Chapter 3: A Morning of Mirrors and Truth
The first thing Marc registered was the weight of hair against his cheek. Not short, familiar stubble, but a curtain of silk that pooled on the pillow and caught the morning light like spun darkness. He blinked, disoriented, the ceiling swimming into focus—white stone, timber beams, the soft hum of an air conditioner he didn't remember turning on.
Then it all came rushing back. The jet.The boutique. The club.
The body.
He turned his head, and there was Gabi, propped on one elbow, watching him with a soft smile that made her look almost angelic in the golden light. Her honey-blonde hair was a mess, tangled from sleep, and her eyes held that particular warmth that only appeared in the quiet hours of early morning.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. "You were dreaming. Kept mumbling something about drafts."
Marc's brow furrowed."Drafts?"
"You kept pulling the sheet up to your chin." Gabi's smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her tired eyes. "I think someone's not used to sleeping in a body with... let's call them 'exposed assets.'"
Marc looked down. The sheet had slipped, revealing a sweep of collarbone and the upper curve of soft, full breasts. He yanked it up instinctively, his cheeks burning.
Gabi laughed, a low, husky sound. "Relax, it's just me. I've seen them all night."
"You have not."
"I have. You toss and turn like a rotisserie chicken. It's honestly impressive."
Marc groaned, rolling onto his back and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I was hoping last night was a dream. A very vivid, very confusing dream."
"Sorry to disappoint." Gabi leaned over, her lips brushing his—hers?—forehead. The contact sent a little shock through him, the intimacy of it feeling both familiar and entirely new. "You're still Julia. Still gorgeous. Still very much not Marc."
"Julia," Marc repeated, testing the name. It still sounded foreign. "I keep forgetting that's what I'm supposed to be responding to."
"Maybe we should change it. Pick something you actually like."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Something that feels like you. Or feels like her, at least." Gabi sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. Her bare shoulders caught the light, and Marc noticed, for the first time, the faint constellation of freckles that dotted her collarbone.
It was strange, seeing her like this. They'd been together for years, had seen each other in every state of undress and vulnerability, but this felt different. There was a new awareness between them, a crackle of something unspoken that hadn't existed before.
"I used to think," Marc said slowly, "that I'd hate being anyone else. That I'd feel trapped. Lost." He looked down at his hands, the delicate fingers, the glossy nails. "But last night, dancing... I felt more myself than I have in months. Does that make sense?"
Gabi's smile softened. "It makes perfect sense."
The bathroom was a cathedral of marble and glass, all cool surfaces and warm light. The floor-to-ceiling mirror dominated the far wall, reflecting the freestanding tub that looked big enough to swim in, the gold-leaf fixtures that gleamed like captured sunlight.
Marc stood in the doorway, hesitant.
Gabi was already inside, her reflection meeting his with gentle encouragement. "Come on. You've been avoiding this since we landed. It's time."
"I haven't been avoiding it. I just... haven't had a moment alone."
"Marc." Gabi's voice was soft but firm. "I've watched you nearly hyperventilate every time you pass a reflective surface. You've been avoiding it. And I get it. But I think it's time to actually look."
Marc's throat tightened. "And if I can't handle what I see?"
"Then I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."
The silence stretched between them, filled with the faint drip of a faucet and the distant cry of gulls. Marc's bare feet padded against the cool marble as he stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of lavender and something faintly floral—Julia's perfume, still clinging to the towels from yesterday.
He stopped in front of the mirror.She was there. Of course she was. The same woman who had stared back at him every time he'd caught his reflection since the swap—delicate features, dark hair, skin that seemed to glow even in the harsh bathroom light.
But he'd never truly looked. Not like this.
"Okay," Gabi said, coming to stand behind him. Her hands found his shoulders, warm and grounding. "I want you to really see her. Not as a stranger. Not as someone else's body. As you. Right now, this is you."
Marc's eyes traced the reflection—the arch of dark brows, the fullness of lips, the curve of a jaw that could cut glass. She was beautiful. There was no denying it. But she was also a stranger.
