[this is meant to be funny, i'm not trying to defame him or speculate about his sexuality!]

you always thought your best friend sunoo was gay. he had impeccable taste in skincare, adored musicals, and could roast you better than anyone. when people asked if you were dating, you’d laugh and say, “sunoo? please. he’s not into girls. or humans, really. just drama.”

but then there was that night.

you’d been dumped (again), so you called sunoo for your usual post-breakup routine: ice cream, trash-talking your ex, and a terrible rom-com. except this time, sunoo brought wine. a lot of wine.

“he was so beneath you,” sunoo declared, mid-eye roll. “you need someone who worships you. like me if i weren’t, you know, me.”

“what does that even mean?” you laughed.

“just that i’d be an amazing boyfriend,” he replied, tossing popcorn into his mouth. “too bad i’m not straight.”

“too bad,” you teased back.

a few bottles later, the teasing escalated. at first, it was harmless. “you wouldn’t last a day as a boyfriend.” “oh, really? try me.” then, somehow, you were kissing. and then… well, you really tried him.

the next morning, sunoo woke up first, looked at you sprawled across your bed, and said, “oh no. this is giving friends-to-lovers energy, and i’m scared.”

you both swore it was a one-time mistake. “this never happened,” he said, handing you a breakfast smoothie. “agreed,” you replied, sipping nervously.

three months later, you showed up at his door with a pregnancy test. sunoo took one look at your face and immediately screamed.

“oh my god, i’m straight??”

“no, you’re stupid!” you yelled back.

sunoo paced his living room dramatically, muttering things like, “this baby is going to have amazing hair” and “what if it doesn’t like musicals?!”

“can you focus?” you snapped. “what do we do?”

sunoo stopped pacing, grinned, and said, “well, step one: i’m buying matching outfits for the three of us.”