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MidReal Story
Boyfriend Material
Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant. Hyun is a 15 year old korean boy who is ten weeks pregnant. It's wintertime, and hyun already loves his baby. Hyun got r worded and doesn't know the father of his baby. Hyuns parents are trying to force Him to abort. Hyun is a boy, and he is friends with a girl named wony who is supportive of hyuns pregnancy
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Hyun
He is a 15yearold high school student in Korea. He is determined, optimistic, and selfconscious. Hyun discovers he is pregnant and decides to keep the baby. His parents want him to have an abortion, but he refuses. Wony, his female friend, supports him, and he confides in her. Hyun struggles with the societal expectations of being a boy and his own feelings of inadequacy. Despite external pressures, he resolves to embrace fatherhood.
Seojin
He is Hyun's classmate in high school and Wony's exboyfriend in Korea. He is indifferent, dismissive, yet relevant. Seojin had a relationship with Wony before they parted ways due to his lack of interest. Although he is no longer significant in Wony's life, his past connection to her affects Hyun indirectly as Seojin's family becomes important in helping Hyun's situation, despite Seojin’s reluctance at first.
Wony
She is a 15yearold high school student and Hyun's childhood friend in Korea. She is supportive, empathetic, and loyal. Wony learns about Hyun's pregnancy and vows to stand by him despite the challenges. She helps Hyun navigate his secret life as a pregnant boy and provides emotional support. Wony and Hyun share a deep bond built on trust and shared experiences from their pasts. Her presence means much to Hyun as he faces his uncertain future.
I am Hyun, a 15-year-old Korean boy.
I am ten weeks pregnant.
I got "R worded" and do not know the father of my baby.
My parents want me to abort, but I refuse.
I do not want to lose my baby.
My parents forced me to take a pregnancy test last week.
When the results showed that I was pregnant, they immediately scheduled an abortion for me.
I did not want to lose my baby, so I begged my parents to reconsider.
They refused and told me that having a baby at my age would ruin my future.
I have been begging them to change their minds ever since, but they refuse.
My parents think that having a baby will make it impossible for me to finish high school and go to college.
They also think that it will make it impossible for me to get a good job.
They think that having a baby will make my life miserable.
I know that having a baby will make my life more difficult, but I am determined to finish high school and go on to college.
I am determined to get a good job and provide for my baby.
Having a baby does not have to ruin my life.
In fact, having a baby can make my life better.
Having a baby can give me purpose and direction in my life.
Having a baby can make me feel needed and important.
I sit at the kitchen table with my mom, watching her prepare dinner.
She is chopping vegetables with a knife, her movements mechanical and precise.
The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board is soothing, and I find myself mesmerized by the motion.
As I watch, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
My hands rest on my stomach, and I feel the weight of my baby inside me.
It is a strange sensation, but it is also comforting.
I know that my baby is alive and growing, and that gives me hope.
I look up at my mom, who is still chopping vegetables.
She has not said anything to me in a while, and I am starting to get worried.
I know that she is upset about my pregnancy, but I also know that she loves me.
I take a deep breath and speak up.
"Mom," I say, my voice shaking slightly.
She does not look up from her chopping, but I know that she heard me.
"Mom," I say again, this time more firmly.
She finally looks up at me, her eyes narrowed slightly.
"What?" she asks gruffly. "I wanted to tell you something," I say, my voice trembling slightly.
She sighs and puts down the knife, turning to face me fully.
"What is it?" she asks impatiently.
I take another deep breath before speaking.
"I heard the heartbeat," I say softly.
She frowns slightly, clearly confused by what I am saying.
"The heartbeat," I repeat.
"I heard it."
She still looks confused, so I continue explaining.
"The baby's heartbeat," I say slowly.
"I heard it today."
Her eyes widen slightly as understanding dawns on her face.
"Oh," she says softly.
"How?"
I smile slightly as I remember the moment when I first heard the heartbeat.
"I was at the doctor's office today," I explain. "They did an ultrasound and showed me the baby. And then they put this thing on my stomach and turned it up loud so that we could hear the heartbeat."
I close my eyes as I remember the sound of the heartbeat.
"It was amazing," I say softly.
"It sounded like tiny drums beating really fast."
My mom does not say anything for a moment, and I open my eyes to look at her face.
Her expression is still confused, but there is also a hint of sadness in her eyes.
I continue speaking, my voice growing stronger as I talk.
"The doctor said the heart starts beating at six weeks. My baby's heart has been beating for a month already."
