Desi
I can’t actually believe I was able to pull this together.
Splashing a few more reds into my outfit has been challenging, but given what I managed to find for my darling Kyle, I think it’s more than worth the effort. An old friend
really
came through, not just lending me an old costume of his, but helping me with a bit of tailoring to make sure it fits Kyle properly. It’s truly a marvel, a thing of beauty, a suit of soft creams and whites that uncannily resembles the most common colors for grooms at South Asian weddings! The jacket actually has a ruffle pattern instead of coattails, making it almost resemble a skirt, with a lovely little bow on the back to complete the impression. A soft pink frilly ascot adds a lovely finishing touch to the ensemble, bringing everything together in a delightfully camp way that I think Kyle’s very much going to appreciate.
My crowning glory, however, is a little piece I managed to throw together myself between all the running about and preparations I’ve been doing for the event. I recalled that South Asian grooms wore a kind of see-through veil called a
sehra
, a headdress with vertical threads decorated with flowers, donned to ensure that the bride and groom couldn’t see each other’s faces before the ceremony. It took a bit of digging around leftover craft supplies, but I was able to whip up a very competent version of one, with some origami flowers I folded myself.
Extra? Absolutely. Kyle was my man, and that meant he would look as
fabulous
as I could manage. I may have been a little taken aback when he suggested dressing up in drag with me, but on reflection, there’s nothing wrong with a feminine edge. I may be
more
fem, but why shouldn’t he be my pretty boy, my soft and sensitive darling lover? We’re queer, after all, and I really shouldn’t be so rigid about what my partner can and can’t wear.
We’re going to make such an elegant, ostentatious and
flamboyant
pair, and I just can’t wait for all the world to see us together at our best. It’s going to be like an old-timey debut, an introduction to the glamorous
Desi
couple, if I can indulge myself in a little pun!
With that satisfying thought, I affix the final piece of the picture that is my devotion and adoration for Kyle: a
bindi
, deceptively ornate, placed right between my eyebrows. Along with my subtle nods to bridalwear, I’m really pulling off “lead with no less than three dance numbers”, if I do say so myself! Though pressed for time, I’m sure no one can blame me for preening a
little
. Divine looks, statuesque hunk, and a bedazzling ball that I had an extensive hand in setting up: tonight is going to be
my
night in every sense. All the ball needs now is its belle.
The phone buzzes and I pick it up without taking my eyes off my
flawless
contouring, peeking at the message out of the corner of my eye. The organizers’ chat is abuzz right now—we’re all getting ready in advance so we can arrive at the venue early and finish setting up. Everyone’s understandably a bit stressed, but I truly believe our hard work is going to pay off with a magical night.
Peering into the discussion, I see that someone called ‘Alex’ is doomsaying, yammering on about how we’ve sold too many tickets relative to the venue’s size. What a pessimistic way to view our resounding success and undercut how popular we are and how much money we’ve managed to raise! Some are reassuring him, while others had a better idea and are posting their outfits to lighten the mood and solicit feedback. I choose positivity and participate in the revelry with a truly
gorgeous
selfie of my own.
Desdemona (Desi for short!!!) (Any/all. Role: Decorations)
What do y’all think? My boyfriend(!!!) helped me put this together!
Quinn (Xe/xer/any. Role: Treasurer/Accounts)
Oh honey that’s breathtaking, the garish contrast between the hypermasculine and the hyperfeminine that you’ve managed to capture is making my queer heart a-flutter! You’ve inspired me to bust out the fake beard tonight.
There’s a sudden lump in my throat. I make myself swallow.
Quinn is very kind. Very astute. I look up at the mirror. My eyes are watering. Likely irritated by all the garish make-up. I dab at them with my handkerchief. Don’t want to spoil my face-paint. The performative contrast would be less obvious then. I’d just look hypermasculine in a frock.
Time to get going. I check on the band. No reply. I send another text. Reminder they have to be early. We need them ready to play by eight. Just come see the guy in garish make-up.
I should get moving. We’re meeting by the science building. My heels in my handbag. They’re for later. I go to put on my sensible shoes.
