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MidReal Story
The Boy And His Alphas
Scenario:Jay is a 19 year old Japanese boy who is dating his clingy boyfriend Danny, who is Mexican. Jay lives in Canada, and Danny lives in New York. Danny hates it when Jay leaves cause he misses him so bad he gets depressed
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Jay
He is a 19yearold Canadian high school graduate. He is caring, considerate, and introspective. Jay is in a longdistance relationship with Danny, his 20yearold boyfriend from New York. Jay struggles with the distance and feels responsible for Danny's emotional wellbeing. He tries to balance his studies and work but often thinks about taking a job in Japan. Danny's clinginess causes tension, but Jay values their relationship deeply.
Danny
He is a 20yearold college student in New York. He is emotional, intense, and a bit moody. Danny has been dating Jay for over two years, despite the long distance between them. He becomes withdrawn and depressed when Jay leaves for visits, highlighting his deep attachment to Jay. Danny's parents worry about his behavior, but he assures them he's fine. His love for Jay is clear, even if it causes him internal turmoil.
I stared at my boyfriend, then at his text.
I was sitting in the living room of my parents' house, and I had just finished reading a novel.
Danny's text read: When are you coming back to me?
I put my Kindle on the armchair beside me, then I placed my head in my hands.
I wasn't coming back to him anytime soon.
I was in Canada, and he was in New York.
We had been dating for a little over two years now, but we hadn't met yet.
We were still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase.
I picked up my phone and typed out a reply.
Soon, baby.
I sent it to him, and I waited for him to reply back.
A few minutes passed, and I started to feel anxious.
I checked my phone every few seconds, even though I knew that he wouldn't reply yet.
He was in college now, so he didn't have the time to always be on his phone like he used to when he was in high school.
Another few minutes passed, and I started to feel even more anxious.
I refreshed my phone screen every few seconds, watching as the minutes ticked by.
The living room was quiet except for the hum of the heating system.
My leg bounced against the carpet as I thought about sending him another message.
Just as I was about to type something out, three dots appeared on the screen.
They pulsed for what felt like forever before disappearing, then reappearing again.
Finally, his message popped up: five crying emojis in a row, no words.
My stomach dropped.
I knew this pattern all too well.
He was probably curled up in his dorm room right now, actually crying.
I turned off my phone and let the silence settle in.
I pace around the living room, my phone heavy in my hand.
The silence feels suffocating after turning it off earlier.
When I power it back on, fifteen messages from Danny flood my screen.
Most are just sad faces and broken hearts, but the last one reads: "I miss you so much it hurts."
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider my response.
After learning basic Japanese from anime and online courses, I type out "愛してる" (I love you).
Before hitting send, I double-check the characters.
Danny always says he finds it cute when I speak Japanese.
Just as I'm about to send it, my mom walks in and glances at my phone.
"Is that Danny again?" she asks, her voice a mix of concern and curiosity.
"Yeah," I reply, hesitating, "he's been really emotional lately, and I'm not sure what to do."
After my mom leaves, I pull up flight prices to New York on my laptop.
The late-night rates are surprisingly cheap, and my saved tutoring money could cover it.
I book a red-eye flight leaving in three hours, pack a small overnight bag, and write a note for my parents.
Danny's texts keep coming - now just strings of broken heart emojis.
At the airport, I second-guess this impulsive decision while going through security.
In the terminal, I send Danny a casual "goodnight" text, knowing he'll be awake despite the late hour.
As I board the plane, I switch my phone to airplane mode and let the weight of my decision settle in.
Standing on Danny's doorstep at 4 AM, I shift my weight between feet and adjust my overnight bag.
The porch light flickers as I press the doorbell, hearing movement inside his family's house.
My heart pounds while footsteps approach.
The door creaks open, revealing Danny in his wrinkled Spider-Man pajamas, eyes red and puffy.
The moment he registers my presence, his face crumples.
His shoulders shake as he starts sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He reaches for me with trembling hands but stays frozen in the doorway, as if afraid I'll disappear if he moves too quickly.
I step forward and wrap my arms around him, feeling his relief in the way he clings to me.
Inside Danny's dorm room, I sit on his unmade bed while he hovers nearby, still sniffling.
The room is cluttered with empty energy drink cans and half-finished assignments scattered on the desk.
His roommate is away for the weekend, leaving us alone.
I run my fingers over the softness of his comforter, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.
"I booked a three-day stay," I say, watching his face light up before crumpling with worry.
"That's all the time you can spare?"
His voice cracks as he asks.
I pull out my phone and show him the return ticket I booked earlier, explaining how I used my savings to make this work.
Danny nods repeatedly, his hands fidgeting with the sleeve of his pajamas.
He moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed where I am.
His eyes are still glistening with tears as he reaches for my hand.
His fingers tremble slightly as he intertwines our fingers together.
