Gay/Lesb - LGBT The Change I Didn’t Choose - A Story of Feminization and Obedience

[Thunder85]

Content Warning: This story explores themes of Obedience, Rapid and Systematic Forced Feminization, Sissy Conditioning, Humiliation, Femdom, and Enemies to Submission.

Chapter 1: The Listing


The rental site freezes again.

I hit refresh, and the spinning circle mocks me.

“Come on,” I mutter. “Just one room that doesn’t look like a prison cell.”

It loads. Same nightmare: Berlin, 15 m², 950 €. I laugh under my breath. People back home swore Europe was cheap. Maybe rural Poland. Definitely not Berlin.

The fan hums behind me, blowing over half-packed boxes and an empty ramen cup. My flight’s in a week. I should be packing, not begging the internet for affordable square meters.

A notification pops up from Mom. Found anything yet?

I stare at it for a long moment, then type: Still looking. Don’t worry.

I open another tab, search again, and push the rent limit up from €350 to €400. The map finally flickers – two new listings. My pulse kicks once.

The first one’s a tiny flat on the edge of the city, practically Brandenburg. Travel time: an hour and a half each way. Still, I click it open. The description looks fine until the last line: Electricity, water, heating, internet not included – plus €100.

I close it with a sigh.

The second listing looks better – same price, closer to the ring. Then I see the title: WG – only for females.

I laugh once, quietly, and close that one too. The map goes empty again.

The laptop screen dims. In its reflection, I look like I’m already somewhere else – tired, broke, and halfway gone.

I push the laptop shut and sit back. My eyes ache from staring at rental ads, tiny rooms, impossible numbers.

On the desk beside me lies the acceptance letter – Kaufmännische Ausbildung, Berlin. When it arrived a month back, I’d read it three times just to believe it was real. A three-year program with one of the biggest retail chains in Germany. Study plus on-the-job training. A future. Even pays 850 Euros per month. Not bad for a 21-year-old.

Two years of late-night lessons, grammar drills, and awkward Zoom conversations in German – finally worth it. The language that once sounded impossible is now my ticket out.

For a few weeks I’d floated on that feeling, convinced everything was finally lining up.

Back then, €850 a month had sounded fine. “Enough to live on,” someone online had written. They’d skipped the part about rent in Berlin.

I grab a notepad and start doing the math again.

850 gross minus taxes, health insurance, pension – that leaves around 730 net.

Transport, groceries, basic phone plan, maybe 325 or 350 if I live like a monk.

So… around 350 for rent. Maybe 400 if I don’t eat out. I circle the number. It looks smaller every time.

Tulsa rent never felt cheap, but Berlin makes it look like paradise. Everyone here kept telling me I’d love Germany – safer, cleaner, great social system. They forgot to mention “no apartments left.”

One week to find a place or I’ll be landing with nowhere to sleep. I imagine walking out of the airport, dragging my suitcase past people who actually know where they’re going. The fact that I still don’t have a place to live hits me like a stone.

I scbang together dinner from what’s left in the fridge – half a packet of instant noodles, one egg, a splash of soy sauce. It tastes mostly like salt and panic.

Afterward I step outside. The Tulsa night is warm and empty, a single streetlamp buzzing above the sidewalk. I walk a few blocks, thinking – or maybe praying – that something will work out, that Berlin will somehow open a door for me.

When I get back, the apartment is silent. I open the laptop again, just to check. No new listings.

I shut it down and stare at the dark screen until my reflection blurs, then crawl into bed, still counting euros in my head.

***

The ringtone drags me out of sleep. Mom’s name glows on the screen.

“Morning, sweetheart. Any luck?”

I rub my eyes, sit up. “Not yet,” I say, my voice still rough.

A pause. I can hear the clatter of her coffee mug somewhere on the other end. “You’ve been looking every day, right? You can’t fly over there without a place lined up.”

“I know, Mom. Something will come up.”

I say it gently, the way you talk to calm a worried parent, not because I believe it.

When the call ends, the room feels smaller. Morning light pushes through the blinds; my suitcase sits half-open by the wall. I open the laptop again, more out of habit than hope.

The page loads.

New listing.

I blink once to make sure I’m not imagining it.

400 euros. Almost the far edge of what I can pay, but technically within reach.

My heart kicks as I open the page, afraid it’ll vanish before I can even read the details.

The ad looks ordinary at first – a couple of photos, bright daylight pouring into neat rooms, pale wood floors, white walls, plants by the window.

Two-bedroom apartment in central Berlin, close to public transport and shops. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, plus a small study currently used as a guest room – available for rent.

Four hundred euros a month.

Warm rent, it says – all extra costs included.

I scroll down, reading the usual German house rules I’ve learned by heart from every other listing:

no noise between ten p.m. and six a.m.,

no smoking in the apartment,

no pets,

separate the trash,

keep the stairwell clean,

be considerate of the neighbors.

Nothing strange.

Nothing impossible.

For once, something that might actually work.

My training place is only twenty minutes away by train – practically next door compared to everything else I’ve seen.

For the first time in days, I feel something close to hope.

Then I notice there’s more text under Additional notes.

I scroll down.

Two female tenants already living there, looking for a third person to share the rent. Non-smokers, both working, friendly atmosphere, shared cleaning schedule.

The next line catches my eye:

Ideally female (but open-minded male welcome). Must be respectful of household routines.

Fair enough.

Next line:

Household harmony is important to us – we value cleanliness, order, and a pleasant appearance at home.

I read it twice. Pleasant appearance? That’s a new one.

I tell myself it’s fine. It’s affordable, close to work, and available now – three things I haven’t seen in one listing before.

Still, something about pleasant appearance sticks in my head as I scroll back to the photos.

Everything looks spotless. Minimalist. Almost staged.

I hover over the Contact button, feeling my heartbeat in my fingertips. I click it and the little form pops up.

For a minute I just stare at it, wondering what to write. Most people probably paste something generic – Hi, I’m interested, is the room still available? But the listing had that line about household harmony and pleasant appearance. I don’t want to sound careless.

So I type:

Hello, my name is Ethan. I’m moving to Berlin next week to start an Ausbildung in retail. I’m tidy, quiet, non-smoker, and very respectful of shared spaces and routines. I’d be happy to follow any house rules you have. Thank you for considering me.

I read it twice, trying to decide if it sounds desperate or polite, then hit Send.

The screen refreshes and a small line appears under the ad: 4 people have already applied.

I let out a low whistle.

So fast.

By tonight it’ll probably be twenty.

What chance do I have?

I close the laptop, wash my face, throw on a T-shirt, and make instant coffee and toast. The day feels slow, heavy, like it’s waiting for something that won’t happen.

After breakfast I check again – nothing.

No new message.

No new listings.

Just the same map, the same empty hope.

The day crawls, one slow minute at a time.

I refresh the rental site every few minutes, and get the same nothing each time. By afternoon I’ve given up pretending to be productive. I watch random YouTube videos, scroll through forums about moving to Germany, even start a list of things I’ll need to buy once I’m there. It’s short – because I can afford almost nothing.

When night finally comes, I open the laptop one last time before bed.

And there it is.

A new message.

My stomach drops as I click it open.

Dear Ethan,

Thank you for your application and for taking the time to read our terms carefully. It’s good to know you’re comfortable with them.

As mentioned, two female tenants already live in the apartment. To be sure everyone feels at ease, we begin with a limited three-month contract. After that, based on feedback from the other tenants, we’ll decide whether to extend your stay.

If this arrangement sounds agreeable, please find the rental agreement attached. Once signed, kindly return a copy and transfer the first month’s rent along with the €800 deposit to the account listed below.

Kind regards,

– Claudia Bergmann

I read it twice, afraid the words will disappear.

Three-month trial. Feedback. Sure, a little unusual, but fair enough – they don’t know me.

I can’t stop grinning at the screen. For a second I just sit there, rereading the message like it might vanish if I blink too long. After days of rejection and silence, somebody finally said yes.

I download the attachment and read it. It’s exactly what the email described: the usual rental conditions, the same rules listed online, and the three-month clause written in plain German and English. Nothing shady. Nothing hidden.

I print it, sign where it says Tenant, take a photo with my phone, and email it back before I can overthink. Then I open my banking app. The rent plus deposit – twelve hundred euros total – nearly empties my account, but I press Send anyway. Better poor and housed than broke and homeless.

The confirmation pops up. Done.

I actually jump up from the chair and let out a short laugh. “Finally!”

My voice bounces off the walls.

I pace the room, smiling like an idiot. Three months – okay, it’s temporary, but it’s something. A real place, in a good area, close to work. If I behave, if I fit in, they’ll extend it. I’ll make sure they do.

I glance at the flight details pinned to the corkboard. Six days left.

For the first time, Berlin doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. It feels real – and waiting.

Still, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers about those household rules, that line about “pleasant appearance.”

I shake it off. Every shared flat has its quirks.

Right now, I just have a home.



Chapter 2: The Condition

The train slides into the station just after noon. For a moment I stay in my seat, watching people rush out before me, coats brushing past, backpacks swinging. Berlin, finally.

Outside, the air feels cleaner, sharper, colder than Tulsa’s – even though it’s already the end of March. Everyone moves fast and looks like they know exactly where they’re going. I try to keep up, suitcase bumping behind me as announcements echo in German.

The first thing I notice is the different kind of noise – no horns or pickup trucks, just trams sliding past and snippets of half-heard conversations. The second is how people seem to move with purpose – bikes everywhere, lots of people walking, even escalators with an unspoken rule about which side to stand on.

I find the right U-Bahn line and double-check the stop on my phone. Twenty-five minutes, two changes. The map looks simple enough; I still manage to take the wrong exit once.

When I finally surface at my station, the street feels narrower than I expect – old buildings with high windows and pastel facades, little cafés wedged between them. Somewhere down the block, the address from the rental agreement waits.

Dragging my suitcase along the cobblestones, I feel a strange mix of exhaustion and relief. After weeks of screens and numbers and doubt, I’m here.

At the corner I spot the building: four stories, pale yellow paint, ivy climbing one side. The kind of place that looks ordinary until you remember it’s yours.

I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and roll my suitcase toward the door.

The front door is heavier than it looks. I pull it open and step into a narrow hallway. Rows of mailboxes line one wall, each with a different name. Mine isn’t there yet. The floor tiles are worn but shiny, and someone’s left a small umbrella stand near the entrance, pale pink with daisies on it.

I drag my suitcase toward the stairs. The wheels rattle on the stone steps, echoing up through the stairwell. Every landing has a tall window; potted plants sit on the sills, catching the weak early-spring light.