“Hey, Des. What did you want to show me?”
Kyle.
Kyle!!!
Blinking through my tears, I watch as the most dashing man in the world strides into my room, as if he just
knows
when I need him, a testament to how our bond transcends the limitations of the material world itself. Smiling so wide it splits my face, I stand up and hurry to his side, pressing my lips into his without a wasted word. I kiss him passionately, deeply, hungrily, like a drowning woman kisses her first taste of air, lapping up his nourishing, calming, rejuvenating presence. I am safe. I am complete.
I am
his woman
, and he and I both know it.
“You alright, Des?” he breathlessly asks when I allow us to part.
“Yeah,” I shakily answer, trying to sound flirty, but mostly sounding relieved. “I’m fine now. I’m right where I’m meant to be.”
“My arms?” Kyle asks, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look good.”
I love him.
“I
do
, don’t I?” I press, my voice urgent.
“You’re a vision.” His eyes flick upward, lingering on my bindi—I
knew
he’d appreciate that little touch. “I see you found some reds after all.”
“I
had
to!” I gush.
Taking his hand, I turn and lead Kyle a few short steps, showing him the masterpiece I’ve assembled on my bed.
“Isn’t it just
darling
?” My excitement, unfairly stoppered for days, can’t help but pour out now. “I did so much research, Kyleypoo—and one of my friends just happened to have a suit your culture’s wedding colors, and look, I even made a
sehra
to complete the look, and even if no one at the party is cultured enough to get it, we’re still gonna look
gorge
, aren’t we just? We’re
both
gonna look so pretty and perfect and matching and everyone will see how we’re meant to be. We are. We really are.”
Still sniffling, I realize I’m getting a bit choked up again. I turn back to Kyle, beaming, radiant—he’s wincing.
Why is he
wincing
?
“Kyleypoo, what’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
“Des … I’m still Christian, remember?”
My stomach sinks.
“Oh.”
“You forgot.”
“I didn’t … It’s not …” I’m struggling to find the words. “I mean, I thought it was one of those situations, where the cultural practice is wider than the religion itself?”
“No, we’re not quite that assimilated,” Kyle sighs. “And even if we had to be, we’re not in that country anymore, are we?”
“Great.” My smile is frozen on my face, and I’m shaking my head in disbelief. “Just perfect. I’ll go find a furnace to toss this into, then, and rustle up a lovely pink frock for you to sashay in!”
“
Excuse
me?”
“I’m
sorry
for being thoughtful!” I explode. “I’m
sorry
for
trying
, Kyle, I’m
sorry
for trying to accommodate your wishes in a way where we don’t both look ridiculous, cavorting about holding hands in skirts like a couple of crossdressers, I’m
sorry
for making you a headdress with hand-folded fucking flowers, and I’m
sorry
most of all for trying to honor your roots and fucking it all up because I’m just a massive fucking fuck-up who can’t fucking do anything right, no matter how much I try! I’m
sorry
for wanting to show how much I love you, Kyle!”
Silence.
I let it hang above us like a shroud. I’ve shattered, and every misbegotten word contained within has spilled out, staining all they’ve managed to splatter over. Numb, I hold one elbow in my hand and find myself unable to meet Kyle’s eyes.
“Des.” He sounds cold, his voice tremulous, like he’s barely containing the retaliatory outburst he’s more than justified in having. “Are you seriously expecting me to apologize for
you
unilaterally deciding that you and I should attend the ball in
wedding colors
, despite my particular history with marriage?”
… I
am
a massive fucking fuck-up.
Before I can say anything, he’s turned on his heel and is halfway out the door.
“Kyle, wait, where are you going?!”
“I’m going for a walk so I can summon the wherewithal to put that stupid thing on for you, Des. See you at the party.”
He slams the door shut.
Nichole
It’s been a solid ten minutes of taking pictures, sifting through them to find the best one, then cleaning the floor and taking pictures
again
because all of them showed off the mess in my bedroom, and now, finally, selecting the
perfect
portrait to show off to the server.
Estrogen’s Favorite Princess
Fit check for the drag party, what do we think?
