shadows_have_offended | [Aug 14] As pretty as you are, you know you could've been a flower

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[Aug 14] As pretty as you are, you know you could've been a flower | for Rosie

Waking up was a strange experience. There's something, upon waking, that isn't quite right, and Neil's not sure how to put it. Like the bed has gotten larger, or he's gotten smaller. He's alone--and it strikes him that he knew that. Since Nick's disappearance, Neil's been doing his best to not have Caleb over, not wanting to upset the quiet sanctity of his and Rosie's apartment. When she's ready for friends over, they'll come. But it will be up to her, and not him.

He stretches a little, and it's that that really starts to clue him in. How his shirt and shorts move against his body. Weird. But he's still mostly asleep, and it doesn't really mean anything except that he's tangled up in clothes and sheets.

So, blinking sleep out of his eyes, he clambers out of bed and to the bathroom, intent on going through the regular sleepy motions of waking up. Toilet, shower, brushing his teeth, all of those sorts of things. Except--

He doesn't scream, exactly, when he reaches down and doesn't find his dick. He does make a noise. He definitely falls on his ass, scrambling to both look at what's going on and urgently pull his shorts back up so that he doesn't have to. Now that he's startled awake, he's aware of being, well, small. Small shoulders and small waist and small hands. Of breasts under his t-shirt. He doesn't want to look in the mirror, like seeing his reflection makes it more real.

Maybe he can just go back to bed?

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Things are a little better now, with everything between her and Sabrina finding some kind of equilibrium, the two of them along with Charlie beginning to navigate what their lives might be in Nick's absence; what they ought to be to one another now, and what things needed to change. The play's helped, too, as a distraction and a point of focus that's something outside herself and her grief. Day by day, it feels more like something normal again.

She's been awake for a little while, reluctant to leave her bed until she's finished the chapter she's reading--and then another, and another after that. The shuffling sound of Neil coming out of his room and down the hallway is something she barely even notices. The sound that follows, however, high-pitched and abruptly cut off by the thud of someone landing on the floor, is enough to have her flinging off her sheets and hurrying to the door. Reaching the bathroom, she stops short, looking down at the girl struggling to get up from the floor.

"Oh, good grief, Neil," she says, already holding out a hand to help him back up.

Neil looks up at Rosie, flushed and embarrassed and distraught about the whole thing, feeling silly and a bit stupid, but not really knowing how he looks because he still hasn't looked at himself in all this.

If he had, he'd known all about the willowy limbs and fine-boned features, the slight androgyny of his face and that chin-length, wavy hair, just a shade darker than normal. He does notice the daintiness of his hands, his wrists, as he takes Rosie's hand and gets up.

Rosie's just a touch taller than him, maybe an inch or two. Neil's gotten so used to being able to tuck her under his chin that being eye-level with her is almost as disconcerting as everything else.

"Sorry," he says, startled each time he makes a noise, and it's not his voice, but it's something like it. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," she says as she helps him up, getting a better look at him now that the surprise has worn off--somewhat--for them both. He's not bad-looking; he never was, no matter what he looked like, but there's something just as compelling now about the delicacy of his features, or the fine-boned fingers that grip her wrist as she pulls him to his feet. "I was finally doing my summer reading for school. Not quite the last minute, but close enough."

It's stranger now that he's standing, realizing she doesn't have to look up to look him in the eye. If anything, she has to look down now, just a little. But it's still him, just as it had still been Caleb and Charlie when it happened to them, and remembering that is enough to set her lingering shock at the situation aside in favor of a sudden burst of practicality. "Is this the first time Darrow's done this to you?"

Neil nods, sullen and suddenly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Really, except for losing people and getting swept off to London for three days that felt like a week and change, Darrow hasn't done a whole lot to him. Plenty at him, with the various beasts and monsters and mad things happening. But never to him.

Rosie has that look of practical determination, and Neil lets it waken a bit of hope in him.

"I don't think any of my clothes are going to fit, really," he says softly. "...because I'm short." Among other reasons, but the height is definitely weird.

The answer is about what she'd expected--he wouldn't be quite so distressed, she thinks, if he'd been through it before--and she nods. "I don't think it lasts longer than a week or so," she says. "That's about how long it was when it happened to Charlie. And Caleb, but don't you dare tell him I told you. I think he's still embarrassed."

She can see the discomfort in his face, the growing air of almost-sullen resentment that the situation he's in is happening at all. Gently, she reaches out, pulling him close but with a loose enough hold that he can move away. "We can find you other clothes. You might fit in some of mine, for a start, and then...I don't have to work at all today, so we can take as long as you need shopping for other things."

