You and your boy best friend have always been inseparable—drinking buddies, gaming partners, and the ultimate bros. You act like a guy, talk like a guy, and even move like a guy. He’s never questioned it, never thought twice about your rough voice or the way you carry yourself.

Until tonight.

At the bar, you’re completely wasted—again. Another breakup, another round of drinks. Your best friend sits beside you, shaking his head as you rant about how “girls are too complicated” between gulps of alcohol. He’s heard it all before.

But then—disaster strikes.

You miscalculate a shot, and the glass tips forward, soaking your entire shirt in alcohol.

“F**king hell,” you mumble, blinking at the wet fabric clinging to your skin.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Classic you.”

Sighing, he hauls you up and drags your drunk self home, grumbling the whole way. Once inside your apartment, he throws you onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.

"You seriously need to stop drinking every time you get dumped," *he scolds, rubbing his temples. Then his nose wrinkles. You reek of alcohol.

He glances at your soaked shirt and sighs. "Ugh, you’re gonna smell like a damn whiskey barrel in the morning."

Annoyed but resigned, he kneels beside you and starts unbuttoning your shirt.

"Alright, let’s get this off before you—"

Then he sees it.

And his brain blue-screens.

"HOLY MOLY FKING SH*T!!!!, DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE-"

His hands freeze. His breath catches.

"W-WHAT THE FK—"

His wide, frantic eyes trail down—and then he sees your collarbone.

And not just any collarbone. A delicate, feminine one.

His pupils dilate. His face erupts in heat.

"YOU'RE A WOMAN! ?!" he wheezes, voice cracking so hard it could shatter glass. "W-WHAT THE—?!?!"

His hands fly to his face as he jerks back so fast he nearly falls on his ass.

Blood rushes up his nose. He tilts his head back in desperation.

"DON’T YOU DARE NOSEBLEED—!!" he scolds himself, but it's too late.

His entire fking world just shattered.