CW for transphobia (on the part of the MC)

Sam stared at me warily, her--his shaggy brown hair covering part of his left eye and obscuring most of his jaw. With the slight upturn of his nose and his lips pulled into a grimace that more resembled a pout, it was easy to see aspects of the femininity he so desired. I could almost mistake him for a girl. A churning vortex of emotion spiraled deep within my gut at the thought. Be still, I commanded, this is for his own good.

“Casey, what’s that?” Sam asked in the pitched, breathy voice he’d adopted. Practicing, I could tell. That was why it was so important I nip this in the bud.

The flask I held wasn’t instantly identifiable as a healing potion. It lacked the conventional red dye, and the shimmering hues of ethereal silver and pinkish-blue made it look not-quite-mixed. Unpolished. But effective, I had been assured, at curing ailments of both mind and body.

“Healing potion. The strong kind,” I crooned, shaking the flask gently, then immediately stopping when it expelled a puff of vapor, warping the air above it. For a moment I thought my hand looked different, slimmer. Ah, so there was a reason this was banned in seven countries and one federation.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh my god. Did you really?” Doubt flashed in his expression. Doubt and hope.

“Look,” I sighed, stoppering the flask once more, “I know you’ve been looking for one. Take it and we can be done with this whole part of our lives.” Which I understood to be quite true. This potion, I’d been told, could cure memory loss, help with brain damage, and I was sure it could set Sam right. He, on the other hand, thought it was a path to the body he wanted. Positively daffy, I mentally scoffed.

Sam reached out a hand and received the offering. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” he whispered, to himself more than anyone. He looked up at me, joy dancing across the curves of his face. “I get to be a girl now. I mean, I guess I kind of am one now, but it’ll be real, y’know? I mean, okay, that didn’t come out right but like, I’ll put on a skirt and I’ll look like a girl in a skirt instead of a boy in one? Does that make sense?” Sam had such a wondrous expression that I was almost tempted to answer yes, it did, and that she didn’t need to explain herself, should never have to explain herself. That I understood every word she said, and that I felt this inexplicable ache in my chest when she said them. And yet.

Boys are boys are boys. It’s simply an immutable truth that in life, everyone is dealt a hand they have to play. Some are lucky and get to be girls. Others, like me and Sam, have to be boys. It’s fine to want something else, but wanting something isn’t the same as actually having it, and no matter how much he struggles against my--his fate, it’s all futile. You can’t change who you are, can’t be anyone but yourself, can’t help but want to be a girl but you can’t, Casey, you can’t do that listen to Mommy skirts are for girls Casey STOP CRYING PUT THAT DOWN--

Sam was very close in front of me, looking very concerned. I must’ve started shivering, because now I couldn’t stop. I fiddled with a trembling hand. Sometime between then and now, my eyes had gotten wet. “Are you okay?” Sam asked, sounding so sincere that for a moment I remembered we were technically friends.

“Never better,” I said shakily, willing my mouth into a shape I hoped resembled a grin. I stared down at my comrade, her soulful dark eyes making my heart skip a beat. I felt awkward and large in comparison, gesturing lamely at her hand. “Why don’t you, uh, take your medicine,” I proffered, unable to come up with much more of an argument for her--I mean him. Him. Always him. Why do I keep on having to remind myself of that?

“You sure?” He tilted his head, something a bit more complicated than skepticism playing out across his face.

“Sure I’m sure. That thing works.”

Sam smiled, just a bit. “Not quite what I was referring to.”

“Then what?”

“You know, you were babbling a bit there. I didn’t catch all of it but…” he paused, glancing away. “I’ll save you half. Should be more than enough.”

What?

I don’t--

Sam stepped back, doubt, fear, and unashamed excitement playing out on his face as he pulled out the cork and downed half the concoction.

