"We should take a break," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "Get something to eat or drink. I need... we both need to step back for a minute."
Trevor nods eagerly. "Yeah, okay. I've got snacks downstairs. Mom and Dad are asleep, so we can just..." He trails off, suddenly aware of the implications. Bringing someone to the kitchen at midnight. Someone who looks like a girl. Someone who used to be Batman.
"It's fine," you hear yourself say. "Lead the way."
But Trevor shakes his head. "Actually, stay here. I'll bring stuff up. What do you like? Chips? Soda? I think we have some cookies..."
"Whatever you're having," you reply, and he practically sprints from the room.
The moment he's gone, you should move. Check the computer. Analyze the code. Find a way out. But instead you find yourself sinking onto his unmade bed, the mattress groaning under your unfamiliar weight. Your body feels impossibly heavy, each breath an effort. The exhaustion isn't just physical—it's the accumulated toll of fighting the virus, of maintaining any shred of your true self.
You lie back, just for a moment. The pillow smells like teenage boy—a mix of cheap shampoo and unwashed fabric. Above you, glow-in-the-dark stars are stuck to the ceiling in no particular pattern.
Trevor returns with an armful of junk food—Doritos, Mountain Dew, a package of Oreos. He freezes in the doorway when he sees you sprawled on his bed, and heat floods your cheeks. You can feel yourself blushing, the sensation foreign and intense.
"Sorry, I just... I needed to sit," you stammer.
"No, it's... it's fine. Good." He dumps the snacks on his desk and grabs his desk chair, rolling it over to sit facing you. "So, um..."
"How would this even work?" The question tumbles out. "You and me. What are you expecting here, Trevor?"
He fidgets with the Mountain Dew can, not opening it. "I don't know. I honestly didn't think past the creation part. The virus was supposed to make someone who'd... who'd want to spend time with me. Maybe watch anime together. Play games. Just... not be alone anymore."
"And the girlfriend part?"
His face goes scarlet. "That was stupid. Fantasy stuff. I never thought—" He meets your eyes. "What do you want it to be?"
The virus offers answers immediately. Boyfriend. Partner. The person who finally understands you.
"I don't know," you whisper, and it's the most honest thing you've said since the transformation began.