Jesse stared at the floral crop top and denim shorts Sam had pulled out, feeling the familiar pit of dread forming in his stomach. After the uncomfortable day yesterday wearing similar shorts and a similar top, the last thing he wanted was to wear something so revealing again. He still couldn’t wrap his head around his new life, let alone step outside in an outfit that made him feel completely exposed.
“I’m not wearing that.” Jesse said firmly, shaking his head. He could feel the weight of Sam’s confused stare on him as he turned back to his closet, frantically searching for something else. “I just... I need something different. Something less... you know.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “Less what? Jess, you love outfits like this.”
“Not today.” Jesse muttered. “I can’t— I just.. I just want to wear jeans.”
Sam let out a soft laugh, thinking Jesse was joking at first. But when he saw how serious Jesse looked, his expression softened. “Jeans? C’mon, you never wear jeans to school. You always go with leggings.”
Jesse’s face tightened at the thought. Leggings felt like another layer of exposure, even though they technically covered more than the shorts. They clung to him, shaping every inch of his legs, and in this body, that idea made him extremely self-conscious. But the look on Sam’s face told him that jeans weren't really an option if he wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself for all the wrong reasons.
With a heavy sigh, Jesse walked to his dresser and pulled out a pair of black leggings. They seemed simple enough, but even as he held them in his hands, they felt foreign to him—tight, form-fitting, and a far cry from the loose, comfortable jeans he was used to wearing in his old life.
"Okay, leggings," he said, holding them up, "but no crop tops." He went back to the closet and pulled out a longer, looser shirt, hoping it would cover him up enough to feel normal.
Sam didn’t argue, just shrugged. "If that’s what you want. But seriously, you look fine, Jess.”
Jesse tried to ignore the way Sam kept reassuring him about his looks. It felt off in ways he couldn’t quite describe. As he searched for underwear, his hand immediately went for a pair of simple panties, something comfortable that wouldn’t make him feel like he was on display. But Sam noticed immediately, giving him a gentle nudge. “You sure you wanna wear those? Panty lines, Jess.”
Jesse blinked in confusion until it clicked. Panty lines. He’d always noticed them on girls in his old reality when they wore leggings, and now that he was on the other side of things, he realized it was something he had to consider, too. His heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to wear a thong again, but the thought of walking around with visible panty lines all day made him cringe.
Reluctantly, Jesse dropped the panties back into the drawer and grabbed a black thong instead. His fingers trembled slightly as he held it, the fabric thin and delicate in his hands. Everything about it felt wrong, foreign. But the idea of visible panty lines creeping under the tight leggings, drawing unwanted attention, felt worse. He sighed, resigned to his fate.
“Trust me, it’ll feel better once you’ve got it on. You’re just overthinking it." Sam reassured, watching Jesse’s hesitation.
Jesse didn’t respond, not trusting himself to say anything that wouldn’t betray his discomfort. He just stepped into the thong, pulling it up quickly, the waistband snapping into place. The tightness was immediate, the thin fabric nestling uncomfortably between his skin. He could feel the strap pressing awkwardly against him, a stark contrast to the familiar boxer briefs he used to wear.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—lean, toned, with smooth skin, and a body that fit these clothes all too well. A pang of something twisted in his gut, but he pushed it aside, grabbing the black leggings and pulling them on. They clung perfectly, smoothing out his hips and legs. He tugged at the waistband, adjusting the fit, but the feeling of the thong underneath gnawed at him like a constant itch he couldn’t scratch. The leggings did fit seamlessly, and to anyone else, it probably looked perfectly normal. But the discomfort was still there, hidden beneath the surface, gnawing away at him. Every movement felt strange, like he was encased in a body that wasn’t his own.
Jesse sighed, standing in front of his dresser, feeling the weight of the decisions he had to make just to get through a normal morning. Everything about this situation still felt foreign, uncomfortable, and as much as he tried to ground himself, the mirror’s reflection reminded him of how far from his old life he truly was.
He rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a soft bra–lacy and padded, designed to lift and shape. The thought of having to put it on made his stomach twist, but the reality of the situation hit him hard—he had breasts now, and the bounce and discomfort of going without a bra wasn’t something he could ignore, especially at school. He hesitated before fastening the bra behind his back, fumbling with the clasp for a moment before managing to get it in place. He adjusted the straps, feeling the snugness of the band under his breasts and the way the cups supported him. The sensation was strange—at once constricting and oddly comforting in a way he wasn’t used to. He didn’t like it, but it was necessary.
Jesse took a deep breath, pulling the loose shirt over his head. The fabric fell softly against his skin, covering him in a way that made him feel slightly more at ease. It wasn't the most flattering outfit by this world’s standards, but that was exactly what he wanted—something to disappear in. The shirt was long enough to cover his hips and the waistband of the leggings, which made him feel more grounded, less exposed.
He glanced back at Sam, who was leaning casually against the dresser, watching him with an easygoing smile. "You look great, Jess." Sam repeated, as if sensing his unease. "Don’t stress so much. You’ve got this.”
Jesse bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the tension in his body start to build again. How could he explain to Sam how wrong everything felt? Wearing these clothes, being in this body, moving through this new version of his life—it all felt like he was trapped in someone else’s skin. But the words wouldn’t come, so instead, he just nodded and gave a weak smile.
"Yeah, I guess." Jesse mumbled, tugging at the hem of the shirt as if he could stretch it further.
As Jesse tried to adjust to the feeling of the tight leggings and thong digging into his skin, he watched Sam casually rummage through his closet. The ease with which Sam went through his clothes made Jesse feel a strange mixture of discomfort and surprise. In his old life, he had never shared clothes with anyone, especially not his guy friends. The thought of lending someone clothes felt almost too personal. But here, it seemed like second nature for Sam to borrow something from him.
After a few moments, Sam pulled out a pair of black leggings and a v-neck shirt, holding them up for Jesse to see. "You cool if I wear these?" he asked, already stepping into the leggings as though he expected no objections.
Jesse nodded, trying not to let his discomfort show. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead."
He watched as Sam stripped out of his sleepwear with zero self-consciousness, casually changing right in front of him. The ease with which Sam moved, the complete lack of awkwardness between them, only deepened Jesse's discomfort. In his old world, guys would never change in front of each other like this unless it was in the locker room—and even then, it was always with some degree of reservation. Here, though, Sam didn’t seem to give it a second thought.
As Sam pulled on the shirt, Jesse realized how much Sam’s confidence contrasted with his own unease. It was like Sam belonged in this reality in a way Jesse didn’t—or couldn’t.
Sam caught Jesse staring and grinned. "What? Do I look good, or are you just jealous?"
Jesse managed a weak laugh, shaking his head. "No, it’s just… I’m still getting used to all this, you know?"
Sam chuckled, running his hands through his hair to smooth it down. "Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry, you’ll bounce back in no time."
Jesse wished it were that simple, but every little thing—down to the clothes he wore—felt like a battle against himself. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep up the act, how he could pretend to be this version of himself when he barely recognized the person staring back at him in the mirror.
Sam broke him from his thoughts. “Come on, we still have to do your makeup."
Jesse’s heart dropped at the mention of makeup. He'd been hoping Sam would forget about it, but of course, in this reality, makeup was as routine as brushing his teeth. It wasn’t even considered an option here; it was an expectation. The very thought of applying makeup felt suffocating, like it would seal him further into this identity that wasn’t his. His stomach churned, and he felt a wave of nausea rise up.
"I don’t think I need makeup today." Jesse said quickly, forcing his voice to sound casual even though his nerves were prickling under his skin. "I mean, I’m not really feeling it."
Sam looked at him, eyebrows raised, genuinely confused. "Since when don’t you wear makeup to school? Jess, seriously, you love doing your makeup." He leaned in closer, his tone playful but with a hint of concern. "Besides, you’re not skipping out on me today. I’m helping you, remember?"
