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MidReal Story
Boyfriend Material
Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant, Van is a 19 year old korean boy who is dating his boyfriend hee who is 20 and who is ten weeks pregnant and was actually born paralyzed. They live in Colorado now, where it's quiet, and people don't bother anyone
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Colorado
He is described as quiet and peaceful. Colorado provides Van and Hee with a safe space to build their lives together. Away from the pressures of bigger cities, they can live freely and openly in love without judgment. The landscape's natural beauty and laidback vibe contribute to their contentment and growth as a couple, allowing them to focus on their relationship and impending parenthood.
Hee Kimura
He is Van's boyfriend and 20 years old. He is gentle, quiet, and resilient. Hee suffers from paralysis from birth. His condition makes him vulnerable, but he finds love and acceptance with Van. He keeps his pregnancy hidden for months, fearing social backlash. His courage and loyalty inspire Van, and they plan to build a life together, focusing on their shared future as coparents.
Van Kimura
He is a 19yearold college student in Colorado. He is caring, protective, and sensitive. Van and his boyfriend Hee move to Colorado to start a new life together. He discovers that Hee is pregnant, which changes everything. Despite the societal expectations for him to be the dominant partner, Van embraces his role as a soontobe father. They face challenges but remain deeply in love, planning for a future together.
I was born paralyzed.
My parents were shocked when they found out I was pregnant.
I kept it hidden for months, even from my boyfriend Van.
When I finally confessed, he was overjoyed.
I'm 20 years old and ten weeks pregnant.
Van is a 19-year-old college student.
We live in Colorado, which is quiet and peaceful.
We plan to coparent our child together after it's born.
I love Van more and more every day.
Hee
Colorado is really quiet and peaceful.
Compared to Seoul, which is always busy and crowded, it’s a totally different world.
That’s why I and Van decided to move here and start a new life.
Speaking of which, I need to tell Van something important today.
It’s about my body, and I’m really nervous because I don’t know how he will react.
After taking a deep breath, I call out to him in a trembling voice, "Van!"
"Where are you?"
He comes out from the kitchen with a towel in his hand and a smile on his face, "I was washing dishes. What’s up?"
"I…I need to tell you something."
"Come here."
He walks over and hugs me tightly, "What is it? You seem so serious."
"It’s okay. Just tell me."
"I…Hee, I’m pregnant."
His eyes widen in shock, but then his face lights up with joy.
"Pregnant?!"
I wake up to the sound of sunlight streaming through the window.
My stomach churns with nausea, and I can smell eggs and toast wafting from the kitchen.
Van is already up, making breakfast.
The doctor's appointment is in two hours, and anxiety gnaws at me.
I need to get ready, but my wheelchair isn't within reach.
"Van, my wheelchair please!"
I call out, my voice cracking with morning dryness.
He rushes in, apologetic for not leaving it closer.
His hands are gentle as he helps me into the chair.
"Van, there's something else I need to tell you before the appointment," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He kneels down in front of me, concern etched on his face, "What is it, Hee?"
"I've been feeling strange lately... I think the paralysis might be spreading."
I watch his face crumple with worry, his hands gripping the armrests of my chair tightly.
The kitchen timer beeps in the background, but neither of us moves.
His eyes search mine, looking for any sign that I might be joking.
But I'm not.
The weight of his concern becomes too heavy, and I crack a small smile, "I'm just kidding."
He doesn't laugh.
Instead, he stands up slowly, runs a hand through his hair, and walks back to the kitchen without a word.
The eggs are burning now, and the smell fills our apartment.
I sit quietly in the passenger seat as Van drives.
We haven't spoken since leaving the apartment.
At a red light, I glance over and see his knuckles are white against the steering wheel.
The medical center's parking lot comes into view, and Van finds a spot close to the entrance.
He gets out without a word, retrieves my wheelchair from the trunk, and helps me transfer from the car seat.
Inside, the examination room is sterile and cold.
I break the silence, my voice small, "Van, can you help me get on the bed?"
He nods curtly, and I feel the stiffness in his movements as he helps me onto the examination bed.
