It Will Be Okay

The apartment had always been quiet in the mornings.

Not silent, never silent, but soft. Lived-in. The hum of the fridge. The occasional sound of traffic outside the windows. The kettle clicking when one of you forgot to turn it off properly.

Usually, Asa was the first one awake.

She liked slow mornings. Coffee before conversation. Sunlight through the curtains. Sometimes she’d sit on the kitchen counter in one of your hoodies while you made breakfast badly on purpose just so she’d eventually take over with an annoyed sigh.

It had become routine.

Comfort.

Home.

So when you woke up that Monday morning and realised her side of the bed was still occupied well past noon, something immediately felt… off.

At first, you thought she was just tired.

The weekend had been long. You’d both stayed up too late Saturday night watching terrible movies while Asa relentlessly judged every character decision out loud. 

Then Sunday had been spent helping Johnny move apartments, which mostly consisted of you carrying boxes while Asa sat cross-legged on the floor directing everyone like a tiny exhausted commander.

By the time you’d both gotten home, she’d practically collapsed face-first into bed. So tired made sense.

Except Asa never slept this late.

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, glancing toward her again.

She was still curled under the blankets, barely moving except for the slow rise and fall of her breathing. One arm tucked under the pillow. Brows faintly furrowed even in sleep.

You frowned slightly. “Asa?” you called softly.

A quiet groan answered you. Not words. Just sound.

Your concern sharpened instantly. You moved closer, resting a hand lightly against her forehead. “Baby?”

She cracked one eye open with visible effort. “Mm?”

“You okay?”

She closed her eyes again immediately. “No.”

That got your full attention.

You shifted closer against the headboard. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” she mumbled dramatically into the pillow. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re twenty-four.”

“People die at twenty-four.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Not from helping Johnny move furniture.”

“You didn’t see those stairs.”

A weak smile tugged at your mouth, but it faded quickly when she pressed a hand against her stomach with another quiet wince.

“Hey,” you said more gently now. “Seriously. What’s wrong?”

She stayed quiet for a second before sighing. “My stomach feels weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice came out tired and rough with sleep. “Just… bad.”

You studied her face carefully.

Pale. Exhausted. And definitely not pretending.

“Okay,” you said immediately, already getting out of bed. “Stay there.”

One eye opened again. “Where are you going?”

“To get you things.”

“That is not a real answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”

She let out a tired huff as you disappeared toward the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, you returned balancing water, crackers, medicine, a cold towel, and somehow also her favourite blanket despite the fact she was already under one.

Asa blinked slowly at the pile in your arms. “…Are you opening a hospital?”

“Yes.”

“For a stomach ache?”

“You said you were dying.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“And I’m taking it seriously.”

That finally earned you the smallest smile of the morning. Tiny. Sleepy. Barely there. But enough to make your chest loosen a little.

You sat everything down beside her carefully before climbing back onto the bed. “Drink some water first.”