"I don't recognize myself," he whispered.
"Give it time. Touch her."What?"
"Touch her. Your hands, your body. Just let yourself feel it." Gabi's voice was gentle, coaxing. "You've been treating this like a costume, but it's not. It's your skin now. At least for a little while."
Marc hesitated, his hands hovering at his sides. Then, slowly, he lifted them to his face, his fingers tracing the cheekbones, the jaw, the bridge of a nose that was smaller and more delicate than the one he'd been born with.
"I've never felt skin this soft," he murmured.
"That's because you've never had skin this soft.Keep going."
His hands drifted lower, brushing over the column of his throat, the hollow at its base. He felt and watched—a surreal feedback loop of sensation and reflection. When his palms settled over his breasts, something shifted in his chest. A breath he hadn't known he was holding escaped in a shaky exhale.
"They're real," he said, almost to himself. "I mean, I knew, but I didn't—they're actually real."
"Mmhmm." Gabi's hands were still on his shoulders, steady and warm. "How do they feel?"
"Soft.Heavy. Like I could get used to holding them."
A laugh escaped Gabi, bright and surprised. "There he is."
Marc's hands continued their exploration, sliding down over ribs, waist, the flare of hips that were wider than any he'd ever worn. He turned slightly, catching a new angle, and his breath caught at the sight of his own profile.
"Look at you," Gabi breathed. "You're a work of art."
"I'm a stranger."You're you. Just a new version." Gabi stepped around to face him, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "And I love all the versions, remember?"
Marc's eyes welled with tears. It was sudden and overwhelming, a flood he couldn't hold back. "I think," he said, his voice cracking, "I'm starting to like her."
Gabi's expression softened, her own eyes glistening. "That's all I wanted to hear."
She sank to her knees.
Marc blinked, confused. "What are you—"
"Let me show you," Gabi murmured, her lips brushing Marc's inner thigh with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. She kissed her way upward, slow, deliberate, each press of her mouth a silent declaration. "Let me show you how much I love this body. You.All of you."
Marc's hands found Gabi's hair, threading through the honey-blonde strands as Gabi's lips traced a path higher. His heart hammered; he barely recognized the sound that escaped him—a soft, breathy whimper that belonged to a woman he was only beginning to know.
"Gabi," he managed, the word half a gasp. "I—"
"Shh." Gabi's voice was warm against his skin. "Just feel."
Marc's eyes drifted shut, then snapped open, pulled back to the mirror. He watched them—a woman with dark hair and luminous skin, her head tipped back, and another with blonde waves, kneeling before her, worshipful. It was like watching a painting come to life, something intimate and sacred and entirely theirs.
"I'm falling in love with her," he whispered. "With me.Is that insane?"
Gabi paused, looking up at him. "It's not insane. It's beautiful. You're learning to see what I see."
The tub was warm, the water scented with lavender oil and something citrusy that fizzed and foamed around them. Marc leaned back against Gabi's chest, the curve of her body fitting against him like a lock and key.
"This is surreal," he said quietly, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals. "A week ago, I was an architect in a tailored suit, going to meetings and worrying about load-bearing walls. Now I'm lying in a marble tub in Greece, in a body that isn't mine, being held by the woman I love."
"Life's funny that way."
"It's more than funny. It's terrifying and beautiful and I don't understand it."
Gabi's arms tightened around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. "You don't have to understand it. You just have to live it."
Marc was quiet for a long moment, watching the play of light on the water. Then, softly, he said, "I'm not sure I want to switch back."
Gabi went still."What?"
"Not forever. Just... not yet." He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "This body, this version of me—she feels like someone I could become. Someone who's brave and beautiful and knows how to dance without caring who's watching. And I'm scared that if I switch back, I'll lose her. That I'll lose this feeling."
"Marc." Gabi's voice was thick. "You won't lose it. This is still you. Just a different way of being you."