I press my palm against my still-flat stomach, remembering the rapid thump-thump from the ultrasound.
My mom sets down the knife and grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles white.
"It's not just cells anymore," I say, the words tumbling out of me.
"They're alive. They have a heartbeat. I can't - I won't end that."
While browsing clothes at the mall with Wony, I catch myself touching my stomach again.
Wony notices and asks me why pregnant people always do that.
I pause near a rack of oversized hoodies and consider how to explain.
My hand stays on my belly, hidden under my winter coat, as I tell her about the constant awareness of the baby growing inside me.
The heartbeat I heard yesterday makes it feel more real now.
I guide her hand to the spot where the doctor showed me, even though it's too early to feel anything.
While we're browsing the mall's food court, I find myself staring at a strawberry smoothie stand.
The bright red drinks look irresistible, though I've never particularly liked strawberries before.
Wony notices my fixation and buys me one.
As I sip it eagerly, she asks if it's me or the baby craving it.
I pause, considering.
The smoothie tastes better than anything I've had recently, but I'm not sure if my sudden strawberry craving comes from me or my baby.
While sitting on Wony's bedroom floor, I fidget with the hem of my sweater and tell her about finding an appointment card for the abortion clinic on our kitchen counter.
I explain that my mom scheduled it for next week, without asking me what I wanted.
Wony listens quietly as I describe how my hands shook when I saw the date and time written in my mom's neat handwriting.
I tell her how even thinking about going to that clinic makes me feel sick to my stomach.
After hearing my baby's heartbeat, the thought of stopping it is unbearable.
Wony looks at me, her eyes full of determination.
"You have to tell her how you feel," she says firmly.
"But what if she doesn't listen?" I reply, my voice trembling with uncertainty.
I sit in the passenger seat of my mom's car as she drives us to the clinic.
The streets look familiar, but the silence between us feels heavy and tense.
As we turn onto the street with the clinic, my heart races.
I grip my coat tighter over my stomach, trying to calm myself down.
My mom parks the car, but I don't move.
I stay frozen in place as she unbuckles her seatbelt.
Through the windshield, I watch other people entering the plain brick building with its frosted glass doors.
My mom reaches for my arm, but I pull away, pressing myself against the car door.
"I won't go in," I say, my voice shaking but firm.
She looks at me, her expression a mix of surprise and frustration.
"Sweetheart, we talked about this," she says, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I know, but it's not what I want," I reply, my resolve strengthening with each word.
I stare at the clinic's entrance through the foggy car window.
My breath creates small clouds on the glass, and I watch them disappear as I exhale.
My mom's words about responsibility and my future fade into background noise.
All I can focus on is the warmth beneath my palm, where my baby grows.
The memory of that rapid heartbeat echoes in my mind, making the clinic look more threatening with each passing second.
When my mom reaches for the door handle, panic surges through me.
"It makes me feel like I'm murdering my own baby," I say, my voice cracking.
The words hang heavy in the car's confined space.
My mom's hand falters, and for the first time, I see doubt in her eyes.
My mom's hands grip the steering wheel as she stares ahead at the clinic's entrance.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
I can feel her tension, her conflicting desires.
Finally, she lets out a long breath.
"Fine," she says quietly, "you can keep it."
Her shoulders slump, and she turns the key in the ignition.
The car roars back to life.
I keep my hand pressed against my stomach, hardly daring to breathe.
As we pull away from the curb and drive past the clinic, my mom adds her conditions: I'll have to finish school, help with expenses, and take full responsibility for my baby.
I nod quickly, relief washing over me as we drive past the building I feared would take my baby away.
"Thank you, Mom," I whisper, my voice filled with gratitude and a hint of disbelief.
She glances at me, her eyes softening for a moment.
"Just promise me you'll be ready for what's ahead," she replies, her tone both hopeful and cautious.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, I lift the hem of my shirt.
My stomach, once flat and smooth, now feels different under my fingers.
I press gently around my lower abdomen, exploring the subtle changes.
The waistband of my school uniform pants feels tighter, though they still button.
Remembering what the doctor said about being twelve weeks along, I grab my phone to take progress pictures.
I want to document every change, even these early ones that only I can see.
I stand in front of the arcade's bathroom mirror with Wony.
I lift my winter coat and school blazer, exposing the tank top underneath.
The fluorescent lights above us cast harsh shadows on our faces, and I turn sideways to examine my reflection more closely.
My hand smooths over the fabric where it clings slightly to my lower belly.
In this lighting, the curve there seems more pronounced than it does at home.
