Almost Everything Like Before

— Is this… is this really Zimmermann?! — Michelle exhaled, her eyes widening.

She ran her hand over the delicate fabric, as if refusing to believe she was actually holding a luxury dress. The airy material slid smoothly under her fingers, the seams were perfect, and the floral pattern looked hand-painted.

— Yeah. What, doesn’t it look like it? — Suzanne tried to smirk, but it came out awkward—her lips curled into more of a playful smile than her usual rough bravado.

The two friends hadn’t seen each other in months, ever since they had a huge falling out over some trivial nonsense—but really, because neither of them could stand looking at the other anymore. They were a reminder of what had happened to both of them. Something that should have united them, but thanks to the shitty personalities of two forever-competing bodybuilders—Michael, now Michelle, and Steven, now Suzanne—they just kept butting heads.

And now? They hadn’t changed one bit—they were still trying to outdo each other, even now, when they both looked… like this. Even though they were both stunned by how incredibly feminine, slender, and delicate the other suddenly appeared, exuding a kind of fragile grace that made their former broad-shouldered, muscle-packed selves feel like a distant memory. So distant it was as if they had never been those people at all.

— Damn, this dress is fucking expensive! — Michelle blurted out, sounding more outraged by the ridiculous price tag than by the delicate fabric and intricate design.

Though… she wasn’t supposed to know that. She wasn’t supposed to notice these things. She wasn’t even supposed to give a shit about fashion. And yet, the fact remained: just a couple of weeks ago, she had stood in front of a store window in the city center, staring at this exact dress, mentally trying it on.

‘Just curious,’ she told herself. ‘Just imagined for a second how it would look.’

But it really was expensive. And now, here it was—right in front of her, in Suzanne’s hands.

— Yeah, I hated dropping that much cash, too, but, you know, it really does highlight… — Suzanne paused, tilting her head coquettishly, — the waist.

— Ha! Waist! Are you serious?! — Michelle scoffed, but immediately caught herself, instinctively sucking in her stomach.

Suzanne narrowed her eyes like a predator catching its prey.

— Aha! I saw that! You sucked it in!

— No, I didn’t!

— You did!

— No!

— God, this is pathetic, — Suzanne dramatically rolled her eyes and bit her lip. — We used to compete over bench press numbers, Michael—sorry, Michelle—and now, apparently, it’s all about who fits better into a fitted dress.

— Like you’re any better! — Michelle grumbled, gripping the hem of her sundress like it could somehow save her dignity.

They both froze, their conversation hitting a sudden pause. Only the rustling leaves and the warm breeze brushing against their necks broke the silence, lifting the weightless hems of their dresses.

How ridiculous.

How fucking strange.

— Jesus Christ.

They hadn’t seen each other in months. At first, they had tried to find a solution. Then, they had tried not to think about it. Then, they had just pretended it wasn’t happening at all. Everything they used to be—all the bulging muscles, the stupid debates about "natural" protein intake, the endless bets and competitions over who was more "alpha"—all of it was gone.

And now, here they were. Two young women who had no fucking clue why this had happened to them.

And yet, they were sucking in their stomachs.

Sucking in their goddamn stomachs.

— We’ve reached a whole new level of humiliation, haven’t we? — Michelle finally broke the silence, her voice dull.

— Mhm, — Suzanne nodded absently.

— We fucking sucked in our stomachs.

— Mhm.

— And we’re talking about dresses.

— Mhm.

— What’s next? Manicures?

— Michelle…

— What?!

— Your nail polish is chipped.

Michelle jolted.

— What?! Where?!

She snapped her gaze down at her hands. Thin fingers. Long, delicate nails. A fresh manicure—soft, natural color, perfectly matching the dress.

Suzanne snorted into her fist.

— Ugh, I’m just messing with you, dummy!

— Oh, shut up! — Michelle huffed, flicking the hem of her sundress, which she’d been nervously fidgeting with.

She was about to tell Suzanne off, but then she noticed her adjusting the fabric of her dress. That dress. Zimmermann.

— Wait… you actually bought it? — she asked, quieter now, avoiding eye contact.

— Uh… yeah.

— Steve…

— Suzanne.

Michelle swallowed.

— Suzanne, you seriously bought a fucking luxury sundress?

— Well, what, was I supposed to show up in some cheap shit when meeting you?

— We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, there’s not even decent coffee here, why the hell do you need a designer dress?

— Want the truth?

Michelle nodded.

— Because I like it.

Silence again. Nervous glances. And then, suddenly, loud, rolling laughter tearing through the air.

Suzanne laughed first. Short, a little shaky, but with some hidden relief behind it. Then Michelle joined in—at first raspy, like she was forcing the sound out, then louder, freer, until both of them were doubled over, clutching their stomachs, snorting hysterically between fits of laughter.

— We… we’ve fucking lost it, — Michelle exhaled, wiping the corners of her eyes.

— We’re a fucking disgrace, that’s what we are, — Suzanne chuckled, leaning against the stone wall of the old house behind them.

The irony of the situation hit them all over again. Everything they had denied so fiercely, everything they had run from, everything that had pissed them off—it was all right here, staring them in the face. They stood in the middle of a rural street in flowery, feminine dresses, talking about waistlines, fabric cuts, and the fact that they fucking liked these dresses.

Liked them.

— Hey, you two clucking hens! What the fuck are you laughing about?!

The voice was rough, hoarse, with a sneering edge, like the man was spitting his words out. At the end of the street stood a man, about forty, unshaven, with a greasy cap pulled low over his forehead. In his hand was what looked like an unfinished beer bottle, and his worn-out T-shirt clung tightly to a once-muscular, now sagging gut.

— What, this place got honey smeared all over it or something? — he shook his head and smirked crookedly. — City girls, huh? Sitting here, giggling, twirling your little skirts. You sure you didn’t wander in with some tourist group?

Michelle and Suzanne exchanged glances.

— Shit, uh… — Michelle muttered, feeling her throat go dry. Instinctively, she straightened up, like she was about to square her shoulders… but those shoulders weren’t the same anymore. Something cold clenched in her chest—not quite fear, not quite anger.

Suzanne froze too, but her gaze remained defiant, even though a flicker of unease flashed in her eyes. Fuck, before, they would’ve just snapped this guy’s neck, and now… now they both felt… different.

— Yeah, we wandered in, — Suzanne replied in an exaggeratedly casual tone, smirking. — What, is that not allowed?

The man snorted loudly, wiping his nose with his fingers, then spat to the side.

— Do whatever the fuck you want, just don’t scream your damn heads off, bitches, — he grumbled, turning and staggering away.

Only when his figure disappeared behind the houses did they both let out the breaths they’d been holding.

— Fuck… — Michelle whispered, a small shiver running through her.

— Yeah, — Suzanne rasped.

They stood there in silence. And then… simultaneously, both of them let out an awkward snort.

It wasn’t natural. It was nervous, delayed by the creeping realization of how fucking ridiculous the whole thing was. It wasn’t happy laughter. It was borderline hysterical.

— We… we really just… — Michelle hiccupped.

— Yeah, we really just fucking shrank like two scared schoolgirls in front of some fat drunk, — Suzanne finished, trying to pull herself together.

Michelle shook her head.

— Jesus, this is… this is just…

— Shitty?

— That’s putting it lightly.

They exchanged another glance.

— Alright, — Michelle exhaled, running a hand through her hair. — I need some fucking coffee. Now.

— Right now, — Suzanne agreed.

And, trying not to think about how their world had just turned upside down all over again, they walked away from that cursed street, quickening their pace.