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MidReal Story
Regressed
Scenario:Axl is a Japanese boy who is 19 years old and lives in America. Axl's boyfriend, danny, has autism and age regresse as a coping thing. Danny also suffers from schizophrenia
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Axel Thompson
He is a 19yearold college student in America. He is caring, patient, and determined. Axel loves Danny, his boyfriend, who has autism and schizophrenia. Despite Danny's challenges, Axel deeply values their relationship and works to understand and support him. They face everyday struggles, but Axel remains committed to their bond. He navigates college life while trying to maintain his job and future plans, all the while caring for Danny.
Danny
He is Axel's 20yearold boyfriend with autism and schizophrenia. He is gentle, anxious, and loving. Danny struggles with schizophrenia's hallucinations and mood swings yet remains deeply attached to Axel. His autism often causes him to regress, leading to episodes where he becomes a child. Despite his illnesses, his love for Axel keeps him grounded. He works parttime at a game store, which provides him stability and structure. Danny's relationship with Axel is central to his stability.
Hank
He is another coworker of Axel at the bookstore. He is laidback, humorous, and supportive. Hank works parttime selling used books online while pursuing an art degree. He enjoys bantering with Julia and shares a friendly camaraderie with Axel, though they don't discuss sensitive topics often. Hank provides lighthearted relief in the workplace by making jokes and participating in playful exchanges with colleagues, helping keep the atmosphere relaxed and fun.
I stared at the clock on the wall as it ticked away, only having five more minutes left before I had to leave.
"Okay, danny, time to get up," I said softly as I sat down next to my boyfriend on the couch.
He was currently playing a video game and didn’t seem to hear me.
That was nothing new, though.
Danny had autism, which sometimes made him not hear us or just tune us out.
It wasn’t anything we ever got mad at him for.
We just learned to work with it.
"Baby, you need to turn this off and get ready," I told him again, putting my hand on his leg.
Danny let out a frustrated sigh and paused the game before looking over at me.
"Five more minutes," he whined.
It was another trait of his autism; he liked routine and didn’t like being told what to do or how to do things.
"We’re going to be late for his appointment," I said gently as I ran my hand over his cheek.
Danny’s eyes were a beautiful shade of green, and when he looked at me, I got lost in them for a second.
He loved me, and that was something that still blew my mind every single day.
Danny had schizophrenia, along with his autism, and sometimes the hallucinations would get bad.
He would hear voices and see things that weren’t there.
I leaned closer to him, my hand still on his cheek, and whispered against his lips, "If you don’t turn that off right now, you won’t get a kiss before I leave."
His eyes widened slightly at this, the game controller lowering in his hands.
Danny’s gaze darted between me and the TV screen.
He wanted to finish his game, but he didn’t want to not get a kiss from me.
I could see him warring with himself.
After a moment, he sighed and saved his progress before turning the console off.
He did it slowly, though, and with dramatic sighs.
When he finally stood up, he stumbled a little bit.
He hadn’t moved for a while, so he was a bit unsteady on his feet.
I put my hand on his arm to steady him as he looked at me.
"I’ll get my shoes on," he said before walking to the door.
I followed him, making sure he tied his shoelaces properly.
He had a habit of not tying them tight enough, and I didn’t want him to trip over them.
As he fiddled with the laces, I watched his fingers move.
Danny was a very fidgety person, and when he wasn’t playing video games or watching TV, he liked to play with his shirt hem or the laces on his shoes.
He was a very smart man, but sometimes he just couldn’t sit still.
"Okay, ready," Danny said as he stood up.
I grabbed my purse and keys before following him out the front door.
As we walked down the driveway toward the car, Danny suddenly stopped in his tracks.
His eyes lit up as he turned to me.
"Honey," he said excitedly as he tugged at my sleeve.
I looked down at him and smiled softly.
"What about honey?"
I asked as I opened the driver’s side door. "Bees make it," Danny said before opening the passenger side door and getting in.
I got into the car and started it before looking over at him.
"Yes, they do," I agreed as I put on my seatbelt and waited for him to do the same.
"They collect nectar from flowers," Danny said as he put on his seatbelt too.
