Empty

Evening settled over the apartment in that quiet, heavy way unique to weekdays. Outside, traffic hissed faintly against pavement somewhere down the block, while inside everything felt still. Craig stood in the hallway outside Aundrea's apartment with aching legs and a stiffness in his shoulders that made even holding himself upright feel like work.

Two hours on a pole would do that, apparently.

The knock against the landlady's door came softer than he'd intended. Exhaustion had settled deep into his muscles by the time he'd climbed the stairs from the street. Beneath the blue paisley dress, his thighs still burned from gripping brass poles. Wrists ached. Core muscles he'd never known existed had declared war on him sometime during the drive home.

Locks clicked.

The door opened.

Aundrea smiled immediately when she saw him.

"Craig! Oh, don't you look lovely tonight." Her eyes travelled appreciatively over the dress. "That colour suits you beautifully. Honestly, it's so nice having respectable young men in the building."

Craig **** a tired smile. The comment would've shattered his brain a week ago. Now it barely registered compared to everything else.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Uh... actually, I wanted to ask about getting a parking spot."

"Oh?"

"I got promoted at work." Saying it still felt surreal. "They gave me a company car."

Aundrea's face lit up instantly.

"Oh, good for you! I knew you'd land on your feet. Such a polite young man." Pride practically radiated off her. "I'm sure you earned it."

Craig resisted the urge to laugh at that. If only she knew.

"Anyway," he continued, shifting awkwardly in his heels, "I was wondering how I sign up for parking."

Confusion crossed her face almost immediately.

"But dear... you already have one."

Craig blinked.

"...What?"

Without another word, Aundrea slipped on her cardigan and motioned for him to follow. Together they headed back downstairs, Craig's heels clicking sharply against the concrete steps while his sore legs protested every movement.

Outside, cool evening air brushed against his bare legs. Aundrea pointed toward the lot beside the building.

"Right there."

Craig frowned.

"That's Frank's spot."

Now she looked genuinely puzzled.

"Your friend Frank? The one who moved in when you did?"

"Yeah."

Aundrea nodded slowly, then pointed one space over.

"And his is beside yours."

Craig stared. The second parking spot sat empty. No hesitation. No uncertainty. To Aundrea, this was obvious. Like it had always been that way. A cold knot tightened slowly in Craig's stomach.

"...Right," he said quietly. "Okay. Thanks."

"Congratulations again, sweetheart."

The words barely registered.

Mind racing, Craig climbed into the hot pink Volkswagen and pulled it into the newly designated spot. The Bug-shaped nightmare fit perfectly between the painted lines, eyelashes and all.

Engine off. Silence. Hands lingered on the steering wheel a moment longer than necessary.

Was Aundrea confused? Or had Eros changed something again? Neither answer felt good.

Upstairs, the apartment greeted him with darkness and quiet. No television. No music. No sign of Frank. His roommate's car hadn't been downstairs either.

Fine. Honestly, quiet sounded perfect right now. Every inch of Craig hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to have to answer a lot of questions about what he did at work that day.

The moment the apartment door shut behind him, exhaustion crashed down properly. Purse abandoned on the counter. Keys tossed beside it. Shoes clicked heavily against the floor as he made his way toward the bathroom.

God, he wanted a bathtub.

A long soak sounded heavenly after the humiliating nightmare that had been today's "professional development." Instead, all the apartment offered was the same shower stall he'd used that morning.

Good enough.

Hot water thundered to life while Craig peeled himself out of the blue paisley dress. The zipper slid down easily beneath fingers tipped in glossy blue nail polish. Fabric pooled around his ankles a second later.

Panties followed. Damp. Sweaty. Pole dancing had apparently been far more athletic than he'd expected.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath.

The pantyhose received gentler treatment. Earlier that morning, during a brief moment alone at his desk after he'd painted his nails, Craig had secretly searched how to wash delicate hosiery without ruining it. Pillowcase. Cold wash. Air dry. Apparently he knew how to research lingerie care now. Add that to the resume. Fantastic. Carefully rolled, the pantyhose rested atop the sink while the rest went into the hamper.

Naked and exhausted, Craig stepped into the shower on instinctively pointed feet.

Frank's shampoo and body wash still weren't there.