My arms ache by the time I reach the third floor. This is it. I stop to catch my breath.

The door in front of me is painted white. A small welcome mat lies in front of it, patterned with pastel stripes. There’s even a little sign that says Home is where the heart is.

I smile despite myself. It looks… nice. Nicer than I expected for four hundred euros.

I set my suitcase down, wipe my palms on my jeans, and press the buzzer. Somewhere inside, a bell rings.

The door opens after a few seconds.

Two women stand there.

The first looks around twenty-five: a little taller, dark-blond hair tied back neatly, grey eyes sharp in a way that suggests she misses nothing.

The second looks a couple of years younger, with chestnut-brown hair in a loose ponytail and bright green eyes that brighten her whole face. She has that soft, natural beauty that’s impossible not to notice.

“You must be Ethan,” the taller one says. Her accent’s German but light. “I’m Sophie.”

The other waves. “And I’m Mia. Hi.” Her voice has that warm London edge that makes everything sound friendly.

“Hi,” I manage, suddenly aware that I’ve probably been staring.

They both look effortlessly put-together and beautiful – simple clothes, neat, like people who know how to live properly. Behind them, the hallway glows with pale light and smells faintly of perfume and something floral, maybe fabric softener.

“Come in,” Sophie says, stepping aside. “You must be tired from the trip.”

I pull my suitcase inside and close the door. The flat feels bright, warmer than I expected, quiet except for the soft hum of something baking in the oven.

“This is the living room,” Mia says, leading the way.

The moment I step in, I can tell it’s a woman’s space. Pastel cushions, candles, plants, framed quotes on the wall. Even the blanket dbangd over the couch looks like it’s been folded with intent.

“It’s… nice,” I say, trying not to sound surprised.

They laugh softly and exchange a quick glance.

“We actually asked Claudia for a female tenant. Someone who’d… blend with the vibe here,” Sophie says.

Mia nods. “Yeah. But I guess no female wanted the tiny study room. So…” She gestures lightly toward me, teasing. “We got you.”

They both laugh softly, not unkindly.

Mia turns back to me, gentler this time. “Don’t stress about it. It’s only three months. You’ll settle in with us, or if it doesn’t work, you can always find another place. No pressure.”

Her tone is light, but it lands somewhere between a joke and a rule.

I nod, smiling even though my stomach tightens.

No pressure? They have no idea how hard it was to find any place.

Mia leads me through the hallway, and the scent follows us, that same soft floral smell mixed with something sweet, like vanilla.

The whole place looks like a lifestyle photo: pale wood floors, white walls, plants in every corner, and those little decorative things that seem to appear only in women’s apartments – tiny candles, framed postcards, a jar filled with seashells.

Even the kitchen feels more like a café than a kitchen. Matching cups hanging in a row, pastel dish towels, a bowl of fruit arranged like a painting. The air smells faintly of coffee and something baking.

“We try to keep everything light,” Sophie says. “Clean, calm, you know.”

“Yeah,” I say, pretending I do.

They open one door after another – two bedrooms, one on each side of the corridor. Both are tidy, bright, full of small touches: perfume bottles, scarves, notebooks, the kind of organized chaos that looks effortless.

“This one’s mine,” Mia says, nudging the door closed again with her foot. “Sophie’s is that one.”

Then she points to a smaller door at the end of the hall.

“And that’s yours.”

I step inside.

It’s barely big enough for a single bed, a small desk, and a narrow wardrobe. The ceiling feels lower, maybe because of how close everything is.

The bedspread is pink with a simple pattern, probably leftover from when this was a guest room.

A tiny window faces the courtyard; light filters through a white curtain that smells faintly of detergent.

“Where am I supposed to keep my clothes?” I ask, half laughing.

Sophie smiles politely. “You really shouldn’t keep too many things. There’s really no room here. And we like to keep the shared areas uncluttered. Personal things stay in personal rooms.”

“Right,” I say, still smiling, but inside I’m already worrying where to put my things. I don’t own much, yet the room feels too small even for what I have.

I roll my suitcase to the corner and look around again. It’s small, sure. But it’s mine.

“Come, let’s have some tea,” Mia says.

She puts the kettle on while Sophie clears a couple of mugs from the counter. I stand there, unsure whether to help or get out of the way.

“Sit,” Sophie says, nodding toward a stool. “You’ve had a long trip.”

The kitchen fills with the soft sound of boiling water and the faint scent of mint tea.

“So, Ausbildung in retail, right?” Mia asks. “Where exactly?”

“Near Alexanderplatz,” I say. “Starts tomorrow.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Central Berlin. Lucky.”

“I guess so. It’s a three-year thing, so… I’ll be around for a while.”

Sophie smiles slightly. “That’ll depend on how well you fit in here. The agreement’s initially only for three months, remember.”

They exchange a quick look I can’t quite read.

I nod quickly, pretending it’s just a casual comment, but something in her tone makes it sound more like a test than a reminder.

Then Mia changes the subject.

“Claudia told us you’re from the States. Where about?”

“Oklahoma. Tulsa.”

“That’s… the middle, right?” Mia grins. “Cowboys and wide open spaces?”

“Pretty much. And not many trams.”

She laughs.

When the kettle clicks off, Mia pours three cups and slides one toward me.

“Welcome to Berlin,” she says.

“Thanks.” I take a sip. It’s hot and sweet and tastes oddly like relief.

The three of us talk for a while – small things: where they work, how long they’ve lived together, the best bakeries nearby. Sophie’s been with her company for two years, something to do with logistics. Mia’s a designer, just started a new job.

They’re friendly, warm, even funny. Still, under it all, I feel a quiet pressure – the sense that I’ve just joined a world already running on rules I don’t know yet.

When we finish the tea, Sophie checks the time. “We’ll let you unpack. We both need to get back to work.”

“Sure,” I say. “Thanks again for letting me move in.”

“No problem,” Mia says with a grin.

They leave me in the little hallway, mug still warm in my hands. For a second I just stand there, listening to their doors close, wondering which rules I’ll have to learn next.

The flat goes quiet after their doors click shut.

I carry my mug to the sink, rinse it, and leave it upside down on the rack, copying how they’d done it earlier. Then I retreat to my room.

The little space looks even smaller now that my suitcase is open. I fold the few clothes I own: two pairs of jeans, a few shirts, my underwear. I stack them neatly in the narrow wardrobe. It fills almost instantly.

I try to hang my jacket, but the rail is so short it barely fits. I laugh quietly. “Guess that’s everything.”

Through the wall I can hear faint movement – drawers closing, the creak of floorboards, soft music. Somehow the whole apartment smells like fabric softener again. It’s comforting and strange at the same time.

I sit on the bed and glance around. The curtain moves slightly with the draft, brushing the windowsill. A framed print of flowers hangs above the desk. I wonder if it’s theirs or if Claudia left it there.

For the first time since leaving Tulsa, I let myself relax. My body sinks into the thin mattress, my head buzzing from exhaustion and too many new things.

I scroll through my phone, check messages from Mom, type a quick one back: Made it. Place looks nice. Room’s small but fine. Don’t worry.

She replies almost immediately: So proud of you. Take care, sweetheart.

I smile at the screen.
It’s only late-afternoon, but the jet lag makes it feel later. I stare at the ceiling, the faint scent of perfume in the air, and think: three months. That’s all I need to prove I can fit in.

[Thunder85]

Chapter 3: Under Their Rules


It’s late evening by the time I get out of bed. I’m on my way to the bathroom when a door opens and a wave of steam spills into the hallway.
Mia steps out, towel wrapped around her hair, another knotted loosely between her breasts, the swell of them pressing against the damp cloth. A single droplet slides from her collarbone, down the soft rise of one breast, vanishing into the knot. I don’t know where to look, caught between shock and an unexpected sense of awe. Her skin glows faintly pink from the heat, a few damp strands of hair sticking to her neck. In that moment, I can't help but realize just how striking Mia truly is.
For a second we just stand there, and my heart races. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the air, the floral scent lingering as if it’s wrapping around me, drawing me closer.
She laughs softly, adjusting the towel. “Oh – hey. Didn’t expect to bump into you already.”
“Sorry!” I blurt out.
For a second we just stand there, the narrow hallway filled with warmth and scent. Then she smiles, slips past me, and disappears into her room.
The door clicks shut, but the scent lingers – soft, clean, impossible to ignore. I shake off the moment and step into the bathroom. The mirror’s fogged, the air still warm. I take a quick shower, trying not to think too much, just letting the water wake me up.
When I’m done, the flat feels quiet again. I grab my jacket and step outside for a walk.
The street’s busier now – soft evening light, cafés filling up, people talking in small groups. A couple walks past laughing, hands tucked into each other’s coats. Two girls ride by on bikes, scarves fluttering. Somewhere down the block, music spills from a bar.
I wander for a while, not really going anywhere. Everyone seems to belong somewhere; I’m the only one just passing through.
When I get back, the smell of food hits me before I even open the door. Something warm and garlicky. Sophie and Mia are at the table, plates already set.
“Hey,” Mia says, looking up. “We made extra. You can join us if you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Sophie says. “You’re part of the flat now.”
I smile, take the empty chair, and sit down.
We eat quietly for a while, the clatter of cutlery filling the gaps between small talk. The food’s simple – pasta, vegetables, something with garlic – but it’s comforting, a reminder that I’m not alone in this new place.
Halfway through, Sophie sets her fork down. “You’ll learn how we live with time,” she says, voice calm and even. “We can’t list everything tonight. But there are a few basics you should know as you start.”
She looks at Mia, then at me. “The first one’s the bathroom.”
“There’s only one,” Mia adds. “And we all start early.”
Sophie nods. “I’m usually in there around six-thirty. Mia and I mostly use it together to save time – one brushing, one showering. It works for us.”
I nod slowly, not sure what to say.
Sophie continues, “But that won’t really work with you. That’s why we wanted a female tenant. We needed someone who can fit into our routine, to keep things running smoothly. Anyways, let’s do this: we’ll be done by about seven-fifteen. You can have it after that.”
“Yeah, that should be fine,” I say quickly.
“Good.” She smiles, polite but firm.
Mia glances at the small laundry rack by the window. “Oh, before I forget. Laundry.”
I look up. “Laundry?”
She nods. “We only have one machine, so we share the cycles. It keeps things simple.”
Sophie adds, “Three loads a week. Monday is delicates, Wednesday whites, Friday colors. One of us takes responsibility for each day – loads it, runs it, hangs it.”
Mia grins. “We’ll rotate, but it’s probably best if you take the delicates day next round. We’d rather not handle your “stuff”.”
“Sure,” I say quickly. “Whatever works.”
Sophie gives a small approving nod. “Good. It’s not a big deal, just about keeping things organized.”
Once we finish eating, they move on to stacking plates and wiping the counter, and I stand there for a second, wondering how many more rules I haven’t heard yet.
When the dishes are done, Mia leans against the counter. “Okay, next thing. Food.”
I brace myself, half-smiling. “There are rules for that too?”
She laughs. “Not rules, just logic. The kitchen’s small. If all three of us start cooking separate meals, it turns into chaos.”
Sophie nods. “So we take turns. Whoever cooks, cooks for everyone. The others clean up.”
“That sounds fair,” I say. “I can cook a bit.”
Mia smiles. “Good. Then we’ll expect something American when it’s your turn.”
I grin. “Mac and cheese it is.”
They both laugh, the atmosphere lighter again. For a moment, it feels like a normal shared flat – three people figuring things out. But underneath, there’s still that quiet awareness: I’m the one adjusting to them, not the other way around.
“Oh, one more thing,” Sophie adds. “The keys.”
I pause. “Keys?”
“The flat currently has only two sets,” Sophie explains. “Claudia says she’ll get a third soon, but until then, you’ll need to adjust.”
She continues , “We work from home a few days a week, so one of us is usually at home during the day. But you’ll have to be home by ten. After that we do not like to be disturbed.”
I blink. “Ten?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Sophie says evenly. “You start early anyways.”
Mia smiles, almost apologetic. “Berlin nightlife will have to wait, okay?”
I laugh a little, though it feels like the only right answer. “Sure. No problem. It’s temporary.”
Sophie nods, satisfied. “Good. Then we’re settled.”
The conversation drifts back to lighter topics, but I keep hearing her voice in my head.
You’ll have to be home by ten.

