Camie woke slowly. At first it was just the dull throb behind his eyes. Then the dry mouth. Then the uncomfortable awareness that the room felt far too bright for the state his brain was in. He groaned quietly and rolled onto his back, squinting at the ceiling. For a long moment he simply lay there, breathing slowly, waiting for the room to stop feeling like it was gently swaying.
Fragments of the previous night drifted through his head in pieces. Lights. Music. Someone laughing. A woman fixing his bunny ears. Champagne. Lots of champagne. And voices calling a name that wasn’t his.Cassie. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“God…” Camie dragged a hand down his face before slowly pushing himself upright. The motion made his head pound harder and he winced. The pink bedroom came into focus around him. Arthur’s house. Callie’s room. Then he looked down. And froze. He was still wearing the gala outfit.The soft faux-fur skirt. The pale top with the ribbon bow. The tights. One shoe was missing but the other still clung stubbornly to his foot.Camie groaned again and rubbed his temple. “Fantastic.”
Carefully, slowly, he climbed off the bed and padded across the room. His long hair spilled over his shoulders and down his back, getting caught under his arm as he moved. He peeled the outfit off piece by piece, dropping it in an untidy pile on the floor. Cold air brushed across his skin. For a moment he simply stood there in his underwear, blinking through the lingering fog of the hangover. Then, almost automatically, he turned toward Callie’s wardrobe. The doors opened with a soft creak. Rows of clothes hung neatly inside. Camie barely paused before reaching in. His hand landed on something soft and stretchy. He pulled it free.
The garment unfolded into a tight black jumpsuit covered in chaotic pink lettering. The bright words wrapped around the fabric in overlapping strokes of paint-like script. Camie barely examined it. Still half-asleep, still foggy, he stepped into it and pulled the fabric up his legs. The material clung immediately, hugging his hips and thighs as he worked it upward. He threaded his arms into the sleeves and pulled the zipper up the front until it sealed snugly against his collarbone. The jumpsuit fit like a second skin. Camie rolled his shoulders once. Then twice. “Fine,” he muttered. His hair slipped forward again, falling across his face. He blew a frustrated breath upward to clear it. The curls fell right back down. Camie stared at the strands hanging in front of his eyes. “…Right.”
He wandered over to the makeup table. The laptop sat open from some earlier use. He tapped the trackpad lazily, pulling up a video site and typing a few simple words.
Hair braiding tutorial. A woman appeared on the screen moments later cheerfully demonstrating how to separate long hair into sections. Camie followed along with sleepy concentration. His fingers moved through the familiar weight of his waist-length hair, dividing it carefully down the middle. He pulled the first side over his shoulder and began weaving the strands together. Left over right. Right over center. Slowly. Deliberately. The rhythmic motion was strangely calming. Thirty minutes passed like that. By the time he finished, two thick braids hung neatly over his shoulders, both falling all the way down to his waist. Camie gave them a small testing tug.
They held. “Good enough.”
He stood and wandered toward the dresser. A pair of socks caught his eye immediately. Bright pink, the exact same shade as the lettering scattered across the jumpsuit. He pulled them on without hesitation. Then he reached for the chunky pink trainers sitting beside the wardrobe. The shoes were absurdly vibrant. The color matched perfectly. Camie slipped them on and tightened the laces. Finally, he turned toward the mirror And stopped. For the first time since waking up, he really looked at himself. The reflection staring back was… unfamiliar.
The jumpsuit hugged every line of his body. His waist looked narrow in the dark fabric, the bright pink lettering curling across his torso and hips. The braids framed his face softly, falling over his shoulders. The trainers added another splash of color that tied the whole look together. If someone walked past him on the street… Camie tilted his head slightly.…they probably wouldn’t question it.
He turned a little to the side. The fit of the jumpsuit made the curves of his hips more obvious than usual. The fabric smoothed across his stomach and chest, the long braids making his silhouette look softer still. From the back, especially… He could easily pass. Camie’s eyes drifted downward. There was only one detail that disrupted the illusion. The small, unmistakable bulge at the groin of the jumpsuit. He stared at it for a long moment. His expression shifted slightly.
