I think I got away with it. Sheryl has no idea it was me who was sleeping with her sister. Sure, it broke up their marriage, but she was going to cheat with someone sooner or later. Why not me? I’m smarter than she gives me credit for. Besides, I’d rather be the one to benefit from her sister’s... let’s call them, affections. I’ve just got to get home, and I’ll have gotten away with it all. It’s funny how she thinks she scares me with all that talk of “magic powers.” Yeah, magic powers, my ass. I’ve been around long enough to know a con when I hear one.

But still, there’s this little nagging feeling as I walk down the dark, empty street. Maybe it’s just the wind, or maybe it’s Sheryl’s creepy threats getting under my skin, but I pull my hoodie up just in case. It’s a bit oversized and swallows me up, but that’s fine; it keeps me hidden. My red hair might stand out in the dark, but with this hood up, I’m just another shadow slipping through the night.

Speaking of slipping through the night, my old man used to say I was a sneaky son of a bitch, always getting away with things. And here I am, still sneaking around at 43. God, the more things change, the more they stay the same, huh? Just gotta make sure my mom doesn’t realize I broke curfew. Wait, mom? What the hell am I thinking? I’m a grown man, not some punk kid sneaking in after hours.

I shake my head to clear it, trying to shake off the strange thought. Must be tired. Got that big meeting in the morning, and if I don’t get home soon, I’m going to look like hell. Ugh, I hope no one notices my face tomorrow—especially the bags under my eyes. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, what with all the drama with Sheryl and her sister. And work. And... ugh, whatever. Just focus. Almost home.

The wind picks up a little, and I shiver. It’s not that cold out, but I feel a chill. My legs feel kind of strange too, like they’re just... I don’t know, softer? My jeans feel weirdly loose around my thighs. Did I lose weight or something? I pull the hoodie tighter around myself and keep moving, trying to shake off the feeling. But it’s there, this odd, nagging sensation that something’s not quite right.

Maybe I should stop by a mirror or something, but no, that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with me. Just tired. And besides, if I keep loitering, I’m going to attract attention. My hands are feeling smaller in the pockets of this hoodie, but I must be imagining it. It’s not like I can shrink or anything.

Man, I’m talking to myself like some crazy person. Better stop before I start answering myself, huh? Or worse, start sounding like some teenager with all that TikTok nonsense. Not that I even know what TikTok is, but I hear the kids at the office talking about it.

I glance down at my legs again. Damn, my jeans are so loose now. I tug them up, feeling like they’re just going to slip off. When did I buy these? They feel like they’re drowning me. My mom always said... wait, why do I keep thinking of my mom? And why am I feeling so... jittery, like I’ve had too much coffee or something?

Ugh, whatever. Focus. Just gotta get home and get to bed. I can’t deal with this now. I’ve got a test tomorrow... wait, test? Why the hell am I thinking about a test? I haven’t taken a test in twenty years. Okay, okay, calm down. Maybe Sheryl’s mind games are getting to me. I mean, she’s been talking about all that magic crap. Maybe she spiked my drink or something. Wouldn’t put it past her.

The sidewalk seems to stretch longer, the night growing darker, and I notice the way the streetlights are casting strange shadows. I brush a strand of hair out of my face—wait, hair? My hair isn’t this long, is it? I stop and reach up, grabbing a handful. It feels... different. Softer. More like... Mom’s hair? No, that’s impossible. Mom’s hair was thick and curly, and—

But no, this can’t be right. I run my fingers through it again, feeling the curls, the way it frames my face just like Mom’s did. Okay, now I’m officially losing it. I gotta keep moving, gotta get home. But this hair... I pull the hood down lower over my face.

My steps are quicker now, more hurried. I just need to get back, crawl into bed, and sleep this off. Maybe everything will be fine in the morning. But the hoodie feels heavier on me now, the sleeves bunching up around my hands. Did this thing stretch or something?