"And then they bring it back to their hives."
"That’s right," I said softly as I pulled out of our driveway and onto the street.
"They make honey by passing nectar mouth-to-mouth until all of its water content has been evaporated," Danny continued as he fiddled with his shirt hem again.
"It’s really cool how they do it."
"I know," I agreed softly as I drove down the street toward the main road that would take us into town.
"The worker bees are responsible for making honey," Danny went on, not seeming to care that we were running late for his appointment now. "They pass nectar mouth-to-mouth until it reaches its final destination in the honey stomach. The nectar is mixed with enzymes that break down its complex sugars into simpler ones. The water content is then reduced by evaporation until it reaches around 18%. This process can take up to two weeks depending on factors such as temperature and humidity."
I listened patiently to him talk about bees and honey while we drove into town.
In the waiting room, I watched Danny rock back and forth in his chair as he hummed quietly to himself.
He was flipping through a worn magazine about birds, his eyes scanning the pages quickly.
The receptionist called his name after a few minutes, and we followed a nurse down a sterile hallway to exam room three.
Dr. Martinez came in a moment later with her usual warm smile and clipboard.
She set a colorful box of wooden blocks on the small table before sitting down in the chair across from us.
"These are for your cognitive assessment," she explained as she opened her clipboard and looked at it.
Danny’s eyes lit up instantly, his earlier anxiety about being here completely forgotten as he jumped up out of his chair.
He rushed over to the blocks, picking one up and turning it over in his hands.
"Dr. Martinez," Danny said, his voice filled with curiosity, "do you think bees could build something like this?"
Dr. Martinez chuckled softly and replied, "Well, Danny, bees are excellent builders in their own way; they create intricate hives that are just as impressive."
Danny nodded thoughtfully, placing a block on top of another, "Maybe I can learn from them and build something amazing too."
I watch as Danny arranges the blocks with intense focus, his tongue poking out slightly as he concentrates.
He starts building what looks like a tower, carefully placing each block on top of the other.
As he works, he mutters to himself about hexagonal patterns and how they’re found in beehives.
The tower grows taller, and Danny’s excitement becomes palpable.
But just as he places the final block, the tower wobbles and crashes down.
Danny’s face falls, but he doesn’t give up.
He gathers the blocks again and starts rebuilding.
The second time, the tower reaches an even greater height before it collapses once more.
Danny’s shoulders slump, and his breathing becomes rapid and shallow.
He clutches one of the blocks tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white.
His voice takes on a higher pitch as tears well up in his eyes.
I gently placed my hand over his, and he looked up at me, his breathing slowly calming as he whispered, "I’ll try again."
After leaving Dr. Martinez’s office, I guided Danny through the hallway of the medical building.
As we walked, I noticed his steps becoming smaller and more hesitant.
In the elevator, he started swaying side to side, clutching the wooden block Dr. Martinez had let him keep.
When we reached the car, Danny’s voice took on a higher pitch.
He tugged at my sleeve repeatedly, his eyes wide and hopeful.
"Can we get chocolate milk? Please, please?"
I helped him into the passenger seat, watching as he curled up with his knees to his chest.
"I’ll get you some, Danny," I reassured him, buckling his seatbelt.
"Let’s get home first."
As we drove, he hummed softly to himself, occasionally glancing at the block in his hand.
When we arrived at our apartment, I led him to the couch and pulled out his favorite yellow blanket.
He snuggled into it, still holding the block tightly.
"Danny, do you want something to drink?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.
I nodded, heading to the kitchen to prepare a glass of chocolate milk for him.
Returning with the glass, I found him staring intently at the TV screen.
"Can you put on the Bee Movie?"
I set the glass down on the side table and picked up the remote control.
I navigated through Netflix until I found the familiar animated film that always seemed to soothe him after appointments. As the opening credits rolled, Danny’s eyes lit up with excitement.
He took a sip of his milk before setting it back down and focusing on the movie.
But then his gaze shifted to something else that caught his attention—the lava lamp sitting on our side table.
His eyes widened as he stared at the colorful blobs floating inside.
"Look! The wax is rising because it’s heated by the light bulb," he explained, pointing at the lamp.