The dim light from the desk lamp casts shadows on his face, making his features seem sharper.
Slowly, he leans in, and I can feel his warm breath against my neck.
His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him.
His grip is tight, almost desperate, as if he's afraid I'll disappear at any moment.
When his lips meet mine, the kiss is gentle at first but quickly becomes more intense.
I can feel the softness of his Spider-Man pajamas brushing against my jeans as he presses closer.
The morning light spills through the window, casting a warm glow over Danny's dorm room.
I wake up to the sight of his wrinkled Spider-Man pajamas, evidence of a night spent sleeping in them.
He's already awake, watching me with red-rimmed eyes.
His fingers trace gentle patterns on my arm, sending shivers down my spine.
As I stretch and smile at him, he suddenly sits up straight, his expression turning serious.
"Te amo, papi," he says softly in Spanish, his voice trembling slightly.
The unfamiliar words hang in the air between us.
I blink, trying to process their meaning as Danny anxiously awaits my response.
His fingers grip the bedsheet tightly, knuckles turning white with tension.
I reach for my phone to look up the phrase, but Danny grabs my hand to stop me.
His grip is gentle but insistent.
"Don't," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll tell you what it means."
He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"Te amo means 'I love you' in Spanish. And papi... it's like a term of endearment. For someone special."
My cheeks flush at the intimate meaning behind the words.
Danny watches my reaction closely, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist.
The morning light catches the moisture in his eyes as he waits for my response.
I open my mouth to speak, but he quickly adds, "My family only uses those words for people they truly love."
I look into his eyes, feeling the weight of his confession.
"Does that mean... you want me to meet them?" I ask, my voice barely steady.
Danny nods, a hopeful smile breaking through his nervousness.
I fold my clothes carefully while Danny sits cross-legged on his dorm bed, his Spider-Man pajamas replaced by a black hoodie.
The silence between us is heavy, punctuated only by the rustling of fabric and the distant hum of campus life outside the window.
I zip up my overnight bag, checking the time on my phone.
My Uber to the airport is arriving in twenty minutes.
I've been packing in silence since breakfast, with Danny watching me with red-rimmed eyes.
He hasn't spoken a word since our morning conversation, his gaze following my every move.
When I check my boarding pass on my phone, he suddenly reaches out and grabs my hand.
"Stay one more day," he pleads, his voice cracking.
I turn to face him, seeing the desperation in his eyes.
"I can't," I reply softly.
"I have to get back home."
"But you can change your flight," he insists, his grip tightening around my hand.
I sigh, pulling out my wallet and opening it to reveal a nearly empty bank account.
"I can't afford it," I admit, showing him the balance on my debit card.
I stand frozen with my empty wallet still open, staring at the single twenty-dollar bill inside.
Danny jumps up from his bed and rushes to his desk drawer, pulling it open with a loud creak.
He retrieves a worn leather wallet, its surface creased from years of use.
His hands shake as he opens it, revealing a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.
"Please," he whispers, holding the money toward me.
"I saved this for emergencies."
I step back, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of taking his money.
But before I can protest, Danny presses the bills into my palm.
"It's okay," he says softly, his eyes pleading with me to stay.
"I want you to have it."
I look down at the money in my hand, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt.
"Danny, I can't—"
He cuts me off by grabbing his phone from the bed and starting to type furiously on the screen.
He looks up, determination in his eyes, and says, "I've already changed your flight."
I sit down on the edge of his bed, the stack of bills still warm in my hand from his desperate grip.
He shows me the flight confirmation on his phone, his eyes shining with hope.
The weight of his generosity and love presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I look at him, sitting cross-legged in his oversized black hoodie, his face still puffy from crying.
This means so much to him.
The Spanish words feel foreign on my tongue, but I gather my courage and speak them softly.
"Danny, papi," I say, "I love you."
He freezes for a moment before launching himself at me.
We hold each other tightly, knowing this is where we both belong.
I stand at the security checkpoint, my heart heavy after saying goodbye to Danny.
The TSA agent checks my boarding pass while I remember Danny's tight hug outside the airport.
He held me for what felt like hours, his arms wrapped around me like a shield.
As I walk through the terminal to my gate, I notice someone following at a distance.
The figure is wearing a black hoodie, and there's something familiar about their gait.
But I dismiss the thought and focus on finding my gate.
Boarding begins, and I settle into my window seat, exhausted from the emotional farewell.
Just before takeoff, someone sits beside me.
I turn and freeze - it's Danny, still in his black hoodie, clutching a hastily packed backpack.
I stare at him in disbelief, my mouth hanging open as other passengers settle into their seats around us.
"Why?"
I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Danny clutches his backpack tightly against his chest, his knuckles turning white.
He explains that he bought a last-minute ticket using his credit card, skipping his morning classes to follow me.
