Unboxing

Just after lunchtime on Sunday, Craig crossed the parking lot toward the apartment building with two grocery bags hanging from his hands and a growing sense that his life had officially gone off the rails.

The hangover had eased. Not disappeared. Certainly not forgiven. But manageable. At least his head no longer felt like somebody had filled it with wet cement.

His outfit, unfortunately, was another matter. Suede thigh-high boots climbed nearly to the hem of a short beige skirt that swished around his legs as he walked. A yellow spaghetti-strap top hugged his torso, matching beige bra and panties hidden beneath it.

And then there was his face.

Craig had fought it for almost twenty minutes. He'd stared at the makeup sitting atop his dresser. Ignored it. Walked away. Returned. Walked away again. And somehow, despite every intention of resisting, he'd ended up sitting in front of the mirror applying red lipstick with steady hands, drawing elegant cat-eye lines as though he'd been doing it for years.

A quick spray of perfume had followed. Almost automatically. Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like somebody else's instincts.

Nobody cared. Nobody batted an eye. Not the Uber driver who'd taken him back to retrieve his car. Not the older gentleman smoking outside the sports bar. Not the cashier at the grocery store. Not the teenager collecting carts. To the world, Craig dressed like this. Always had. Always would. Reality had accepted it completely.

And apparently so had Frank.

Craig had stopped in to check on his best friend before tackling his streaming problem. Frank looked terrible. Pyjama pants. No shirt. Hair resembling a bird's nest. Eyes barely open. Craig had taken one look at him and immediately shifted into caretaker mode.

"Nope," he'd said.

"What?"

"Back to bed."

"I'm fine."

"You are absolutely not fine."

Frank offered weak resistance as Craig steered him back toward the bedroom. A glass of water appeared. Painkillers appeared. A cold cloth for his forehead. The blanket was pulled up. Pillow adjusted.

"Sleep," Craig instructed.

Frank mumbled something incoherent. Within minutes, soft snoring filled the room. Craig stood in the doorway staring. And then blinked.

What the hell? Why had he done all that? That hadn't been friendship. That had been...

Maternal.

He'd tucked Frank in. Actually tucked him in.

Craig folded his arms.

"I am not your mother."

Frank snored.

"You are a grown man."

More snoring. Craig remained there longer than necessary. Maybe because he wanted to make sure Frank was okay. Maybe because going home meant facing the streaming room.

Eventually, once he was satisfied that Frank wasn't dying, Craig slipped out, crossed the hallway and retreated into his own apartment. The click of the lock behind him felt strangely final. No more excuses. Time to deal with reality. Or whatever version of reality Eros had assembled.

The sound of his heels echoed dramatically as he walked toward the spare bedroom. Only it wasn't really a spare bedroom anymore. Opening the door, Craig nearly stumbled backward at what he saw.

The room had grown.

"Shit."

The centre section contained a raised dance platform illuminated by coloured lights. Speakers. Mirrors. And a polished brass pole extending from floor to ceiling.

To one side sat an elaborate bedroom setup. Pink sheets. A four-poster bed. Decorations straight out of a teenage dream room.

Opposite that was a lounge area. A couch. Heart-shaped pillows. Decorative lighting. Shelves overflowing with beauty products.

Three streaming spaces. Three personalities. Three versions of Craig.

"Oh great," he muttered. "That really simplifies things."

He wandered toward the bedroom setup. A notebook rested beside the computer. On it were instructions. Camera controls. Lighting presets. Streaming tips.

Craig flipped a page.

Schedules. Content plans. Upcoming events.

Yesterday had apparently been marked:

Fashion Showcase

Guess he missed that.

Today's schedule read:

Sunday Unboxing Stream

Beside the bed sat three unopened boxes. Craig stared. Then smiled nervously.

"Unboxing videos."

People watched those all the time. Hell, he'd watched them all the time. They were simple. Sit down. Open things. Smile. Talk. Pretend to know what you're doing. Easy.

Probably.

A few minutes later, lights were glowing overhead. The camera indicator turned red. Craig perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

Thousands of people apparently expected this version of him to know exactly what to do. And somehow...

He did.

A bright smile appeared. His posture changed. His voice softened.

"Hey guys!"

Craig immediately hated how natural that sounded.

"Happy Sunday! We've got some packages to open today, so let's see what showed up."

Box one.

Craig reached forward, forcing a bright smile onto his face.

"Okay, guys! First package!"