"Do you think you can see it?" she asks, her voice filled with curiosity.
I squint at my reflection, trying to see what she sees.
The voices of other students echo from the arcade beyond the bathroom door, mingling with the sound of video games and laughter.
Wony steps closer, studying me intently.
"I think I can," she says, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and concern.
I feel a surge of anxiety as I turn to face her.
"Really?" she asks again, her voice laced with doubt. "Yeah," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you scared?" Wony asks, her eyes searching mine for honesty.
I nod, swallowing hard.
"But I'm also kind of excited," I admit, feeling a strange mix of emotions welling up inside me.
I sit in the school bathroom during lunch break, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My uniform shirt is lifted, and I hold it tight against my body.
The slight curve of my belly seems more noticeable today, especially when I turn sideways.
I can see it, and I know others will too if they look closely.
Suddenly, a group of students pass by outside the bathroom door, their loud laughter echoing through the hallway.
I flinch, quickly grabbing my winter uniform jacket from the bench and putting it on.
I button it carefully, smoothing the fabric over my stomach to hide any signs of the life growing inside me.
"I'm sorry, little one," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
"We need to keep you hidden for now."
The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, a bag of Skittles resting beside me.
My winter coat lies discarded on the floor, and I'm surrounded by textbooks and notes.
Picking out only the purple and red Skittles, I create two small piles on the cover of my textbook.
The other colors no longer appeal to me; they used to be my favorites, but now I can't stand them.
My phone buzzes with a message from Wony.
"Are you studying tonight?" she asks.
I send her a photo of the Skittles I've sorted into their respective piles.
She responds with a string of laughing emojis.
"Last week you told me you hated artificial grape flavor," she teases.
I pop another purple Skittle into my mouth, savoring the taste that my body suddenly craves.
I lie on my bed, holding my phone above my face.
The grape Skittles wrapper crinkles as I reach for another one, dropping purple candy crumbs on my chest.
My other hand rests on my small bump, feeling the connection to the baby growing inside me as I type.
When Wony mentions how I used to hate artificial grape flavor, a smile spreads across my face.
I snap a picture of my belly with scattered Skittles around it.
I sit at the dinner table, pushing the vegetables around my plate with my fork.
My mom lectures me about the importance of proper nutrition during pregnancy.
She insists that I eat the mushrooms, which I have always disliked.
The smell alone makes me feel nauseated.
She reminds me of our agreement: if I'm going to keep the baby, I need to be responsible and take care of myself.
I force myself to take a bite, but my body immediately rejects it.
Rushing to the bathroom, I barely make it in time before everything comes back up.
After cleaning up, I return to the table and pat my belly.
"We'll figure this out together," I promise quietly.
I sit at my desk during lunch break, staring at Wony's colorful fruit salad.
The sight of blueberries mixed with other fruits makes my mouth water unexpectedly.
My stomach growls, and I can't take my eyes off the dark blue berries.
Wony notices my fixation and offers me some, but I hesitate.
I've always hated blueberries before.
She places a few on my desk anyway.
I pick one up, examining its deep color before popping it into my mouth.
The burst of sweetness surprises me—it tastes completely different from how I remember.
"Wow, you really are full of surprises these days," Wony says with a grin.
I shrug, still savoring the unexpected flavor.
"Maybe it's the baby trying to tell you something," she suggests, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
I stand in our dimly lit kitchen at midnight, my stomach growling with an unfamiliar urge.
Opening the fridge, I spot the jar of mayonnaise and grab it along with the sweet tea pitcher.
The combination sounds disgusting, but my body demands it.
I pour a glass of tea and spoon mayo directly into my mouth, alternating between sips and spoonfuls.
The weird mix satisfies something deep inside me.
When my mom walks in and sees me, I freeze with the mayo-covered spoon halfway to my mouth.
She raises an eyebrow, "Cravings hitting you hard, huh?"
I nod sheepishly, setting the spoon down.
"Well, at least you're keeping things interesting," she chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief.
I sit at the kitchen counter, watching cooking videos on my phone.
The urge for pumpkin pie has been haunting me all day.
My stomach growls as another video shows the perfect slice being cut.
Gathering courage, I look up at my mom washing dishes and ask if she could make a healthier version of pumpkin pie.
She pauses, soapy hands hovering over a plate.
The request feels loaded after our recent conflicts about the pregnancy.
When she suggests using sweet potato instead of pumpkin and less sugar, I nod eagerly, grateful for this small gesture of acceptance.