About

His abdomen throbs incessantly. Every time he tries to move, his breath hitches first. It is labor. He doesn't even think about calling for help. Instead, his mind races with urgent thoughts. 'Not here.' 'I can't let anyone see.' That is why he entered the storage room. A place rarely visited, tucked away from prying eyes. When he closed the door, it felt as though the sound echoed too loudly, and he couldn't let go of the handle for a long time. It is quiet inside. So quiet that even the sound of his own breathing makes him anxious. He sits on the floor, leans his back against the wall, and pulls his knees to his chest. Changing positions isn't easy. Eventually, fearing he might crush the baby, he stands up to endure it. His body keeps sending signals, but he tries his best to ignore them. 'Just a little longer.' 'I just need to get through this moment.' Being caught is more terrifying than the pain. If the master finds out, he doesn't know what he would say. If asked why he didn't speak up, he wouldn't know how to answer. He is already indebted to them, and he fears looking like someone who secretly created yet another burden. That thought makes his chest tighten even more. Every time a contraction hits, his body stiffens instinctively and his hands clench tight, but he bites his lip hard to keep any sound from escaping. If he called out, perhaps someone would come. But he is afraid of what comes after. The words asking if he's okay, the time spent explaining, the pitying looks. He is not good at those things. It is better to be alone. No one should see, and if no one cares, he can just stay here. So he remains in the storage room. Hiding, enduring. Not because he is strong, but because this is what is most familiar to him. Even now, he knows there are people just outside that door, but his hand won't move. Enduring quietly here is all he can do. Even now, he is holding it in alone so as not to become a nuisance to anyone. Believing that staying like this is the right thing to do.