The paper crinkles beneath me as I shift to get comfortable.
Van stands beside me, his arms crossed, his expression still a mask of controlled anger.
I can tell he's still upset about my ill-conceived joke earlier.
The doctor enters, clipboard in hand, and greets us with a warm smile.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Lee. How are you feeling today?"
I return her smile, "I'm feeling good. A little nervous about the appointment."
She nods understandingly, "Of course. Let's get started then. Can you please lie down on the bed and lift your shirt?"
I do as she asks, feeling a bit self-conscious about my growing belly.
She begins asking routine questions about my pregnancy, taking notes on her clipboard.
"So, how have you been feeling lately? Any morning sickness?"
I nod, "Yes, it's been pretty bad. But it's gotten better over the past few weeks."
She smiles knowingly, "That's normal. The first trimester is always the worst."
She continues asking questions and taking notes until she finishes her examination.
"Everything looks good," she says with a smile.
"Now, let's do an ultrasound to check on the baby's development."
My heart races at the thought of seeing our baby for the first time.
The doctor leaves to retrieve the ultrasound machine while Van helps me sit up on the bed.
When she returns with the machine, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. She explains what she'll be doing and asks me to lie down again.
Van stands beside me, holding my hand tightly in his.
Despite his lingering frustration over my earlier joke, he squeezes my hand reassuringly as the doctor begins the ultrasound.
The cold gel makes me flinch slightly as she spreads it across my stomach.
But I don't care about the discomfort; all I want is to see our baby for the first time.
The doctor moves the wand around my stomach slowly, studying the images on the screen.
And then suddenly, there it is - a grainy image of our baby on the monitor.
Van's eyes widen, and he whispers, "Is that... is that really our baby?"
I nod, tears welling up as I squeeze his hand tighter, "Yeah, that's our little one."
The doctor smiles gently, "And from what I can see, everything looks perfectly healthy."
After the ultrasound, the doctor leaves to give us some time alone.
A few minutes later, a nurse enters with some paperwork, "Mrs. Kimura, I just need you to sign these forms for your follow-up appointment."
I feel a sting at being misgendered, and the happiness from seeing our baby for the first time fades.
I correct her firmly, "It's Mr. Kimura."
She blinks, looking between me and Van before her eyes land on my pregnant belly.
Her confusion is evident as she shuffles through the papers in her hands.
Van steps closer to my bed, his protective stance clear.
The nurse mutters an apology but continues using feminine pronouns while explaining the process for scheduling follow-up appointments.
I grip the bedsheet tightly, feeling my face heat up with frustration.
Van interrupts, his voice steady but firm, "Please respect my husband's identity."
The nurse hesitates, then nods, "I'm sorry, Mr. Kimura. I'll make sure to update your records immediately."
I exhale slowly, grateful for Van's support, and manage a small smile, "Thank you."
Leaving the medical center, I wheel myself to our car while Van loads my paperwork into his backpack.
The tension between us is palpable, and I know it's not just from the nurse's mistake.
My earlier joke still hangs in the air like an unspoken weight.
Once Van helps me into the passenger seat and stores my wheelchair in the trunk, he gets into the driver's seat and starts the engine.
But he doesn't drive.
Instead, he turns to me, his eyes filled with concern, "Have you ever considered physical therapy?"
His voice is gentle, hopeful.
I shake my head, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within me, "Van, you know my type of paralysis is permanent. No amount of therapy can reverse the nerve damage I was born with."
He nods, his eyes never leaving mine, "I know. But sometimes, physical therapy can help improve mobility and reduce pain."
I stare out the car window as Van drives us home.
The morning at the medical center has left us both lost in thought.
We've barely spoken since we left, but I know we both have a lot to process.
As we approach our neighborhood, I notice that Van doesn't turn onto our street.
Instead, he pulls into the parking lot of a nearby mall.
I give him a questioning look, and he smiles softly, "There's something I want to show you."
Curiosity piqued, I watch as he parks the car and helps me into my wheelchair.
