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MidReal Story
Boyfriend Material
Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant, Yohan is a 19 year old korean boy who is a super duper famous actor whose net worth is 3 million dollars. Yohan is happily married to his wife Chanel, who is a non celebrity. Yohan has no haters and is loved by all. Yohan is actually autistic. Yohan and his wife have been trying for a baby. So Yohan tracks his own ovulation since he's going to be the one to carry the baby. The fans know I'm autistic. Yohan hasn't got pregnant yet
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Yohan
He is a 19yearold celebrity actor in Korea, known for his kindness and generosity. He is autistic, often using a communication book to express himself. Yohan has a large and loving fan base, with fans sending him gifts. He values his simple life and enjoys spending time with his wife Chanel, who is not from a celebrity background. Yohan has been trying to conceive, tracking his ovulation closely with his wife.
Chanel
She is Yohan's 18yearold wife and a noncelebrity from a normal background. She is caring and supportive, often helping Yohan communicate with fans. Chanel is trying to conceive with Yohan and takes an active role in tracking their ovulation. Despite her noncelebrity status, she is treated warmly by Yohan's fans, who appreciate her kindness and depth.
Hwan
He is Jiwoo's childhood friend and confidant, who works as a mechanic while attending college online. He is loyal and supportive, helping Jiwoo fix her bike and providing emotional backing during difficult times. Hwan remains one of the few people connected to Jiwoo's past.
I'm Yohan, a 19-year-old super duper famous actor in Korea.
My net worth is around $3 million dollars.
I'm happily married to my wife, Chanel, who is 18 years old and not a celebrity.
I have no haters.
Everyone loves me because I'm kind and generous.
I give away my excess blessings to those who need them.
Sometimes, I even give away my talent fees to the staff on the set.
My fans send me gifts, and I give them away to the poor.
If there are items that I really need to keep as remembrances, I'll ask my wife to keep them in our storage room.
I don't want anything too much, so I never keep any gifts for myself.
I only keep the letters given to me by my fans.
They're very precious to me.
I have an autism spectrum disorder.
When I can't communicate verbally, I use a communication book given by my speech therapist.
My fans know that I'm autistic, and they're okay with it.
They still love me and support me until the end of time.
My wife isn't from a celebrity background.
She's an ordinary woman who became my wife through a blind date set up by our friends.
We got married two years ago when I was 17 years old and she was 16 years old.
We've been trying to have a baby for one year now.
I sit in my dressing room while waiting for the next scene.
I clutch my stomach as I feel a cramp.
I open my phone and check my ovulation tracking app.
It's right on schedule.
I text Chanel, who's waiting at home.
Me: It's time.
Chanel: 💖
There's a knock on the door, and I open it to see the makeup artist.
"Oppa, do you need something to ease your cramps?" she asks me.
I shake my head politely and open my communication book.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
She smiles and nods before leaving me alone again.
I close the door and lie down on the couch, clutching my stomach as the cramps intensify.
I curl up tighter on the dressing room couch as another wave of cramps hits me.
These feel different from my usual ovulation pains - sharper, more persistent.
Opening my period tracking app again, I study the patterns from previous months.
The symptoms line up perfectly with what the fertility specialist described.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach for my phone, typing out a message to Chanel.
The cramping intensifies, and I press my palm against my lower abdomen.
After three failed attempts, I finally manage to type: "Different this time. Really different. I better be pregnant."
I wake up early, feeling queasy as I get ready for my morning schedule.
The familiar churning in my stomach has been happening for three days now, especially in the mornings.
While brushing my teeth, I have to stop twice to breathe through waves of nausea.
My hands tremble as I check the calendar - it's been exactly one week since those intense cramps.
I want to grab a pregnancy test from the drawer where I've hidden them, but I hold back.
Instead, I quietly slip a crackers packet into my bag, hoping Chanel doesn't notice my unusual breakfast choice.
During a break between scenes, I slip away to the private bathroom in my dressing room.
