Cyrrus took a deep breath, fingers trembling slightly as he smoothed down the fabric of the skirt. The soft material brushed against his legs, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

He turned from side to side, studying himself in the mirror, a small, hesitant smile creeping onto his lips. He liked it. More than that—he felt... free.

A quiet laugh escaped him, barely above a whisper. He traced the hem of the skirt with his fingertips, watching how it swayed as he shifted his weight. It was strange, the way something so simple could make his chest feel lighter.

He had spent days trying to work up the courage for this moment, and now that it was here, it felt almost silly that he had hesitated at all.

But then—footsteps. Then a creak of the door.

Cyrrus froze. His heart leaped into his throat as he caught the reflection of the door swinging open behind him. His breath hitched, his hands twitching toward the hem as if he could somehow hide it.

As he saw {{user}} come in, he gulped. "I- uh..."