I can’t help but wonder what else lies ahead in this new living arrangement.


Chapter 4: A Strange Comfort

The alarm goes off at six-thirty, and for a moment I forget where I am. Then I hear the sound of water running – the shower, voices, a hairdryer. Right. The bathroom.
I wait, half dressed, checking the time every few minutes. Seven-ten. Seven-fifteen. I grab my towel and step into the hallway just as the door opens.
Sophie comes out, wrapped in a towel that clings to her curves, accentuating her tall, graceful figure. Her dark-blonde hair is damp and tousled, framing her face beautifully. She looks effortlessly elegant.
“All yours,” she says easily, walking past me.
I nod, trying to sound awake. “Thanks.”
I can’t help but feel a rush of luck at sharing a flat with two young, beautiful women. Not everyone gets that chance, and here I am, caught in a moment that feels almost surreal.
Inside, the mirror’s fogged, the air warm and sweet with the smell of shampoo. I have twenty minutes before I have to leave. I brush, shave, shower faster than I ever have in my life, nearly slipping twice.
By the time I’m dressed, it’s already seven-thirty-five. No time for breakfast.
I grab my bag, jog down the stairs, and step out into the sharp morning air. The street’s quiet except for the sound of trams. I half jog, half walk to the station, catch the U-Bahn with seconds to spare, and finally sink into a seat, heart still racing.
I reach the training center at exactly eight, breathless, the automatic doors sliding open just as the clock above them flips from 7:59. A small victory.
Inside, the place smells faintly of polished floors, fresh paper, and coffee. Rows of lockers line one wall, and a long corridor stretches ahead, covered in posters of smiling employees in bright uniforms, all promising a future that suddenly feels very close. A sign points to Ausbildung Seminarraum 3.
When I step in, nearly everyone’s already there, maybe twenty people. Most of them German, chatting in fast bursts I can half follow, but there are others too: a girl from Turkey, a guy from Poland, someone from Ghana. I catch a few English words here and there, enough to feel less alone.
A woman at the front – mid-forties, confident smile – claps her hands. “Guten Morgen zusammen!” The group answers in unison. I join in half a second late, but no one notices.
She introduces herself as Frau Schneider, the instructor, and starts explaining how the first week will work: safety briefing, store orientation, scheduling. It’s a lot, but her voice is warm, and for the first time in days, I stop thinking about money, rent, or other problems.
During the short break, a tall guy named Leon offers me coffee. “First day?” he asks in English.
“Yeah. You too?”
He nods. “Same. Don’t worry, it gets easier.”
We laugh, and it feels good – normal.
By the end of the day, my head’s spinning with rules, names, and German phrases, but I’m smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt part of something.
The first day ends around four. Frau Schneider thanks everyone, hands out a small folder with our weekly schedule, and wishes us a “schönen Feierabend.”
No one leaves right away. People hang back, chatting in little groups. Leon waves me over, and soon I’m standing with him, the girl from Turkey named Ayla, and a guy named Jonas from Hamburg.
We talk about where we’re all from, which stores we’ll be placed in, how confusing the German paperwork was. Someone jokes about the free uniform shirts being two sizes too big for everyone. It feels easy. The kind of conversation that fills silence without effort.
By the time I finally leave, it’s close to five. The air outside has that late-afternoon glow, the city humming softly. I walk for a bit instead of going straight to the U-Bahn. As I walk, I watch cyclists stream past, people heading home, the sound of trams and laughter from cafés. Berlin feels huge and alive, and I’m excited to be a part of it.
The U-Bahn is crowded, warm, the metal poles sticky from too many hands. I ride seven stops, then step out near home. The walk back is quiet. Lights in the windows, the air cooler now.
When I reach the flat, I pat my pockets before I even realize what I’m doing.
No key.
For a second I just stand there, hand hovering over the handle like it might magically open. Then I press the doorbell.
It rings once, sharp in the quiet hallway. A few seconds later, the door clicks and opens. Sophie stands there, hair tied back, jacket on, keys in hand.
“Oh,” she says, surprised but smiling. “You came just in time. Mia’s still at the office, and I was about to head out.”
“Lucky me,” I say, stepping inside. “What would’ve happened if I’d missed you?”
She shrugs lightly. “Then you’d have to wait, or give one of us a call. If we’re nearby, you can meet us and pick up the key. There’s no other way for now.”
I nod, trying to keep my tone casual. “Right.”
She slips her shoes on. “It’s only temporary. Claudia will sort it out soon.”
“Sure,” I say, but it still feels strange, like even coming home isn’t completely mine anymore.
She nods and continues. “Oh, and before I forget, it’s laundry day. We’ve already put our delicates in the machine. You just need to add yours and start the cycle.”
“Got it.”
“Good. See you later, Ethan.”
“Yeah. See you.”
She smiles quickly and leaves, locking the door behind her.
The flat feels suddenly quiet. I drop my bag, grab the small pile of underwear I have – just from the last two days – and add them to the machine. I press start, listening to the hum fill the silence.
For a moment I wonder about the rest of my clothes – the shirts, the jeans. I don’t have many. Cleaning them only once a week will be tight, but I’ll figure it out.
I always do.
***
It’s getting dark when I hear the door unlock.
Mia steps in, shaking the cold off her coat. “Hey,” she says, dropping her bag by the wall. “What’s for dinner?”
I blink from the couch. “Dinner?”
She glances at the kitchen, then back at me. “Yeah. It’s your night, right?”
“Oh – uh, I didn’t know it was my turn today. Sorry.”
Her expression softens, but there’s still a trace of disapproval. “No big deal. Just throw something together. Pasta, maybe? There’s sauce in the cupboard.”
“Okay.”
I move to the kitchen, open cupboards that feel unfamiliar. The shelves are lined with neat jars, labelled in German. I find the pasta, fill a pot, try to look confident.
Mia’s already changed, wearing a relaxed tank top that dbangs over her figure, highlighting her slim waist and gently defined shoulders. The fabric is soft and casual, revealing a small glimpse of her midriff, and her shorts sit low on her hips, showing off her legs and the subtle curve of her thighs.
She scrolls through her phone at the table, completely at ease, and the sight hits me harder than I expect – a sudden rush of admiration and something warm, almost electric, tightening in my chest.
I look away quickly before she notices me staring. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable. They didn’t want a guy in this flat to begin with, and if I give them even one reason to feel uneasy, I’ll be out the moment these three months are over.
By the time the pasta’s boiling, the washing machine clicks off and falls silent. I’m stirring the sauce when Mia looks up from her phone.
“That’s your cue,” she says. “Go ahead and hang the laundry before it wrinkles.”
I wipe my hands and open the washer. The clothes are still damp. Mia comes over, carrying a folding rack from the corner.
“Here,” she says, unfolding it neatly. “Hang them on this. You can’t just pile them; they need air to dry.”
I pull out the delicates, feeling the warmth of the damp fabric in my hands. Among the pieces, I find an array of lingerie that makes my pulse quicken – a colorful assortment that feels both intimate and tantalizing.
I spot a lacy black thong with delicate straps, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Embarrassment washes over me as Mia teaches me how to smooth it flat before dbanging it over the bars, her casual demeanor only heightening my awareness of the moment.
Next, I pick up a soft pink bra with invitingly curved cups, its lace trim adding an alluring touch. A deep purple bralette lies nestled in the pile, its sheer material teasingly hinting at what it hides beneath. I also find a set of matching emerald green panties, the fabric slipping through my fingers like silk and igniting a rush of conflicting emotions.
As I hang each piece on the rack, my heart races with an awareness I can’t ignore. The intimate nature of the garments heightens my senses, stirring a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. The thought of these delicate items belonging to either of my flatmates makes me acutely aware of their femininity, and I can’t help but wonder about the moments they might wear them.
I try to focus on the task at hand, but the sight of the lingerie sparks an unwanted heat in me, making it hard to concentrate. There’s something thrilling about being so close to their private lives, and a heat creeps up my cheeks as I hang the last piece, caught in the tension of this new reality.
I’m taken aback by how at ease Mia is with me handling their most intimate belongings, casually guiding me through the process as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
When we’re done, she steps back to check. “Good. It’ll dry by morning. Just don’t open the window tonight, it’s too cold.”
“Got it.”
She gives a quick approving smile, then goes back to the table.
I glance at the rack once more, my simple underwear mixed in with their delicate bras and panties, an intimate collection that feels strangely personal.
By the time the laundry’s done and the pasta’s ready, the flat smells warm again – tomato sauce, detergent, and a hint of something floral from the drying rack.
The door opens, and Sophie steps in, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Smells good,” she says, setting down her bag. “I see you survived your first cooking turn.”
Mia grins. “Barely. But he managed.”
I laugh, handing them plates. “I can handle pasta. Anything more complicated, we’ll see.”
We sit at the small table, and for a while it feels easy. They ask about my first day – how the people were, what the training was like, whether I liked the place.
I tell them about Leon, about the instructor, about getting lost in the building once and pretending I meant to be there. They laugh at that.
It’s comfortable – real conversation, not small talk.
And yet, under it, there’s that same careful rhythm: Sophie pouring water for everyone before herself, Mia wiping the counter as we eat, both of them moving in quiet sync.
They’re kind, and even playful, but underneath it all there’s a strict precision. Everything has a place, and they make sure it stays there.
When we finish, Mia stacks the plates. “Tomorrow’s my cooking day,” she says. “You can relax.”
“Good,” I say, smiling. “I’ll need it.”
They both smile back, and for a second I almost forget the locked door, the schedule, the curfew.
Almost.