"You can't know that."
"I know you." She pressed a kiss to his temple. "And I know that whatever we do, however this ends, you're going to carry this with you. I'll make sure of it."
Marc's eyes glistened again, but this time the tears felt softer, warmer. "I love you," he said. "I don't say it enough. I'm not sure I've ever said it right. But I love you."
"I know," Gabi whispered. "I love you too. All of you."
They stayed like that until the water grew cool, their fingers tangled, their hearts beating in time. The morning stretched out before them, golden and endless, a promise of more moments like this.
And in the back of Gabi's mind, a small voice whispered a warning. She'd built this cage of transformation, and now she didn't know if she could open the door.
The app sat dormant on her phone, its icon like a quiet accusation. She'd have to deal with it eventually. But for now, she pushed it away, choosing to live in the warmth of Marc's new arms.
Gabi's lips found hers before the words had fully settled in the air between them. It wasn't a gentle kiss, not tentative or questioning—it was a claim, a declaration that left no room for doubt about what she wanted.
Marc melted into it, his new body responding in ways he hadn't anticipated, a heat building low in his belly that was entirely foreign. When Gabi pulled back, her green eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and her breathing had quickened.
"I'm going to show you," Gabi said, her voice husky, "the best thing about being a woman."
Marc's throat went dry. "What do you mean?"
Gabi's hand slid down his chest, tracing the curve of his breast through the thin cotton of the robe he'd thrown on after the bath. "Your body is a playground, Marc. Every inch of it is wired for pleasure in ways your old one never was. And I intend to introduce you to every single one of them."
She pushed the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the marble floor in a pool of white fabric. Marc stood before the mirror, naked, exposed, his new body on display in the harsh reflection of the bathroom lights. He wanted to cover himself, to hide, but Gabi's hands caught his wrists and gently pulled them away.
"Don't," she murmured. "Don't hide from me. Don't hide from yourself."
Her fingers found his nipples through the thin fabric of her own shirt, pinching them lightly, drawing a sharp gasp from Marc's lips. The sensation was electric, a jolt that traveled straight down between his legs and settled there like a hot coal.
"Oh," he breathed."Fuck."
Gabi grinned, wicked and knowing."Told you. Sensitive."
She stepped closer, her body pressing against his, and her hands found his breasts—the soft weight of them, the sensitive peaks that had already tightened into hard buds. She cupped them, thumbs circling, teasing, and Marc's knees nearly buckled.
"Please," he heard himself say, the word slipping out before he could stop it."Please what?"
"I don't know." His voice was ragged, desperate. "Just—don't stop."
Gabi's lips curved against his throat. "I wasn't planning to."
She walked him backward toward the tub, now drained and clean, and pushed him down onto the marble edge. The cool stone bit into his thighs, grounding him as Gabi knelt between them, her hands working up from his ankles, tracing the smooth skin of his calves, his knees, the sensitive inner flesh of his thighs.
"Spread your legs for me," she said, and it wasn't a request.
Marc obeyed. His thighs fell apart, revealing the slick, swollen flesh that had been hidden between them, and he felt a flush of mortification mixed with something darker, needier. He'd never been looked at like this before, never been mapped and memorized by someone's gaze.
"Jesus," Gabi breathed, her voice reverent. "You're so wet. Does this body just... do that?"
Marc shuddered. "I—I think so. It's been like this since I woke up."
Gabi's eyes glittered with something hungry. "Fuck, Marc. Do you have any idea how hot that is? You've been walking around all day, hiding this, when you've been dripping for me the whole time?"
Marc's cheeks burned. "I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Shut up." Gabi's voice was rough, affectionate. "Let me take care of you."
She leaned in, her mouth pressing against his inner thigh, kissing her way up with a slowness that felt like torture. Marc's hands fisted in her hair, tugging, wordlessly begging for more. When her tongue finally dragged through his slick folds, he cried out, a sound he'd never made before, high and broken and utterly shameless.
