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His abdomen throbs with a persistent ache. Every time he tries to move, his breathing falters 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 room no one visits, a place hidden from sight. When he closed the door, the sound seemed unnaturally loud, 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 feels intrusive. 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.' More than the pain, he is terrified of being discovered. If the master finds out, he doesn't know what he would say. If asked why he didn't speak up, he doesn't know how he would answer. He is already indebted to them, and he fears looking like someone who secretly created yet another burden. That thought makes his breath tighten even more. Every time a contraction hits, his body stiffens involuntarily and his hands clench with force, 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. Words of concern, the time spent explaining, the expressions of pity. He is not good at those things. It is better for no one to be here. 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 he is most used to. Even now, he knows people are just outside if he only opened the 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.