[Thunder85]

Chapter 5: Learning Their Ways
The alarm rings at six-thirty. For a few seconds, I lie there hoping maybe, just maybe, the bathroom’s free early today.
It isn’t.
Water’s running, hairdryers hum, and above it all I can hear voices – Sophie and Mia laughing about something, words blurred by the door.
I check my phone: 6:47.
The laughter doesn’t stop. A drawer slams, more chatter, the sound of the shower starting again.
By the time the door finally opens, it’s 7:15. Sophie comes out in a towel, smiling like the morning’s just begun. “All yours,” she says cheerfully.
I mumble thanks and rush in. The mirror’s fogged, everything still warm. I brush, shave, and shower in record time. By the time I finish, the clock reads 7:35.
No breakfast again.
When I step outside, the air bites at my face. I jog to the station, half awake, stomach hollow. On the train, the smell of coffee from the person next to me feels like torture.
I tell myself I’ll grab something on the way tomorrow, but even as I think it, I know I won’t have time. Not that I can afford breakfast on the go every day.
Something has to change.
By the time I reach the training center, the tiredness from rushing out without breakfast has faded a bit. Frau Schneider’s already there, setting up a small display about product labels.
I take my usual seat near the back. A minute later someone drops into the chair beside me, blonde hair tied back, her expression open and curious as she settles into the seat.
“I’m Lisa,” she says. “From Austria.”
“Ethan,” I reply. “From the U.S.”
She laughs softly. “That explains the accent.”
The session starts, but we whisper every so often – small things: how fast Frau Schneider talks, how many new codes we have to memorize.
At break time we end up walking to the vending machines together. Lisa buys two coffees and hands me one without asking.
“Thanks,” I say, surprised.
“You look like you need it.”
We sit on the steps outside, paper cups warm in our hands, watching people cross the courtyard. She tells me she moved to Berlin last year, that the dialect still throws her off sometimes. I tell her about my flat, the early mornings, the strange new rhythm of everything.
She smiles. “It’ll settle. Berlin always feels like too much at first.”
When the bell rings, we go back inside, side by side. Somehow, her company makes everything feel easier.
When I get back that evening, the flat smells of popcorn and something sweet. The living-room light is soft, curtains drawn, a blanket already spread across the couch.
Mia waves from the sofa. “You’re just in time. Movie night.”
I drop my bag. “Movie night?”
Sophie nods, and pats the empty spot between them. “Come on, sit.”
I sink into the couch, wedged between them. The screen glows blue across their faces as the opening credits roll. Mia passes me a bowl of popcorn; our fingers brush, and something electric shoots up my arm. She doesn't seem to notice.
They start talking over the film – little comments in German that I half understand. Sophie's perfume drifts toward me each time she laughs, something floral and expensive. Mia's knee touches mine beneath the blanket, casual and unconscious. I'm hyperaware of every point of contact while they chat across me as if I'm not even there.
In the dark, Sophie leans forward, her breast brushing my arm as she reaches for her drink. Mia shifts closer, thigh pressed against mine now, the heat of her seeping through me.
I catch our reflection in the dark window: their faces animated, relaxed; mine flushed, eyes a little too wide. I'm sharing body heat with two women I barely know, breathing their scents, feeling the vibration of their laughter against my skin. For them, it's Tuesday night. For me, it's the most intimate I've been with anyone in months.
And I can’t help thinking how strange it is – living with two women around my age in the middle of Berlin, sharing popcorn, pretending this is normal life.
A part of me feels lucky. Another part isn’t sure what exactly I’ve stepped into.
The credits roll and Mia stretches. “That was longer than I thought. I’ll fix something quick for dinner.”
She disappears into the kitchen, clattering pans. Sophie lowers the volume on the TV, still half-watching the behind-the-scenes reel. I help set the table, trying to guess where everything goes.
Mia ends up making simple sandwiches and a salad. We eat while talking about the film, the laughter coming easily again. Then Sophie wipes her hands on a towel and turns to me.
“Okay, Ethan. Your turn. Let’s see how you handle cleanup.”
I grin. “Sure.”
I start rinsing plates, but she’s beside me almost immediately.
“Not like that. Rinsing first wastes water. Fill the basin, soak, then scrub.”
I nod, adjust, but she’s watching every step.
“The glasses go upside down on the rack. And please, not too much soap; it leaves marks.”
Mia laughs from the table. “She’s impossible, isn’t she?”
Sophie smiles faintly. “Just particular.”
By the time I finish, the kitchen looks spotless, the counters shining. Sophie gives a small approving nod, the same kind a teacher gives after a correct answer.
“Perfect,” she says. “See? You’ll learn fast.”
I smile back, though it feels a bit like passing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
They’re good people, kind even – but every kindness seems to come with a rule attached.
***
The next few days slide into rhythm before I even notice.
Mornings start the same way: the alarm at six-thirty, the muffled laughter from behind the bathroom door, my turn at seven-fifteen. By the time I’m done, there’s barely a minute left. No breakfast, just a rushed sip of water before running out.
The training days are long but good. I learn to greet customers, restock shelves, memorize codes. Frau Schneider nods approvingly when I get things right.
Lisa and I sit together every day now; she always brings me coffee before class, and we talk about little things – music, food, Berlin weather that can’t decide if it’s winter or spring.
By Friday, faces have become familiar, routines automatic. Even the U-Bahn feels less confusing.
At home, the same quiet structure rules the evenings.
By Friday afternoon, as I pack up my things at the training center, it hits me that my first week in Berlin is already over. And that somehow, between the work, the curfews, and the rules, I’ve stopped feeling like a visitor.
When we finish for the day, Lisa leans over as we’re packing up.
“Some of us are going out,” she says. “Just a bar nearby. You should come.”
“Yeah, sure.”
There are five of us – Lisa, Leon, Ayla, Jonas, and me. The place is small and bright, music low enough to talk over. Someone orders a round of drinks; Lisa hands me mine with a grin.
We talk about everything but the training. About Berlin rent, about food we miss from home. Lisa tells a story about losing her wallet on the U-Bahn her first month here; I tell one about learning German idioms the hard way. She laughs, bright and genuine, and for a while everything feels simple.
By the time I leave, the streets are glowing with weekend energy. I’m tired, but it’s the good kind of tired – the one that makes you feel like you belong somewhere.
The flat is quiet when I get home, except for the hum of the washing machine.
I frown, drop my bag. “I didn’t put anything in there.”
Sophie looks up from the couch, laptop open on her knees. “You should have, in the morning. Friday is for colors. You know that.”
“I forgot,” I say quickly. “I was running late this morning.”
She glances over briefly, fingers still resting on the keyboard. “That’s your fault, then. We all plan ahead.”
I hesitate, trying to sound calm. “I don’t have many clothes left. If I can’t wash them tomorrow, I won’t have anything clean for Monday.”
For a moment, she says nothing. Then a small sigh. “Fine. Tomorrow. But just this once, Ethan. Next week, you stick to the schedule.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
She nods, eyes back on the screen. “Good night.”
I head to my room, trying not to make a sound.
The air still hums with the spin cycle, and under it all, the feeling that my life here runs on a clock that isn’t mine.
Chapter 6: Sophie’s Warning
It’s Saturday afternoon, the first real free day since I arrived. I’m stretched out on my bed, scrolling through my phone with no real purpose, enjoying the quiet, when it buzzes.
It’s Lisa:
It’s too nice a day to waste inside. Let’s go out, walk a bit?
I grin before I even finish reading.
We meet near Alexanderplatz, sunlight sliding between the buildings. Berlin looks different when you’re not rushing somewhere – street musicians, the smell of roasted nuts, people spilling out of cafés. We wander aimlessly, talking about nothing and everything.
At a street stall she insists I try Currywurst, and we eat standing by the railing, laughing as the wind keeps blowing napkins away.
We wander for hours without noticing time pass. Lisa is easy to be around. Quick with jokes, unfiltered, the kind of person who makes even standing in line for coffee feel like something worth laughing about. She nudges my shoulder when I say something dumb, rolls her eyes dramatically when I pretend not to know German words she’s already taught me twice, and somehow keeps the conversation moving without either of us trying very hard.
There’s a moment – small, almost nothing – when she leans closer to point at something on a shop window and her arm brushes mine. It’s nothing. Completely normal. But it sends a tiny spark through me anyway, the kind you feel before you can talk yourself out of it. I shove it down quickly. She’s friendly with everyone. That’s all it is.
Still… it’s nice. The warmth of her presence, the ease, the way she listens when I talk about home without rushing the conversation.
For the first time in a week, I’m not thinking about rules, expectations, the flat, or Berlin itself. I’m just… here. With her. And it feels good.
Then I check my phone. 9:32 p.m.
My stomach tightens. “I have to go.”
Lisa looks up, surprised. “Already? It’s Saturday.”
“I just… have to be home by ten.”
She frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. It’s… complicated. We’ll talk later.”
She studies me for a moment, half amused, half confused. “Okay. Text me when you’re back then.”
“I will.”
I give a quick wave, already moving toward the U-Bahn entrance.
By the time I reach my stop, it’s already 10:12. I run the last few blocks, heart thudding, shoes hitting the pavement too loudly. 10:15.
I ring the bell once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.
Finally, the lock clicks. Sophie opens the door.
She isn’t smiling. Her voice is quiet, even, but cold. “You know the rule, Ethan. Ten o’clock.”
“I–”
She raises a hand slightly. “Don’t. We agreed. You were late.”
“I lost track of time. The train–”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Her tone doesn’t change, but the finality in it does. “Go to your room. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I nod once, step past her, and the door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds louder than any slam.
Inside my room, everything looks exactly as before. I sit on the bed, still catching my breath, not sure whether I’m angry, guilty, or both.
She wasn’t wrong – but the way she spoke, like I was a kid who’d broken curfew, sits heavy in my chest.
***
I wake up later than usual the next morning. For a few seconds, I’m warm, comfortable, half-dreaming – then last night comes back.
The cold look on Sophie’s face. The clipped way she’d said we’ll talk tomorrow.
My stomach knots.
I get up, shower, dress, trying to shake it off. The flat is quiet except for faint clinking from the kitchen.
When I step in, Sophie and Mia are already at the table. They both murmur a polite morning, nothing more.
I pour coffee, make toast, add butter and jam just to keep my hands busy. The silence feels heavier than it should.
Sophie looks up. “We need to talk about yesterday.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I shouldn’t have been late. I just–”
“You knew the rule,” she interrupts, voice still calm but sharper than last night. “You agreed to it. And yet you came after ten, woke us up, and acted like it was no big deal.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. I lost track of time.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not the point. Responsibility means planning ahead.”
I glance at Mia, hoping for support, but she just gives a small, uneasy smile and looks away.
Sophie folds her arms. “You realize your extension depends on us, right? Claudia trusts our judgement. And she was not happy when I told her about yesterday.”
That makes me look up. “Wait – you talked to her already?”
“I did,” she says evenly. “I told her what happened. It didn’t make a good impression – on her or on us.”
It feels like the room shrinks. “You told her I was late once and now I might lose the flat?”
She lifts a shoulder. “If this is how you behave, maybe you should start looking for another place. But good luck finding something decent at this price.”
I start to answer, but she’s already reaching for her coffee again, calm, final.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
Sophie looks at me for a long second, then nods. “It had better not. Next time, we’ll handle it differently.”
She doesn’t say what differently means, and I don’t ask.
***
The flat feels calmer after lunch. Sunlight’s slanting through the blinds, soft and lazy. Sophie’s gone out – she said something about needing a walk.
Mia’s at the table, scrolling on her phone. I hover for a second, then sit down opposite her.
“Hey,” I say. “About this morning… I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make things tense.”
She looks up, surprised but not unfriendly. “It’s okay. Sophie just… doesn’t like when people break rules. Especially ones that are clear.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Mia smiles faintly, almost apologetic. “She can be strict, but she’s fair. Most of the time.”
I nod. “I didn’t expect her to get that upset. It felt… a bit much, honestly.”
Mia shrugs lightly. “You made a mistake, Ethan. It’s not the end of the world, but still – she takes this stuff seriously. She thinks rules keep things peaceful.”
I hesitate, then lower my voice a little. “When she said, next time we’ll handle it differently… what did she mean?”
Mia pauses, considering. “Just that she won’t let it slide again.”
“That sounds… vague.”
For a moment, Mia seems to be deciding how much to say.
“She just means,” she says finally, “that if something like this happens again, she’ll make sure you understand why it can’t.”
I frown. “Understand how?”
Mia’s smile returns, small and careful. “Sophie believes people learn better when things are… corrected directly.”
“Corrected?” I repeat, not sure if I should laugh.
“She didn’t tell me what she’d do,” Mia says. “But when she says someone needs to learn, she usually finds a way.”
I stare at her, but she just shrugs, as if it’s obvious.
“It’s better not to test her, Ethan. Trust me.”