“…Huh.” It was strange. If that wasn’t there…Camie leaned a little closer to the mirror. The thought lingered in his head longer than he expected.
Without that one detail, it would be almost impossible for someone to tell. He ran a hand slowly down one braid. For some reason that realization didn’t make him feel embarrassed. Or angry. Mostly it just felt… odd. Like noticing a trick of perspective. Like realizing a costume fit better than you expected.
Camie exhaled quietly and straightened “Whatever.” He grabbed a hair tie from the table and tightened one braid where it had loosened slightly. Then he gave his reflection one last glance before turning toward the bedroom door. Camie descended the stairs slowly, one hand trailing along the banister while the dull ache in his head pulsed with each step. The smell of coffee drifted through the house.
Strong coffee. The kind Arthur liked. Voices carried faintly from the kitchen. Camie rounded the corner and immediately stopped. Two of the company staff were there. One of them, Daniel, stood near the counter speaking quietly with Arthur while another employee, Melissa, was gathering some documents and a laptop bag. Melissa glanced up first. Her eyes widened slightly. Then she smiled. “Well good afternoon, Cassie.” Camie froze mid-step. Daniel turned as well. His expression brightened. “Hey! There she is. You survived the gala.” Camie stared at both of them. “…I’m not—” Melissa walked past him toward the hallway, giving him an amused once-over.
“Honestly you look amazing considering the hangover,” she said warmly. “That outfit is adorable.” She winked. “See you downstairs later, Cassie.” And then she disappeared down the hall toward the basement office. Camie slowly turned his head toward Arthur. Daniel chuckled lightly as he grabbed his tablet from the counter. “Good to see you this morning,” he said casually. “You cleaned up pretty well last night.” Camie opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Daniel gave Arthur a quick nod. “Meeting in ten.” Then he walked past Camie and headed downstairs as well. Camie stood there in the kitchen doorway, jaw tight.
Arthur took a slow sip of coffee. A very smug expression sat on his face. “Good morning, Cassie.” Camie’s eye twitched. “That’s not funny, man,” he muttered irritably. “I thought that was a bad dream.” Arthur leaned against the counter. “You spent the entire night answering to it.” Camie rolled his eyes hard enough it almost hurt. “Yeah well I was drunk.” Arthur shrugged. “You still answered.” Camie groaned and wandered into the kitchen, opening cupboards until he found a frying pan.
“Coffee,” he muttered. “Already on.” Camie poured himself a cup and immediately drank half of it. Arthur watched him over the rim of his mug. The tight jumpsuit clung to Camie’s body as he moved around the kitchen, the pink lettering catching the light while the long braids swung over his shoulders. Camie opened the fridge and began pulling out random breakfast ingredients. Even though it was clearly mid-afternoon. Arthur smiled slightly. “Making breakfast at two in the afternoon,” he said lightly. “Very domestic of you.” Camie shot him an annoyed look. “Shut up.” Arthur pushed off the counter and walked over slowly. Camie focused on cracking eggs into the pan.
Arthur stopped just behind him. Very close. Camie could feel the presence immediately. Before he could turn around, Arthur’s hands settled gently on his hips. Camie stiffened. Arthur leaned forward slightly. His voice lowered as he spoke near Camie’s ear. “Or would you prefer another name beginning with C?” Camie’s grip tightened slightly on the spatula. Arthur’s thumbs rested lightly against the sides of his waist as he continued softly. “Chloe?” A small pause. “Carly?” Another. “Channing?” Arthur’s breath brushed the side of Camie’s neck.
“Chelsie?” Camie swallowed. Arthur tilted his head slightly, voice almost playful now. “…Calli?”
Another pause. Then quietly: “Which is to be, Cassie?”
Arthur’s voice was still low behind him. “…Calli?The word landed like a spark on dry fuel. Camie froze. The spatula in his hand stopped moving. The eggs in the pan hissed softly as the heat continued to cook them, but Camie didn’t notice.
