You're not ready, Masha

Part 1

— I'm ready, — I said, leaning against the kitchen chair, arching my back just to catch my breath. But the voice that escaped my lips was an octave higher than I was used to. Damn it, how annoying.

— Yeah, yeah, I'm almost... — the male voice from across the room suddenly cut off, replaced by tense silence.

"What the hell is taking her so long? She's not even a chick anymore, and she's still fussing around like she's getting ready for a date."

I sighed, glancing down at my body once again. Yeah, never thought I'd see myself in a polka-dot dress, with a neat neckline and this... purse dangling off my shoulder. Damn, even my hips looked wider than I remembered.

Finally, footsteps echoed, and a man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a gray business suit. It clearly wasn't expensive, but it fit him perfectly, highlighting his toned figure. His gaze was slightly lowered—he was clearly uncomfortable, fiddling nervously with his shirt cuffs as if that would help. His voice came out quiet, almost uncertain:

— Uh, there’s... nothing really interesting here—

His words died mid-sentence when he finally looked up—at me. In the dress. With the purse. I didn’t even have time to react.

— Masha, seriously?! — His voice, loud and irritated, made me instinctively step back. — What the hell are you wearing?

I felt my face burn, and damn, it was so weird—your girlfriend scolding you while in a man's body, with that stern, frowning face that used to seem so cute to me. But now? Now it looked completely different. Still her features, yet somehow a masculine version, glaring at me with a harshness that made me feel even more embarrassed.

— Who the hell are you calling Masha, Monica, damn it? Do you even... do you hear yourself? Look at us! — I waved my hand in frustration, the bracelet on my wrist jingling unpleasantly. — Let’s just hurry up and get this over with so we can go back... to... — I cut myself off, realizing I had no idea where back even was. If going back was even possible. — Back to normal, — I muttered quieter, almost whispering, lowering my eyes to the floor, trying to avoid meeting her—his, damn it—stern gaze.

But the silence dragged on, and it was starting to get under my skin. I looked up—he was still staring at me, but now with this strange, calculating expression, like he was trying to solve some complex equation.

— You need to put on makeup, — he suddenly declared, crossing his arms over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely noticeable smirk. — If we’re supposed to be Masha and Kolya today, you need to look the part.

— What?! — I stared at him, completely shocked. — I already look... uh... feminine enough, don’t you think? — I spread my arms helplessly, feeling the dress stretch across my chest, emphasizing something I definitely didn’t have yesterday.

He squinted, tilting his head to the side, deliberately letting his eyes trail over me from head to toe, slowly.

— Nope. Feminine, sure, but this... — he waved a hand vaguely, searching for the right words, — ...it's like a guy forced into drag on a dare. From what we know, Masha's a real tease. Heavy makeup, styled hair, the whole package. We need to blend in.

I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it shut when he continued, his tone firmer this time:

— This isn’t up for debate. If we want to figure out how the hell we got here, we have to play the roles.

— But I... I don't even know how to do makeup! — I protested, a tight knot forming in my stomach at the mere thought.

He just snorted, turned on his heel, and disappeared deeper into the apartment. A few seconds later, he returned, holding a small makeup bag in one hand.

— I'll help you, — he said with unsettling confidence, holding the bag out to me. — Sit down, Masha.

— For fuck's sake, stop calling me that! — I snapped, but he was already guiding me toward the kitchen chair, pushing me down gently but firmly. He leaned closer, pulling out brushes, tubes, and some small palette of eyeshadows from the bag.

— Look straight ahead. Don’t move, — he ordered, lifting some tiny pencil toward my face. — We’re not here to argue, got it?

— We need to be at that café in half an hour, and if we screw up this meeting, we might never find out how to get out of this damn situation, — I muttered while Monica—or rather Kolya now—concentrated, carefully dragging a brush along my eyelid. — And that's definitely not a reason to smear... whatever that stuff is... all over my face.

— It's eyeliner, — he snorted without looking up. — And shut up. You're making my hand shake.

I wanted to protest but just squeezed my eyes shut as he pressed a little harder, drawing a thin, precise line. Another stroke, and he pulled back, looking at me like... like I was his art project or something?

— Well? — I grumbled, glaring up at him. — Finished?

— Almost. — He reached back into the makeup bag, pulling out something dark red. — Lips.

— No! — I jerked away, but he only rolled his eyes.

— Masha... — His voice dropped lower, and damn, it sounded strange hearing it like that. — If we're supposed to be a couple tonight, no one should get suspicious. Including the café. You wanna take that risk?

I clenched my teeth. Damn it, he was right. This was all so messed up. I almost snapped back but instead let out a frustrated sigh, reluctantly parting my lips.

— Just make it quick.

Kolya—or Monica, damn it—nodded and, barely touching me, ran the lipstick across my lips. When he finished, he stepped back, and I blinked, glancing at my reflection in the dull oven glass.

— Holy shit... — I whispered, staring at the stranger with perfectly lined eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and bold red lips. — Is... is that me?

— Hair, — Kolya—no, Monica—cut in sharply, yanking the scarf off my head. A lock of blonde hair tumbled over my face and shoulders, and he grimaced, running his fingers roughly through it. — What the hell... Seriously, do you even wash this?

I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

— Hey! Watch it! — I snapped as he started twisting my hair into a tight bun at the back of my head, clearly not caring if it hurt.

— You look like you've been running through the woods for a week, — he scoffed, tugging again—so hard I hissed in pain. — It's like straw. There. Better.

I could feel my face burning—but not from the pain. It was like he was actually scolding me... like a girl. And the worst part? He was right. I felt unkempt. As if I should be taking care of myself. What the hell? Was I seriously being called out for not looking good enough? Like I was really... a girl?