The flight attendant walks past, checking seat belts.
Danny's eyes dart nervously between me and the window as he admits he couldn't bear watching me leave again.
"I know it's crazy," he says, his voice trembling slightly, "but I couldn't let you go alone this time."
I shake my head, overwhelmed by his impulsive decision.
"Danny, what about your classes and everything else?"
He falls silent, his grip on the backpack tightening even more.
The plane begins its ascent, and I feel the weight of his actions sinking in.
"You're going to miss so much," I say, my voice filled with concern.
"And what about your parents? They'll be worried."
His face hardens, and he looks away.
"Fuck them," he spits out, his voice low and angry.
The elderly passenger across the aisle glances over disapprovingly.
I reach out and place a hand on Danny's arm, trying to calm him down.
"Danny, please—"
He turns to me, his eyes wild and desperate.
"Nothing matters except being with you," he says, his voice a harsh whisper.
"I can't let you go again."
I feel a knot form in my stomach as I realize the depth of his decision.
He pulls out his phone and deliberately turns it off before shoving it deep into his backpack.
The plane levels out, and as the clouds part below us, I know there's no turning back.
I sit tensely beside Danny as the plane takes off, his backpack sliding forward and bumping against the seat in front of us.
The elderly woman seated there turns around with an irritated look.
Danny keeps his eyes down, still gripping his bag tightly.
But when her glasses fall from the impact, his expression shifts from defiance to guilt.
He carefully picks up her glasses and hands them back.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he says quietly, his voice cracking slightly.
The woman's face softens as she accepts both the glasses and apology.
Danny's hand brushes against mine as he settles back, and I realize we're in this together now.
I unlock my front door, and Danny follows closely behind, his backpack hanging from one shoulder.
The house is quiet except for the sounds coming from the kitchen.
His fingers grip the back of my shirt as we walk in, his nervousness evident in the tightness of his hold.
When my mom emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, she freezes mid-step.
Before I can introduce them, Danny drops his backpack and rushes forward.
He wraps his arms around her, pressing his face into her shoulder.
My mom hesitates, then gently hugs him back, understanding more than words could convey.
I watch Danny pull back from hugging my mom, his eyes still wet with tears.
He straightens his black hoodie and takes a deep breath before speaking.
"Hola, soy Danny," he says in Spanish, his voice trembling slightly.
My mom looks at him confused, so he quickly switches to English.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I always introduce myself in Spanish when I'm nervous."
He fidgets with the strings of his hoodie as he continues.
"My dad is Mexican. He taught me Spanish, but I haven't spoken it much since... well, since he left."
My mom smiles warmly at him.
"Hello, Danny. It's nice to meet you. Do you have a favorite Mexican dish?"
Danny's tense shoulders relax a little as he nods.
He glances at me, a hint of a smile breaking through his anxiety.
We sit at the kitchen table, and my mom serves us homemade spaghetti.
Danny politely compliments the food, but his eyes keep darting to me nervously.
When my mom asks about his favorite foods, Danny's face brightens slightly.
"I know this is stereotypes but I love tacos," he says, then quickly looks down at his plate.
His fingers twist anxiously in his hoodie strings.
"My grandma taught me how to make them. She got the recipe from her grandma, who got it from her grandma, and so on."
My mom leans forward, genuinely interested.
"So it's a family tradition?"
Danny nods, his shoulders relaxing further as he talks about food.
We're sitting in my bedroom after dinner, Danny's hand still holding mine as we lean against the side of my bed.
He looks at me with those big, eager eyes and asks, "Can you teach me some Japanese?"
I hesitate, unsure of how to answer.
His fingers squeeze mine slightly, like he can sense my uncertainty.
"I don't know," I admit, "I don't speak much Japanese."
His face falls a little, his excitement fading into confusion.
"But... you sent me that message earlier," he says.
I nod, realizing what he means.
"Yeah, but I used a translation app. I barely know any Japanese."
I watch his disappointment turn to curiosity as he asks, "Why? Were you born here?"
I nod, sitting cross-legged on the bed so I can face him better.
"Yeah, but not to my parents. I was adopted."
His eyes widen, and he leans forward slightly.
"Really? Where from?"
"Japan," I answer, "I was less than a week old when my parents adopted me."
He stares at me for a moment, his hand still gripping mine tightly.
Then he asks, his voice filled with rapid-fire curiosity, "Do you know your birth parents? Why did they give you up?"
I shake my head, feeling a familiar pang of uncertainty.
"I don't know much about them. My parents said they were young and couldn't take care of me."
Danny falls silent, his eyes still wide with surprise.
After a moment, he pulls out his phone and starts typing something.
"What are you doing?"
I ask.
He looks up at me briefly before returning to his screen.
"I'm looking up how to say 'family' in Japanese," he replies, his voice steady with determination.