He groaned, furrowing his brow as he first sat then lied on the ground, curled up into a ball-like position. A stab of pain shot through my heart. I hadn’t just hurt Sam, had I? Quickly, I rushed down to where he was clutching at his shins, pulling them closer in as he made an uncomfortable noise. As I watched, features of his face and body appeared to be changing. His hair elongated, spilling out a raven-black mess on the carpet. Subtle shifts of bone could be discerned through the clothing. Her hands lost any traces of hair, becoming completely smooth. She uncurled her body and sat up, eyes fluttering.

“Well, that first wave wasn’t so bad. I think the rest of this should go just fine,” she beamed at me. As she spoke, her face slowly morphed, not drastically but enough. A sour feeling churned in my stomach. There was no mistaking Sam now; anyone could see she was female. And I had--I had--

I stood up, trembling. Sam followed, drawing herself up to her full height. And here I saw the most prominent change the potion had brought on: where before I’d been staring down at her, now I was tilting my head up just to catch her eyes. Lovely, dark, and deep. I felt my breath catch in my throat, for so many reasons. “I--I--I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I--”

Sam put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I pressed closer into her, feeling desperate for human touch. She reciprocated, eventually just pulling me into a full-on hug, with her arms wrapped around my waist and her chin resting on my head. “Shh. It’s okay. It really is,” she whispered, “thank you for this.” I made a small squeak like I might have been saying something, but whatever it was, it quieted down when Sam brought one hand up to the back of my head and began softly stroking. Slowly, I began letting go of my thoughts. It’s okay. Sam’s here.

Pressed against her like I was, I could feel Sam’s body shifting. I could hear the creak of displaced bones and a straining sound as certain parts of her pants and shirt became ill-fitting. Slowly, soft pillows of flesh formed on her chest, simultaneously pushing me away and providing me a much-desired headrest. In those moments, I felt so comfortable and calm that I wondered if I couldn’t stay there forever and everything would be okay. Sam started gently humming, and her stroking became light scritches along the back of my head.

After what felt like an eternity, we pulled apart and I got my first really good look at Sam.

She was tall. Nearly a head taller than me, and almost a foot taller than where she’d been before. Long, straight, dark hair flowed down her scalp, reaching just below her shoulders. Similarly black eyes stared at me with a piercing intensity, as though the entirety of my soul was laid bare before her. Both those things had been present before the changes, but displayed in this manner, they looked… witchy, striking, almost elegant. But only almost, because currently her shirt and pants were stretched to their limit. She was female. Always had been, I suppose, but now I could see it too. And…

I’m jealous. 

“I’m sorry,” I repeat again, hoping that saying so made it more real, that I could explain away the bitterness in my gut as guilt.

“And I,” Sam responded, flicking my forehead and snapping me out of my reverie, “forgive you, you dumbass.”

I furrowed my brow. Being forgiven was nice, but I still felt terrible. “Why?” I ask, both to Sam and myself.

Sam glances away for a moment, a somewhat forlorn look for a girl who just got a lot of what she wanted. “Back before I figured myself out, I fell into some unsavory… groups. So I know what it’s like. And I want to help you, ‘cause you’re my friend.” She ended with a smile, and a tilt of her head. Were her lips redder? They looked redder. “But first things first, I need to get out of these clothes.”

She headed for her bedroom, beckoning me to follow. I went with her to the door, then leaned against the wall outside to wait for her.

A few moments later, Sam poked her head out. “Casey, what’re you doing?”

She’d partially unbuttoned her shirt. I turned away, flushed. “Waiting for you, of course.”

“Come in. I invited you, didn’t I?”

I scratched the side of my face, starting to become far too aware that my facial hair was making its daily return despite a morning shave. “Sure, but you’re a girl and I’m a…” I swallowed hard. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

She sighed, taking a moment to mull something over. “I think that,” Sam spoke slowly, choosing each word with care, “it actually would be ‘appropriate’ with the two of us. So, please come in.” I hesitated before making my way inside.