Something in his shoulders locked. Arthur noticed immediately. For a split second Camie didn’t move at all. Then he spun. The movement was so sudden Arthur barely had time to react. Crack. The slap echoed through the kitchen. Arthur’s head snapped slightly to the side as Camie’s palm struck his cheek.
Before Arthur could recover, Camie grabbed both of his forearms and shoved his hands violently off his hips. The long acrylic nails still glued to Camie’s fingers dug sharply into Arthur’s skin as he forced the contact away. “Don’t you touch me,” Camie snapped. His voice was shaking. Arthur blinked once, stunned more than anything.
“No.” Camie cut him off instantly. His chest rose and fell quickly, breathing uneven. “You don’t get to stand there,” Camie snapped, pointing at him, “and act like this is some funny little game. Arthur’s cheek was already beginning to redden where the slap had landed. “I was joking,” Arthur said carefully. Camie barked out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah. You always are.” He dragged a hand down his face in frustration before turning away from the stove entirely.
“You’re unbelievable.” Arthur stayed where he was, watching him. Camie paced once across the kitchen, agitation radiating off him. “You know what you are?” he said suddenly, turning back toward Arthur. Arthur didn’t answer. “You’re an egotist.” Camie jabbed a finger toward him. “A narcissist.” Another step closer. “A fucking psychopath.” Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly.
“You push and push and push until you get what you want and then you act like everyone else is crazy for reacting to it.” The eggs in the pan began to burn, the smell slowly filling the room. Camie didn’t notice. “You think you’re clever,” he continued bitterly. “Like you’re ten steps ahead of everyone else.” Arthur opened his mouth. Camie cut him off again. “No. Don’t.” His voice dropped, still furious.
“You don’t get to play mind games with me and then act innocent about it.” Arthur exhaled slowly.“Camie—”
“I said don’t.” Camie turned sharply and stormed out of the kitchen. Arthur didn’t follow. In the hallway Camie grabbed the bright pink cropped puffer hanging by the door and shoved his arms into the sleeves roughly. The neon color matched the lettering splashed across the jumpsuit perfectly. He didn’t bother zipping it. His phone buzzed in the pocket. Camie yanked it out, swiped the screen, and flipped the setting to Do Not Disturb. The phone disappeared back into the pocket. Behind him Arthur had stepped into the hallway doorway.
“Camie.” Camie didn’t even look at him. “You’re a terrible person,” he muttered under his breath. Then he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. Cold afternoon air rushed into the house. Camie stepped outside and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame. Inside the house, Arthur stood silently in the hallway. The kitchen behind him was beginning to fill with the faint smell of burned eggs.
The cold air had taken the sharp edge off Camie’s anger, but not the weight of it. For forty-five minutes he had walked without direction. Down side streets. Across quiet intersections. Past rows of houses where warm light glowed behind curtains and people were beginning their evenings. He barely noticed any of it.
His clunky sneakers thudded against the pavement, breath steaming faintly in the afternoon chill, the bright pink of the cropped jacket practically screaming against the dull grey of the city around him. His phone buzzed once in his pocket at some point. He ignored it. Do Not Disturb stayed firmly on. Eventually the anger burned itself down into something heavier. Slower. That was when he realised where he’d ended up. A small neighbourhood park. Empty.
The swings creaked slightly in the breeze, chains clinking softly. A faded slide. A climbing frame slick with damp from the cold. Camie walked toward the swings without really thinking and dropped onto one of the seats. The metal chains rattled as his weight settled. For a long moment he just sat there. Sneakers planted in the gravel.
Head hanging forward. His braids slid over his shoulders as he leaned down, the ends brushing against the front of the pink jacket. And then the thoughts started hitting him. All at once.