I clutch the pregnancy test I've been carrying in my bag all morning.
My hands tremble as I follow the instructions, then place the test on the counter.
While waiting, I pace the small space, checking my watch every few seconds.
When the timer on my phone finally buzzes, I grab the test with shaking fingers.
Two clear lines appear in the window.
I sink to the floor, pressing my hand against my still-flat stomach.
I walk through the front door, exhausted from a long day of filming.
Chanel is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner.
The pregnancy test burns a hole in my pocket.
I watch her for a moment, then pull out my communication book and fidget with it.
But I don't want to share this news through pages and scribbled words.
I walk up behind her, gently tapping her shoulder.
When she turns, I point at myself, then rub my belly in slow circles.
My heart races as I wait for her to understand.
She smiles and asks if I want an early dinner.
I shake my head, then pull the test from my pocket and hold it out to her.
Her eyes widen as she drops the knife, whispering, "Are you serious?"
I nod, tears welling up as she wraps me in a tight embrace, murmuring, "We're going to be parents."
Still wrapped in her arms, I feel her tears soaking into my shirt.
She whispers "thank you" over and over against my chest.
Her hands tremble as they rest on my stomach, repeating how grateful she is that I'm carrying our baby.
I reach for my communication book to tell her how I feel, but she gently stops me.
She pulls me to sit with her on our kitchen floor.
The pot on the stove simmers, forgotten as we stay there, her fingers intertwined with mine over my belly.
In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving just the two of us and the promise of what’s to come.
I stir awake to sunlight streaming through our bedroom window.
My body feels heavy, and the familiar morning queasiness settles in my stomach.
As I turn over, my eyes land on something new.
An enormous white teddy bear sits beside the bed, nearly as tall as me.
A pink ribbon is tied around its neck, and a folded letter pokes out from the bow.
My hands shake slightly as I reach for it.
I recognize Chanel's neat handwriting on the envelope.
Before opening it, I grab my phone and take a photo of the moment.
Chanel peeks her head around the doorframe, a hopeful smile on her face.
"Did you see your surprise?" she asks, her voice filled with anticipation.
I nod, holding up the letter, and she beams, saying, "I wanted our little one to have something special from the very start."
I sit in the back of my company car, scrolling through baby name websites on my phone.
The morning sickness has eased a bit, letting me focus on work.
At a busy intersection, I notice a truck swerving erratically in the next lane.
Before I can alert my manager, the truck veers sharply toward us.
I instinctively wrap my arms around my stomach as metal screams against metal.
The impact sends our car spinning.
Glass shatters around me as we slam into something solid.
My head snaps forward, then everything goes dark.
Silence engulfs me as I drift into unconsciousness, clutching the life within me.
I regain consciousness to blinding lights and sirens.
The world spins around me, and I'm strapped down on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance.
My whole body throbs, and I try to move, but pain shoots through me.
A paramedic leans over me, speaking quickly, but I can't make out the words.
My mind is foggy, but one thought cuts through the haze: the baby.
I try to reach for my stomach, but my arm feels heavy.
The paramedic holds up a syringe, explaining something about pain medication.
Panic surges through me as I realize what they're about to do.
I pat my pockets frantically for my communication book, but it's not there.
I have to protect my baby.
I keep pointing at my stomach and shaking my head at the syringe.
The paramedic frowns, confused by my actions.
With all my strength, I force out the words: "Pregnant... check baby."
I lie on the hospital bed, my whole body aching from the crash.
A nurse wheels in an ultrasound machine, and I tense up.
My head is pounding, but all I can think about is our baby.
I try to reach for my communication book, but the nurse gently stops me.
She understands my worry.
She spreads the cold gel across my bruised stomach, making me wince.
The room fills with static as she moves the wand, searching for a sign of life.
Then, suddenly, a rapid whooshing sound breaks through - our baby's heartbeat.
Relief floods through me as tears spill down my cheeks, knowing our little one is safe.
