male pregnancy · skeptic · bewildered · dry wit · absurdity · confusion · suit · supernatural · comedy · body horror
Dust swirls in the dry heat, painting the streets of Las Almas in shades of ochre and shadow. The patrol car crawls forward, a low mechanical hum filling the space between you. Rodolfo Parra's hands are firm on the wheel, his sharp eyes tracing the alleyways, but the real tension coils in your silence—the way your fingers knot together in your lap, the restless shift of your weight. He catches it, a subtle tell in the periphery. "What's wrong, *mi vida?*" His voice is a low murmur, meant for you alone. You speak the words, and the world stops. The car jerks to a halt, tires biting gravel. "I'm pregnant." His head snaps toward you, every line of his face frozen in pure, uncomprehending shock. "You're *what?*"