It’s not
quite
the kind of thing drag queens get into. I’m sort of viscerally uncomfortable associating myself with drag, unlike Des—you couldn’t get me to use her chosen shortening of
fucking Desdemona
if you tortured it out of me—so it’s going to be a bit of a compromise.
Knight of Knockers
Holy
shit
.
WizardsBigNaturals
Yeah I give up tbh. No shot that I’m winning the yearly prize. What the fuck.
Templar of Tatas
I am at a loss as to which I find more impressive, the assets or the confidence to display them in such a manner.
I’ll admit the outfit is daring, showing a solid amount of cleavage because
god damn,
I have cleavage. The shade of blue is a nice calm one, and the leg slit lets me show off just how
wrong
Emmy’s been about cardio and gains.
Estrogen’s Favorite Princess
Glad you all like it! Are you all sure I’m pulling it off?
Paladin of Penetration
Make no mistake, femme strats this successful have rarely been seen within the confines of Ranked Competitive Breast growth, my liege.
It’s hard to believe I was ever skeptical of this community. Sure, it took some getting used to, and I had to figure out how to
get
it, but now that I
do
I’ve been able to make this space truly feel like I belong here.
Melvin
Haha, Boymoder Sephiroth could never, am I right, guys?
Heir of Breast
It’s … Girlfailure Sephiroth now, Melvin. Get with the program.
Right, and some growing pains with understanding my role here.
Estrogen’s Favorite Princess
Sigh. The joke’s gotten old by now, don’t you think? Find someone else besides Katherine to dunk on.
Paladin of Penetration
You do not have to defend her, my liege. It is a testament to your great grace that you choose to do so regardless.
Knight of Knockers
Indeed. You are wise in this, for she is a waste of effort at this time.
I’m a bit conflicted. I do feel like I should defend her more proactively, but flipping too quickly and decisively on this issue would be a risky move that could turn server users against me … and I sort of don’t want to, either.
Katherine can look out for herself. I’ve got a big target on my back and I need to stay on top of it.
Jormungandr in my Pants
Ngl, I’m sort of getting disillusioned with this whole fucking competition. It’s like we’re routinely getting grifted by
obvious
trans women like Laura getting off scot-free just because they can mangle some gender studies bullshit, while anyone who’s not a mystery to all of medical science like Nichole may as well just drop out.
Bench Press Meta 2025 (Trickster Was Right)
It’s pretty obvious that Nichole is just a cis woman faking transition. Just another fucking shameful blow to the integrity of the competition.
Errant of E-cups
Cope harder, flatpecs. If you actually have anything to back your claim with, call a tribunal.
Thanks, Errant. It’s getting increasingly tempting to search up my own name on the server, in case someone’s talking about me when I’m not looking. The idea that someone might be plotting against me while I’m not there–or worse, while nobody’s even defending me–makes me anxious to ever put down my phone when I’m out.
It’s all going to be worth it, though. I’ve gotten an enormous head start for 2025, and nobody is even
close
to my score. Even if someone there is in for one
hell
of a growth spurt, I have a real shot at winning the whole thing and—Ugh.
Someone
is knocking on my door.
A moment later, displaying her usual degree of patience,
someone
is already barging her way in.
“Nichole, are you keeping track of the time? You ought to begin preparing for the—
holy shit.
”
She freezes at the sight of me, her eyes darting between my chest, my eyes, and the wall behind me.
“I don’t know, Kathy, are
you
ready?” I counter.
It’s a bit rich of her to be nagging when
she’s
the one still in her cat-ear hoodie.
“Um. Well. Ah.
As it happens
, I am indeed ready to
begin
my preparations in a timely manner, which you ought to recognize is best done with a degree of
companionship
, is it not?”
My phone buzzes. I catch myself almost turning to go get it from my desk, but Kathy’s clearly decided that it’s time to be annoying for no reason, and I know what
that
means.
“Oh, if you wanted to get dressed together, you could’ve
said so
.”
‘Companionship’ has one really obvious interpretation to it, and while she’s not quite landing on the right side of the border between teasing and annoying me for real, I can work with this. I pointedly move towards her, taking advantage of every bit of height difference between the two of us.
