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— I'm ready, — I said, leaning against the kitchen chair, arching my back just to catch my breath. But the voice that escaped my lips was an octave higher than I was used to. Damn it, how annoying.
— Yeah, yeah, I'm almost... — the male voice from across the room suddenly cut off, replaced by tense silence.
"What the hell is taking her so long? She's not even a chick anymore, and she's still fussing around like she's getting ready for a date."
I sighed, glancing down at my body once again. Yeah, never thought I'd see myself in a polka-dot dress, with a neat neckline and this... purse dangling off my shoulder. Damn, even my hips looked wider than I remembered.
Finally, footsteps echoed, and a man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a gray business suit. It clearly wasn't expensive, but it fit him perfectly, highlighting his toned figure. His gaze was slightly lowered—he was clearly uncomfortable, fiddling nervously with his shirt cuffs as if that would help. His voice came out quiet, almost uncertain:
— Uh, there’s... nothing really interesting here—
His words died mid-sentence when he finally looked up—at me. In the dress. With the purse. I didn’t even have time to react.
— Masha, seriously?! — His voice, loud and irritated, made me instinctively step back. — What the hell are you wearing?
I felt my face burn, and damn, it was so weird—your girlfriend scolding you while in a man's body, with that stern, frowning face that used to seem so cute to me. But now? Now it looked completely different. Still her features, yet somehow a masculine version, glaring at me with a harshness that made me feel even more embarrassed.
— Who the hell are you calling Masha, Monica, damn it? Do you even... do you hear yourself? Look at us! — I waved my hand in frustration, the bracelet on my wrist jingling unpleasantly. — Let’s just hurry up and get this over with so we can go back... to... — I cut myself off, realizing I had no idea where back even was. If going back was even possible. — Back to normal, — I muttered quieter, almost whispering, lowering my eyes to the floor, trying to avoid meeting her—his, damn it—stern gaze.
But the silence dragged on, and it was starting to get under my skin. I looked up—he was still staring at me, but now with this strange, calculating expression, like he was trying to solve some complex equation.
— You need to put on makeup, — he suddenly declared, crossing his arms over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely noticeable smirk. — If we’re supposed to be Masha and Kolya today, you need to look the part.
— What?! — I stared at him, completely shocked. — I already look... uh... feminine enough, don’t you think? — I spread my arms helplessly, feeling the dress stretch across my chest, emphasizing something I definitely didn’t have yesterday.
He squinted, tilting his head to the side, deliberately letting his eyes trail over me from head to toe, slowly.
— Nope. Feminine, sure, but this... — he waved a hand vaguely, searching for the right words, — ...it's like a guy forced into drag on a dare. From what we know, Masha's a real tease. Heavy makeup, styled hair, the whole package. We need to blend in.
I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it shut when he continued, his tone firmer this time:
— This isn’t up for debate. If we want to figure out how the hell we got here, we have to play the roles.
— But I... I don't even know how to do makeup! — I protested, a tight knot forming in my stomach at the mere thought....