"There it is," Gabi murmured against his flesh. "That's the sound I wanted to hear."
She lapped at him, tasting, teasing, circling his clit with the flat of her tongue until he was trembling, incoherent, a mess of please and yes and oh god. His hips bucked against her mouth, chasing the pleasure, and she gave it to him, relentless and unhurried, dragging him higher and higher.
"I'm—I'm going to—"
"Come for me," Gabi commanded, her voice thick with desire. "Come on my tongue, baby."
The orgasm hit him like a wave, crashing through his body in a cascade of sensation he'd never experienced in his old form. His back arched, his mouth opened on a silent cry, and his thighs clamped around Gabi's head as he rode out the shuddering aftershocks.
When he finally collapsed, boneless and gasping, Gabi crawled up his body, her lips slick with him, her eyes bright with triumph. She kissed him, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on her tongue.
"That," Gabi said, pulling back, "was the appetizer.Now let me show you the main course."
Marc's eyes widened. "There's more?"
Gabi laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine."Oh, sweetheart. We've barely started."
She led him to the bed, pushing him onto his back, and began to undress with a slowness that made him ache to touch her. When she finally revealed her own body—the freckles on her shoulders, the curve of her hips, the blonde hair between her legs—he reached for her, desperate to feel her skin against his.
"Please," he begged, the word ragged. "I need you."
Gabi lowered herself over him, their bodies aligning, her breasts brushing against his, the sensation of skin on skin causing a gasp to escape his lips. The contact was a revelation, a current of heat that traveled through his nerves like lightning.
"I'm going to touch you again," she whispered, her hand creeping between his thighs. "And it's going to feel even better than the first time. Do you believe me?"
Marc nodded, his throat too tight for words. Her fingers found his slick heat, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with a pressure that had him arching off the bed. She watched him, cataloging every reaction, reading his body like a book written in a language only she understood.
"Your nipples," she said, her other hand teasing a pebbled peak, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. "They're connected to everything, aren't they? So sensitive."
Marc whimpered, hands fisting in the sheets. "Yes—fuck—yes."
"Tell me what you feel."
"I feel—" He struggled to find words, the sensation overwhelming. "I feel like my whole body is on fire. Like every nerve ending is right at the surface. Like I could come again just from this."
Gabi grinned, wicked. "Let's test that theory."
Her fingers moved faster, a rhythm that had him writhing beneath her, and she bent her head to take his nipple into her mouth. The dual sensation was too much, and white-hot pleasure exploded behind his eyes as he came with a cry that echoed off the marble walls.
He lay there, panting, trembling, utterly destroyed. Gabi looked down at him, her fingers slick with him, her eyes soft. "That," she said, "is just the beginning.
Marc lay there, chest heaving, the marble floor cool against his flushed skin. His mind was a haze of pleasure and disbelief, trying to reconcile the sensations that had just ripped through him with everything he thought he knew about his own body. Gabi's weight shifted beside him, and he felt her lips press against his shoulder, soft and reverent.
"I think you broke me," he managed, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
Gabi laughed, the sound warm and smug against his skin. "I haven't even started breaking you. That was just the warm-up."
Marc groaned, rolling onto his side to face her. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, and there was a satisfied gleam in her eyes that made his stomach flip. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"Probably," she said, grinning. "But what a way to go."
She pushed herself up, padding naked across the marble floor toward the closet. Marc watched her go, still struggling to catch his breath, when she turned back with a bundle of fabric in her hands. Her grin had shifted to something sharper, more mischievous.
"Speaking of warm-ups," she said, tossing the bundle at him."Get dressed. We're going out."
Marc caught the fabric, his fingers registering the stretchy, compressive material. He looked down and found himself holding a sports bra—hot pink, unforgivingly small—and a pair of gym shorts that looked more like underwear than actual clothing."What is this?" he asked, though he already knew.
"That's your outfit for the next few hours." Gabi was already pulling on her own athletic wear, a matching set in black that hugged her curves like a second skin. "We're going to CrossFit."