[Thunder85]

Chapter 7: Shaped by Them
The next week slips by without any trouble.
After Sophie’s warning, I make sure there’s nothing to complain about. I’m up on time every morning. I wait for my turn to use the bathroom, wash the dishes, and make sure I’m home before ten. No lectures from them, no cold looks – just quiet routines and the soft hum of normal life.
Training goes well. I’m getting used to the rhythm: early start, steady work, friendly colleagues. Frau Schneider actually smiled at me on Wednesday – a small miracle.
And Lisa… we’ve been talking more. Messages, coffee after class once or twice. She’s funny, pretty, and easy to be around, the kind of person who makes the day feel lighter without even trying.
When I mentioned that I have to return by 10 every day since I don’t have keys to my apartment yet, she found it strange but funny. “People agree to weird conditions to live in a decent apartment in Berlin,” she said, shaking her head.
By Friday evening, I’m walking home feeling like maybe things are finally balancing out. The flat’s calm, the training’s steady, and even Berlin’s grey weather doesn’t bother me anymore. For the first time since I arrived, I start to believe this might actually work.
Saturday starts quietly. I wake up without an alarm for once, make coffee, toast, and sit by the window while the flat’s still half-asleep. The morning light feels soft, almost peaceful.
I’ve just finished eating when I hear footsteps. Mia appears in the doorway, her usual smile faint but polite.
“Ethan, could you come to the living room for a moment? Sophie and I want to talk to you.”
Something in the way she says it makes my stomach tighten. “Is something wrong?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, no. Nothing bad. Just… come.”
That just come doesn’t help.
I follow her into the living room. Sophie’s already there, sitting upright on the couch, a mug of tea balanced perfectly on the coaster in front of her. She looks composed, serious, the kind of calm that makes me straighten up without thinking.
“Have a seat,” she says.
I sit.
Sophie folds her hands. “So – you’ve been here for about two weeks now. Claudia asked us to give her some feedback. About how you’re fitting in, how things are working in the flat, that sort of thing.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
“We thought before we respond,” she continues, “we should talk to you first. Tell you what’s going well, what’s… less so. And hear your thoughts.”
Mia gives a small, reassuring nod beside her, but Sophie doesn’t break eye contact.
“Because, ultimately,” she says, “our feedback will determine whether your contract is extended or not.”
The way she says our feedback settles like a weight in my chest.
Sophie leans back a little, studying me as if she’s deciding where to start.
“Overall,” she says finally, “you’re better than we initially thought. You’re trying to adjust, and even though there’s a long way to go, it’s clear you’re making the effort.”
I nod, not sure whether to thank her or just listen.
“The positives,” she continues, “are easy to list. You listen when we ask you to do something. You follow instructions. You’re quiet, considerate, you don’t make unnecessary noise, and you don’t disturb us.”
Her tone isn’t unfriendly, but there’s that measured distance again – like she’s reading from a report.
She turns slightly toward Mia. “Anything to add?”
Mia shakes her head. “No, I think you listed everything right with him.”
Sophie looks back at me, expression unchanged. “Good. Then let’s move on to the things that could be better.”
Sophie glances down at a small notebook on the table, as if she’s made notes beforehand.
“There are two obvious mistakes you’ve made so far,” she says evenly. “One was with the laundry. You forgot to add your clothes on Friday and then ran an extra cycle on Saturday just for yourself. That doesn’t work, Ethan. The system is there for a reason.”
I nod, keeping my voice calm. “Right. I understand.”
“The other,” she goes on, “was the curfew.”
The word makes me blink. Curfew.
It sounds strange – like something for college or a hostel, not a shared apartment – but I let it pass.
“You came home late,” she says, tone still flat, professional almost. “It was only once, but once is enough to test how seriously you take boundaries. But you apologized, and promised it wouldn’t happen again, so we decided to let it go this time. Just remember it won’t be forgiven a second time.”
“I know I messed up,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
Mia glances at me briefly, almost sympathetic, but says nothing.
Sophie flips a page in her notebook. “Some other things aren’t as obvious,” she says. “But they’re still worth mentioning.”
I sit a little straighter. “Okay.”
“It’s about how you live here day-to-day,” she continues. “You wait to be told what to do. When it’s your turn to cook, we have to remind you. You should be taking initiative.”
“I thought we were following a rotation, and I…” I say carefully.
“Yes,” she cuts in, “but that doesn’t mean we should have to prompt you. A good flatmate notices what needs to be done and acts. Not waits for instructions.”
I nod, trying to keep my tone neutral. “You’re right. I’ll pay more attention.”
Mia leans forward slightly. “It’s the same with cleaning,” she adds, her voice gentler but still firm. “We’ve both cleaned the flat since you moved in. You’ve seen us, but you never offered to help.”
“I didn’t want to get in the way,” I say quickly. “You both seemed to have your own system, and I didn’t know where to start.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “You could have asked. Or picked up a cloth. It’s about being invested. Showing you care about the space you live in.”
I press my palms together under the table to stop them fidgeting. “I get that. I’ll be more proactive from now on.”
Mia gives a small smile. “That’s all we want, really. Just try to notice things on your own.”
“Right,” I say quietly. “Got it.”
For a moment, the three of us sit there in a silence that feels too neat, like the conversation’s been practiced.
Sophie glances toward the hallway. “I walked past your room yesterday,” she says. “And saw clothes scattered on your bed. That’s not acceptable.”
My face warms. “Yeah, sorry. I was just–”
“It’s not acceptable,” she cuts in. “We don’t leave things lying around.”
I blink. “Right. I just – there isn’t much space in my wardrobe.”
“Then you need to reduce what you have,” she says simply.
“Reduce?” I repeat, unsure I heard right. “But I already have so little. And since the color wash is only once a week–”
“That doesn’t matter,” Sophie says. “If you don’t have room for your clothes, then you have too many. But leaving them scattered isn’t an option.”
There’s a short pause. Then Mia, in her lighter tone, adds, “Or you could share some of ours. Just for home.”
I blink. “Share… your clothes?”
She shrugs. “Why not? T-shirts, tops, whatever fits. It’s just for around the flat.”
I stare between them, half expecting Sophie to laugh at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, but she only says, “It’s practical. Mia and I share clothes regularly, and now that you’re part of our household, you can do the same as long as it’s clean and you treat it with respect.”
The mere suggestion of wearing women’s clothes leaves me feeling really uncomfortable, something I can't even imagine ever doing. Yet they treat it like a simple favor, as if it’s completely normal to share garments in this way.
“Okay… sure. If it helps,” I say, but I know those are just words. I’m certain under no circumstances will I actually do that.
Sophie folds her hands neatly in her lap. “We also wanted to mention something small, but it matters. The atmosphere here – we work hard to keep it pleasant. Clean air, good smell, a sense of comfort.”
Mia nods. “It’s kind of our rule. No heavy scents, nothing that clashes.”
I frown slightly. “You mean cleaning products?”
“No,” Sophie says. “Your deodorant. Or whatever you use – cologne, aftershave. It’s strong. It stays in the hallway even after you’ve left.”
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t realize. Sorry. I can spray less, maybe.”
“It’s not about less,” she replies. “It just doesn’t blend. It’s too sharp. We both use lighter fragrances, and it’s hard to relax when the whole flat smells like a men’s locker room.”
The way she says it makes my cheeks burn. “Right. Okay. I’ll find something else.”
Mia smiles a little. “You can use ours if you want. We’ve got a few that smell clean and fresh – nothing heavy.”
I stare at her, certain I misheard. “Yours?”
“Why not?” she says lightly. “It’s just perfume. Smells good, that’s all.”
“But your perfume smells like something a woman would use, not a man,” I protest, the thought sending a wave of discomfort through me.
“It’s just a scent,” she insists, her tone light and encouraging. “It’s something that smells good and would actually go well with you. You should give it a try.”
Sophie nods in agreement. “Exactly. It’s not a big deal, Ethan. The important thing is that the flat feels balanced. That’s how we keep the peace here.”
I nod slowly, still trying to imagine myself spraying one of their floral bottles before heading out. “Sure,” I manage. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”
I feel irritation rising as I think about the endless list of flaws they’ve pointed out so far. Many of them don’t even make sense. And it seems like Sophie’s list hasn’t ended yet.
Sure enough, she glances back at her notes. “There’s one last area we need to discuss – appearance.”
“Appearance?” I repeat.
“Yes,” she says. “It was mentioned in the listing that a pleasant appearance is important in this flat. We take that seriously.”
Mia nods. “It’s not about fashion. Just grooming, presentation, how we carry ourselves.”
I sit back a little, uncertain where this is going.
Sophie gestures toward me. “Your hair, for instance. You keep it… messy. It’s very boyish. You could make it softer, neater. Mia can help you with that later if you like.”
I blink. “My hair?”
“Nothing drastic,” Mia says quickly. “Just some styling. It’ll look tidier.”
“And at home you wear those loose T-shirts and shorts,” Sophie adds. “It’s fine, but the leg and arm hair… it’s not exactly pleasant to look at. You might consider removing it.”
I stare at her, sure I misheard again. “You mean… shave my legs?”
She meets my eyes evenly. “Or wax. Whatever works. We just prefer a smooth, clean look. It’s not mandatory, but it would help the overall harmony.”
For a moment, I can’t find a reply. “This is ridiculous. No man I know waxes their legs and arms.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow, her tone calm. “I’m not saying you need to do it today. I’m just saying it would go a long way in showing us you are making an effort to fit in.”
Mia adds gently, “Think of it as blending in – making the atmosphere comfortable for everyone.”
My instinct is to argue, to say this isn’t what renting a room means. But all I can think about is Sophie’s words earlier – our feedback decides. Arguing would only make things worse.
“Alright,” I say finally, voice low. “I’ll… keep that in mind. As long as I don’t have to decide today.”
Sophie closes the notebook with a soft snap. “Alright,” she says. “That’s all from our side for now.”
I exhale, thinking the talk is finally over, but then she adds, “You can go back to your room now. We need to talk to Claudia about the feedback.”
