"Lucas?" A voice whispered. "Lucas, wake up."

"Don't wanna, too comfy," I told the voice. 

"Please, my arm is asleep," The voice pleaded. "At least let go of me so I can get up and get some water."

I hazily opened my eyes and jumped when Mark's face was only inches away from my own. My uninjured arm was wrapped around him and I was laying on one of his arms.

"Agh!" I yelped.

I pushed myself off of him and ended up inadvertently throwing myself off the bed entirely.

"Fucking hell!" I cried in pain as I fell on my ass.

"Geez, you alright?" Mark asked with concern.

"I'll probably survive." 

"Let's hope so, that would be a pretty sad way to go," He chuckled.

I lazily held my hand up like I was reading out a headline. "Imagine the news: Local man dies of fright from waking up to his friend's face."

"Are you implying I'm ugly enough to kill with my looks?" He scowled.

"No, of course not! You're really cu- uhh, you look good." 

I winced in embarrassment as I had to change what I was saying. I averted my eyes as my cheeks heated up. I had just barely stopped myself in time before I ruined everything.

There's no way he didn't notice that. I need to get a hold on myself. I can't even look at him half the time, because I just start blushing! Wait, looking away probably just makes it more obvious! 

I looked back at Mark, he had a huge goofy grin on his face, like he'd just won the lottery. If I were into guys my heart would've melted from that smile. 

Oh fuck, don't look, don't look!

I nearly gave myself whiplash with how quickly I turned my head back away from Mark. 

Just super normal behavior for a straight guy. I'm sure all straight guys get wildly flustered when they look at their male friends, after nearly calling them cute. 

I knew due to the rule that sidhe, or part-sidhe in my case, are unable to knowingly speak a lie that to say those words aloud would be a one-way ticket to brain damage. 

"I need to get laid something fierce," I muttered under my breath. 

I laughed bitterly at my situation, then ran my hand through my tangled mess of hair, took a deep breath and glanced back at Mark.

Now he was the one blushing. Oh hell, did he hear that? Time to change the subject and get the fuck out of the bedroom with him.

"Umm, anyways, sorry about laying on your arm," I said.

"Don't worry about it, there are worse ways to wake up," He smirked.

I laughed awkwardly. It's just a joke. There's no way he would flirt with my ugly ass. I told myself. Not that I’d want that, of course. I was painfully aware that that last bit was an afterthought.

"We should get ready and whatnot. Hopefully Marshall will be ready to tell us what they've cooked up." I asserted.

"And if we're lucky, they'll have actually cooked something up as well!" Mark added cheerfully.

We took turns in the adjoining bathroom getting ready. I realized I only had the one outfit and that it had been ruined with holes and bloodstains. 

"Hey Mark, what am I supposed to do for clothes?" I asked.

"Those will have to be burned, so I'll go see about getting some spares," Mark replied.

"Why burn them? We can't just throw them out?"

"They have to be destroyed so the blood on them can't be used in magic against you."

"Oh goody, one more thing to worry about," I grumbled bitterly.

I told him my sizes and Mark left to grab me some spares. He came back after a while with a purple v-neck and a pair of black skinny jeans.

He handed the clothes to me, something struck me as odd about them as I took them. They were much softer than the clothes I typically wore. 

I checked the tag on the shirt, and to my surprise, it was a women's shirt, a glance at the pants confirmed they were as well.

"Uhh, is this really all they had?" I asked.

I personally didn't actually care that it was a woman's shirt, it was androgenous enough that no one would notice without looking at the tag, but it would still be technically crossdressing, and I couldn't be seen doing that.

"Yeah, those are some I left here in case I needed some extras. Luckily we're about the same size," Mark said.

"It's yours?!" I asked incredulously. "But these are women's clothes!"

"It's just that the material is softer and a lot more comfortable than men's clothes, it’s just because I have sensitive skin!" Mark explained defensively.

To some extent that made sense, I'd known him for a long time and his skin problems had come up before, any time I'd wanted to go swimming, but I'd never known it was bad enough for it to justify crossdressing in his mind.

But it was still a girl shirt and he isn't even supposed to be allowed to wear it, even if it's as comfy as he says it is… right? I ran my fingers along the fabric deep in thought. 

He’s probably right about it being more comfortable, those are silky smooth. Even the jeans are softer. It would probably feel pretty nice to wear. 

Would wearing it really be such a big deal? Mark seems to think it would be fine, so maybe it would be.

It wouldn’t mean anything and Mark would be the only one who would know and it’s his clothes so he wouldn’t judge me for it. Plus I'd only be wearing it because there's nothing else around. So it would be okay to wear it, wouldn’t it?

I stared down at the shirt in my hands and my hesitation turned into a despite longing. I didn’t understand why, but a part of me that was hidden deep behind years of catholic repression was clawing at my brain, begging me to wear the outfit. 

I imagined myself wearing the outfit and… I liked what I saw, a lot. If Mark and I were truly similar sizes then maybe I could pull his androgenous look off?

A warmth not unlike the one I felt when I used magic flared in my chest. But unlike any time I'd used magic there was a lovely giddiness accompanying it.

A smile began to creep across my face that I had to fight to push back, causing my lips to waver. 

“Look, you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, I can go look again and probably find something else,” Mark offered.

“No!” I nearly shouted, panicked that he might take this from me. 

Mark looked as surprised as I was about my reaction. Why do I want this so much? This doesn't make any sense. 

“Uhh, why don't you go look and I'll wear this if you don't find anything,” I coughed, trying to cover for my outburst.

"Okay then, you go shower and I'll try to figure something out," Mark agreed.

Without another word I hurried into the adjoining bathroom and took my old clothes off as fast as my still healing injuries would let me. 