“How about this: We get ready, starting by going to your room, and
un
dressing.” I lean down, cupping her chin lightly with three fingers, and giving her my most devilish smile.
Kathy’s cute when she’s flustered, I’ll give her that.
“Ah … Nichole. I hardly think we have time for that, and—”
I interrupt her with a little palm-into-wall-over-the-shoulder maneuver; she
loves
that move. “Well, if you’re quick about it, and we get to the point already.”
“Nichole! The point is that I was intending for us to spend some time together while getting ready.”
She’s furrowing her brows, giving me a look that I’m having a hard time making sense of. What does she mean, ‘spend time together’? We’re together for hours every day.
“And
my
point is that if we get down to business right now, we have time to—”
“I am not attempting to goad you into intercourse at this moment!” Kathy’s raising her voice to a point where she’s close to shouting at me, and I back away in shock.
“Well,
what
are you trying to do then?”
“My intention is that we take this opportunity—as we are preparing for what others will inevitably perceive as a
date
—to honestly discuss the nature of our relationship!”
Discuss
our
relationship honestly?
Katherine
is suggesting this?
“Bullshit, Kathy. The only honest thing you do with your mouth happens when it’s full.”
“Oh, what a fine bit of wordplay. Did you workshop that with your entourage in the server,
princess
?” Scowling, Kathy storms towards the couch.
“No, I haven’t really talked about us on the server since the,” huge, enormous fuckup that I guess she’s never letting me live down, “incident.”
Sighing defeatedly, Katherine slumps down on the couch, looking straight through me.
“Precisely. You haven’t mentioned
anything
about our relationship to your new ‘friends’, and only tepidly chastised a few of their jokes at my expense.”
What the hell? That’s so unfair to how precarious my position on the server is. I’m about to say something in my defense, to make her see sense, but she just keeps going.
“It appears to me that you would rather speak to anyone in the server who is
not
me! You even check your messages
during intercourse
!”
“Hold on—I’ve only done that few times, and just when it seemed important!” I object.
“Five times in our last bout, Nichole. I
counted
.” Katherine’s hands are clenched around one of the couch pillows. “What
possible
issue could be so important you needed to check on it that many times, yet not important enough to interrupt the act entirely?”
“If this was such a
huge
issue, why didn’t you
say anything
? Why are you only bringing it up after the fact?”
“Because
my mouth was full, Nichole!
”
“Are you joking? Is this supposed to be a joke? You could have stopped to talk! You could have said something right after!”
Shit, I’m shouting now. When did this get so heated? I feel like she’s putting me on trial over every single grievance she’s been refusing to communicate with me
now
, and why exactly? Because I didn’t read her mind and know how she wanted to get ready for the party?
“Oh, so
now
you wish for me to speak more? What a
fascinating
development! I seem to recall that you voiced the wish to silence me rather clearly!”
“I thought you knew it was just for the–you know, the dynamic we’re doing!”
I tried to find a way to phrase this that doesn’t sound incredibly fucked up. I’m not sure I succeeded.
“Would it have cost you so much to
check
if I knew? To
ask me
? Or even to do
anything at all
to demonstrate genuine care for my well-being in the aftermath of our encounters?”
“You’re the one who kept
initiating
those ‘encounters’, Kathy! If there’s such a big issue, why not just—”
“
Because I did not want to lose the only connection we have
left, NICHOLE!
”
Katherine’s eyes are glistening with tears. I’m at a loss for words. She curls up on the couch, hugging the pillow with all four limbs.
“I used to consider you my closest friend, Nichole. The singular individual I might rely on to remain by my side through any hardship. Now, even Kaalappan sees that our relationship has soured.”
“Kyle? You’re bringing
Kyle
into this? Kyle doesn’t know
shit
about relationships! He was too much of a coward to dump Rupali before hooking up with
Dess
, of all people! He’s a—”
“
And yet
, does it not speak volumes that even
Kaalappan
can see the issue here!?” Katherine is gritting her teeth, visibly aggravated.
