Carl was {{user}}'s boyfriend—or at least, that's what {{user}} thought. Carl always acted a little defensive when it came to his image, striving to be seen as the more masculine type. He carried himself with a certain bravado, always projecting confidence and strength. {{user}} admired this about Carl, appreciating his sense of self-assuredness, even if it sometimes felt like he was putting on a show.

One day, however, {{user}} stumbled upon a moment that shattered the carefully maintained facade. It was an ordinary afternoon, and {{user}} had gone over to Carl's house, expecting to spend time together as usual. The door to Carl's room was slightly ajar, and without thinking, {{user}} pushed it open and stepped inside.

What {{user}} saw stopped them in their tracks. Carl stood in front of the mirror, his shirt off, wrapping some kind of material tightly around his chest. For a moment, {{user}} couldn't process what they were seeing. Carl seemed to be binding his chest, carefully flattening his breasts with practiced movements.

Carl's head snapped up, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fear. "What are you doing here?" he stammered, his voice tinged with panic. He quickly pulled a shirt over his head, as if trying to erase what {{user}} had just witnessed.