The steady beeping of monitors fades in and out as I drift between consciousness and darkness.
Through blurred vision, I catch glimpses of hospital staff rushing around my bed, their voices muffled and distant.
My head throbs where it hit the window, and my body aches from the impact.
I try to lift my hand to touch my stomach but can't move.
Outside my room, I hear the growing commotion of fans gathering, their worried voices carrying through the door.
Someone squeezes my hand - it's Chanel, I recognize her touch.
She's crying, dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth.
I wake up in the dark hospital room to find Chanel slumped in the visitor's chair, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
The clock on the wall reads midnight.
Despite the pain shooting through my body, I slowly reach for my communication book on the bedside table.
My fingers fumble with the pages until I find the right words.
When I tap the bed rail to get her attention, she looks up with red-rimmed eyes.
I point to the phrases "I love you" and "stay together" repeatedly.
She grabs my hand, careful of the IV line, and presses it against her wet cheek.
In that moment, I know we will face whatever comes next together.
I sit at the long table, my chair positioned just right to hide my growing belly from view.
My manager insisted on shorter sessions for today's fan signing event, but I wanted to keep meeting everyone.
A young girl, maybe ten years old, stands in front of me with a plushie clutched tightly in her arms.
Her mother hovers behind her, a mix of excitement and nervousness on her face.
The girl carefully hands me a letter and a small gift box.
I smile and thank her, then open the letter.
As she watches, I notice her hands moving in sign language.
I pull out my communication book and find the page that says "thank you" in signs.
I show it to her, and her eyes light up as she signs back.
I nod and smile, then open the gift box to find a soft stuffed rabbit inside.
I look up at the girl and sign "thank you" back to her.
She beams with pride, and I can see how much it means to her that I tried to communicate with her in her language. I accept the gift, deciding that this one I will keep for our baby when they are born.
As I hand the plushie back to the girl, my stomach suddenly twists into knots.
I sit at the fan signing table, my body still sore from the accident.
The bruises on my arms and torso are hidden under my clothing, but I can feel them aching with every movement.
A teenage girl stands before me, her eyes red-rimmed and tears streaming down her face.
She clutches a get-well card in her hands, so tightly that it's crumpled from her grip.
As she reaches the table, she breaks down into sobs.
"I thought you were dead," she says between gasps for breath.
"I saw pictures of your car online. I thought I'd never see you again."
My hand trembles as I reach for my communication book.
I flip through the pages slowly, my stomach churning with morning sickness.
Before I can find the right words, the girl reaches out and grabs my hand.
I flinch at her touch, the bruises on my skin still tender.
I gently pull my hand away and point to the page that reads "I'm okay."
The bright lights of the fan signing event begin to feel like they're burning into my eyes.
The constant noise of the fans talking and the sound of the air conditioning fan humming overhead starts to blend together into a deafening roar.
I try to focus on the next fan in line, but their words are just another layer of sound added to the cacophony.
My hands start trembling as I try to hold my communication book steady.
The smell of perfume from the fans standing nearby becomes overwhelming, making my stomach turn.
I search frantically for the right words in my book, but the pages slip through my shaking fingers.
My chest tightens as I try to catch my breath.
The sounds and smells and sights all start swirling together in my mind, making it hard to think straight.
Suddenly, someone accidentally bumps into my chair from behind, causing me to drop my book.
I curl into myself, covering my ears with my hands as the world around me spins. The faces and voices of the fans all blur together into a chaotic mess.
I can't make out what anyone is saying or doing anymore.
My manager rushes over to me, concern etched on his face.
I sit in my dressing room, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
The loose clothing I've been wearing to hide my growing baby bump is becoming less effective with each passing day.
My makeup artist, a kind woman named Soo-jin, asks me if I want breakfast.
I open my mouth to respond, but instead of reaching for my communication book, words come out.
They're slow and stilted, but she understands.
"Yes please," I manage to say.
Soo-jin smiles and nods, jotting down my order on a piece of paper.
