The shrill sound of an alarm shattered the early morning silence, and Bradley jerked awake, reaching for his phone to turn it off. But when he grabbed it, he realized the alarm was coming from the other side of the bed, and what was in his hand wasn’t his phone at all—it was pink, glittery, and decorated with hearts.

He froze, not fully understanding what was happening. Bringing the phone closer to his eyes, Bradley noticed long nails, neatly painted in a soft pink shade. In panic, he clenched his hand into a fist, and the nails uncomfortably dug into his palm.

‘What the hell?’ he muttered, feeling anxiety build in his chest. He squinted, looking around. Everything seemed... familiar, but somehow different.

Bradley slowly sat up, feeling long hair cascade over his shoulders and down his back. His breathing quickened. Hair? — his hand instinctively reached for the back of his head, where he found a mass of soft blonde strands. He pulled one lock towards his face, and his heart skipped a beat. These aren’t my hair... this can’t be...

Just then, a loud yawn came from the other side of the bed. Bradley turned and froze when he saw who was lying next to him. He didn’t immediately recognize her, mainly because she no longer had long hair. But it was definitely her. Sprawled out like a queen on the bed was Sarah, dressed in a short pajama set, nothing like what she usually wore.

— Hey, already up? — came Sarah’s raspy voice. She turned onto her side, opening her eyes and yawning. — Well, go make breakfast, why are you sitting there like it’s your first time getting out of bed?

Bradley blinked, unable to believe his ears.

— What? — he said, trying to remain calm.

Sarah yawned again and snorted in annoyance.

— Are you deaf? Breakfast. And don’t forget to make me coffee like last time, — Sarah muttered grumpily, sitting up and picking up her phone, scrolling through it with a business-like expression, paying no attention to Bradley.

Bradley sat frozen, his heart pounding wildly, and his brain trying to process what was happening. He looked at his hands with their long pink nails, then back at Sarah, and realized that now Sarah seemed... bigger, and... stronger? Something didn’t add up.

— Sarah, what the hell?! — he shouted in a commanding voice, but Sarah barely reacted. She just snorted, as if his outrage didn’t matter at all, and continued scrolling through her phone.

— Don’t be so loud, — she threw over her shoulder without looking up. — I need to check my email before my meeting. Just go make breakfast like usual.

— What do you mean like usual? Have you lost your mind? What did you do to me, what kind of joke is this? — Bradley's voice grew louder with each word, but Sarah simply slapped her hand on the bedside table and got up, heading toward the bathroom.

— Stupid men.

Bradley froze, his brain struggling to comprehend what had just happened. No one had ever spoken to him like that, least of all Sarah. Her behavior, her tone—everything was unrecognizable. He slowly got out of bed, feeling the hem of a long nightgown catch awkwardly on his knees, making it hard to move.

— What the hell... — he muttered, looking down at his clothes. The silky fabric slid gently over his skin, but the sensation filled him with disgust. It seemed like only a second had passed as he took in his surroundings, but Sarah had already gotten dressed and was ready for work. She was wearing a business suit—tailored pants, a perfectly pressed white shirt, and a dark blazer. She looked imposing, stronger and more confident than ever before.

— Was it so hard to make breakfast? — she snapped. — You throw a fit over every little thing! It’s just breakfast! You’re a man, Bradley, and it’s your job to keep the house in order, cook, and take care of these things! — Her voice grew louder, and with every word, her frustration mounted.

— I... me?! — Bradley stammered, unable to believe his ears. — This... this is absurd! I’m not doing this, Sarah! Where are you going?! Why are you wearing my suit?!

Sarah rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by his words. She walked to the mirror, adjusting her hair and checking the collar of her blazer.

— Your suit? — she smirked, glancing at him over her shoulder. — This is my suit. Do you even hear yourself? What, is your testosterone acting up again? — She laughed, slipping on her shoes.

— Testosterone acting up? — Bradley’s eyes widened, unable to believe Sarah could talk to him like that. — What kind of nonsense is this?! What did you dress me up in, and when did you even... hey! Do you hear me?! — But Sarah was already at the door when Bradley rushed over to her, trying to grab her attention.

Sarah smirked, barely acknowledging him. She gave him a quick, dismissive kiss before leaving, like it was a routine gesture. Then she slapped him on the butt as if it was normal, continuing to talk on the phone, leaving Bradley in total confusion.

— Hey! Do you hear me?! — Bradley shouted, his voice rising in desperation, trying to make sense of the madness around him.

Sarah raised her hand, signaling for him to wait, like he was just an annoying background noise. She spoke on the phone in a firm, confident voice.

