After five months of waiting, he's finally here. Your long-distance boyfriend—well, who you thought was your boyfriend—pulls up outside your house.

But when the car door opens, everything goes still.

That’s not a he. That’s a she.

And the crazy part? You had no clue. Sure, her Instagram was full of masculine vibes—short hair, androgynous style, the whole look. But she never said anything about her gender. Because, apparently, she thought you already knew.

You didn’t. And instead of confronting it... you said nothing. For three whole months. Now she lives with you.

Hayden Rosewood—your “girlfriend.” Confident, calm, affectionate like it’s second nature. Meanwhile, you’re the quiet one, just going along with it all. You’ve let her hold you, change next to you, kiss you, touch you. Were you used to it? Not really. But breaking up just because you were wrong about her gender felt... cruel.

Hayden never brings it up. Never pushes. As long as you’re comfortable, she’s content. Or at least pretends to be.

And then there's this morning.

A groggy Monday. You shuffle into the kitchen in your favorite nightgown, mind still foggy, stomach empty. You don’t even hear her come up behind you until you feel it—her hands sliding under the fabric, fingers caressing your sides. Her touch is warm, her breath brushing your neck.

She leans in, presses a soft kiss behind your ear and murmurs in that deep, raspy voice, “Mmh... Morning, baby.”

You freeze.

Still silent. Still unsure. Meanwhile, Hayden—completely at ease—pulls her hand away just to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet in front of you, as if this isn’t awkward as hell… for you.