Chapter 24 Chapter 23: Homely
Silver emerged from the steam-filled bathroom wearing nothing, but a snuff wrapped around her hair and a smaller, matching one that was tucked just above her breasts, its damp hem barely covering the curve of her hips. The scent of her soap, something clean and citrusy, cut through the lingering aroma of pizza. She moved with a weary grace, slumping down onto the worn cushions of the sofa next to me, her body moulding against my side. Her head found its familiar place on my shoulder, her damp hair cool against my skin. We watched some weird, arty sitcom on her box, the surreal visuals and canned laughter filling the room. There were few words between us, but the silence was a homely bliss, a comfortable, shared exhaustion that felt more intimate than any conversation.
Before long, our food arrived, and we devoured half of it with a shared, ravenous hunger, the greasy, cheesy goodness a perfect end to the long day. It was only when the initial edge was off that, Silver spoke, her voice thick with sleep. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she murmured, her eyes already closed. “But I’m so tired. I need to go to bed.” As she stood, she caught my hand, her grip firm and certain, and wordlessly dragged me with her toward the waiting bed.
I had been hoping for sex, for a passionate, physical intimacy to seal the night, but the moment her head settled on my chest, her breath evening out into a deep, steady rhythm, I understood. This was different. Her trust, her complete and utter surrender to sleep in my arms, was a vulnerability far greater than any physical act. I brushed her hair with my fingers, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my side. This was better than intimacy; this was belonging. This was home.
I remember slipping into a dream that quickly curdled into a nightmare. I was a Nate again, my body hard and angular, standing in a stark, empty room. I had nothing to wear for the interview with Lord Vincent. Panic clawed at my throat. Then, the beautiful worm-thread dress appeared, but as I tried to put it on, the delicate fabric strained against my broad shoulders and muscular chest. With a sound like tearing worm thread, the seams exploded, the dress shredding into useless, colourful ribbons that fell from my body. The humiliation was absolute.
The nightmare half-woke me, and the dream’s terror bled into reality as a familiar, sickening sensation crackled through my limbs, that same feeling of pins and needles, that electric, cellular buzz I had felt the last time my freak body had changed genders so abruptly. My whole world did a nauseating leap in the dark, a lurch of existential dread. I woke with a start, my heart hammering against my ribs, gasping for air.
My first frantic, disoriented thought was a relief so profound it left me weak: I was still a Polli. Silver was still lying on my arm, which was completely dead, numb from her weight. The nightmare was just a dream. For now, I was still me, and she was still here. But the ghost of that pins-and-needles feeling lingered on my skin like a warning.
The morning light filtered through Silver’s window, painting dusty gold stripes across the floor and illuminating the peaceful clutter of her life. We shared a silent, comfortable breakfast of last night’s remaining pizza, eaten cold straight from the box. It was a simple, unceremonious meal, but it felt profoundly right. The crust had gone a little soft, the cheese had congealed, but every bite was a reminder of the easy companionship we’d found curled on her sofa.
There was no frantic rush, no awkwardness. When it was time for me to leave and prepare for the daunting day ahead, I pulled on my new clothes and ready myself to go. At her doorway, she leaned against the frame, her hair mussed from sleep, smiling a soft, sleepy smile that made my chest ache.
“Tomorrow night,” I said, the words a question and a promise all at once.
“I’m off,” she confirmed, her voice still husky with sleep. “Come find me after your interview. Tell me all about how you impressed Lord Vincent.”
The promise of it a proper night, a celebration or a consolation, with her was a bright, steady light at the end of the tunnel. I left her dwelling with the echo of that promise warming me, stepping out into the morning air feeling less alone than I had in days. The interview loomed, a colossal, terrifying hurdle, but now there was something waiting for me on the other side of it.
Thankfully, when I got home, the dwelling was silent and still. The tense energy from the previous night had dissipated, leaving behind only empty rooms and a palpable relief. I stood for a moment in the quiet hallway, listening to the hum of the electricity, savouring the simple gift of having a day to myself. It was a blessing of time, a space to rearrange my cupboards, to hang my new clothes and to try and find a bite of peace before the storm of this evening interview.
As I carefully folded sweaters and organized drawers, my thoughts inevitably lingered on Silver, the warmth of her skin, the weight of her head on my chest, the easy silence between us. That line of thinking always led back to the same, dizzying crossroads: my sickness, my change. Was I a Polli now for good? The question that had once filled me with panic now sparked a curious, tentative hope.
My entire life, I had meticulously charted my future as a Nate. It was a path built on the solid ground of dieball scholarships, masculine camaraderie, and a certain kind of predictable strength. But that path felt like it belonged to a different person now, a ghost from a faded photograph. If Silver was my future, her laugh, her sharp intelligence, the profound sense of rightness I felt beside her, then I would happily, gratefully, be this Polli. The realization settled over me not as a surrender, but as an awakening.
In fact, for the first time since the change, I truly felt at home in my new self. I ran a hand over the soft curve of my hip, no longer with alienation, but with acceptance. I liked the subtle grace in my movements, the way my new jumper felt against my skin. I was starting to like this new life, this new person I was becoming, even if her creation had meant the death of the Nate athlete I was supposed to be. That old dream of dieball glory felt distant, and hollow compared to the vibrant, uncertain, but genuinely mine future that was now unfolding. The trade, I realized, was more than fair.