"When it cools down, it sinks back to the bottom."
I sat down beside him on the couch, watching as he continued to observe the lava lamp’s mesmerizing motion.
His fingers began tracing patterns on the glass surface, and he took another sip of his chocolate milk through the straw.
Suddenly, he turned to me with wide eyes and started talking again.
"Did you see those posters at the hospital? The ones about babies growing inside the mommy’s tummy?"
I nodded, curious about where his thoughts were going.
"Yes, I saw them. They showed how babies develop month by month."
Danny’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he began explaining what he had learned.
"You see, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, they do a special hug with their bodies. And sometimes, a tiny seed from the daddy’s body goes into the mommy’s tummy. That seed starts to grow into a baby." He gestured with his hands to show how big the baby grows each month.
"At first, it’s as small as a pea. Then it gets bigger and bigger until it’s like a little pumpkin."
As he spoke, Danny picked up his glass of chocolate milk again and took another sip through the straw.
"And then," he continued, "the baby grows even more until it’s ready to come out of the mommy’s tummy."
He used his wooden block to demonstrate how the cervix dilates during childbirth.
"The cervix is like a door that opens up for the baby to come out," he explained.
"But sometimes, it doesn’t open enough, and that’s when doctors have to help."
Danny took another sip of his milk before continuing.
"And did you know that there’s something called a placenta? It helps give food and oxygen to the baby while it’s growing inside the mommy."
As he talked about the placenta, some chocolate milk dribbled down his chin.
I quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped it away for him.
Danny paused, his eyes still wide with wonder, and whispered, "I want to be a doctor someday."
I watch Danny fidget with his wooden block, his eyes darting between me and the lava lamp as the movie plays in the background.
He shifts on the couch, pulling his yellow blanket tighter around his shoulders and setting down his half-empty glass of chocolate milk.
His face brightens with that familiar look of excitement he gets before sharing some new piece of knowledge he’s discovered.
"Can I tell you the coolest fact ever?"
He asks, his voice still carrying that higher pitch from his regressed state.
"Sure, Danny," I reply, curious about what he has to share.
He leans forward, his green eyes wide and earnest.
"Did you know that the heart starts beating just 22 days after a baby begins to grow?"
I raise an eyebrow, impressed by his newfound knowledge.
"Wow, that's amazing, Danny! You really do know a lot about this stuff."
He nods enthusiastically, his fingers still tracing patterns on the wooden block.
"And it's not just the heart. The baby's skin starts to form around 28 days, and by 42 days, its major organs are all working!"
His voice carries through our living room, mingling with the quiet sounds of the Bee Movie playing in the background.
I smile at his eagerness to share more.
"Go on, Danny. What else did you learn?"
He takes another sip of his chocolate milk before continuing.
"Well, did you know that babies can hear their mommy's voice while they're still inside her tummy? It's true! And by 24 weeks, they can even recognize their daddy's voice too."
As he talks, some chocolate milk dribbles down his chin again.
I reach over with a tissue to wipe it away for him.
He pauses mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto mine.
For a moment, he seems frozen in place, his green eyes wide and filled with a mix of curiosity and affection.
Then, he moves closer to me on the couch, clutching his yellow blanket tightly against his chest.
In that small voice he uses when he’s regressed, he says something that catches me off guard.
"I love you, Daddy."
I wake up to the sound of Danny’s whimpers coming from the living room.
It’s early in the morning, and I can tell he’s upset about something.
Following the sound, I find him sitting on the floor, his eyes fixed on the screen of his game controller.
He’s pressing buttons repeatedly, but nothing seems to be happening.
His movements become more agitated as he continues to press the buttons.
I watch as his frustration grows, his breathing quickening with each failed attempt.
Suddenly, he throws the controller across the room, hitting the TV stand with a loud thud.
He curls up into a tight ball on the carpet, his face buried in his hands as he sobs uncontrollably.
I kneel down beside him, trying to comfort him.
"Danny, what’s wrong?"
I ask gently.
He looks up at me through tear-filled eyes, his voice shaking as he speaks.
"I can’t save my game," he whimpers. I look down at the controller in his hand and notice that the LED screen is dead.
