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The outfit wasn’t loud, exactly—but it knew what it was doing. A soft oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, shorts that showed just enough leg to feel daring, thigh-high socks striped like a wink. He’d even painted his nails a glossy black, the kind that caught the light when he moved his hands.
He exhaled, then smiled.
It wasn’t about pretending to be someone else. It was about finally letting himself be more.
He adjusted the choker—simple, silver—and brushed his hair until it framed his face just right. There was a nervous flutter in his chest, but underneath it was something stronger: excitement. Confidence. A quiet thrill that said, Yeah. This feels right.
When he stepped outside, the world didn’t end. No thunder. No dramatic collapse of reality.
Instead, a barista complimented his sweater. A stranger smiled at him like they recognized something brave. His reflection in a shop window made him stop again—not out of doubt this time, but pride.
Alexander walked taller after that.
Not because he looked cute (though, okay, he absolutely did), but because he’d claimed a part of himself he used to keep locked away. Feminine didn’t mean fragile. Soft didn’t mean weak. And confidence?
Confidence looked amazing on him.