It takes me a second to process that – go back to your room.
The words sound so casual coming from her mouth, but there’s an authority in the way she says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to dismiss me from my own living room.
“Oh,” I say. “Sure.”
Mia gives me a quick smile, almost apologetic, but doesn’t contradict her.
I stand up, unsure whether to say goodbye or just leave. “Okay then. Thanks for the… feedback.”
Sophie nods once, already turning back toward Mia.
As I step into the hallway, the sound of their voices starts again – low, calm, confident – like I was never there at all.
I close my door quietly behind me.
Some of what they said makes sense. Helping more with the housework. Keeping the place clean. Fine. That is normal.
The rest… not so much.
Mia talking about me sharing their clothes. Using their perfume. Waxing. I would never do that. Just hearing it felt ridiculous, like living with them comes with rules about changing who I am. The idea alone makes my face heat.
Although the perfume… that one might actually happen. They said the flat smells too much like “man deodorant,” and I can’t fight that every day. I can’t exactly go without wearing anything. Maybe I can let that one go. The other things, no chance.
My thoughts circle back to the line of Sophie.
You can go back to your room now.
It sits in my chest longer than it should. Quiet. Final. A reminder of where I stand in this house.
I stay in my room most of the afternoon, half scrolling through my phone, half staring at the ceiling. The room feels even smaller today. I think about stepping out, maybe reading in the living room, but the memory of Sophie’s voice – You can go back to your room now – keeps me where I am.
Around one, hunger wins. I step out, hoping the air feels lighter on the other side of the door. Mia’s sitting on the couch with her laptop, hair tied up, a mug beside her. Sophie’s nowhere in sight.
“Hey,” I say. “Is Sophie home?”
“She went out,” Mia answers without looking up. “Groceries, I think.”
I hesitate a second. “Can I ask you something?”
She closes the laptop. “Sure.”
“It’s about what you said earlier. The perfume thing.”
Mia smiles faintly, as if she was expecting that. “You’re not comfortable using ours?”
“It’s just… strange,” I admit. “They smell fine on you, but on me it feels… wrong.”
She shrugs lightly. “This is women’s space, Ethan. The atmosphere matters. Strong masculine scents don’t fit here – they break the balance.”
I let out a small sigh. “And the rest? The hairstyle, the body hair?”
Mia leans back, studying me. “Same idea. It’s not that there’s anything bad with your hairstyle. But it looks… rough. A little unkempt. And the body hair…It just doesn’t suit the energy of this flat. Removing it would make you look cleaner, softer. It’ll make it easier to blend in.”
I look down at my arms, suddenly aware of how the light catches the fine hairs there. “You really think so?”
She nods. “I do. And it’s not a big deal. I can help you with your hair grooming now, if you like – just something simple.”
I hesitate. “Now?”
“Sure,” she says, standing up. “And tomorrow I’m going to the salon for waxing. You could come with me. You’ll feel better after.”
I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin. “I’ll… think about it.”
“Good,” she says with a smile that feels both kind and final. “Come on, sit. Let’s fix that hair first.”
I sit down, feeling a little awkward as she stands behind me, comb in hand. “Your hair’s not bad,” she says, tugging gently through it, “just… directionless. It doesn’t know what it wants to be.”
I laugh softly. “That makes two of us.”
She smiles at that, then works a bit of styling cream between her palms. The scent is light, citrusy.
“Look up.”
I watch her reflection in the mirror as she smooths and shapes, the mess slowly turning into something deliberate – a side part, a little volume, softer around the edges.
“There,” she says finally, brushing a few strands into place. “More Berlin, less backpacker.”
I look at myself. It’s neater, cleaner… almost polished. But it feels strange, like the style is more fitting for a girl than a guy.
“Feels weird,” I admit.
“Only because you’re not used to seeing it like this,” she says. “Give it a day. You’ll like it.”
I nod slowly, unsure. “Maybe.”
Mia steps back, smiling. “Trust me. You look much better now.”
She studies me again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You know… if you let your hair grow out a bit more, it would frame your face better. Something softer. It would really suit you.”
Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it. “Longer than this?”
She nods, perfectly matter-of-fact. “Just enough that it falls a little. It would bring out your features.”
I look away for a second. The thought of my hair brushing my neck, of looking… softer, something closer to theirs, makes my stomach twist. “I don’t know,” I mumble. “That feels… different.”
Mia smiles like she already knows what I’ll say. “Just think about it. I’m telling you, it would look good on you.”
I nod, mostly to end the moment, but the embarrassment sticks. Growing my hair out. Looking softer. A version of me I’m not used to seeing, and not sure I’m ready for.
After dinner I pass the hallway mirror on my way back to my room.
The light catches my hair differently now; the shape Mia gave it still holds. It’s tidy, smoother around the edges.
I pause for a second, tilting my head, trying to decide if I like it.
It doesn’t look bad – just… not me.
It feels a bit too refined, almost as if I’m trying to fit a mold that wasn’t meant for me.
I run my fingers through it, expecting the old mess to fall back into place, but it doesn’t. The style stays.
For a moment I wonder if that’s what she meant – that looking “better” might just mean looking less like myself and more like what they expect.
I switch off the light and go into my room, the faint citrus scent of her styling cream still clinging to my hands.
***
I wake up earlier than usual, sunlight slipping through the blinds.
For a moment I forget where I am. Then I catch sight of the mirror above the desk.
The hair still holds its shape. I stare at it, half expecting to feel amused, but what comes instead is something quieter: curiosity mixed with discomfort.
Mia’s words from yesterday float back – “Give it a day. You’ll like it.”
I pull on a T-shirt and step into the kitchen. The flat smells faintly of coffee and lemon soap.
Mia’s there, tying her hair back, dressed to go out.
“Morning,” she says easily. “I’m heading to the salon. Coming?”
I blink. “You meant it?”
“Of course,” she says, grabbing her bag. “They can fit you in right after me.”
I hesitate, thinking of Sophie, of yesterday’s talk, of how fragile my place here feels. Still, waxing feels like too much.
“Sorry,” I say finally. “I don’t feel comfortable with it. It’s just… too much.”
Mia shrugs lightly. “Alright. But don’t blame me if that lands you in trouble with Sophie.”
Her words hang in the air longer than they should.
Not a joke. Not a threat.
Just a reminder of how this house works.
When she leaves the apartment, the silence she leaves behind feels heavier than before.
I sit on the edge of the chair, staring at my hands, wondering how many more lines I’ll have to cross to stay here… and how many I’m already halfway across without admitting it.
Chapter 8: No More Neutral
Monday morning, I wake at the usual time and go through my routine. After I shower, I reach for my deodorant out of habit, then stop mid-motion, remembering Sophie’s rule: no using my own. It ‘disrupts the scent balance of the house,’ as she’d put it. Mia had said I could use theirs instead.
I feel awkward using their deodorant and perfume – the scent too soft, too floral, too not me. But I don’t have a choice. It’s better than going without. I spray just the smallest bit, hoping it’s enough to work without the smell giving me away.
I comb my hair, trying to copy the style Mia gave me. It’s not perfect, but close enough. The reflection still catches me off guard – how such a small change can make such a big difference. My face looks softer. Almost… prettier. I hate that the word even comes to mind.
At the training center, my classmates notice too.
“New look?” one of the guys asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Something like that.”
Lisa laughs when she sees it. “I like it,” she says. “Makes your face look more beautiful.”
Beautiful.
A man wants to hear handsome, not beautiful.
But the way she said it, soft and unthinking, almost made it sound like a compliment.
We’ve been talking more lately, having lunch together, sometimes walking back to the station. I catch myself wondering if this could turn into something real.
During the break, Lisa leans in close, sniffing lightly. “You smell different today.”
I blink, caught off guard. I was sure I’d used just enough not to be noticed.
“Really? How so?”
She grins. “What, did you accidentally grab your flatmates’ perfume this morning?”
I laugh awkwardly. “No, I just… I don’t know.”
Lisa laughs softly, nudging my arm. “Exploring a new side of yourself in Berlin, huh, Ethan?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, you’re getting it wrong.”
“Oh, relax,” she says, still smiling. “You wouldn’t be the first. Berlin changes people.” She pauses. “And for what it’s worth, I like it. It suits you.”
Her words leave me flustered, cheeks warm, embarrassed but oddly relieved, and even a little surprised that she actually liked these small, unwanted changes I’d been forced into.
The next couple of days pass in the same routine. Lisa teases me again about the perfume – says we should just share it since I already smell like her anyway.
Mia’s shown me how to style my hair properly, and now I can do it on my own correctly. The mirror doesn’t surprise me anymore; it just shows someone tidier and neater. Someone who knows how to fit in.
***
Wednesday evening, I’m in the kitchen, halfway through making dinner – pasta with whatever leftovers I can find – when Mia walks in, phone in hand, still on a call. She mouths a quick sorry and starts rummaging through the fridge.
I stir the sauce, pretending not to listen as she laughs into the phone, something about a work meeting gone wrong. She grabs a can of tomato sauce from beside me while trying to close the fridge with her elbow.
“Careful with–”
Too late. The can slips from her hand, hits the counter, and splatters a bright red arc across the stove – and me. Red streaks across my shirt, warm and sticky.
Mia gasps, grabbing a paper towel. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
I sigh, staring down at the sticky mess. “Great. That was my last clean shirt. The only things I have left are for training the next two days.”
She grins, clearly trying not to laugh. “Guess you’ll have to eat shirtless then.”
“I mean it, I have nothing else. Small wardrobe, limited space, and the washing schedule only allows colored clothes once a week. I’m out of options.”
Mia tilts her head thoughtfully, then disappears down the hallway. When she returns, she’s holding something pale and folded. “Here,” she says. “One of Sophie’s tops. Mine would be too short on you.”
I stare at it. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t wear a woman’s top. That’s ridiculous.”
She shrugs, all mock innocence. “You need to wear something, don’t you? Unless you plan on cooking half-naked.”