Marc stared at her, waiting for the punchline that never came. "I'm sorry, what?"
"There's a box down by the harbor. I saw it when we drove in last night. They have a morning class that starts in an hour."
"Gabi. I can't go to CrossFit." He held up the sports bra, his voice pitched with disbelief. "I can't wear this. I can't—I don't even know how to put this thing on."
Gabi shrugged, settling onto the edge of the bed to tie her sneakers. "I'll help you. It's easy once you get the hang of it."
"This isn't about the bra." Marc's voice cracked. "This is about me—about this body—out in public, surrounded by people, doing burpees and deadlifts and looking like a complete idiot."
"You won't look like an idiot." Gabi looked up at him, her green eyes serious. "You'll look like a gorgeous woman getting a great workout. And everyone else there will be too busy staring at their own reflection to notice you."
"That's not true and you know it."
"Okay, fine." She stood, crossing the room to take the sports bra from his hands. "People will look. But not because you look ridiculous. Because you look like you belong there. Because you're stunning and fit and you're going to crush that workout."
Marc's throat tightened. "I'm not fit. I'm a woman I've never met with a body I don't understand."
"You're a woman who's been moving through this world for two days now." Gabi's voice was gentle, but firm. "You've walked through a boutique, danced in a club, gone to dinner, fallen asleep in my arms. You've been learning what this body can do. And now you're going to learn what it can do when it's pushed."
"Pushed?"
"To its limits." Gabi's smile turned wolfish. "Come on. I've got a reputation to uphold."
Marc hesitated, the fabric of the sports bra clutched between his fingers. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to retreat back into the safety of the villa and hide until the swap reversed itself. And yet.
And yet there was something else, too. A flicker of curiosity beneath the resistance. A voice whispering that this was exactly what he needed—something challenging, something physical, something that would force him to stop thinking and just be.
"Fine," he heard himself say. "But if I break something, we're going straight back to the villa and you're carrying me."
Gabi laughed, bright and delighted, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Deal."
Getting into the sports bra was an exercise in frustration. Gabi had to guide him through the mechanics—pull it over the head first, then maneuver the straps, then adjust the cups so that everything sat where it was supposed to. Marc felt like a toddler learning to dress himself, clumsy and overwhelmed by the simple act of putting on clothing.
Once it was on, he stared at his reflection with something like shock. The hot pink emphasized the tan of his skin, and the cut of the bra lifted everything in a way that felt almost obscene. "This is—" he started, then stopped."Breathtaking?" Gabi supplied, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
"I was going to say indecent."
"Same thing." She tossed him the shorts, which he caught awkwardly. "Put those on. We're leaving in five."
The shorts were even smaller than they'd looked from across the room, barely covering the curve of his ass. The high waistband cut into his stomach, and the fabric was so thin he could see the outline of his skin through it.
"I look like I'm wearing underwear," he said flatly.
"You look like you're wearing gym clothes," Gabi countered. "That's what women wear to work out. You're fine."
"I don't feel fine."
"You will." She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door. "Come on. The driver's already waiting."
The drive to the CrossFit box was short, the windows down and the salty morning air whipping through their hair. Marc sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his legs pressed together, hyperaware of how much skin was exposed to the world.
"You're going to give yourself a cramp, sitting like that," Gabi observed.
"I'm trying to preserve my dignity."
"In those shorts? You already lost it."
Marc shot her a look, but there was no heat in it. Instead, a reluctant laugh escaped him, loosening something in his chest. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you."
The box was a converted warehouse, all exposed brick and industrial lighting, with rows of barbells lined up like soldiers awaiting inspection. People were already streaming in—women in the same tiny shorts and sports bras that Marc was wearing, men in tank tops and shorts, all of them radiating an easy confidence that made Marc feel wildly out of place.
He hovered near the door, wanting to disappear.
"Relax," Gabi murmured, sliding an arm around his waist. "You're just another pretty face here. No one's going to bite."