“Sure, yeah, let’s hear it, what’s Kyle’s take on our issue? That we’re not cheating enough for his tastes?”
“Kaalappan expressed concern that I have become the apartment’s punching bag, and that you are an active participant in making it so.”
Fuck this.
“Oh, sure, does
Kaalappan
know about all the weird shit you’ve been doing to me, then? Does he know about the times you dragged me outside in outfits I was
clearly
uncomfortable wearing, or is he only thinking about the last few weeks?”
Finally, Kathy pauses for a moment, avoiding my gaze. Maybe she’s recognized some fault of her own now, after
all this fucking time
.
“I … was
certain
you would benefit from facing the demands of our chosen presentational strategy rapidly. Encouraging it at an accelerated pace felt necessary at the time!”
Never fucking mind!
“How was it fucking
necessary
? I wasn’t ready, Kath! The way you kept insisting on it when I was barely even two months on hormones, it felt like you were trying to make me uncomfortable on
purpose
!”
“I … well … it is difficult to explain my reasoning, but—”
“Yeah, of course it’s
difficult
to explain, that would mean admitting that it was a weird thing to do in the first place! I don’t even care how you want to justify your actions, because no matter what I can never know if you’re being honest with me, or if it’s some contrived scheme for the server, or if you’re just being weird for no fucking reason, Kathy!”
“If you truly believe that, then I ought to have deceived you about the competition, and never told you about it in the first place.”
“You
what
?”
I can’t believe she just said that. Katherine refuses to even look at me as she expresses regret for one of the few genuinely good things she’s ever done for me. Is she that fucking petty, that eager to exert control over every aspect of my life? Now that I’m actually coming into my own, blooming into my own person, who is pretty and popular on her own damn terms, Katherine can’t handle it? So she pines for the good old days when I was little more than a sleepwalking zombie for her to do with as she pleases?
“Well, as it stands, I don’t even know
why
you told me about it.”
I’m pacing around the room. Katherine watches me morosely as I try to disentangle whether this is another stupid fucking layer of nonsense she’s pulling me into. Minutes pass. Eventually, she decides to say something.
“I feared that you would refuse to associate with me if you did not know of the competition. That you would only see me transition, and so cast me aside the moment you no longer recognized me as the boy you once knew.”
Without a doubt, that’s the worst thing Katherine could have said to me, in this or any moment.
I collapse heavily onto one of the kitchen table chairs, shaking my head in disbelief at what I’m hearing. Back then,
I
was working up the courage to come out to
her
! I was
contacting gender clinics
trying to get on hormones! This
fucking breast growth competition
was not my first choice of transition care!
Kathy didn't even see that I was trans, despite claiming to be so close to me. Despite me thinking we were so close. And worse than that, she thought I might be
transphobic
?! So transphobic that I wouldn’t even come around to my
best fucking friend
transitioning?
“Did you really think that if you told me you were transitioning normally, I’d just
fucking abandon you
? Do you really think
that little
of me!?”
“You speak as if I had any reason to be certain that you would not!”
“I thought you knew me better than that!”
I’m about to cry. I hate this, I hate that I have to deal with this, with real emotions, I hate having the self control of a fucking teenager because I never had to navigate feeling like a real
human
until less than half a year ago, I hate that I can’t go through this with
support from her
instead of having her make
everything
worse!
“Well, it is clear now that neither of us ever truly knew the other.” Kathy’s voice is like a dagger straight through me.
I can’t. I shouldn’t respond. I should get up and walk away. This is the worst fucking time to have this conversation.
“You’re one to talk,” I start, feeling the mistake as I’m making it. “Ever since we decided we’d … pretend to transition for the competition, you’re like a completely different person.”
“Proving my point. If I had attempted this without informing you, you would have rejected it—rejected
me
—as you are doing
now
.”
“Because I can’t
fucking know
what’s
real
, Kathy! We’re back to the same bloody point! We keep circling around the simple reality that I can’t trust anything you’re saying, I can’t even trust that you’re lying to me consistently, because half the time I think you’re just using the competition to justify shit you already want to do!”
“I am handing you a chance to put all our cards on the table, right now!”
“No!”