Wait... this is Max’s hoodie, isn’t it? Max’s? Who the hell is Max? I feel this blush creeping up on my cheeks, and for some reason, I’m picturing this guy—kinda cute, kinda goofy. Wait, cute? No, no, no. I mean... yeah, he’s clumsy, but it’s sorta... adorable? What am I thinking?

And his hands... they were so clumsy when he... Oh god, I can’t believe I’m blushing about that. What’s wrong with me? I remember the way he fumbled with my bra, so inexperienced and... sweet? I almost laugh thinking about it, but it’s a good laugh. It’s warm, like remembering something fond, something... wait, something mine?

I stop walking and pull the hoodie even tighter. My breath’s coming faster, my heart’s pounding. I’m losing my mind. This is crazy. I should be thinking about Sheryl, about what she did, not about some... boy. Not about how good it felt when he... oh god, I’m blushing again. I feel my face heat up, and I don’t know if it’s from the memory or from the pure panic.

My jeans are practically falling off me now. I have to hold them up with one hand, and the hoodie’s so huge it’s like a dress on me. And I realize—I mean, I don’t know why I’m realizing it now—that it smells like Max. That sort of clean, fresh smell that he always has after practice. And I like it. I like that I’m wearing his hoodie.

Wait, practice? What am I thinking? What practice? Football practice? I mean, duh, obviously. And he’s so bad at throwing, but he tries so hard, and it’s kinda cute, y’know? I giggle. I actually giggle. What the hell? I never giggle.

But my boobs are sort of bouncing around a bit, and I think about how I still haven’t figured out how to really adjust them right in this stupid bra. God, it’s so embarrassing. I tug the hoodie tighter around me, feeling the fabric rubbing against them

I’ve gotta get home. Mom’s gonna be so mad if she knows I was out late again. I don’t wanna get grounded, especially with the game coming up. I pull out my phone—when did I get this phone? It’s pink, and it’s got this cute case on it, and... okay, that’s definitely not my phone. But it’s mine, right? Yeah, duh. Why wouldn’t it be? I must be tired. Really, really tired.

I see my reflection in a shop window, and I stop. I don’t know why I stop, but I do. And I see... a girl. A young girl with curly red hair that looks just like Mom’s. I blink. She blinks. I reach up, and she reaches up, and... it’s me. But that’s impossible. I touch my face—my smooth, soft face. My small hands.

Okay, okay, this isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. That’s it. I’m dreaming. I mean, I’ve gotta be dreaming, right? Maybe I drank too much Red Bull or something. But I know, deep down, that I’m not dreaming. That this is real. And that scares me more than anything.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, chill out, girl,” I mutter to myself. Girl? Yeah, that feels right. Like, super right. And I don’t know why, but it just does. I’m just me, you know? And that’s all that matters.

I keep walking, my steps a little lighter now, feeling the sway of my hips, the way my hair bounces with every step. I don’t know when I started walking like this, but it feels... normal. And when I catch a glimpse of myself again, I smile. Because yeah, I look cute. Like, seriously cute. Max would totally agree.

I giggle again, this time not even questioning it. Why would I? I’m just a girl, heading home after seeing my boyfriend. And sure, my mom might get mad that I’m late, but I’ll just flash her that innocent smile and promise to do better

. Besides, I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like, I still need to study for that test tomorrow, and then there’s cheer practice. And, ugh, I still need to get a new bra that actually fits.

But for now, I pull Max’s hoodie tighter around me, loving how huge it is, how it practically swallows me up. And I think about him, his stupid, adorable face, and how he’s gonna laugh when I tell him I “borrowed” his hoodie again. And yeah, it’s annoying how he still can’t figure out how to handle my boobs, but I kinda love that about him. It’s, like, super endearing.

I pick up my pace, my mind buzzing with all the latest gossip and slang that I totally get now, and I don’t even know how. Like, it just clicks, you know? And as I round the corner to my street, I see the lights on in the house. And I smile because, yeah, I’m late, and yeah, Mom’s probably gonna kill me, but it’s all good.

I’m home. I’m me. And that’s all that matters.

''inspired by a caption I did a few years ago, and was avail on patreon 60 days ago patreon.com/ravyncrow