"That's what you think."
The coach, a woman with shoulders like a swimmer and a grin that could cut glass, approached them with outstretched hands. "You must be Gabi's friend," she said to Marc. "She told me you were joining us today. I'm Petra."
"Julia," Marc said, the name slipping out automatically. He winced internally, but Petra just nodded.
"Welcome, Julia. First time?"
"Does it show?"
Petra laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "Don't worry. We all start somewhere. Let's get you warmed up."
The warm-up was deceptively simple—jumping jacks, arm circles, hip openers, squats. Marc followed along, his body moving awkwardly as he tried to keep up. The other women around him moved with a fluidity he envied, their bodies driving and pushing with purpose.
And then they moved to the weights.
"Today's WOD is a chipper," Petra announced, her voice carrying across the room. "Five rounds: fifteen deadlifts at sixty percent of your max, twenty box jumps, and thirty double-unders. Scale as needed."
Marc's mind went blank. He had no idea what any of that meant.
Gabi handed him a barbell, already loaded with plates. "Start with this. It's light—you'll be fine."
"I don't know how to do a deadlift," he whispered.
"Sure you do. Watch me."
Gabi moved to an empty space, demonstrating the movement with textbook precision. Marc watched, trying to absorb the mechanics through osmosis, then approached his own bar with trembling hands.
The first rep was a disaster. His hips shot up too fast, his back rounded, and the bar clattered against his shins.
"Widen your stance," Gabi coached from beside him. "Chest up. Hinge at the hips.You've got this."
He tried again, and this time, something clicked. The bar rose off the floor, his legs drove him up, and for a split second, he felt powerful. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him breathless and shaky, but it was enough. "That was actually kind of okay," he admitted.
"One rep down. Ninety-nine to go."
Marc groaned, but he was smiling.
The workout was brutal. By the second round, his arms were trembling, his breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat poured down his face. The box jumps were the worst—he'd never been asked to leap onto a solid wooden platform in his life, and his first attempt ended with him sprawled on the floor, his pride more bruised than his body.
"Up you go," Gabi said, offering him a hand. "You're doing great."
"I'm doing terrible."
"You're not the worst I've seen." She hauled him upright, steadying him when his knees buckled. "Trust me. I've brought friends to these workouts before. One of them cried on the second round."
Marc's eyes widened."Did anyone see?"
"Everyone saw. It was a whole thing." She grinned, his own smile mirrored in her eyes. "You're already doing better than that."
The third round, something shifted. Marc stopped thinking about the mechanics, stopped wondering if he looked ridiculous, stopped worrying about what the people around him might think. He just moved. Deadlift.Box jump. Jump rope.Repeat. The rhythm became a meditation, his body finding a flow that was entirely new.
Between rounds, his gaze caught on a man across the room. He was tall, with dark skin and arms that bulged with veins as he gripped his barbell. His form was flawless—hips dropping, chest rising, the bar tracing a perfect path up his thighs. Sweat glistened on his brow, his abs rigid with effort, and Marc's eyes tracked the movement with an intensity that surprised him.
"Huh," he heard himself murmur.
"See something you like?"
Marc jumped, almost dropping his barbell. Gabi was beside him, a knowing smirk on her lips. The heat climbed up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.
"I was just—I was watching his form," he stammered."His form?"
"Yes. His form. For the deadlifts."
Gabi's grin widened. "Uh-huh. Sure."
"I swear, I was just—"
"Marc." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "It's okay. You're in a woman's body now. You're allowed to look."
"I wasn't looking. I was observing."
"Observing his arms? His shoulders? The way his shirt is clinging to his back?"
Marc's mouth opened and closed, wordless. Gabi laughed, delighted, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"This is exactly what I wanted," she said. "Watching you figure out attraction from this side of the mirror."
"It's confusing," he admitted.
"Good.It should be. It means you're feeling something real."
He looked back at the man—at the way his muscles shifted as he racked his weight, at the easy confidence in his stride as he reached for the chalk. Something in his chest tightened.