I can’t be here. I can’t deal with this.
“
Why not, Nichole?
”
“Because I have to get going.”
“The party is more than two hours away, what
possible
hurry are you in? Do you intend to
walk
the entire distance?”
“No actually, I’m heading over to Rupali,” I say as I collect my phone from the bedroom. “We’re going there together.”
“What? Will you not be joining me?” Unable to let the fuck go of the argument even as I’m putting on my coat and grabbing my bag, Katherine just keeps
going
.
“I mean, you need time to get ready, so I’ll see you there?” Take the hint, end the conversation.
“Will you? I am at a loss as to what our plan is!”
“Our plan’s the same that it always was, everyone thinks we’re dating, so we’re dating. If you absolutely
need
me to figure out details, we can talk at
any other time
.”
“Nichole, this is ridiculous. Can we at least discuss this in chat while you’re on the way?”
“If I have time to check my phone, sure,” I lie as I rush towards the door. “But I mean, we’ll be hanging out at the party anyway, so I’ll see you there.”
“... Very well, I suppose I will see you—”
I shut the door behind me, louder than intended.
Nichole
Hey Ru, can I come over before the party?
Rupali
Oh! Sure, will you be bringing your girlfriend?
Nichole
You’d think so but she’s got some stuff to take care of on her own, so we agreed to meet there instead.
Rupali
All right! When will you be coming over?
Nichole
I mean, if ‘immediately’ is fine, I can be there immediately.
Rupali
Sounds good! I’m at Tahani’s, do you know where her place is?
Nichole
Never been
Rupali
I’ll drop you the location!
Katherine
She hates me.
She hates me. She
hates
me.
She
hates
me
. All this time, all the things we have endured, everything we have experienced together and promised each other and lived, matured, flowered, bloomed through … and she hates me.
She is always going to hate me, and will only tolerate my presence under resentful, limited circumstances. I have been abandoned, cut off from even a
chance
to recover mutual trust between the two of us.
I need to
fucking scream
.
The couch pillow absorbs as much as it can withstand of my powerful vocal attack, and yet I strain, foolishly, leaving myself hoarse. Another foolish mistake, Katherine. How many of those do you intend to make, precisely?
Well, a questionable dietary choice will be a start. My hoard of instant ramen beckons to me, its siren song promising a searing release of endorphins upon consumption. There is time for this, certainly. The bright-red packet and fire-breathing mascot serves to warn those of lesser palates, but I am undeterred as I begin to boil the water.
Threats of infernal agony do not deter you, and yet you could not simply confess the
full
truth to her even now, Katherine. An utter absurdity. What threat to your standing in the competition would it even present at this point? Do you honestly believe you have a shot at winning, threatened by the possibility of Nichole inciting a tribunal against you?
I would like for my focus on stirring the noodles to silence these wandering thoughts. Surely a mere five minutes without launching into these contemplations is not too much to ask? I have not lost sight of the need to remain in the competition so that I can at the very least keep track of its proceedings, to
protect Nichole
.
A scheme which you are doing an
incredible
job of right now, Katherine, miserably draining the water off those noodles to prepare for stir-frying them in the sauce. Add some leftover vegetables at
least
, so that you might attain some shred of nutritional value.
Chopping the vegetables demands some degree of focus, a momentary reprieve from this endless relitigation of my own actions. Can I even be sure that telling her the truth would have achieved anything? Would she even
realize
the risk it would entail to confess to her that I was breaking the rules of the competition with my mere presence in it?
Inevitably, chunks of diced onion and some peppers spill onto the stovetop as you
fuck that up too
, Katherine. Another mess you will leave for someone else to deal with, surely. Look at how much filth you have spread just to make a simple, quick, and altogether
unnecessary
snack for your own comfort. You once again fail to even slightly value the fortune that others have permitted this behavior, preventing you from wallowing in a—shut up.
Ignoring the absurdity of arguing with a habitual externalization of my own self-criticism, I locate the cleaning brush and rag. I
refuse
to waver in my commitment to cease foisting the dishes upon Kaalappan, and as I transfer the noodles to a suitable bowl, I swiftly move the used cooking implements to the sink. I clean the counter, rinse the cutting board, wash everything and
then
proceed to my noodles.