We go back and forth for a minute, but eventually, I realize she’s right – and I really don’t have a choice.
I pull it on. The fabric clings in all the wrong places, soft and stretchy, the neckline a little wider than it should be. It looks… absurd. Too tight, too short, and unmistakably not mine.
Mia bites her lip. “See? Not so bad. Kinda cute, actually.”
When I glare at her, she laughs, leaning against the counter. “Relax, it suits you. You’ve got the shoulders for it. And honestly, you pull it off better than some girls I know.”
I groan. “Yeah. Hilarious.”
She chuckles, eyes still glinting. “If you keep dressing like that, Ethan, Berlin might start noticing you in a whole new way.”
Just then, Sophie walks in, keys still in hand. She stops mid-step, eyes narrowing in confusion.
“Ethan… why are you wearing my top?”
Mia bursts out laughing before I can answer. “My fault! I destroyed his shirt.”
Sophie crosses her arms, studying me from head to toe. “Hmm. Well, it actually looks… kind of nice on you,” she says with a faint smile, “but it’s definitely too tight. You’ll stretch it out if you keep wearing it.”
I groan. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… I don’t have any spare clothes right now. Everything else is still in the laundry queue.”
Sophie shakes her head, half amused. “Berlin life, huh? Still, maybe next time we’ll find you something a little less… fitted.”
She then smirks. “Or maybe not. I think it suits you.”
I sigh, tugging the hem down uselessly while both of them laugh.
Mia adds. “Okay, fine. Since this mess is my fault, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you a couple of tops, like ours but in a bigger size.”
I frown. “Wait, why like yours? If you’re buying new ones anyway, why not get something like mine?”
She glances at Sophie before answering. “Because where will you even keep it? You barely have space in your wardrobe.”
“Same place I’ll keep the ones you want to buy,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed.
Mia shakes her head lightly. “No, see, if they’re like ours, we can just keep them in our wardrobe. Easy.”
“Then keep mine there too,” I argue.
Sophie steps in, her tone calm but firm. “That won’t work. We can’t keep men’s clothes with ours. It messes up the balance in our room. We don’t want that energy around.”
I stare at her, confused. “Energy? It’s just clothes.”
Mia gives a small shrug. “You’re living with us, Ethan. Sometimes that means adjusting a little. It’s part of blending in.” She smiles, playful but pointed. “And honestly, showing you can make small changes goes a long way. It helps people see you’re adapting – especially when we talk about extending your contract.”
I don’t know what to say. The logic makes no sense.
Sophie steps in before I can respond. “It’s only for home, Ethan. Not a big deal,” she says lightly, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “This way it’s easier for you too. You’ll have enough of your own clothes for outside, and at home you can wear what we get for you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she keeps going, that calm smile never slipping. “I’ll even lay out your clothes on the bed each day before you get back from training. That way you don’t have to think about it at all. Just come home, change, relax. Easy.”
Mia grins. “See? We’re helping you out.”
My face warms. The idea of them picking out what I wear every evening – women’s clothes, no less – makes my stomach twist.
The anxiety rises within me, and I finally blurt out, “You expect me to dress like a woman every day?”
Mia raises an eyebrow, a playful smile still on her lips. “It’s just for around the flat, Ethan. We all share a space, and it helps keep the vibe harmonious.”
Sophie adds, her tone calm and persuasive, “It’s not about changing you. It just helps soften the constant reminder that we’re sharing our space with a guy. Little things like this make the flat feel more balanced for us. It makes it easier to relax and feel comfortable around you.”
I frown slightly, trying to piece it together. “So if I… dress more like that, it makes you more comfortable?”
Sophie doesn’t flinch. “Yes. Around the house, it does.” Her voice stays even, almost matter-of-fact. “It softens the contrast. We’re two women sharing our space with a guy, and sometimes that difference feels bigger than it needs to. When you blend in a bit, it eases that tension for us.”
Mia nods beside her. “Only here. Only at home. We’re not asking you to change who you are. It just helps the flat feel more balanced.”
I open my mouth to argue, but their expressions tell me this isn’t up for debate. “Right,” I say quietly. “As long as it’s only in the house.”
Inside, I’m cringing. The mix of embarrassment and pressure sits uncomfortably under my skin, but pushing back now would only make things worse.
I go back to my room later, trying to catch up with what has happened. The room feels smaller. In the mirror, the softer haircut Mia gave me sits exactly where it’s meant to – too neat, too pretty. And Sophie’s top hangs on me in a way that makes my face heat, the neckline dipping just enough to feel wrong on my body. The floral perfume clings to my skin, sweet and unmistakably theirs.
It started with a new hairstyle. Then their perfume. Now “home clothes.” Is this what they meant by fitting in? Where does this stop?
Does sharing a flat with them mean becoming more like them?
Becoming… almost like a woman?
The thought hits harder than I want to admit.
My mind replays the evening: the splash, their laugh, how fast they had a solution ready– “We’ll buy you a couple like ours.” I want to believe it was an accident. I really do. But with the way they slid straight into ‘we’ll buy you clothes,’ ‘we’ll keep them,’ ‘you wear them at home,’ I can’t help wondering if it wasn’t just bad luck – if it was one more step in something they’d already decided.
***
When I get home from training the next day, Mia greets me at the door with her usual easy smile.
“I bought a few clothes for you,” she says lightly. “They’re in your room. You should change into them.”
My stomach tightens.
Already?
I didn’t expect her to actually follow through this fast.
Or at all.
I nod, trying not to look awkward. “Uh… okay. Thanks.”
When I walk into my room, I stop short.
Laid out on my bed are the clothes they chose for me.
A top.
And… a skirt.
I stand there for a moment, just staring. It feels absurd, unreal, as if the clothes are on the wrong bed in the wrong room. I sit on the edge of the bed, looking at the outfit, feeling a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and something I can’t quite name.
I pick up the top first. It’s soft and light. The neckline is too smooth, the sleeves too delicate, the shape cinched in ways my clothes never are.
I hesitate, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over me, then pull off my T-shirt and slip this one on. The fabric settles against me in a way that feels… strange. Not uncomfortable – just unsettling.
As I catch my reflection in the mirror, a rush of humiliation floods over me. It feels like I’m staring at a version of myself that’s slightly askew, as if I’ve crossed some unspoken line. My face heats instantly. This isn’t normal. This isn’t me.
The skirt lies beside me on the bed, neat and expectant, as if waiting for my answer. My stomach flips. I can handle the top, maybe. But that? No. Not yet. Not when I can barely look at myself without my chest tightening.
I grab my usual shorts, slip them on quickly, and take a slow breath before stepping out into the hallway.
Mia is in the living room. She looks up the moment she hears me. Her eyes go to the top first, a quick pleased flicker, then down to my shorts.
“You found the skirt too, right?” she asks.
I swallow. “Yes. I… saw it.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”
I shift my weight, embarrassed.
“I have clean shorts. I thought… there’s no need to wear it.”
Mia tilts her head.
“It’s not about need, Ethan.”
My stomach tightens.
“It’s about adjusting to the home,” she says softly but firmly. “You know that.”
“I– I’m trying,” I say. “But a skirt is… different.”
“It’s just at home,” she replies. “No one else will see you. And it creates harmony. That was the whole point of buying it.”
A pause.
“Go change. Try it. You might be surprised.”
My cheeks heat. I don’t know if it’s embarrassment or frustration or something else entirely. But I nod anyway.
Back in my room, I shut the door quietly and pick up the skirt with both hands. It hardly feels real. My throat tightens as I slip out of my shorts, the air suddenly too cool against my exposed skin.
Stepping into the skirt feels agonizingly slow, each movement filled with hesitation – the fabric gliding up my legs in a way that feels both foreign and terrifying. When it settles at my waist, a flutter shoots through me, sharp and dizzying, like I’ve just crossed some invisible line I never even knew was there.
Embarrassment burns hotly up my neck, and my nerves twist tight. Underneath it all lurks a strange, unsettling sensation that I can't quite place, something I desperately want to ignore. I exhale, shaky and overwhelmed.
I’m wearing a skirt.
And I’m about to walk back out there like this.
I step out slowly, trying not to focus on the way the skirt whispers against my legs with every step. My heart thuds like it used to before big exams, loud enough that I’m sure Mia can hear it.
Her face brightens immediately on seeing me – open, warm, almost excited.
“Oh my God,” she says, grinning. “Ethan… you look really cute in it. It honestly suits you.”
The words hits me like a jolt of heat and ice all at once.
My face ignites with embarrassment, and I fidget at the hem, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. I feel completely exposed, stupidly self-conscious, as if every inch of the outfit is glowing under her gaze.
I’m utterly humiliated.
Before I can even react to Mia, the front door opens. Sophie steps in, kicking off her shoes, and then she sees me.
She stops.
For a long moment she just looks – not shocked, not amused, just sharp and focused, like she’s evaluating a design choice. Then she gives a small, decisive nod.
“That looks good,” she says. “Much better. This fits the home.”
I swallow. “It feels strange.”
“It will,” Sophie replies, hanging her bag on the hook. “You’re not used to it yet. But you’re adapting. Faster than I expected.”
I take a breath, trying to articulate the whirlwind of feelings. “It’s just... everything feels different, you know? The fabric, the fit… wearing women’s clothes feels like I’m in someone else’s skin. I’m not sure how to handle it.”
Mia leans against the table, her expression encouraging. “That’s completely normal. It takes time to get used to new things. Just embrace it! You might even find you enjoy the change.”
A knot tightens in my chest – part embarrassment, part… something I don’t want to examine too closely. Because under all the awkwardness, their approval hits warm. Too warm.
And that scares me.
I glance down at myself. A guy in a skirt. In a flat that isn’t mine. In a city where no one knows me.
This should feel wrong. Completely wrong. And yet it doesn’t.
Not fully.
The shame is real, hot against my skin, but so is the strange, traitorous ease settling beneath it – a feeling I shouldn’t have, a feeling that makes me wonder what exactly is happening to me in this place.