"Does it ever get less confusing?" he asked.
"I don't know." Gabi shrugged, a fondness softening her expression. "I'm still figuring it out myself."
The fourth round was a blur. The fifth was a prayer. When Marc finally collapsed onto the floor, dripping with sweat and gasping for air, he felt something he hadn't expected: pride. Raw, unfiltered, bone-deep pride that he had actually done it.
"Get up," Gabi said, nudging him with her toe. "Cool-down."
"I can't.I'm dead."
"You're not dead. You're just dramatic.Up."
Marc dragged himself upright, wobbling on legs that felt like jelly. The cool-down was mercifully gentle—stretching, breathing, letting his heart rate slowly descend. Beside him, the man he'd been watching was doing the same, his chest still heaving under his tank top.
He caught Marc's eye and smiled, a flicker of acknowledgment."First time?"
Marc's throat went tight. "That obvious?"
"The box jumps don't lie." The man's grin was easy, warm."Name's Theo. You did good out there."
"Julia," Marc said, and this time, the name felt less foreign. "Thanks. I think I almost died."
"The good ones always say that." Theo grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his neck. "See you next class?"
Marc's heart stuttered. "Maybe."
"It's a date." Theo winked, then disappeared toward the showers.
Marc stood frozen, his mind reeling. Gabi appeared at his side, her eyes dancing.
"He just asked you on a date," she said, her voice pitched with barely contained glee.
"He was joking. He was being friendly."
"Marc. He winked at you. That wasn't friendly. That was flirtatious."
"I don't know what that means. I don't know how to process this."
Gabi's grin softened, her hand finding his. "It means you've officially crossed over. You're not just a pretty face in a sports bra anymore. You're a pretty face that a handsome man just asked out."
Marc stared at her, the world swimming around him. "What do I do?"
"You say 'no, thank you, I'm seeing someone.' And then you smile, and you move on, and you feel the tiniest bit powerful for having been wanted."
Powerful. He turned the word over in his mind, tasting it. "I don't feel powerful. I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That's just the adrenaline. It'll pass." Gabi squeezed his hand. "Come on. Let's get some water, and then we're going to sit in the sauna until we forget every one of those burpees."
Marc let himself be led, his legs still shaky, his mind still spinning. But beneath the exhaustion and the confusion, something else was stirring. A new awareness, a new understanding of what it meant to live in this body, to move through the world as this woman, to be seen and wanted and acknowledged.
He was terrified. He was alive.
The sauna was a small wooden room tucked in the back of the box, the air thick with steam and the smell of eucalyptus. Marc sagged onto the bench, letting the heat wash over him, dan his muscles begin to release their tension.
"Okay," he said, his voice still breathless. "I'll say it. That was kind of incredible."
Gabi's head tilted, a tendril of steam curling around her face."I told you."
"You were right."
"I'm always right."
"Don't push it." Marc's eyes flicked to his own reflection in the glass window of the sauna door—a woman, flushed and glistening, her dark hair plastered to her cheeks. She looked alive. She looked like she belonged in this body, in this room, in this moment. "I still want to switch back.Eventually."
"Of course you do."
"But not today." He turned to meet Gabi's eyes. "Today, I just want to be her. This person I'm becoming."
Gabi reached out, her fingers finding his—wet and warm and grounding. "Then be her. Whatever she looks like, whoever she becomes, I'm right here."
Drunk on the heat and the rhythm of his own heartbeat, Marc said the thing that had been circling his mind for hours. "When I switch back, he'll be gone. The man I was. The man you fell in love with."
"He won't be gone. He'll just be different." Gabi's voice dropped. "And for whatever it's worth, I think that different might be exactly what we need."
Marc studied her, this woman who had started a chain reaction he couldn't begin to control. Her certainty was a tether, a rope line he grasped when the disorientation threatened to pull him under. "I don't know who I'll be when this is over."
"No one ever does."