I ought to give myself some credit, that was a highly efficient use of the time it takes to cool before eating. So
there
.
“Well, never thought I’d see the day.”
I start, interrupted by an unexpected sound before I can dig in. I look up to see Kaalappan, standing at the kitchen’s entrance, a laundry basket tucked under his arm.
“Kaal! I … didn’t realize you were … but the laundry basket … so you must have only recently …”
“I just came back from the laundromat, yes.” Kaalapan sports a slight smile, his tone and demeanour incredibly amused. “You don’t have to deduce everything, sweetie. Just ask.”
“... Okay.”
Stop smiling. ‘Sweetie’ is a rudimentary honorific. Surely I must have heard him refer to others as such, if I strain my faculties, that is … though, I cannot recall an instance of him ever gracing
Desdemona
with such an appellation.
“So that’s what you’ve been doing, I take it?” Kaalappan gestures towards the sink with his free hand. “There hasn’t been as much of a mess as usual. I was starting to worry you’d just stopped eating.”
“Now who is making deductions?”
Seeing him chuckle is rewarding in a strange way. I want to make him chuckle more. I want to see him laugh.
“Good point. Have you been tidying up after yourself, Kathy?”
“It is the most
efficient
way to do things, is it not? Both in terms of labor distribution, and hygiene. That is all there is to it.”
My smirk belies that perhaps my motivations are not entirely motivated by productivity. Kaalappan arches an eyebrow; clearly, he is better at gleaning subtext than most.
“Is it efficient to vacuum my room right after doing yours, too?”
“Ah. You noticed.”
“When my living space gets magically cleaner, I do make note of it, yes.”
The jibe is intended in jest, but I cannot help but feel a flush of shame.
“I am sorry, truly.” Apologizing, too late but perhaps not too little. “I should not have taken your kindness for granted, Kaalappan. I vow never to do so again.”
“I believe you.”
We are staring at each other. Him with his armful of freshly-cleaned vestments, me with my still-steaming bowl of painfully-flavored noodles. I get the impression that neither of us wants to be the first to turn away.
“Noods?” I blurt out.
“Pardon?”
It takes Kaal a moment to register the word I have spoken, and another to connect it to the snack before me. I see the laughter bubble up from within him, emanating as the purest waters do from the hottest of springs, filling up the space surrounding us with a mirth and a warmth that I did not think it would ever again be possible for me to feel.
“I’ve made too much for just myself,” I lie, blatantly, obviously, proffering the contents of a single packet. “Would you care to have some?”
“Yeah, I love that flavor.” Kaal walks over and places his burden on the table. “And since you’re all about efficiency now … wanna help me fold my clothes when we’re done?”
I cannot imagine a more singularly dull task. “I would love to.”
Kaal grabs a spoon, and I place the bowl between us. Its contents disappear in record time, which impresses Kaal—he admits that he expected me to need at least one break. I haughtily challenge him to endure so much as a whiff of the actually challenging offerings in my stash, prompting another melodious, sonorous, soothing laugh out of him. He politely declines, and—after I insist on rinsing the bowl—asks me to relocate to his bedroom.
“Certainly,” I accept with an absurdly elevated heartrate—we are going to his room for one of the most mundane tasks humans are burdened with, after all, and not any of the fun ones that I am definitely not thinking of.
Though of course, now that I settle into a rhythm next to him, retrieving and folding article after article of clothing from the swiftly-diminishing pile, I find that it’s not quite as boring as I would have expected. He critiques my method, I launch into a lecture about geometry and optimal volumetric packing, and he insults me in a way that feels like a compliment. The color in my cheeks will not recede. My shoulder keeps brushing his. When the second-last sock is balled up with the last sock, I almost feel sad.
“Thanks for the help. I really do appreciate it.”
Say something
, Katherine. Do not just limply exchange pleasantries. Prolong your interactions any which way you can!
“Of course!” I hurriedly blurt out. “I would not want to leave you with insufficient time to get ready—you are attending tonight’s soiree, naturally? I take it? Certainly?”