The batteries must have run out.
I reach for the spare batteries in the drawer next to our couch and hand them to Danny.
But instead of taking them, he starts screaming again.
"No! No! No!" he yells, throwing the controller across the room once more.
This time, it hits the wall with a loud thud before falling to the floor.
I kneel down next to him on the carpet, keeping my voice steady despite the pieces of the controller scattered near the wall.
"We don't throw things when we're upset," I say, maintaining eye contact with his tear-streaked face.
Danny's shoulders shake as he tries to catch his breath between sobs.
His small hands clench into fists, and he looks around the room for something else to grab.
That's when his eyes land on the wooden block he got from Dr. Martinez.
He reaches for it, but before he can pick it up, I gently take hold of his wrist.
His green eyes dart between my face and his hand as I speak softly but firmly.
"Throwing things can hurt someone or break something important."
I can see the struggle in his eyes as he tries to understand my words.
I guide him to the kitchen, keeping my hand on his back as he sniffles and tries to calm down.
Opening the fridge, I take out a container of fresh strawberries and rinse them in the sink.
Danny watches from his chair, still clutching his yellow blanket tightly in his arms.
When I place the bowl of strawberries in front of him, he picks one up with trembling fingers.
I reach for the maple syrup bottle, thinking it might make a sweet treat for him.
But when I drizzle some near his strawberry, Danny jerks back.
"Daddy, no syrup!" he exclaims, his voice still shaky but more focused now.
I pause, surprised by his sudden aversion.
"Okay, no syrup," I say gently, setting the bottle aside and watching as he cautiously nibbles on the fruit.
I unlock our apartment door, arms full of grocery bags, and freeze at the sight before me.
Danny is kneeling by the living room wall, surrounded by open paint bottles.
His hands are covered in blue and yellow paint as he drags them across the white wall, creating swirling patterns.
The wooden block from Dr. Martinez lies forgotten next to him, and his yellow blanket is spotted with paint drops.
When he hears me, Danny turns, his green eyes wide and innocent.
"Look, I made a beehive!" he says in his high-pitched voice, pointing to the yellow circles he's painted.
I set the grocery bags down slowly and approach him, keeping my voice steady despite the shock of seeing our rental's wall covered in paint.
"That's a very nice beehive, Danny," I say, crouching down beside him.
"But we don't paint on walls, remember?"
His shoulders tense, and his paint-covered hands start trembling slightly.
He looks between me and his artwork, his lower lip quivering as he processes my words.
"We don't paint on walls," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.
His fingers clench around the paint bottle, threatening to squeeze it.
I step closer and carefully take the bottle from his grip.
"We use paper for painting," I remind him gently.
Danny's breathing becomes irregular as he stares at the wall, then at me.
Tears start welling up in his green eyes.
I sit down beside him, watching as he processes my words.
His tears spill over, leaving tracks down his cheeks.
His paint-stained hands tremble in his lap.
Bits of blue and yellow streak his face where he wiped his eyes.
The sight of him looking so vulnerable, even after causing trouble, makes my heart ache.
I lean in slowly and press my lips to his forehead, then his wet cheeks, tasting the salt of his tears.
Danny hiccups in surprise but stays still as I continue placing gentle kisses across his face.
"Daddy, why can't I paint like Mommy did?" he asks, his voice small and filled with confusion.
I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.
"Mommy painted on special canvases, Danny, and we can do that too," I say softly, hoping to ease his disappointment.
He nods slightly, his eyes still filled with tears.
I sit beside him on the couch, watching as he processes everything.
His paint-stained hands twist in his yellow blanket, and his crying slowly subsides into sniffles.
He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing more paint across his cheeks.
Then he looks at me, his eyes clearer now.
His posture straightens, and his voice drops to its normal pitch.
"Daddy, can we watch Cinderella now? I don't want to talk about painting anymore," he says suddenly, reaching for the remote control.
"Of course, buddy," I reply, relieved by the change in subject.
I hand him the remote, watching as his face lights up with a small smile.
"Thanks, Daddy," he murmurs, curling up beside me as the movie begins.