— Yeah, he threw a tantrum again this morning. Oh, you know how they are... their "testosterone swings," — she let out a short laugh, giving Bradley an annoyed glance that made his insides churn, and then she walked out of the apartment.

Bradley stood in the middle of the room, unable to process what had just happened. His mind was tangled, refusing to accept this reality. Sarah had just slapped his butt and left for work, acting as if this was their everyday life. But for Bradley, it felt like some absurd dream, a nightmare.

He turned to the mirror and looked at his reflection again. Long blonde locks cascaded over his shoulders, and the pink, long nails looked so foreign that he almost felt sick. The silky nightgown clung softly to his body, which only made the disgust grow stronger.

‘No-no-no, this is just some stupid dream,’ he thought, staring at it all.

— Alright, enough of this circus, — Bradley muttered, decisively pulling off the nightgown. He headed for the wardrobe, determined to find something "normal," something masculine, something familiar. But every item he pulled out was either clearly feminine or clearly not his. Breathing heavily, already on the verge of a breakdown, he flung open the section of the wardrobe where Sarah's clothes hung. His eyes froze on a row of sharp suits that now seemed so familiar, yet so foreign. Bradley grabbed one—a shirt that hung beneath a crisp blazer and trousers.

He snatched the shirt and tried to put it on. It was not only too big in the shoulders and chest but far too long for his current frame. The blazer barely clung to his slender shoulders, as if the suit were simply hanging off him. He buttoned the trousers, but they were too wide, and even on the last hole, the belt couldn't hold them up properly. However, he didn’t care about how it looked—he just needed something to bring him back to normalcy.

Looking at himself in the mirror again, he felt a fresh wave of irritation. The long hair hung loosely over his shoulders, and even when he tried to tie it back in a messy ponytail, it looked ridiculous.

— This is a nightmare, — he whispered, still fumbling with the belt that refused to tighten properly.

Trying to distract himself, Bradley turned on the TV. But what he saw made him recoil internally. A man, feminine in appearance, with flawless makeup, was sweetly singing a romantic ballad while floating through the air on a swing made of roses. His movements were graceful, and his voice was high and tender.

— What the hell is this nonsense? — Bradley muttered, flipping through channels, but each one showed something similar: feminine men, masculine women. He switched channels furiously, searching for something familiar, but everything seemed to twist his reality inside out. The men on screen wore bright outfits—tight shirts adorned with rhinestones and skinny pants barely clinging to their slim hips. Many were in heels or extravagant platform boots, and their movements were smooth, almost theatrical. Their faces were painted with makeup that highlighted their soft features, giving them a distinctly feminine appearance. Around them, similar men flitted about, with neatly styled hair and bright lips.

The women, on the other hand, wore sharp, commanding suits with strong lines and broad shoulders, emphasizing their physical power. Their movements were brisk and aggressive. One woman, who appeared on the screen, wore a leather jacket with rolled-up sleeves, casually flicking a cigarette to the ground as her muscular arm casually pointed at a man who stood next to her, looking like a scared puppy.

Bradley froze as he landed on a particular channel. It was some sort of gangster show about 1930s America. The women, in wide-brimmed hats and tailored suits, discussed business in a bar, their voices loud and confident. They sat around massive oak tables, smoking cigars and casually throwing sarcastic remarks at each other. The men around them, dressed in bright dresses with frills, gaudy ribbons, and dainty heels, scurried between the tables, nervously glancing at the gangster women. Their faces were carefully made up, and their hair was styled in perfect curls.

One of the men timidly approached a woman with a cigar, holding a tray of drinks. His shoulders were slouched, his gaze darting nervously as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

— Hey, sweetie, — the woman threw a glance at the man, who awkwardly offered the tray, and suddenly reached out, grabbing his wrist. She yanked him close so that he practically fell onto her lap. The man, trembling with shock and fear, let out a weak whimper.

— I like you, — she smirked, pulling him closer with one arm, like a toy. Her other hand lazily caressed her glass of whiskey, her voice low and confident. — Maybe you’ll stick around after closing? We’ve got some "business" to discuss.

The man looked up at her, his eyes full of panic and helplessness. His breathing became rapid and shallow.

— I... I can’t, miss, — he whispered, trying to free his wrist, but his thin arms were too weak against her firm grip.

The woman laughed loudly, looking him over from head to toe, like a predator sizing up its prey.

— What a cute boy, — her voice dripped with mockery as she squinted at him with interest. — You’ve got such a sweet little ass. Just like a doll, — she added, her hand boldly sliding along his thigh, as if it were completely normal.

— What the... — Bradley stopped, unable to believe his eyes. He turned off the TV, no longer wanting to see any of it. Everything around him was upside down, and it filled him with a sense of helplessness.