My left arm and side still hurt from when I'd been hit by iron shrapnel from a table during the troll attack yesterday. I examined my wounds while I had a chance.

William had done a fine job patching me up, but it still looked like it'd need a while before I'd be at 100%.

Something occurred to me as I was getting into the shower: Why hadn't they just used magic to heal me? Surely there must be some sort of healing magic that could have helped me. I made a mental note to ask about that next time I saw William. Right now I had bigger fish to fry.

I got into the shower and after a while my mind wandered and I began to lament that my… interest in Mark and Ashe was becoming harder and harder to explain away. 

I wished that life were different, but I couldn't allow myself to indulge in such thoughts, because I had been raised better than that. 

When I was about five I fell into a sinkhole near our house in the deep country, and as a result my family decided to move to Charlotte. 

While we were unpacking at our new house, dad took me aside and gave me a lecture about queer folks, that's not actually the word he used of course, because the talk was about how they were abominations that flew in the face of God and other such lies.

At the time I believed every word of it and hated queer folks for many years. I had been a heinous person and I'm not proud of who I was back then.

I like to think I'm over that phase of my life and that I’m a better person than I was, but sometimes the vestiges of that bigotry pollute my thoughts.

But am I really over it? I asked myself. After all, I avoided Vincent ever since I saw him kissing a man and my first instinct when Marshall said they used they/them was to dispute their pronouns.

I've got to prove that I'm past all that bigoted shit. I considered my options and hatched a cunning plan.

What better way to prove I'm not a bigot than a little harmless crossdressing. Even if Mark is able to find something else, consciously choosing to wear women's clothing instead of whatever he's able to find would prove for a fact I'm not homophobic or whatever.

After washing up and toweling off I put my ingenious plan into motion. I slipped the pants and shirt on. The joyful warmth in my chest from before returned in force along with a grin I had no chance of holding back. 

I can’t believe this is actually happening! I’m really wearing women’s clothing! God, Mark was right about these being comfortable, but that doesn’t even begin to describe how amazing this feels. Why do I like this so much? 

As soon as I asked myself that, I figured out the only answer that made sense, I had a crossdressing fetish. After all, what other kind of guy likes dressing in women's clothing? 

Well, I guess Ashe does, but he's trans so that doesn't count, and Mark only had this stuff because of his sensitive skin. But how am I supposed to go out like this? Would it be amoral to parade my kink out in the open like that? 

Hmm, I guess not since I’m not actually turned on right now. What do I look like in the mirror? I wondered. Maybe it isn't as obvious as it feels.

I went to the mirror over the sink and regretted it immediately. I still looked like me, just the same blocky guy with the same miserable expression I usually had in the mirror on my angular face, but this time I was wearing a different style of shirt than I usually do. 

If anything I looked worse than usual since I hadn't shaved since yesterday morning and my patchy facial hair was in full view. 

 How had I thought that I'd look any better than any other day was beyond me. Seeing myself in the mirror proved there was no reason to not go out in this. I scowled at the reflection one last time and left the bathroom in a huff.

Mark was sitting on the bed, staring down at a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up when I entered the room.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mark asked in a worried tone.

What the fuck am I suppose to tell him? I have a weird fetish and I'm upset at how I look in the mirror? I can't even deny something's wrong for fear of brain damage!

Even if it would have been easier, I didn't want to be rude and just ignore his question, so I settled on deflecting it instead.

"I’ll be better when I get some coffee in me.” 

"Umm, you were in there a long time so I got you some coffee, ⅔ coffee ⅓ cream with lots of sugar just like you like it," Mark pointed over to the bedside table.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Umm, by the way, you look good in that," Mark complimented.

Mark's attempt to cheer me up fell flat and only served to fill me with rage instead. His blatant lie that anything about this body looked good pissed me off to no end.

"Don't fucking lie to me, I look like a goddamn mess," I snapped.

Mark flinched at my outburst and my anger wilted into shame. 

"Sorry, I shouldn't have lashed out like that," I apologized.

"It's okay, I understand what you're going through."

The hell does he mean by that? How could he possibly understand what I'm going through? Cause I sure as fuck don't. 

"We can talk about it if you want," Mark offered. "Even if you don't want to talk, I'll help in any way I can."

I certainly didn't want to talk about what was going on in my head, I didn't even really know what exactly was wrong with me.

But I knew of a way Mark could help. The problem was mustering the courage to ask for it. This was really the point of no return in my mind. 

Accepting a hug from Mark was one thing, but asking for one was a slippery slope towards having to confront my feelings towards him.

Despite the risk I couldn't help myself from trying to ask for a hug. I tried to verbalize my need, but was too tongue-tied to get the words out.

I sat on the bed and sipped at the coffee, trying to summon the words, but unable to force myself to say them.

Mark for his part sat quietly as I opened and closed my mouth trying to ask for what I wanted from him.

"Could y-you," I began, but faltered before I could finish the sentence. After a moment I tried again. "I-I could really use a -, again I couldn't say it. 

I couldn't force the word out my mouth no matter how hard I tried. I slumped against the backboard in defeat and chugged the rest of the sweet elixir of caffeine. After a moment of silence Mark spoke up.

"You want a hug?" Mark guessed.

Such a simple word, but not one I was able to manage. Was it really so obvious what I wanted? 

I nodded my head slightly, really more of a wobble than an actual confirmation of what I wanted.

"Of course," Mark said.

I felt the magic begin to course through me as it had last night’s panic attack. Mark opened his arms and I threw myself at him and tears began streaking down my face. 

For the second time in as many days I cried in the arms of my friend, but this time with the help of the comfortable embrace the emotions down enough to prevent anything but a gentle breeze. 

No words were exchanged for a long while, I just allowed myself to enjoy hugging Mark as a small smile crept across my face.