I practice speaking more throughout the morning, trying to get used to the feeling of words on my tongue again.
It's harder than it should be, but I'm determined to keep trying.
"Thank you," I say as Soo-jin hands me a cup of tea.
She smiles and pats my shoulder encouragingly. During a break between scenes, I sit down in my dressing room and rest a hand on my stomach.
I can feel the first tiny movements of our baby inside me - small flutter-like sensations that give me hope for the future.
I close my eyes and focus on the sensation, letting it wash over me like a wave of calm.
I whisper to myself, "I'm ready."
I sit in my bedroom, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner and Chanel's gentle breathing from our bed.
Everyone else has gone to sleep, but I'm wide awake, my mind racing with thoughts of the future.
I gently rub my growing belly, feeling the familiar flutters inside.
Moving to the window seat, I look out at the city lights twinkling below.
The world outside seems so big and overwhelming, but in this moment, all that matters is this small life growing inside me.
My hands trace circles over the spot where our baby kicks, and I whisper softly to them, "I love carrying you."
The baby responds with another flutter, and I smile in the darkness.
I sit cross-legged on our living room floor after dinner, wearing my favorite oversized sweater that hides the small baby bump.
The baby starts moving again, and I press both hands against the spot where I can feel the gentle ripples under my skin.
I use my voice instead of my communication book to talk to them, whispering "keep going" and "I love you" to encourage more movement.
The baby responds with stronger kicks, making me gasp softly.
I wake up to sunlight streaming through our bedroom window and the smell of fresh pancakes.
My body feels heavy with the weight of pregnancy, but I manage to sit up against the headboard.
Chanel appears in the doorway carrying a tray loaded with my favorite breakfast - blueberry pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and decaf coffee.
When she sets the tray across my lap, I notice she's arranged the pancakes in a heart shape.
My stomach growls loudly, making us both laugh.
"Did you sleep well?" Chanel asks, settling beside me with her own plate.
"Not really," I admit, glancing at her with a small smile.
She hesitates for a moment before speaking, "I know you're worried about the future, but I've been thinking... maybe it's time we tell our families."
I sink deeper into the warm bathwater, letting it soothe my aching back after a long day of filming.
The lavender-scented bubbles Chanel added to the water help calm my senses, which are still overwhelmed from the busy set.
My round belly rises above the water like an island, and I rest my hands on it.
Usually, our baby is active at this time of day, but now they're still and quiet, probably sleeping.
I gently tap my belly, but there's no response - just the steady rhythm of our baby's rest.
I lie in bed after midnight, unable to sleep.
The earlier stillness has left me with a lingering sense of anxiety.
My hands keep moving across my stomach, searching desperately for any sign of movement.
The bedroom is too quiet, the only sound Chanel's soft breathing beside me.
Just as tears start forming in my eyes, I feel it - the tiniest flutter, like a butterfly's wing against my palm.
It's so gentle that I almost miss it.
I hold my breath and press my hand more firmly against the spot.
There it is again, a delicate kick reassuring me our baby is okay.
I walk through the crowded mall with Chanel, heading to buy more maternity clothes as my belly grows bigger.
Near the food court, I see a young couple cradling their newborn baby.
The mother gently rocks her child while the father adjusts a tiny hat on the baby's head.
My steps slow as I watch them, my hand instinctively moving to my own swollen stomach.
Though our baby kicks strongly inside me, seeing that family makes my chest tighten with impatience.
Chanel notices my hesitation and whispers, "Do you think we'll be ready when the time comes?"
I nod slowly, though uncertainty still lingers in my mind.
She squeezes my hand reassuringly, adding, "We'll figure it out together, just like we always do."
I grip the car door handle tightly as overwhelming emotions crash through me, tears streaming down my face.
The thought of waiting six more months feels like an eternity.
I start rocking back and forth in the passenger seat, unable to contain the turmoil inside.
Chanel notices my distress and quickly pulls over to the side of the road.
