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— Is this… is this really Zimmermann?! — Michelle exhaled, her eyes widening.
She ran her hand over the delicate fabric, as if refusing to believe she was actually holding a luxury dress. The airy material slid smoothly under her fingers, the seams were perfect, and the floral pattern looked hand-painted.
— Yeah. What, doesn’t it look like it? — Suzanne tried to smirk, but it came out awkward—her lips curled into more of a playful smile than her usual rough bravado.
The two friends hadn’t seen each other in months, ever since they had a huge falling out over some trivial nonsense—but really, because neither of them could stand looking at the other anymore. They were a reminder of what had happened to both of them. Something that should have united them, but thanks to the shitty personalities of two forever-competing bodybuilders—Michael, now Michelle, and Steven, now Suzanne—they just kept butting heads.
And now? They hadn’t changed one bit—they were still trying to outdo each other, even now, when they both looked… like this. Even though they were both stunned by how incredibly feminine, slender, and delicate the other suddenly appeared, exuding a kind of fragile grace that made their former broad-shouldered, muscle-packed selves feel like a distant memory. So distant it was as if they had never been those people at all.
— Damn, this dress is fucking expensive! — Michelle blurted out, sounding more outraged by the ridiculous price tag than by the delicate fabric and intricate design.
Though… she wasn’t supposed to know that. She...