Warm water poured over his body while his mind circled around that fact. Maybe Frank had started keeping his stuff in his room. Maybe he thought Craig had been using it. Which... okay, fair enough. Craig absolutely had used it before Eros replaced everything with floral nonsense.

A conversation later, maybe. Not tonight. Tonight was survival.

Heat soaked into sore muscles inch by inch. Steam curled through the bathroom while lavender soap slid across smooth skin. Legs still felt strange without hair. Every movement reminded him of it. The sensation of water against freshly shaved thighs. The drag of fingertips over bare calves.

Different. Wrong. And annoyingly pleasant.

By the time Craig stepped back out wrapped in a towel, some of the stiffness had eased. Not gone. Definitely not gone. But manageable.

His bedroom waited exactly as he'd left it: pink walls, feminine clutter, makeup lining the dresser. At least nothing else seemed different.

Small victories?

The paisley dress got hung carefully aside while Craig retrieved a spare pillowcase from the closet and stuffed the used pantyhose inside.

Fresh clothes came next. Panties. A short skirt. Then a cropped T-shirt with a rainbow pattern in cheerful colours that felt deeply at odds with Craig's mood. The marabou slippers waited beside the bed. Normally slipping into heels brought immediate comfort now, his altered posture settling naturally into the raised angle.

Not tonight. An aching throb shot through his calves almost instantly.

Craig frowned. That hadn't happened before.

Standing there, weight balanced awkwardly on aching legs, memory drifted back to the platforms from the studio. Ridiculous shoes. Obscene shoes. But once they'd been on...

Comfort. Balance. Agility.

Slowly, Craig turned toward the closet. Rows of heels stared back at him.

Then he spotted them. Pink thigh-high boots with towering heels so aggressive they barely looked wearable. The kind of footwear that belonged in music videos or fetish clubs, not on actual human beings. But would they help? Would they bring relief to his worn down body?

Curiosity won. A minute later Craig sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the first boot up his leg. The material hugged tightly against his calves. Then the second.

Carefully, he stood. And froze.

The soreness vanished.

Not dulled. Gone.

Craig took an experimental step. Easy.

Another. Smooth.

Balance settled perfectly into place, body aligning naturally over the impossible height like he'd been born for it. Suddenly the exhaustion from dance class evaporated beneath an intoxicating sense of strength and precision.

"...Whoa."

He rose onto one foot effortlessly. Turned. Spun.

A movement he'd seen dancers do online once, something fluid and fast involving a pivot and twist, happened almost automatically. The boots carried him through it gracefully before he even realized he'd attempted it.

Where had that grace been at the pole dancing lessons?

Craig stared at himself in the mirror. Tall. Legs impossibly long. Body poised effortlessly atop heels that should've broken his ankles.

"Okay," he whispered, impressed despite himself.

No point looking a gift horse in the mouth. Leaving the bedroom in the boots felt incredible. Every step landed with a sharp, commanding click against the hardwood floor. Taller now. Smoother. More controlled.

Phone in hand, Craig flopped carefully onto the couch and opened his messages. Frank still wasn't home.

Craig: Hey. Stopping for groceries or anything? It's my turn to cook so figured I'd check if you're craving something.

A few doomscrolling minutes passed before the phone buzzed.

Frank: Your turn to cook?

Craig frowned.

Craig: Yeah. You know - taking turns. Like usual.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Frank: Since when?

Craig sat up slightly.

Craig: Since we moved in together.

The reply took longer this time.

Frank: Craig what are you talking about?

A strange feeling crept slowly into his chest.

Craig typed again.

Craig: Dude. We've always taken turns cooking. It's the roommate agreement. We've done it for years. What's going on?

Frank: Are you drinking already? We've never lived together. Across the hall in the same building doesn't exactly mean roommates.

Silence.

Craig stared at the screen. Then everything hit him at once.

The empty parking space.

Aundrea's confusion.

No toiletries.

No signs of Frank anywhere in the apartment.

A cold wave rushed through him.

"No."

Boot heels slammed sharply against hardwood as Craig bolted upright. Fast. Too fast. The towering heels carried him effortlessly across the apartment while panic climbed higher with every step.

Click.

Click.

Clickclickclick.

Frank's bedroom door flew open hard enough to bounce against the wall. Craig stopped dead in the doorway.

Empty.

No bed.

No dresser.

No clothes.

No Frank.

Nothing.