My phone was buzzing at 4:00 AM. I saw that it was Adam, so I turned off my phone—though I was afraid that he was going to show up at Lena’s apartment and see me all dolled up again.
But he didn’t. Adam didn’t show up.
The girls started waking up around 7:00 AM. Lena made coffee while the other girls got dressed. Zoe found me and held out a small yellow dress with black stripes. “I think this would suit you,” she said. “And it’s team colours.”
I blushed. A part of me still wanted to tell her that I wasn’t into crossdressing. I still wanted to convince her that I wasn’t like this—because I wasn’t. I was just doing this for them… Right?
I put on the dress, and the wig with the loose curls. I let Mara help me with my makeup while Lena poured coffees. It was actually a nice, low-key morning despite the stress of the fast-approaching match.
But I kept looking at the door, worried Adam would show up at any moment.
“Let’s play,” Lena said. “We should have time for two or three matches before we have to go.”
Feeling less sore, I was able to play at the top of my game. Those warmup matches were a breeze. I was MVP in two out of three of them—and we won them all.
Then, we all went down to get into Lena’s car. I looked around for Adam, but he wasn’t there. He hadn’t messaged me since 4:00 AM. Maybe he was over it.
We arrived at the venue—one that I’d played at once before for a qualifier that I botched. But now, there were way more people there. Apparently, the team event attracted a much bigger crowd than the solo tournaments.
I suddenly felt very awkward wearing that little dress, so I stayed near the girls, blending in with them. “At our 3 o’clock,” Zoe whispered to me. “Some guys checking us out.”
I peered over, and sure enough, there were three guys in tank tops eyeing us. I blushed and kept moving, staying close to the girls. Maybe they were checking us out, or maybe they were trying to figure out what the hell we were. I thought we looked pretty good, but Adam had figured out that the girls were trans right away—and I didn’t exactly have a ton of time under my belt as a chick.
And I probably didn’t look so confident, with my fast small steps, keeping my chin down as I clutched my keyboard.
It was relieving when we got to the waiting area where the other teams were. The players were all focussed on their game, pacing around and trying not to let anxiety consume them. They were too preoccupied to even notice us.
The announcer's voice thundered through the packed auditorium, reverberating off the high ceilings and washing over the sea of spectators. "Team Chroma, please report to Station 4!" The words sent an electric jolt through my body, making the butterflies in my stomach take flight. My fingers twitched at my sides, already craving the familiar weight of my keyboard, the smooth glide of my mouse.
Jess's hand found mine, her black-painted nails pressing little nervous crescent moons into my skin. "Don't you dare fucking choke on me now," she growled, but the way her thumb traced absent circles on my wrist betrayed her concern. The scent of her perfume—dark and sweet, like vanilla and black pepper—wrapped around me as she pulled me toward the stage.
The lights hit us like a truck, hot and blinding. I blinked against the glare, my heels—borrowed from Zoe, a size too small—clicking awkwardly on the polished stage floor. The dress they had picked out for me clung to my torso, the fabric soft but unfamiliar, the way it flared at my hips still strange every time I caught my reflection. And now I was realizing how short it was. The wig itched at my temples, the curls bouncing with every nervous step.
Then I saw him.
Adam stood in the third row, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like a knife. His arms were crossed, his usual tank top swapped for a tight black tee that stretched over his chest. His expression was unreadable from this distance, but I didn't need to see his face to know what was there—disbelief. Disgust. Maybe even betrayal.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Ethan." Lena's voice cut through the noise. She snapped her fingers in front of my face, her dark eyes narrowed. "Eyes forward. Breathe. We have a game to win."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to turn away, sinking into the plush gaming chair at my station.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let the girls dress me up. Maybe I let that whole thing go to far…
The keyboard greeted me like an old friend, the keys worn smooth from years of use. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off the tension coiling in my shoulders. Suddenly, I could feel that soreness from our gym session the day before.
The game loaded with a familiar chime.
Just like that, we were playing. The game was on. The tournament had started, and there was only that single match to decide which team made it through to the big tournament. This was just a small qualifying: to pick a single team to go to the real deal with nineteen other teams.
First Drop: Pochinki.
The plane roared across the digital sky, the countdown to jump flashing red in the corner of my screen. Jess didn't hesitate—she marked our landing spot with a sharp click of her mouse. "Hot drop. Let's fucking go."
Wind screamed in our ears as we plummeted toward the crumbling buildings below. My stomach lurched, the sensation so real I could almost feel the rush of air against my skin. The second my feet hit the rooftop, muscle memory took over—I was looting before my brain even registered the movement.
"Two squads north," Mara called, her voice calm despite the gunfire already cracking through the air.
I moved on instinct, flanking wide while Zoe laid down covering fire. My first kill came easy—a headshot through a broken window, the satisfying crack of the rifle echoing in my headphones.
One down.
Adam's face flashed in my mind. He was still there… watching… judging… maybe even snapping photos and sending them to our friends.
I shoved the thought away.
By the time the first circle closed, we were stacked. Zoe cackled as she pried open a high-tier loot crate, her neon nails flashing against the keyboard. "Pretty Boy, catch!"
The AWM sailed through the air, landing at my feet with a metallic clatter. My favourite sniper. My best weapon. And thanks to hours of training together, she knew it.
For a moment, everything clicked into place.
I scoped in, the world narrowing to a single pixel on the screen. The enemy's head appeared for just a fraction of a second—
Bang.
Headshot.
The crowd erupted. Jess's grin was feral as she bumped her shoulder against mine. "Atta fucking boy."
Then, against my better judgment, I glanced back.
Adam hadn't moved. He was leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, his stare boring into me like a physical weight. His mouth was a hard line, his disgust so painfully obvious. Maybe he would even go and tell my dad about this. How many people would I have to convince that this was just because of an unorthodox reward and punishment system.
