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Hyunjin's head on my stomach adds a comfortable layer of gentle pressure and warmth to that of what the blanket already provides. I let my fingers run through his hair. It's gotten so long again. The strands are sprawled all over the blanket when he nuzzles his face into the soft fabric. His hand wanders under the blanket, under my shirt, and he sighs.
'Warm', he mumbles.
His voice sounds small, not quite sleepy yet, but definitely relaxed in a way that makes his senses slightly unconscious. His fingertips tap on my skin. Sometimes its a featherlight touch, his digits hovering over me so that only my hair can predict their location. Other times, he presses his palms into me, still gently, but with conviction. He is always committed to my warmth, perhaps a bit desperate, but I don't tell him that I think that. In fact, I am probably the desperate one and hope to find the same quality in him. I live with it being an assumption. I don't want to risk learning that I am the only one desperate in this relationship. That would be a type of loneliness I'm not ready to be confronted with.
When he cups my lower stomach, he gets still. I look down at him. He is already looking up. There is something in his eyes, a glimmer, a sense of dreaminess, hope.
'What?', I ask way too quietly. I want to be more confident. I thought I was, but his hands on certain parts of my body still cause me to freeze, to question, to doubt. Though I don't fear it anymore.
He doesn't answer. He just sits up and kisses me. It's a slow kiss. He lingers once his lips move away from mine. His hand is still on my stomach, and I have to think of films in which a couple commits to the idea of becoming parents. Hyunjin's hand is right over where I believe my uterus to be. At least it's where I feel the pain during my period most condensed.
Something in me pushes my tears upwards. I don't want to cry. There is no reason for it. That's a lie. My fear of Hyunjin wanting children is definitely a fear that has made me cry more than once. The loneliness that accompanies me knows it's present partly because I am less desirable by men for not wanting children. One might think that women are seen as full individuals beyond the potential to carry and bear children, but that's not the case. It doesn't matter how often Hyunjin promises me to be fully d'accord with the way I choose to use agency over my body, I still worry.
'You're so warm', he repeats and lies down next to me, his hand not leaving my body. He likes holding me. I like holding him, but my hand on his stomach is no implication.
'Why the tears?', he whispers and moves closer. He always thinks he can shield me from everything that bothers me when he just remains close enough. It's not quite protectiveness when he is close to me. I always feel like it's a certain arrogance that causes him to jump right into every challenge. He wants to claim me before any pain, and any worry can. He wants to be fast enough to take up the space around me so that he is the only one who surrounds me. It's him, and only him. He needs to be the only one.
He looks at me patiently and repeats his question. His voice is even quieter, his lisp more prominent.
I shake my head. I am careful to keep the movement minimal to not let a tear accidently fall. I want to keep them in my eyes. If they drop, it's real. I don't want my fear to be real. I don't want my fear to be justified. I don't want this world to be so cruel.
He keeps looking. He places another kiss on my temple and pulls me against him. I can feel his stomach pressing into my side with every breath. I am jealous that his stomach doesn't come with so much mental load. I am jealous of how easy breathing is to him and how every breath is his. It doesn't matter if I am pregnant or not. I either breathe with people valuing my breath less if I claim it to be only mine or if I were pregnant, my breath will literally be shared as I had to keep more than my body alive and well. I envy Hyunjin for his innocence. My hand on his stomach is only ever a touch of pleasure for him.
'I don't want to get pregnant', I croaks, and gravity betrays me. It pulls the tears out of my eyes, and not even my eyelashes have a chance to hold onto them.
Hyunjin doesn't move his hand away. The only thing that changes about his touch is that he starts to caress my stomach in a consoling manner, as if he wanted to prove to me and my body that his touch is for comfort first and foremost. I want it to be for comfort only.
'Then you don't', he simply says, and I hate that it doesn't seem so simple to me.
'What are you thinking when you hold me like this?', I ask, scared, but in need of his mind.
'Not of a child in you', he mumbles and pushes himself up, so that he can rest his chin on the top of my head, letting my entire body lean against his, letting me feel that he is taller, bigger than I am, and that I can be in his embrace without having to hold someone in mine.
'I was thinking about how much you've been through, how much your stomach dealt with when you didn't eat or ate a lot, and threw up. You always focus on your stomach. I just want to love it for keeping you alive', he says, his palm spreading warmth wherever he chooses to hold you.
He lets me cry. He doesn't brush my tears away. I linger in my fears, memories, assumptions, distrust, while he massages my stomach, my waist, runs his fingers along my ribcage. I drown in my mind, but the harsh memories don't dare to insist on staying, because I allow Hyunjin to touch the parts of my body that I wished to break free from so warmly that mend a little more.
I don't like it when his hand on my stomach feels like expectation, even when it's not his expectation. I don't like it when it feels like ownership. I don't like it when it feels like more of his comfort than mine. He might not even mean it that way, but my body allows a lot of interpretations, and they are rarely my own.
I like it when I let him hold me. I like it when his touch is what I asked for. I like it when his hand on my stomach supports my story. I like it when his warmth is to warm me. I like that it's not selfish. Our kindness is based on respect for us as whole people, and I hate that it feels so special.