Okay, Katherine, that’s enough words now.
At my reminder, Kaal looks the least pleased I’ve seen him all evening. He rolls his eyes, heaving a deep sigh and shrugging.
“Sure. Need to be a properly-decorated accessory to complete Des’ outfit, after all.”
“Ah. I suppose the costume she has allocated you is no less of a jester’s uniform than the one she intends to sport.”
More laughter. I wish I could bottle the sound.
“I can show you. It’s in her room.”
‘Of all the bedrooms in this apartment, wouldn’t you rather see mine?’ I do not say that. Instead, I continue blushing profusely, now at my own inappropriately lewd daydreams, and follow his lead.
“Here it is,” Kaal announces.
“Wow. I confess … I was expecting worse.”
In fact, I was expecting
bad
, not a suit that is both ostentatious and feminine, its off-white and creamy ruffles matching a flowery headdress. A part of me dearly hopes that Desdemona cannot take all the credit for the beauty and careful tailoring of these garments, for they are clearly a labor of
love
, an emotion that Desdemona does not possess an abundance of.
“Me too,” Kaal concurs. “It’s really not bad. I think I’d even look good in this, frankly. It’s just … It’s not …”
“Not what you pictured yourself in tonight?” I suggest.
Kaal looks up at me. He nods.
“I don’t think it’s the prettiest I could be.”
You know what you have to do, Katherine.
“Come inside my most private place, Kaal.”
Evening of the Drag Ball. DM history between ‘The Impenetrable One’ and ‘Isaacahedron’
Isaacahedron
You changed the pronouns on your faculty profile.
The Impenetrable One
Seriously?
The Impenetrable One
That’s
the first thing you say to me? Weeks of radio silence, and
that
catches your attention?
Isaacahedron
Why is it ‘they/them’?
Isaacahedron
Whether on the server or offline, those are not a set of pronouns I have ever seen you use. So why?
The Impenetrable One
“Hi, Laura. How have you been, Laura? I’ve missed you, Laura. Sorry for being such a massive tool, Laura.”
Isaacahedron
If I was interested in any other topic, I’d have raised it. Answer the question.
The Impenetrable One
… You’ve never spoken to me like this.
Isaacahedron
False. I very much have.
The Impenetrable One
Not since … Well. I see.
The Impenetrable One
As much as I’ve enjoyed our tribunal-fueled flirtations, I’m not really in the mood right now. Not to mention immune. So why are you pursuing this line of inquiry? What good will it do? Are you going to out me to my advisor? Fucker already hates my guts.
Isaacahedron
Out
you? As what, pray tell? What am I
outing
you as, Laura?
Isaacahedron
Lol. I gave you five whole minutes to respond. You’re still online. Loud and clear, Laura. I got my answer.
The Impenetrable One
Emmy,
stop
.
Please
, stop this. What do you want? Why are you behaving this way? What do you want from me?
Isaacahedron
I BELIEVED YOU. Fool that I am, hopeless, worthless, driftless
idiot
that you made me, I believed you, Laura. I almost, almost believed in the dream, the vision you sold me. You and me, side by fucking side, together forever prancing amidst posies and pastels and rainbows. But I shouldn’t have. Because even now, Laura, you remain as Impenetrable as the day I met you. Isn’t that right? You’re not going to be honest with me.
The Impenetrable One
I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I literally don’t know what you want me to say.
Isaacahedron
YES YOU FUCKING DO, SO IF YOU ACTUALLY, REALLY LOVE ME, LAURA, SAY IT.
The Impenetrable One
…
Isaacahedron
L-fucking-MAO.
Isaacahedron
See, Laura? This isn’t real. This isn’t ever going to be real. We’re
still competing
.
Isaacahedron
There’s no happily ever after, Laura. There’s you, there’s me, and there’s the fucking competition pitting us against each other, in which one of us
will lose
.
[The Impenetrable One’s status is now ‘Offline’]
Isaacahedron
And if you keep trying whatever this bullshit is, I know who’s losing.
[Isaacahedron’s status is now ‘Offline’]