After what seemed like just a few seconds, Jack opened his eyes again. The first thing he noticed was how uncomfortable he was, and after looking around the room for a bit he saw the reason: It seems he’s been lying on the floor of the wishing well room for… how long, actually?

Still a little groggy, he looked at his wristwatch. 1:30 PM. At least he hoped it was PM, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve handled AM. He knew he was tired, but he couldn’t have imagined that he was lacking this much sleep. Though from what he has heard, these things did sneak up on you.

Either way, Jack would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a lot better, actually. Maybe some sleep on the floor of an ancient building was just what he needed.

As he went to stand up, he started dusting off his clothes but was immediately taken aback. Gone was his loose hoodie, with the pockets providing him so much comfort, so many places to hide.

In its stead was a white sweater which seemed much tighter and only now he realized how fluffy it was and how good it felt on his skin and he didn’t even care if anyone would think if it looked girly and–

He realized a certain part of his upper body didn’t feel the fluffiness.

Was he wearing a bra?
It certainly seemed like it from what he felt. Did they, or she, in case it was just Tabitha…

As he looked down he saw he was wearing a light grey skirt, with black thigh highs.

Thankfully, the skirt reached down lower than the miniskirts that most of the guys were wearing. He thought this would be uncomfortable, wearing a skirt, these kinds of things, but he always pictured something like a miniskirt. He still hated the idea of wearing a miniskirt, but… he could live with this.

What was he saying. He was a guy. No matter how much he might not mind this, it was not right. He didn’t have dysphoria, he wasn’t trans like they were, he was being no better than any of the guys on campus parading around in women’s clothes, putting on a show of femininity.

His friends would be disgusted with him.

He shook his head, disappointed at himself, his hair following the movement.

He was paralyzed for a second. His hair… shouldn’t do that. It barely moved even when he slept at night, meaning he didn’t have to comb it as much in the mornings. That was the whole point.

He put his hand over his head and went down from there, and yup, that was definitely long curly hair. How– what? Did they – whoever ‘they’ are – get a wig specifically for him? It seemed to match his old hair, but it was smoother and longer and felt better to touch and how did they do it?

He lightly tugged at it, pulling stronger and stronger until his scalp hurt. Wigs… didn’t do that. Right? He wasn’t actually sure how they worked. Jack was under the assumption that you just...  put them over your hair, and they’d get off as easily as you put them on. But this? This felt real.

So, to summarize, someone, whether it was Tabitha or some group of people or whoever else, not only bought him new clothes but also somehow made his hair longer and different and better? What was the gain for them here?

He reached for his wallet before realizing that, duh, he didn’t have jeans pockets anymore. He looked through his backpack and thankfully found it in there, and everything seemed to still be in it. He also checked his IDs, and indeed, there they all were, all containing ugly pictures of his unappealing likeness. Wait, did–

Before he could finish the thought, jack practically shredded through his backpack, trying to find his phone. He frantically pulled it out and turned on the inwards-facing camera. It was quite dark, but he could still clearly see what he needed to see.

The face looking back at him was still him, in some form? But it was also smoother, and he couldn’t feel stubble, and it looked more like… more like…

A girl’s face.

Was that what was happening? He grabbed his chest, and there was definitely something there. His penis, which caused him so much disgust at himself, was gone. He didn’t notice it earlier, but his arms and legs were smooth now, too.

Just what did they do?

He had to stay calm. Maybe he was dreaming, and he will soon wake up like he had so many times earlier, back in his bed in his room with his body. His body. His body!
Was this maybe real? Is this what actually happened? He tried a few things to get himself to wake up, but they all failed. At this point, this must be real, right? This isn’t gonna be taken away from him? He let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know if it counted, but that should have been number–

He let out another sigh, then just tried saying some simple sentences. That was his voice? It sounded unusual but also he actually tolerated it and it didn’t make him feel like a burden whenever he talked. He couldn’t help but let out a giggle. He was probably biased, but it sounded adora–

No. This wasn’t right. He had already gone through this. He had made up his mind already, multiple times even, every few months. He wasn’t trans. He wasn’t truly a part of them. He didn’t have dysphoria. He went through this already. He didn’t hate his old body. He preferred this, for sure, he was so happy, but he didn’t deserve this. He was being terrible. A terrible ally. Appropriating his friends’ feelings. Awful. Idiot.

Tears were flowing down his face, and by the time he was finished, he could see a time of 2 PM on his wristwatch through teary eyes.