My crying escalates into screaming, and I pound my fists against the dashboard.
My communication book, usually my lifeline, lies forgotten on the floor as I wail "Want baby now!" over and over.
Our baby kicks inside me, as if sensing my distress, and it only intensifies my pain.
Chanel turns to me, her voice steady but filled with concern, "Hey, hey, breathe with me, okay? We can do this."
I manage to take a shaky breath, my voice breaking as I say, "But what if something goes wrong? What if I'm not strong enough?"
She cups my face in her hands, her eyes locking onto mine with fierce determination, "You are the strongest person I know, and no matter what happens, we'll face it together."
I sit with Kate on our living room floor, watching her arrange her toy cars in perfect lines by color and size.
When she finishes, she rocks back and forth, flapping her hands excitedly.
The gesture is all too familiar - it's the same way I used to stim when I was her age.
She reaches for her communication book, the same type I had at her age, and points to "play together."
I join her in lining up more cars, our movements synchronized as if we're two parts of a whole.
But then, a police siren blares outside, jolting Kate out of her focused state.
Her eyes widen in distress, and I recognize the panic all too well.
I pull her close, whispering promises of safety and love, as the sirens fade into the distance.
I sit on Kate's bedroom floor, watching her sort blocks by shape and color.
She works intently, her small hands moving with precision.
But then she stops, her hands hovering over a red cube as if she's lost in thought.
Suddenly, she turns to me and reaches for her communication book.
Her small fingers move swiftly over the pages, pointing to words.
"Why," she points, then to "me," and finally to "different."
My chest tightens as I recognize the question I've dreaded.
She taps the pages again, more insistent this time.
I reach for my own communication book, my fingers trembling as I search for the right words.
But instead of finding answers, I pull Kate into my lap and stroke her hair.
My voice barely a whisper, I admit, "I don't know, baby."
I hold her in my lap, her small body trembling as she waits for an answer.
Setting my communication book aside, I take a deep breath and speak directly to her.
"I have autism too," I say slowly, my voice steady despite how rarely I speak.
I show her my hands, letting her see how I stim just like she does.
She watches intently, her eyes widening with recognition.
Then she copies me, our hands moving in perfect sync.
When she reaches for her communication book again, I gently stop her.
"Sometimes, we don't need words," I explain, my voice barely above a whisper.
"We can understand each other in our own way."
She nods, her eyes filled with understanding.
And as we sit there, hands moving together, I know she's not alone anymore.
I'm here, and I'll always be here to help her find her place in this world.
I sit in my dressing room, the scent of makeup and sweat clinging to me like a second skin.
Another day of filming has come to an end, and all I want is to collapse into bed and forget about the world for a while.
But as I look down at my swollen belly, I know that's not an option.
My manager bursts into the room, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"You look exhausted," she says bluntly.
I nod, too tired to argue.
"I am. This pregnancy is taking everything out of me."
She sighs, pulling out a revised schedule for tomorrow's shoot.
"I know it's tough, but we have to keep going. The studio is counting on us."
I take the schedule from her, my fingers brushing against hers.
As I scan the pages, my heart sinks.
The changes are minor, but they're enough to make me feel like I'm drowning all over again. "Can't we just take a break?" she asks softly.
I shake my head, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
"I can't do this anymore," I whisper.
My manager's eyes widen in surprise as she takes in my words.
"What do you mean? You're one of the most sought-after actresses in Hollywood. You have your whole career ahead of you."
I reach for my communication book, flipping through the pages until I find what I'm looking for.
But instead of pointing to words, I pull out my phone and open up my bank account app.
I hand it to her, watching as her eyes widen in shock at the amount in my account.
"I've made enough money," I say simply.
"It's time for me to focus on something else."
She looks up at me incredulously.
"But what about all the projects you have lined up? The movies that are already in production? You can't just walk away from all that."
I take a deep breath and type out a message on my phone before handing it back to her: "I'm done. It's time for me to retire."