Whew. Thanks to this hand, at least I slept.
I rubbed the warm arm with the other, chuckling shortly. Picked up phone from floor; screen showed 7:00 AM.
Reckoning from lights-out, we'd both slept straight 10+ hours without waking—rare for us.
Body contact eased her anxiety?
No. Her huddled form and our tangle: less mutual, more me cradling her roundly. Whatever—her sleeping soundly despite terror and coughs mattered.
Hugging my cold upper body, I rose carefully from sofa. Tiptoeing out soundlessly—
Wriggles.
Sensing the void, the cocoon lurched, sliding to fill the space, sprawling starfish-style across the sofa center.
She was uncomfortable too, huh….
Couldn't help snickering. No wonder—with my bulk hogging 70%, she'd dangled precariously off the edge, clinging to my arm all night subconsciously.
"Nngh…."
Standing mid-living room, I stretched my leaden body, joints popping. She stayed sprawled contentedly, breathing evenly, undisturbed.
I padded quietly to the kitchen. Water in coffeepot, two instant black coffee sticks from cabinet corner into mug. Usually one sufficed; today exception.
Busy day ahead. Chug caffeine first.
Hot water poured; rich, bitter aroma filled kitchen. Cradling steaming mug, I mentally mapped the day: OB-GYN visit. Never imagined stepping foot there, let alone solo as a guy picking up meds for transformed friend.
Gonna lose my mind.
Just picturing flustered reception nurse or glaring waiting-room women fatigued me already. But what choice? Without me, she'd hide under that blanket forever.
I downed the rest, set empty mug in sink.