changing clothes

James stretched, the air in Ariel’s room heavy with scents of perfume and soft fabric. He thought about changing into something comfortable, picturing a plain t-shirt, maybe jeans or a pair of shorts. Simple. Familiar.

But when his hands moved, they didn’t reach for denim or cotton. Almost dreamlike, he opened the closet, fingers brushing through rows of pastel colors and delicate fabrics until they stilled on something that felt… right. Without a second thought, he slipped the clothes free and dressed. The halter top hugged his chest, its ties lacing across skin that felt both alien and natural. The skirt whispered around his thighs as he stepped into it, short and playful, swaying with every motion.

He crouched to slide on shoes—expecting sneakers, maybe sandals. Instead, his feet found chunky white boots, their weight lifting him higher, giving his calves a shapely curve. He tugged on a pair of soft socks, pink and snug against his skin, before fastening a set of bracelets that jingled lightly when he moved.

It wasn’t until he pushed open the door and stepped into sunlight that the realization hit him. The flowers along the stone ring glowed red and white, the sky impossibly blue, and he found himself lingering there, basking. His hands toyed with strands of long hair spilling down his shoulders, twisting them idly as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

Only then did it sink in—this wasn’t what he meant to wear at all. Not “comfy clothes.” Not even close. He glanced down at the pink halter top hugging his ribs, the tiny patterned skirt brushing mid-thigh, the tall white boots that made his steps click with each shift of weight. Even the matching bracelets winked in the sun like intentional accessories.

His throat tightened. What is happening to me?

Yet, beneath the confusion, he couldn’t shake the uneasy warmth blooming in his chest—like a memory he didn’t own, but one that insisted on belonging to him.