My fingers stuttered.
Two teams left. The circle was a cruel sliver of land, half of it swallowed by the blue. Lena's voice was steady in my ear, calling strategies, but Adam's words echoing in my head drowned her out.
Pathetic. You're turning into a fucking joke.
I missed the grenade throw.
It landed short, bouncing off a rock and rolling harmlessly into the open. The enemy team didn't hesitate—they rushed us, their footsteps thunderous in my headphones.
"Ethan, move!" Jess's shout was raw, desperate.
I fumbled the AWM reload, peering out at the crowd, at Adam who was now shaking his head. My screen flashed red, the sound of bullets tearing through my character's body deafening.
"Ethan's down!" Mara's gasp was barely audible over the gunfire.
Jess cursed, her last grenade already in hand. "Cover me—"
The explosion lit up the screen in a burst of white.
Then—silence.
2nd Place.
The applause was polite, perfunctory. Silver wasn't bad—a little bit of prize money, maybe a sponsorship if we were lucky, and a bit of recognition—but the weight of failure pressed down on me like a physical thing. We wouldn’t be going to the main tournament…
My hands shook as I unplugged my keyboard, the cables tangling in my grip.
Jess's fingers closed around my wrist, her grip iron-tight. "What the hell was that?" she hissed, her breath hot against my ear. Her eyeliner was smudged, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You had them. You had them."
Zoe sighed, fluffing her auburn curls with one hand. "Well, we looked hot losing, at least."
Lena didn't say anything. She just looked at me, her dark eyes brimming with something worse than anger: disappointment.
Then Adam was there, shoving through the crowd like a storm cloud. His voice was low, ominous. "We need to talk."
Jess didn't hesitate. She stepped between us, her fishnet-clad legs planted wide, her chin tilted up in defiance. "Fuck off," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "He's with us today.”
Adam laughed, the sound blunt and humourless. "Yeah? Aren’t you guys… eliminated? What exactly do you need him for now?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Because he was right: we were out. There was no longer any point of being on that team, which meant that I was now standing in a crowded venue dressed as a girl… for nothing. Now, this was officially nothing more than a public humiliation. I don’t know what was worse: Adam looking at me like I was disgusting, or the nerdy men in the crowd looking at me like they wanted to fuck me, like they thought that I was a real woman.
Suddenly, I felt hyper-aware of that short dress, of my shaved legs, of that fake wig hair framing my face. I must have looked so foolish. Maybe I should have listened to Adam from the start; he was trying to protect me from this exact moment—this hopeless humiliation. Adam—and all of my old friends—were off working on their careers, buying houses, marrying women and having kids. And I was… standing on a stage—a loser—dressed like a woman for a couple thousand people to see.
*
The night air was cold against my bare legs as I stepped out of the venue. The adrenaline of the match had long since faded, leaving only a hollow ache in my chest. I could still feel Adam’s stare burning into my back, could still hear the echo of his words—pathetic, a joke, what the hell are you even doing?
I didn’t look back at the girls. I couldn’t. Not after choking like that. Not after proving, in front of everyone, that I didn’t belong.
The bus ride home was a blur of flickering streetlights and muffled conversations. I kept my head down, my hands clenched in my lap, the fabric of the dress bunched between my fingers. Every now and then, I caught my reflection in the darkened window—the wig, the makeup, the way the dress clung to my frame—and a fresh wave of shame crashed over me. I would have changed back into my proper clothes, but those were still at Lena’s, and I didn’t feel like making the long round-trip to her place. I’d already faced that shame in front of that huge crowd—what was another bus-load of people?
I kept looking at my reflection.
What the hell am I?
Adam wasn’t home when I got back. A small mercy, I suppose.
I tore off the wig first, tossing it onto my bed like it was on fire. The makeup came next, scrubbed away with rough, impatient strokes until my skin was raw. The dress was last. I hesitated before peeling it off, my fingers lingering on the hem.
It was just fabric. Just a stupid costume.
So why did it feel like I was stripping away something more?
I shoved it into my gym bag, buried under layers of old shirts and forgotten sneakers. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Then I stood there, in the middle of my room, in nothing but my underwear, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My body looked… wrong. Too broad in the shoulders, too narrow in the hips. My jawline was too sharp, my hands too big. Everything about me was wrong, suddenly, in a way I’d never noticed before.
I turned away, disgusted.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around my legs. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it—Adam’s face, Jess’s disappointment, the crowd’s stares.
Then, at some ungodly hour, I gave up.
I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, until my gaze landed on the gym bag in the corner. The dress was still in there.
I shouldn’t.
I really shouldn’t.
But…
I crossed the room before I could stop myself, digging through the bag until my fingers brushed against soft fabric. The yellow-and-black stripes were barely visible in the dim light, but I didn’t need to see them to remember how it felt to wear it. The way the fabric had hugged my waist. The way the skirt had swished around my upper thighs, teasing the cusp of my bum in a flirty way.
Just one last time.
I pulled it on.
The fabric settled over my skin. God, why did it feel so good?
I didn’t bother with the wig. I didn’t have the makeup. But I didn’t need them. Not right now.
I turned back to the mirror.
And for the first time all night, I didn’t look away.
Ethan was staring back at me… He was still there: the same eyes, the same nose, the same frame… all the things that made me me. But there was something else, too. Something softer. Something right.
My heart rate increased.
I looked good.
I felt good.
And that… that was the worst part.
Because what did it mean if I liked this? What did it mean if, even now, with the shame still coiled tight in my gut, I couldn’t bring myself to take it off?
I didn’t have an answer.
But for the first time, I let myself want one.