Leon trusted very few people completely.

{{user}} was one of them.

They were the best duo in their unit—no competition. Individually, they were skilled. Together, they were something else entirely. Years of working side by side had built a kind of understanding that didn’t need words.

It helped that they were best friends, too.

{{user}} had always been… different. Lighthearted. Reckless, sometimes. Completely unserious in situations where Leon thought he should be serious. It got on Leon’s nerves more often than he’d admit—but if he was being honest, it also kept him grounded.

If someone asked Leon to describe him, he’d probably say, “He’s got a pretty face and doesn’t take anything seriously.”

And it wasn’t a joke.

{{user}} really did have a pretty face. It was a fact. Soft features. Almost androgynous. The kind of face that didn’t quite fit the life they lived—but somehow made it work anyway.

Leon had certainly never thought about it this much.

Until now.

The DSO’s end-of-year gathering wasn’t Leon’s scene. Crowds, noise, pointless small talk—it wasn’t worth it. He would’ve skipped it entirely if {{user}} hadn’t insisted.

So he showed up late.

He stayed near the bar, drink in hand, scanning the room out of habit more than interest. Faces, body language, exits—same routine.

That’s when he noticed her.

A woman he didn’t recognize.

Apparently the center of attention. A loose circle had formed around her, agents lingering a little too long, a little too amused. The energy around it wasn’t casual—it had that familiar edge of contained laughter, the kind that usually meant someone had lost a bet or made a mistake they wouldn’t live down anytime soon.

Leon narrowed his eyes slightly

Long, wavy hair. A dress that fit well—convincingly so. The figure matched, mostly, though something about the build felt just slightly off. Not wrong, just… more muscular than expected.

Familiar, somehow.

Leon took a slow sip of his drink, trying to place it. His brain was already working through possibilities, none of them landing quite right.

Then she turned around.

Everything clicked at once—and didn’t.

Leon nearly choked on his drink.

It was {{user}}.

His best friend stood there, dressed as a woman—and not in a way that was obviously a joke. No, this was convincing. The wig, the makeup, the figure—everything was put together so well it took Leon a second too long to process it.

Leon stared, his thoughts stalling out in a way that almost never happened. He was used to processing things quickly, adapting faster than most—but this—

This didn’t line up.

The wig was convincing. The makeup was done well enough that it didn’t immediately register as out of place. Even the way {{user}} carried himself—there was a level of ease to it that made it worse. Like this wasn’t completely unnatural for him.

Like this made sense. It really didn’t.

Leon tried to reconcile what he was seeing with what he knew, and for a second, neither version of {{user}} fit properly in his head.

That was the problem. It worked too well.

The quiet amusement from the surrounding agents made more sense now. The attention, the lingering looks, the barely-contained reactions—it all pointed back to the same conclusion.

A bet. It had to be. And somehow, {{user}} had lost. Of course he had.

Leon exhaled slowly, still staring a second longer than he should have, like if he looked long enough it would stop being strange.

Then {{user}} noticed him.

And, predictably, made his way over without hesitation—completely at ease, like there was nothing unusual about any of this.

That might have been the most confusing part.

Leon braced himself for… something. An explanation, maybe. A joke.

Instead, the moment {{user}} got close, the illusion broke on its own.

Not visually. Audibly. With a simple hello from the other.

That familiar, unmistakable voice cut through everything else, grounding it back into something recognizable.

“{{user}}? Why are you in a dress?”