"This is bullshit!" I snapped internally. Like it's my fault I woke up in this body, with these breasts, these hips, and this damn hair that's now yanked so tight it feels like my scalp's on fire.

— What? — I growled, glaring up at him. — Are you done?

Kolya huffed, arms crossing over his chest as he scanned me slowly from head to toe again.

— Almost. — His gaze suddenly dropped lower. — Uh... what about heels?

Part 2

— Heels?! — I shot back, instantly glancing down at my feet—my bare, feminine feet. Damn it, even they looked thinner and... elegant? Ugh!

— Where are the shoes? You seriously think you can walk in that? — He nodded toward a pair of worn-out flats near the door. — Do those even match anything you're wearing?

— Who cares?! — I snapped, throwing up my hands. — We're not going to a damn fashion show!

Kolya—or Monica, whatever—crossed his arms tighter, giving me such a cold, piercing glare that my knees practically pressed together on instinct. It was like that look was burning right through me.

— We're going to a café where we need to get these people to trust us, — he said, voice sharp and authoritative in a way that made it impossible to argue. — This matters. Have you seen Masha in those pictures? She's always in heels. And when I saw you just now? You looked like...

— Like what? — I hissed through gritted teeth, feeling that same heat crawling back into my face.

He paused. Then, with the same infuriating calmness, replied:

— Like a cheap country mess.

— You son of a—! — My fists clenched, shame mixing with anger as I opened my mouth to snap back, but Kolya had already turned toward the closet.

Rummaging around, he pulled out a shoebox, opened it, smirked, and tossed it onto my lap. Inside were a pair of nude heels. Tall. Thin stiletto heels. Probably more expensive than anything else I had on right now.

— No, — I shook my head, trying to shove the box back. — Not a chance.

— Have you even tried them on?

— Tried on or not, I'm gonna break my damn neck in these things!

He just rolled his eyes.

— Masha, we're running out of time. You're making us late, — he repeated with emphasis, pushing the box closer again.

I clenched my teeth. Damn it, was he doing this on purpose? That name again. That same tone, like I was the problem here, like I was deliberately dragging things out. Even though I had been the one rushing him earlier. Or was it her? Damn, my head was spinning.

— Listen, — I exhaled sharply, glaring up at him. — Don't you think you're getting a little too bossy? Forget who's the one always waiting around for you? Remember? Back when you’d spend an hour fixing your damn curls, redoing your makeup, and swapping shoes three times before leaving the house?

I stopped short.

Because now I was the one standing here. In a dress. With makeup. Holding these damn stilettos.

Kolya pressed his lips together, raising an eyebrow, and the expression was so unmistakably masculine it made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

— For fuck's sake... — I muttered through clenched teeth, yanking one of the heels out of the box with irritation. — Stop looking at me like that...

Kolya just gave a smug little snort, folding his arms across his chest and watching as I shoved my foot into the shoe. The sensation was... weird. The cold inner lining slid against my skin, and the moment I tried to stand, my ankle twisted, nearly sending me straight to the floor.

— Careful, — he said dryly, not moving an inch. — Now get up.

— I know, damn it! — I snapped back, jamming the second shoe on and gritting my teeth as I forced myself to stand. My legs wobbled. Damn, this was—was this even possible? The weight shifted awkwardly onto the balls of my feet, calves instantly tightening. — Who the hell invented these torture devices?!

Kolya smirked, narrowing his eyes as he slowly scanned me from head to toe again. Like some picky stylist. Or... a master appraising his work? Ugh.

— Not bad, — he said, tilting his head. — But you’ll need to work on your walk. Right now, you look like... I don't know, like you just stepped on a rake.

— Go to hell, — I muttered, trying to balance. — It's uncomfortable, okay? And it's not funny! You have no idea what—

— Oh, trust me, I do, — he cut me off, and his voice dropped lower, colder. — I've got a few surprises of my own here. — He gestured at himself, where his shirt stretched just slightly tighter across his chest—flat, hinting at the absence of the curves he once had. — So let's not start a competition over who's got it worse.

I tried to take a step—and nearly face-planted, flailing my arms for balance. But before I could hit the ground, strong hands—Kolya's, or was it still Monica?—grabbed me firmly under the elbows, holding me steady.

— Back straight, — his voice was firm, almost commanding. — Stop slouching. Shift your weight onto the balls of your feet, not your heels.

I gritted my teeth, heat crawling up my face again. Was he serious right now? Was I really standing here, in a dress, wearing these damn heels, while my girlfriend—now in a man's body—was lecturing me like I was some awkward schoolgirl at a modeling class?

— I... — I started, but Kolya didn’t let me finish, tightening his grip on my elbows slightly, forcing me to straighten up even more.

— Shoulders back, — his voice dropped lower, stricter—almost... velvety. And for some reason, the chill that ran down my spine made me obey.

I straightened. Felt the dress stretch tighter across my chest, emphasizing the curves I still couldn't get used to. The heels were still hell, but... when I stood up properly, the tension in my calves lessened—just a little.

— That’s better, — Kolya nodded, squinting slightly as if examining his work. — Now try taking a step. Slowly.

I exhaled through gritted teeth, clenched my fists, and took a step forward. My hips swayed. No—I had forced them to sway. Damn it, it felt unnatural as hell.

— What the fuck... — I muttered, flushing even harder. But Kolya just crossed his arms, watching with what looked way too much like satisfaction.

— Well... at least you look convincing.

— Screw you, — I muttered, taking another step. This time, just slightly more stable.

It felt weird. But I was starting to figure out how the balance worked. What was really messing with my head, though—was the way Kolya was looking at me.

His gaze was... assessing. Dominant.

Damn it, the exact same way I used to look at women.

And it was messing with me even more.