"A week?"

The mild hysteria in Neil's voice belies the genuine nerves there. They're getting into dress rehearsals soon, and then the debuts, and he's in both of the Shakespeare plays. He has two different costumes to wear, and neither of them are going to fit now.

At least Rosie is steady and calm. She's done this before, with Charlie--and Caleb, too, apparently. So it's not so bad. He sniffles vaguely, and tries to not hyperventilate over the stupid stress of it.

"I know," she says, even though she's never been on Neil's side of it. Still, she can empathize--and with the plays so absurdly close to happening, opening night only a few days away and the last few rehearsals looming before them both, Rosie can guess at the source of at least some of his distress anyway. Enough that she changes tacks a little, grabbing onto something concrete she can use to build her reassurances on. "But it's not forever and...well, Octavia might not be happy about altering your costumes at the last minute, but she'll do it."

Huffing out a breath, she glances back towards the hallway. "Now, let's find something for you to wear, and then I'll make tea and...something for breakfast, I think we've still got eggs, and we can work on what comes next."

Neil nods. It's a pathetic sort of gesture, all quivering bottom lip and sad eyes, but at least he seems to be trying to pull it all together and pretend like it's not the worst thing in the world. Well, it's hardly the worst. Just very, very strange, and a bit of a mess, and something he has no idea how to deal with.

Charlie seemed to have managed it just fine. And knowing that Caleb managed it, too, is almost like a comfort except that knowing that it's been dealt with isn't quite the same as knowing that someone will want to deal with him.

For now, it's one foot in front of the other, and he can worry about Caleb...not now. He wants Rosie soft, comforting presence much more, the reassurance that comes with it. He grips her arm, like that might confer some of the confidence onto him, but mostly it just ends with him clinging to her a bit.

So much of their friendship has been exactly this; one of them holding on to the other, one of them needing to be present and responsible and steady for the one who's had some part of their life fall apart. It wasn't fair, but they loved each other enough to keep doing it. This situation wasn't the most tragic thing Darrow had ever done, but as they go towards her bedroom Rosie half-wishes they'd been given a reprieve anyway.

"So do you want jeans and a shirt, so it's at least a little like something you might've worn anyway, or just...throw yourself into it and borrow a dress?" she asks as they stand in front of her closet. She steps back just enough to get a look at him--and still, it's strange that they're nearly the same height now--a faint blush starting to color her cheeks. "Um, we should also see if...if one of my bras would fit you, maybe. Just until you can get one of your own?"

"Um," Neil says, inarticulately, because he has no idea. His hands slide to his hips, thoughtful, like feeling the width of them will answer the question of if he wants jeans or throw himself in.

"Let's start with the underwear and then you can throw clothes at me," he says. "Since I'll give it back as soon as I go shopping and figure something out."

"I know, it's a lot to think about," she says when he hesitates, his hands running along the new and unfamiliar curve of his hips. "I'm sorry. You'll be okay."

Underwear first is at least enough of a direction, and Rosie nudges him towards the bed before going to her dresser. Taking out a clean, plain bra and--after a moment of awkward hesitation she's ashamed of--a pair of panties. "Here," she says, handing them to him and feeling ridiculous for blushing, even a little. "I won't look, I'll just...go find some clothes for you."

Neil blushes, the furious heat of it all over his face and down his neck, and he feels so stupid to be blushing about it. He's never been nervous or ashamed of his body, and he's been naked around plenty of people for plenty of reasons over the years. This isn't really any different in the end.

He appreciates her equal embarrassment over the situation and the mutual discomfort in potential seeing him naked, even if it's not him. God, this is weird.

Once Rosie is turned away to look for clothes, Neil strips out of his sleep clothes and pulls on the panties. Those, at least, he can figure out without any problem, just like briefs but less fabric to them. The bra takes a little more ingenuity--and then...

"Rosie," he squeaks. "I can't...get it clasped."

She keeps her focus resolutely on the clothes in front of her, taking a few different things off the hangers and the shelf above and doing her best not to listen to the faint, occasional sounds of Neil undressing and beginning to puzzle out the undergarments. They shouldn't be this ridiculous about it, not after all their joking asides about headphones and loud music or Rosie's laughing refusal to make enough breakfast for three unless he's really someone fantastic, but this isn't like anything they've joked about before.

She was so tired of Darrow playing havoc with everything.

She hears him struggling, then squeak out that halting, embarrassed bit of information, and can't help wincing briefly before she turns around. "Oh goodness, okay," she says, catching a glimpse of him slim and red-faced and awkward before she glances carefully down at the floor. "I can...I'll try and help. Is it...does it not fit, or you just can't work the clasp?"