Jesse hesitated, caught between wanting to refuse and not knowing how to explain without sounding ridiculous. He turned his gaze back to the mirror, tugging at the hem of the long shirt. It was the only thing making him feel remotely comfortable right now. The idea of slathering on makeup, of drawing even more attention to himself, felt like too much. The weight of it pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t want people looking at him, analyzing him, noticing anything off. He just wanted to blend in.
"Fine." he muttered, feeling defeated. There wasn’t much fight left in him, not today. "Just something simple, okay?"
Sam's face lit up with relief, as if he had just won a small victory. "Don’t worry, I got you." he said, grabbing the mascara from the vanity. "We’ll just do a little bit of mascara and some lip gloss. You’ll barely even notice it, but you’ll look super cute."
Jesse cringed internally at the thought of looking “cute,” but he stayed quiet, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of it. He followed Sam back to the vanity, feeling like he was being carried along by the current of this life that wasn't his own. It was like watching someone else’s reflection in the mirror. As Sam stood behind him, carefully applying the mascara to his lashes, Jesse found himself staring at his face with a strange detachment. Each stroke of the brush transformed him, bit by bit, into someone who was expected to fit into this world. It felt like another layer of someone else’s life being painted onto him.
He wanted to push away the sensation, to reject what he was seeing, but it all seemed to be happening so fast. The gentle sweep of the brush, the light tug of lip gloss—it felt trivial, but the weight of it was overwhelming. How am I supposed to do this every day? he thought. How am I supposed to pretend this is normal?
Sam finished up and handed him the lip gloss, smiling as if everything was completely fine. "See? Not bad, right?"
Jesse forced a smile, feeling an odd mix of gratitude and frustration. "Thanks." he muttered, though the words came out flat.
Sam, still buzzing with his usual energy, plopped down in front of Jesse’s vanity after Jesse had stood up. "Alright, now it’s my turn!" he chirped, rifling through Jesse’s makeup collection with an air of familiarity, clearly used to borrowing his products. The sight made Jesse uncomfortable—he’d never been the type to share things so casually with friends in his old life—but in this reality, it was clearly normal.
Jesse sat at the edge of the bed, watching as Sam expertly applied his own makeup. He was fast but precise, clearly used to the routine. Jesse’s stomach churned again. How was he supposed to keep up with this every day?
"There! All done." Sam said, admiring his reflection in the mirror before turning to Jesse. "You know what we should do? Matching buns today!"
Jesse blinked. "Uh, what?"
Sam had already stood up, grabbing a hairbrush from the vanity. "Come on, it’ll be cute! We can be twinning." he said, beaming as if this was the best idea in the world. He stood behind Jesse and gently nudged him forward to sit back down in front of the mirror.
Jesse stared at himself as Sam began brushing through his long hair, pulling it back into a neat, high bun. His scalp tingled as the brush glided through his hair, and the whole experience felt bizarre. In his old life, he would’ve just run a hand through his hair and called it a day—no styling, no fuss. But now? Now he was sitting here while his best friend styled his hair like it was a normal part of their morning routine.
"Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it looks good." Sam said, his tone light and cheerful as he secured Jesse’s bun with a scrunchie. "We’ll match, and no one will be able to tell us apart."
Jesse wasn’t sure if that idea made him feel better or worse. He stared at the bun in the mirror, feeling like another piece of his old self was slipping away. But he kept quiet, trying to suppress the sinking feeling in his chest. At least the hairstyle was simple enough, nothing too attention-grabbing.
Sam finished Jesse’s hair and quickly styled his own into a similar bun, bouncing on his toes as he admired their matching looks in the mirror. "See? We look cute!" he said, throwing an arm around Jesse’s shoulder and grinning at their reflection. "Twinning for sure."
Jesse forced another smile, nodding along, though the discomfort gnawed at him. He was still trying to reconcile everything. The makeup, the clothes, the hair—it all felt so foreign. But Sam? Sam acted like nothing had changed at all, as if this had been their life all along. The carefree confidence Sam exuded was something Jesse couldn’t relate to. Not anymore.