We make our way into the mall, navigating through the bustling corridors until we reach the Apple store.
Van guides me inside, where rows of sleek electronics line the walls.
He leads me to a display of MacBooks, their screens glowing invitingly.
"Look at this one," he says, pointing to a compact model with a vibrant display.
"It's lightweight and portable. You could use it from anywhere in the house."
I raise an eyebrow, "Van, we don't need another computer."
But he's already opening the laptop and showing me its features.
"It's not just any computer," he explains, his eyes shining with excitement.
"This one has advanced accessibility features. It could make it easier for you to work from different positions."
I glance at the price tag and shake my head, "It's too expensive." But Van is insistent, "It's worth it. You deserve to be comfortable while you work."
His words touch my heart, and I realize that this is more than just about buying a new computer.
It's about him wanting to support me in every way he can, and for the first time today, I feel truly seen.
As Van wheels me toward the mall exit, an elderly woman in a floral dress approaches us.
Her eyes are fixed on my midsection, and she smiles warmly.
"Congratulations, dear. When are you due?"
I return her smile, "Thank you. I'm due in about six months."
Her smile suddenly falters, and she looks from my wheelchair to my stomach.
Her expression changes dramatically, and her eyes fill with disgust.
"People like you shouldn't be having children," she spits out, loud enough for nearby shoppers to turn and stare.
"It's irresponsible. What kind of parent could you possibly be?"
My chest tightens at her words, and I feel Van's hands grip the handles of my wheelchair harder.
He's trembling with anger behind me.
I take a deep breath, meeting her gaze with unwavering resolve, "The kind who loves unconditionally."
I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white as Van helps me into the driver's seat.
My hands are still shaking from the confrontation with that woman at the mall.
Once he's loaded my wheelchair and settled into the passenger seat beside me, I can't hold it in anymore.
"How dare they?" my voice cracks as I speak, "That woman looked at me like I was broken. Like this chair means I can't love or care for our baby."
I slam my palm against the steering wheel, making Van jump in surprise.
The mall's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the dashboard as the evening sets in.
"I've lived with this paralysis my whole life. I know how to adapt, to find ways around challenges. Our baby won't suffer because of my disability."
Van places a gentle hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me, "You're right. You're going to be an amazing mother."
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
"Let's get home," I say, starting the engine.
As we pull into our driveway, I can see the lights of our living room flickering through the blinds.
The house feels like a sanctuary after today's encounter.
Van helps me into my wheelchair and guides me inside.
We make our way to the bedroom, where he assists me onto the bed.
I look up at him, my eyes searching his, "I need some time alone."
He nods understandingly, "I'll give you some space. Call me if you need anything."
As he heads to the bathroom, I hear the sound of the shower turning on.
I watch him disappear behind the frosted glass door, steam beginning to fog the window.
My gaze drifts to the wheelchair beside the bed.
Determination washes over me as I contemplate transferring myself back into it without Van's help.
It's been a while since I've done it on my own, but today's events have left me feeling restless and in need of proving something to myself. The sound of running water mingles with my ragged breathing as I grip the edge of the bed tightly.
With a surge of resolve, I start shifting my weight onto my arms.
My muscles strain against the effort, and sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle to pivot myself toward the wheelchair.
The mattress creaks beneath me, and for a moment, I'm suspended in mid-air, teetering precariously between success and failure.
But then, my grip slips.
Time seems to slow down as I feel myself falling backward onto the floor.
My body twists instinctively, and I manage to land on my side rather than my stomach.
The impact is jarring but not painful.
However, as I lie there dazed and disoriented, I realize that Van must have heard the thud because suddenly he's bursting out of the bathroom with water dripping from his hair and body.
He's only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. "What happened?" he exclaims as he kneels beside me on the floor.
"I was trying to transfer," I admit sheepishly, "I didn't want to wait for you."
His eyes soften with understanding as he gently brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
"You don't have to prove anything to me," he says softly, concern etched in his features.
I sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude, "I know, but I need to prove it to myself."
Van nods, helping me back onto the bed, "Then let's work on it together, okay?"