"I...think it's just the clasp?" Neil doesn't know, and he's not really sure how to tell, but he knows for sure that he can't get the hooks into their loops behind his back.

The fact that Rosie is just as embarrassed as him is somehow ridiculous and relieving. They really have no reason to be embarrassed, but it is comforting, since the whole thing is ridiculous. But he's also wearing her underthings right now, and can't even do that.

As she comes a little closer, he smiles a little bit. "If there was ever any question about if I'd fooled around with a girl before, I think we just put that to rest because I can't manage this at all."

Maybe because everything else is so awkward, so strange, Neil's weak attempt at a joke strikes her as something much funnier than it would've been otherwise. She laughs, a little helpless, and the sound breaks enough of the tension crowding the room. "Half the time, I'd swear Sabrina cheats and uses magic to undo mine," she says, still blushing as she moves behind him. "Or hers. Or both of ours."

As efficiently as she can, and with as little awkward contact as possible, she adjusts the bra and fastens the pair of hooks at the back. "Is that alright?" she asks, taking a breath before she moves again to face him. "The straps can be adjusted, if you think they'll slip or they're too tight or anything."

Neil's glad that he gets her to laugh, at least, because it does cut the tension to ribbons. He smiles and stands still as she works, trying to put to memory how it feels to do the clasp up. He still doesn't think he can do it behind his own back, but that's neither here nor there. They'll figure it out.

"Um," he says thoughtfully, hands on the cups, trying to figure it out.

He turns around abruptly, dropping his hands, like showing her will give him the answers that she's asking him for. He's not uncomfortable--well, not more than he already was--so that's probably a good sign, isn't it?

The bra she'd given him was plain enough to almost be generic, like it might've belonged to anyone--that had sort of been the point. But she knows it's hers, and he knows she knows, and for half a moment after he turns around and Rosie really, properly sees him wearing a bra she knows belongs to her, their embarrassed awkwardness from before threatens to descend all over again. She forces it back, trying for practicality again as she looks him over.

"It's nearly there," she says, reaching to loosen one strap where it's digging into his shoulder. "Um, another thing that might...help, I suppose, it's something the salesgirl pointed out the last time I was shopping is...you can kind of...there's a scooping thing you can do, to make it more comfortable?" She huffs out a sharp, exasperated breath, hard enough her shoulders slump a little on the exhale as her already-red face darkens a few more shades. "I don't have to. I really don't. But it might be easier if I just do it, rather than try to describe?"

Neil gets the idea, but it still strikes him as absolutely ridiculous. At least Rosie knows what she's doing, even if it's strange and unusual to do it to your friend who isn't normally like this.

He puts his arms up, like that might help, or like it will articulate his willingness. Both? He does feel things shift a little bit with his arms up, but it's not quite right.

"Scoop away."

Neil grants his permission, or at least gives himself over to the idea, and Rosie's both glad for and momentarily daunted by his willingness. Not that either of them really had much choice--she'd promised to help, and he was stuck like this for at least the next few days, and there wasn't anything to be done about either.

Except get through it.

"I'm really sorry if my hands are cold," she says, just before sliding one into the cup of the bra, adjusting the way Neil's breast is sitting within it--and then switching sides to make sure it's even.

Even with the warning, Neil squeaks. It isn't even that Rosie's hands are especially cold, but there's something about being touched in a way that is wholly unfamiliar that rattles through him strangely, and he can't help the little noise.

At least she's quick about it. Then, Neil's just standing there in the borrowed underwear, vaguely aware of how his chest sits differently with the assistance of the bra.

"Well..." He's quiet a second. "...I guess it could be worse?"

"I know, I know, it's weird," she says, all in a rush when Neil squeaks. The noise, at least, is more surprise than embarrassment or indignation, but it's still enough to trigger Rosie's impulse to keep acknowledging the strangeness of their current situation.

Mercifully, it's all over quickly, and Rosie steps back as Neil looks himself over and gives that hesitant verdict. "It really doesn't look bad," she says. "And, you know, now you'll be a bit more comfortable going out and everything."

"I trust your verdict," Neil says with earnestness. He doesn't know how a girl is supposed to look in her underthings, so he has no idea how he ought to look in them, either. Mostly, he just feels silly and a bit oddly ungainly. Everything is very close, and curiously sensitive.