Why was he talking like that? Why did his voice suddenly sound lighter? More energetic? More animated? He hated that it felt natural.

"Let's see what we've got."

He peeled open the box and folded back the flaps. A tiny scrap of yellow fabric stared back at him. Craig blinked. His smile faltered.

"Oh."

Slowly, cautiously, he reached inside. A bikini. Not just a bikini. A yellow bikini covered in white polka dots. And tiny. Alarmingly tiny. It looked less like swimwear and more like something constructed during a fabric shortage.

Craig held it up between two fingers. His eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

Then, immediately, he dropped it back into the box.

"Nope."

The chat exploded. Messages streamed upward so quickly they blurred together.

Craig stared. His cheeks burned.

"I am not doing a try-on stream."

More messages.

Craig looked at the camera. Then back at the monitor. Then sighed.

"Fine."

He reached back into the box. Held it up again. This time properly. The top. The bottoms. Tiny little bows. Little ruffles. Ridiculous.

"So... apparently this exists."

The chat loved that. He could practically feel thousands of people grinning through their screens. Craig folded it back up. Very carefully. Very respectfully. And placed it back in the box, brushing his hands off after closing the lid, as if touching it for too long might infect him.

"Moving on."

Box number two.

This one felt heavier. Much safer. Hopefully. Craig lifted the lid. Immediately, his expression changed.

Purple.

Glitter.

Platform soles.

Towering stiletto heels.

Beautiful.

A grin spread across his face before he could stop it.

"Oh wow."

Hands reached into the box instinctively.

"These are gorgeous."

He rotated one in the light. The glitter sparkled. The heel looked impossibly high. Craig's smile widened.

"I mean... look at these."

The chat window started flying again.

"They're incredible," Craig said.

Then paused. Wait. Why had he said that? He cleared his throat.

"I mean... They look..."

His fingers squeezed around the shoe.

"...really comfortable."

Another pause. Then honesty won.

"Oh who am I kidding? They look extremely comfortable."

He laughed. Actually laughed. He knew that his attitude toward heels was thoroughly corrupted by Eros' magic, but he couldn't help it. To Craig's eyes, the shoes looked like works of art. He imagined slipping his feet into them, the comfort they would bring. Then looked down at the suede thigh-high boots he was wearing. Before his conscious mind could object, his hands were already moving.

Zip.

One boot came off. Then the other. Bare legs crossed elegantly beneath him.

Craig slipped one foot into the purple heel. Then the second. He stood. Instant euphoria.

His shoulders lowered. All tension in his calves disappeared. A contented little sigh escaped him.

"Ohhhh."

Craig froze. Chat exploded.

He looked down at himself. Then at the camera. Then shrugged.

"Listen. Some people like memory foam mattresses. I apparently like six inches of structural engineering."

A wave of laughing emojis flooded the chat. Craig smiled despite himself.

"Anyway. Last box."

He sat back down, crossing his legs at the knee.

"Hopefully this one is something normal."

He lifted the lid. Reached inside without looking. Pulled out the item. Looked at it.

Silence.

Craig's brain stopped functioning.

"Oh."

A beat.

"Oh no."

Then:

"Holy shit."

In his hand was a long, pink, phallic object. Something he'd known about since adolescence, but had never touched, never held, never even seen in person. He stared at it, and the pink dildo seemed to stare back at him.

The sex toy disappeared back into the box so quickly it was almost a magic trick.

Craig stared directly into the camera. Then slowly turned toward the monitor. Chat had become absolute chaos.

Craig blinked several times. Smiled weakly. Adjusted a strand of hair that wasn't even in his face.

"So."

A nervous laugh.

"That certainly was... unexpected."

More messages flooded upward. Craig nodded solemnly.

"Thank you all very much for joining me today. We learned several important lessons. Number one, yellow is apparently happening. Number two, these shoes are amazing."

He lifted one foot. Admired it. Actually admired it. Then caught himself.

"And number three..."

Craig glanced at the closed box.

"...some mysteries are better left mysterious."

Chat objected immediately. Craig stood. Still smiling. Still somehow maintaining streamer energy despite being internally devastated.

"Thanks for tuning in, guys! I love you all, stay fabulous, and I'll see everybody tomorrow!"

Click.

Stream ended.

Silence.

Craig stared at the dark monitor. Then at the unopened box. Then at the pole. Then at the bed. Then at the camera.

"Okay."

A long pause.

"It is officially candle time. Eros and I are having a meeting."