Mules

Morning arrived quietly.

Grey light filtered through the curtains in soft bands, washing the pink bedroom in pale colour that made everything feel strangely muted. The makeup still sat neatly atop the dresser. The Barbies still occupied the shelf where trophies and childhood keepsakes used to be. Dresses hung in the closet. Heels waited beside furniture like obedient little soldiers.

Nothing had changed overnight.

For once, that wasn't comforting.

Craig lay flat on his back beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling while soreness pulsed through his body in slow, lingering waves. Pole dancing had apparently awakened muscles he'd never used before. His shoulders ached. Inner thighs burned. Even his stomach hurt.

Still... it wasn't as bad as the night before. Sleep had helped. The shower had helped. And, though he'd rather die than admit it out loud, wearing those ridiculous platform boots around the apartment for the rest of the evening had helped most of all.

That part bothered him.

Everything bothered him now.

Day nine.

Nine days since Eros had decided Craig's life apparently needed to be turned inside out. Nine days since reality stopped making sense. First went the clothes. Jeans and hoodies replaced by skirts, lingerie, heels, dresses. Then the job disappeared, rewritten into some bizarre management role that seemed less focused on leadership and more focused on making him into some combination secretary, homemaker, and erotic dancer.

And now Frank was gone too. Not dead. Not even far away. Just... removed.

Craig turned his head slightly toward the wall shared with the neighbouring apartment. Somewhere over there, Frank still existed. Still lived his life. Still went to work and probably complained about traffic and ate garbage takeout three nights a week. Only now, apparently, they'd never lived together.

The thought hollowed something out inside him.

Frank had been the constant through all of this. The one stable thing left while Eros rewrote everything else. Even if Frank didn't understand what was happening, even if Craig couldn't explain it without sounding insane, at least his best friend had been nearby. Familiar. Real.

Now even that certainty had been stolen. What even were they now? Still best friends? Casual friends? Did they still bowl together on Thursdays? Craig honestly didn't know.

Worst of all had been the texts. The confusion in Frank's responses. That subtle implication that something must be wrong with Craig for saying they'd been roommates. But Craig wasn't wrong. Craig was the only sane person left. The only one who remembered how things were supposed to be.

A long sigh escaped him.

Blankets shifted as Craig slowly pushed himself upright, careful of lingering soreness. Red lace slid softly against his skin when he moved. The babydoll he'd chosen the night before still draped loosely over his torso, sheer material feather-light against his chest. Matching panties hugged him comfortably beneath the blankets.

Comfortably.

That thought made him pause. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, Craig looked down at himself with visible annoyance.

The lingerie felt good. Not sexy. Not arousing. Just... comfortable.

The panties held him snugly without pinching. The soft lace brushed pleasantly against sensitive skin. Air moved easily through the sheer fabric of the babydoll, cool and relaxing against his body. None of that should've felt normal. Craig rubbed at his face tiredly.

"Watch it," he muttered to himself.

Because how much of this was actually him anymore?

Yesterday he'd shaved his legs and groin without even realizing he'd started doing it. Eros was inside his head somehow, nudging thoughts and instincts around like pieces on a board.

So what about this? The comfort. The growing appreciation for lingerie. The relief that came with high heels. Was any of that real? Or was Eros slowly rewriting him from the inside out too?

Probably the second one.

And what exactly could Craig do about it? Nothing useful came to mind.

Sure, there was the little shrine he'd made. The candle. The offerings. But the last time he'd actively tried appealing to Eros, things had gotten dramatically worse afterward. One stupid moment of desperation and suddenly his body practically required heels to function properly.

Not a blessing.

Definitely a curse.

And yet... Even thinking about flat shoes now made his calves ache sympathetically.

"Fantastic," Craig muttered.

The blankets fell away fully as he stood. Toes pointed instinctively against the carpet while he crossed toward the closet. No flat-footed steps anymore. His body simply didn't work that way now.

Rows of feminine shoes greeted him. A new pair sat near the front.

Mules.

The word surfaced immediately in his mind without effort.

Great. Now Eros was apparently giving him footwear vocabulary.

The backless heels slipped onto his feet easily. No straps. No buckles. Just enough heel height to keep his body comfortable while still casual enough for moving around the apartment. The apartment he apparently lived alone in now.

Bathroom first. The morning routine unfolded almost automatically after that. Teeth brushed. Face washed. Shower taken quickly beneath steaming water. Another shave, though at least this time he remained fully aware of what he was doing.

One thing immediately stood out though. The blue nail polish was gone. Completely gone. Craig stared at his bare nails in disbelief.

"...Of course."

Meaning today's first office task would almost certainly involve repainting them. Assuming nobody needed cookies baked or laundry folded first. The thought alone nearly made him groan.

Back in the bedroom, getting dressed felt increasingly routine despite how absurd that reality remained. Panties first. Pale pink satin this time. Then the matching bra. Craig rolled his eyes while fastening it behind his back with growing ease.

Ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

A yellow-and-grey plaid pencil skirt came next, fitted enough to hug his hips while a high slit climbed one thigh. Practical at least. Easier movement. After yesterday's dance lesson, mobility suddenly mattered.

Stockings slid smoothly over freshly shaved legs.

Then a black long-sleeved top. Conservative by the standards of his magically altered wardrobe, though the cropped hem still exposed a sliver of stomach above the waistband.

Dressed at last, Craig looked toward the mirror. And grimaced. How had his life become this?

The mules clicked softly against the floor while he crossed toward the vanity. Makeup waited there in organized rows like it belonged. Maybe it did now.

Craig sat. Looked at himself. Tired eyes stared back from a face that somehow seemed increasingly incomplete without cosmetics. The feeling arrived instantly and powerfully enough to make his pulse jump.

Lipstick.

Just a little.

The thought slid into place so naturally it frightened him. His hand moved before he'd consciously decided to reach. Fingers wrapped around a tube automatically. Twist. Pop. Colour rose slowly from the casing. Craig lifted it toward his mouth...

And froze.

"What the fuck am I doing?"

The lipstick clattered loudly against the dresser when he dropped it. Adrenaline surged. Chair shoved backward sharply while Craig shot to his feet and stumbled away from the vanity like it had tried to bite him.

No.

No no no.

This was getting worse. How far did Eros plan on taking this?

Heart pounding uncomfortably hard, Craig fled the bedroom before the temptation could settle back into place again.

Kitchen. Movement helped. Focus helped. An apple disappeared into his bag alongside a protein bar. Lunch kit retrieved from the fridge. Purse grabbed from the counter.

Anything to stay busy.

Anything to get away from that dresser.

Because even now, standing in the kitchen halfway to the door, part of him still wanted to go back down the hall and finish what he'd started. And that terrified him more than pole dancing ever had.

The apartment door shut quickly behind him. Early or not, Craig didn't care. Work sounded safer than being alone with his own thoughts. And if he got there ahead of schedule?

Well.

At least he'd have time to do his nails.