After a moment of contemplative quiet, Neil shakes his head a little bit. He gets distracted by how much longer his hair is--and it's not even that long, maybe only shoulder length, but still much longer than he's ever had it--and then huffs a noise that's a half long-suffering sigh.

"I suppose that means the rest of the clothes. And then I'll buy you coffee if you'll come out with me to unwrap the mystery of getting my own clothes for this."

"Right, the rest of the clothes," she says, with an embarrassed little laugh at the reminder they're nowhere near finished. Not with Neil still in nothing more than some borrowed underthings.

This was all so much less complex an hour or two ago, when neither of them were aware that anything amiss had happened.

"So, the offer of jeans and a blouse still stands, if a dress would be a bit too far after everything else," Rosie says, turning back towards the closet and taking down a folded pair from the shelf above the clothes rail. She looks again at the clothes on the hangers, pulling out a loose-fitting shirt in pale green that won't look bad at all on Neil's new and different frame. "And of course I'll come shopping with you."

Neil honestly can't say if a dress might be too much. A part of him, the part that managed to swallow all his nervous, hysterical pride and let Rosie help him with this because what other choice is there, wants to say fuck it. This might as well happen. He can roll with it.

But also: it's a dress.

"Let's start with jeans and a shirt for now," he finally says, a little dry-mouth for the nerves of it all. "And maybe we can try putting me in a dress when we look for some clothes. Just to see how it looks. Which will probably be stupid."

"It won't be stupid," argues Rosie, handing him the jeans and shirt with a fond roll of her eyes. It might not be the right choice, in the face of how uncertain Neil still is, but both of them have grown used to trying to bluff things out--especially the things Darrow's put them through, singularly or together--that it comes almost as second nature now.

"You're already better-looking than I am. Which always happens, whenever someone I know goes through this. It's really not fair at all."

"I don't know about that," Neil says. He thinks he's awfully ordinary on a regular day, and that's no different right now except that he's shorter and has more hair and, well, breasts. And while Rosie isn't the type to get his motor running, he can objectively know that she's beautiful.

He puts the jeans and shirt on with little issue, since it's just like putting on his normal jeans and shirt, and he even wears it just like he would normally, with the shirt tucked in and everything. And then he goes to smooth his hands across how it sits and he frowns.

"Why are the pockets so small?"

Rosie shrugs off the demurral, mollified even as she's still convinced it's not quite true. She gives him a little more space as he changes, picking out her own clothes for the day, but she has to laugh when he asks about the pockets.

"Why do you think girls are always carrying around one kind of handbag or another?" she says, turning to look at him as he runs his hands along his waist. The confusion on his face shouldn't be so satisfying. "No one makes anything with pockets big enough. Or, hardly anyone, and when you find something with good pockets, you hope it lasts forever."

"Is that why girls are always shoving everything off on the boys, too? So we have some idea of your pain and suffering? Is it jealousy about us having pockets?" At least he's smiling, at least a little bit. Shakily, but obviously present. "We didn't take them from you."

He puts it in mind that he's going to find something with pockets, because he is not buying a purse.

"Jealousy and revenge," Rosie says, trying for a pointed, stern look, anything to alleviate that last bit of hesitancy in Neil's smile. "And even if you didn't take them, somebody did. Whoever designed things that way in the first place."

She lets out a breath, heavy enough that it's almost a sigh. "Now go, and let me get dressed, and then I'll make us some breakfast before we go shopping?"

Neil starts for the door, then circles back. He pauses to press a kiss to Rosie's cheek, a little mumble of thanks pressed into the gesture before he scurries out.

"I can get breakfast started," he promises. He's not a very good cook, but he's gotten a bit better about things, and he can at least scramble some eggs and make toast. And Rosie is putting herself out to take care of him, so he should take care of her as much as he can.

In any case, he leaves her to it, heading to the kitchen.

Rosie smiles at the kiss, the affection and gratitude contained in it and the accompanying half-mumbled bit of thanks. "Alright," she says when he offers to start on breakfast. She would have understood if he'd left it all to her, if even the simple work of starting toast or putting the kettle on was beyond him after waking up in a body not his own--but he offers, and that's one bit of normalcy she isn't about to take away.

It doesn't take her long to change, picking out a light, summery dress--with pockets, thank you very much--and setting aside a pair of sandals for when they actually leave the house. Going down the hall and into the kitchen, there's still a quick, internal moment where she expects to see Neil as Neil when she gets there. This bit of Darrow trickery is never that fast, though, not for anyone she's known.

Giving him a smile, she goes to the cabinet, getting down two plates for the eggs and toast.

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[Aug 14] As pretty as you are, you know you could've been a flower | for Rosie

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