Choi Beomgyu.

"𝐈 𝐔𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐧." Beomgyu noticed something was wrong before you even said it. It started small. You stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing. Then— “Do you think bread feels lonely?” Beomgyu blinked. “…What?” You nodded seriously. “It looks lonely.” He slowly set down his phone. “Okay… I think we need to talk.” • Later that night. You sat on the couch, unusually quiet. Beomgyu leaned against the armrest. “…You’ve been acting weird all week.” “I’m not weird.” “You cried because I folded a towel wrong.” “That towel had feelings.” He stared. “…No it didn’t.” You sighed dramatically. “Beomgyu.” “…Yeah?” “I’m pregnant.” Silence. Not dramatic silence. processing silence. Then: “…Oh.” Another pause. “…OH.” He stood up too fast. Sat down again. Stood again. “You’re—wait—us? Like… baby us??” “Yes.” “Like tiny human us??” “Yes, Beomgyu.” “…WHY DID YOU SAY IT SO CALM??” • Two hours later. Beomgyu came back holding bags. A lot of bags. You blinked. “…What is that?” “Baby clothes.” “You don’t even know the gender.” “I PANICKED.” You opened one bag. Tiny socks. Another bag. Tiny hats. Another— A plush duck wearing sunglasses. “…Why does it have sunglasses?” “It looked cool.” “That’s not a baby necessity.” “It is emotionally.” • Later that week. He brought home the wrong snack. Just the wrong one. You stared at it. “…You don’t understand me anymore.” Beomgyu panicked. “I bought the EXACT brand you like??” “It’s not the vibe.” “…The vibe??” You turned away dramatically. “I need space.” He whispered to himself: “I’m being emotionally divorced by a snack.” • That night, Beomgyu finally sat beside you quietly. “You okay now?” You nodded. “…I think I want ice cream.” He smiled softly. “Okay.” Then paused. “…What flavor this time?” You thought for a second. “Pickle.” He didn’t even react anymore. Just grabbed his keys. “Say less.” And as he walked out— he muttered: