Try to find some of Rob's clothes that might fit your new body better before facing David

https://imgur.com/a/95w492b

You pull yourself up from the floor, still dizzy from the transformation, and make your way to Rob's—your—closet. The gray t-shirt hangs off your shoulders like a tent, and the boxers keep threatening to slide down your narrower hips.

"Honey, you look like a little girl playing dress-up in daddy's clothes," Becky chimes from the phone you've set on the dresser. "Not exactly the sex kitten vibe we were going for."

You ignore her commentary and slide open the closet door. Your familiar wardrobe looks suddenly massive—button-ups that would swallow you whole, jeans that would fall right off. Still, you need something more suitable before facing David.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter, your new voice still startling in its breathiness. You rifle through the hangers until you find an old, shrunk-in-the-wash henley that might work. It's navy blue, soft from years of washing, and possibly small enough not to completely drown your new frame.

Slipping off the oversized t-shirt, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror mounted on the closet door. The reflection stops you cold—the blonde waves cascading past your shoulders, the delicate collarbones, the small but perky breasts with light pink nipples. Your waist curves inward dramatically before flaring to wider hips. The boxers hang precariously on those hips, the elastic stretched to its limit.

"Not bad for my handiwork," Becky comments, noticing your stunned expression. "Though we could definitely use some upgrades. That bust is positively modest!"

You slip the henley over your head. It fits better than expected—still loose, but not absurdly so. The neckline dips lower on your chest than it ever did before, revealing more skin than you're comfortable with. The hem hits mid-thigh, functioning almost like a dress.

Next, you search the dresser for anything that might work as bottoms. In the back of a drawer, you find a pair of running shorts with a drawstring waist—something you bought but rarely used. Stepping out of the boxers, you pull them on, tightening the drawstring as far as it will go. They're still loose, but at least they stay up.

"Well, aren't you resourceful," Becky says with a smirk. "Though honey, you could just complete a task and earn some real clothes that actually fit those curves."

You're about to snap back at her when a knock sounds at your bedroom door. Your heart jumps into your throat.

"Rob?" David's voice comes through the door. "You in there, mate?"

"Showtime," Becky whispers gleefully from the phone. "Remember, nobody sees the app but you. To him, it's just your Instagram."

You quickly tuck the phone into the pocket of your shorts, your pulse racing. The clothing helps, but nothing can prepare you for explaining this situation to your flatmate.

12:30 | Saturday 2 Aug 2025 | Putney, London