“God…” he muttered quietly, rubbing his face with both hands. What the hell was that back there? He replayed the moment in his head. Arthur’s voice behind him. Soft. Amused. “Chloe? Carly? Channing? Chelsie? Calli?” The last name hit again like a slap. Camie’s jaw tightened. He kicked lightly against the gravel and the swing rocked a few inches. “Calli…” he muttered bitterly. His stomach twisted. Because the worst part was that he still didn’t even know why it had set him off that badly. He knew the first half of it, obviously. That part was easy.
He didn’t want to be a woman. Didn’t want to be dressed like one. Didn’t want to be called one. Didn’t want the name Cassie. Didn’t want the stupid braids. Didn’t want the nails. Didn’t want people looking at him like he was someone else entirely. The humiliation of the gala still burned in his chest when he thought about it. Being called Cassie. Being introduced as Arthur’s girlfriend. Being dragged around that room like some decorative accessory. The swing creaked as he shifted again. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That part’s obvious.” But that wasn’t what had made him explode. Not really.
Because when Arthur had been teasing him with the other names he’d been annoyed, sure. But he hadn’t lost it. Not until…Camie clenched his jaw. Calli. Arthur’s ex. The woman who had walked out on him. The woman who had broken him. Camie exhaled slowly through his nose. “Unbelievable…” he murmured. Because suddenly the other half of the feeling rose up again. Hot. Sharp. Ugly. After everything he’d done for Arthur. After months of listening to him vent.
After being the one who stayed up with him those nights when the breakup was still fresh and Arthur was angry and bitter and miserable. After defending him to people at work who said Arthur could be difficult. After being there for him when no one else really was. And then—
Arthur throws that name out like a joke. Camie’s hands tightened around the swing chains. “So what?” he muttered bitterly. “Now I’m just… what? The replacement?” His voice dropped into a mocking imitation. “Oh hey Calli left so let’s just dress Camie up and call him the same name.” He let out a harsh laugh. The sound didn’t carry far in the empty park. “Brilliant plan, Arthur.” The swing rocked slightly as he pushed off the ground again.
But then the thought twisted. And that was the part that made him feel even worse. Because if that were true… If Arthur really was trying to replace Calli… Why did that bother him so much? Camie stared down at the gravel beneath his boots. Because the anger he felt about that wasn’t the anger of someone refusing to be feminised. It was something else entirely. Something that felt suspiciously close to…He grimaced.
“No,” he muttered immediately. Absolutely not. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t upset because Arthur had compared him to another woman. That would be insane. He didn’t even want to be a woman. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. But the thought kept clawing at him. Because the way it had felt in the kitchen hadn’t been: Don’t call me that because I’m not a woman. It had been… His stomach twisted again.
More like, Don’t compare me to her. The swing creaked as he leaned back slightly, staring up at the grey sky above the park. “That’s ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Completely ridiculous. And yet… The more he thought about it, the more the two feelings twisted together into one miserable knot in his chest. He was angry because Arthur kept pushing him into this humiliating role.
But he was also angry because after everything he’d done for Arthur… had still thrown Calli’s name out like it meant nothing. Like Camie was just another placeholder. Like everything Camie had done to support him didn’t matter. The contradiction made his head hurt. Because the feelings didn’t make sense together.
He didn’t want to be a woman. Didn’t want to be Cassie. Didn’t want to be Calli. Didn’t want to be any of those names. And yet somehow… Being compared to Arthur’s ex still felt like an insult. Camie groaned softly and dragged his hands down his face again. “God…” He kicked the gravel again and the swing swayed. “Why am I even thinking about this?”
It should’ve been simple. Arthur was an egotistical narcissistic psychopath. Camie had already told him that. Multiple times. End of story. Except if that were true. Why did it hurt? Camie leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. The wind rustled softly through the empty park. And for the first time since storming out of the house, the anger started to cool. Leaving behind something quieter. Confusion. Frustration. And an uncomfortable awareness that maybe, Just maybe, Some part of this situation bothered him for reasons he didn’t fully understand yet.
Which, if anything, made him even more irritated. Because now he wasn’t just angry at Arthur anymore. He was angry at himself too.
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