[Thunder85]

Chapter 9: One of Them
The next few days settle into a rhythm – one so smooth I almost don’t trust it at first.
Training goes well. Better than well, actually.
Lisa and I talk more, joke more, share lunch sometimes.
She’s becoming the kind of friend who checks in with a glance and somehow already knows the answer.
We sit together during breaks now – not because it’s planned, but because we naturally drift toward the same table. She steals fries from my plate without asking. She nudges my shoulder when I get too serious.
Sometimes, during those long training afternoons, she leans over and whispers a sarcastic comment about the instructor, and I have to bite my cheek not to laugh out loud.
Sometimes she notices when my mood dips and gives me a quiet, “You good?” that feels more grounding than anything I’ve heard in a while.
And somehow, I find myself opening up around her in ways I didn’t expect.
Telling her small things. Dumb things. Things I don’t say to anyone else.
She listens, smirks, teases – but she never judges.
One day she brings me a coffee without asking.
Another, she saves me a seat before I walk in.
Once, when I looked tired, she shoved half her sandwich at me with a simple, “Eat.”
It isn’t dramatic.
It isn’t complicated.
It just… is.
A quiet, steady friendship that sneaks up on me – warm, surprising, comforting.
And at home… things shift in a different way.
I start cooking without waiting to be asked – sometimes even on nights that aren’t mine.
If I get home early, I head straight to the kitchen, chop vegetables, put the rice on, so Sophie and Mia don’t have to.
Not out of fear.
Just… habit.
Something that feels right.
I follow the laundry schedule down to the minute.
Clean the flat when it needs it.
And I’m always home before ten. Long before ten.
Sophie notices. Of course she does.
The way she says “Good” when she sees dinner already prepared… the way she nods slightly when she checks the laundry basket… those tiny signs of approval feel like small, unexpected rewards.
And every evening when I walk into my room, there’s something waiting on my bed – neatly laid out, like a quiet instruction. One day, it’s a soft pastel dress with a flowing skirt. The next, a fitted top and tailored shorts that fit a little too snugly for my comfort. Another day, a floaty blouse paired with a stylish pair of leggings in a color I’d never dare pick myself.
Always feminine.
Always chosen for me.
And every time I just stand there for a moment, staring at it, feeling that same mix catch in my chest – embarrassment, discomfort… and an unexpected sense of curiosity. I tell myself it’s just politeness, just their rule, just temporary. But slipping into those clothes each evening does something to me. It sparks a change within: part of me wants to pull them off immediately, resisting this newness; another part feels as if I am embracing a new side of myself.
And the weirdest thing?
Wearing them changes how the flat feels.
Sophie and Mia… shift.
Sophie’s still Sophie – strict, controlled, the one who corrects my posture when I slump and reminds me not to drag my feet. But now she looks at me with this small, approving lift of her eyebrows whenever I step into the living room dressed the way they want. Sometimes I even catch the quick, subtle smile she tries to hide before she says, “Good. You’re adapting.” It throws me off every time – being praised for something that twists my stomach and warms it at the same time.
Mia, though… she’s different.
Since I started wearing these clothes, she talks to me more, laughs with me more. There’s a comfort in her now, like she finally sees me as someone she doesn’t have to tiptoe around. It feels like, for the first time since I moved in, they’ve truly started to accept me.
Mia’s comfort with me expands in little jumps, like she forgets to hold herself back.
The first time it happens, I’m rinsing dishes after dinner. I’m in the skirt they left for me that evening, the hem brushing the backs of my legs, making me painfully aware of it. Mia walks up behind me to grab a glass, and instead of the usual polite distance, she nudges me gently with her hip.
“Move, skirt-boy,” she teases, laughing under her breath.
My face goes hot instantly.
Skirt-boy.
She says it like a joke, but hearing it out loud feels like someone pulling a curtain off the truth.
I step aside quickly, mumbling something useless, but she just grins – warm, natural – like this is nothing strange between us.
And then it keeps happening.
When she squeezes past me in the hallway, her fingers catch my waist for balance.
When she sits next to me during our movie nights, she tucks her feet under my thigh without asking, like we’ve always sat that way. Some nights her legs stretched across my lap, her head resting lightly against my shoulder.
None of it flirty.
None of it romantic.
Just… unguarded. Comfortable in a way I don’t know how to respond to, especially dressed the way I am. I don’t know whether I feel trapped, or safe, or something in between. All I know is that the boundary between “housemates” and “whatever this is” has blurred – and she’s the one blurring it without hesitation.
Like she has forgotten I’m a man.
And every time she does it, something inside me flinches – embarrassment, confusion – and something else loosens, like I’m being folded into her world without permission.
***
Days blend into routine again, steady and unremarkable – until Friday evening.
I reach home tired but strangely at ease, the kind of exhaustion that feels earned. My room light is already on. Waiting on the bed, as always now, is the outfit for the evening: a soft lilac top with a small bow near the collar, and a knee-length floral skirt.
I pause at the doorway, staring at it. Even after so many days, there’s still a faint thrum in my chest each time I see those clothes laid out. It’s not shock anymore, just… awareness. The quiet, nervous awareness of stepping into something that still doesn’t quite feel mine.
Still, I dress. The fabric whispers against my skin, familiar and strange all at once.
By the time I reach the kitchen, I’ve settled into the usual rhythm of cooking. The air smells of garlic and herbs when I hear footsteps behind me.
Mia leans on the counter, smiling. “Hey, make one extra portion tonight,” she says casually.
I glance back. “One extra?”
She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Tom’s joining us for dinner.”
I blink. “Tom?”
“Someone I’m dating,” she says lightly, turning back to check the pot.
The word catches me off guard. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
Mia smiles, a little shrug in her tone. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway. We’ve only just started.”
Something flickers in my chest – a strange mix of surprise, maybe even… jealousy? There’s no reason I should feel jealous. She’s my flatmate. That’s all.
I force a laugh that sounds thinner than I’d like. “That’s nice. I guess.”
She glances at me over her shoulder, amused. “You guess?”
Before I can think of an answer, she adds casually, “Anyway, make one more portion. He’ll be here soon.”
Suddenly I remember what I’m wearing – the skirt, the fitted top – and I nearly drop the spoon. “I can’t meet him like this, Mia.”
“Why not?” she asks, half teasing, half serious.
“Because–” I stammer. “I’m dressed like–” I gesture helplessly, words failing. “Like this.”
Mia tilts her head, amused but not unkind. “Ethan, this is who you are here. At home. You can’t just switch it off because someone’s visiting. That’s not how fitting in works.”
I shake my head, heat rushing to my face. “This isn’t about fitting in. This is– it’s embarrassing.”
She steps closer, resting a light hand on my arm. “Embarrassing for who? You look good, and you know it. You’ve been part of this home long enough to stop hiding. Tom won’t care. He’s chill.”
I open my mouth to protest, but her voice softens before I can. “You said you wanted to belong here, remember? This is part of it. You can’t keep one foot out forever.”
Her words land heavier than I expect.
I turn back to the pan, stirring just to have something to do with my hands. “I don’t think I can face him like this.”
Mia smiles faintly, squeezing my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”
She heads off to get ready, leaving me alone with the sizzling pan and my reflection in the dark oven glass. A reflection that, tonight, looks far too calm for what’s coming.
The doorbell rings just as I’m setting the table. My pulse kicks up instantly.
Mia’s voice calls from the hallway, light and cheerful. “That’ll be Tom!”
I stay frozen, half-bent over a stack of plates. My first instinct is to run back to my room, but I know that is not an option.
Moments later, Mia walks in, her hand linked with a tall, broad-shouldered guy with messy blond hair and an easy grin. He stops mid-step when he sees me.
For a second, the grin falters. His eyes flick down, take in the blouse and the skirt. Then back up again. A beat of silence – and then, he laughs. Not cruelly, just… surprised.
“Oh wow,” he says, still smiling. “You weren’t kidding when you said your flatmate had great taste.”
Heat floods my face. “This isn’t– I mean, it’s just–”
Mia jumps in smoothly, her voice calm and amused. “Relax, Tom. This is Ethan. Remember I told you how chill he is?”
Tom nods, still looking at me like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Yeah, sure. Just didn’t expect the… outfit.”
Mia grins, tossing him a mock glare. “Don’t be rude. He fits in perfectly here.”
Sophie walks in right then, saving me from replying. She gives Tom a polite nod and glances between the three of us. “Good. Everyone’s here. Let’s eat.”
Dinner starts awkwardly. Tom cracks a few harmless jokes, the kind meant to test boundaries – “So, Ethan, is this like… casual-Friday-but-at-home edition?” – and I manage a thin smile, pretending to find it funny.
Mia elbows him under the table. “Stop teasing,” she says lightly, then looks at me. “He’s just surprised. Maybe I should have told him what to expect.”
I look up, unsure how to respond.
She continues, voice softer now, but with that easy confidence of hers. “But honestly, it makes things easier. Living with two women can be… complicated sometimes, right?” She glances at Tom, then back at me. “This way, it doesn’t feel like we’re sharing space with a guy. It feels balanced. Comfortable.”
Tom chuckles. “You mean he’s basically one of the girls now?”
My stomach tightens. Mia laughs – not cruelly, but too easily. “Something like that.”
Sophie doesn’t laugh. She just gives a small, approving nod as she cuts her food. “It’s practical,” she says simply. “He adjusted, and that shows respect. We appreciate it.”
I stare down at my plate, the warmth in my cheeks spreading all the way to my ears. The word respect feels like both a compliment and a collar.
The conversation drifts to other things – work, a new café, some movie they all liked – and eventually, I relax enough to speak, even laugh once or twice. But every so often, I catch Tom’s eyes flicking toward me, curious, maybe still trying to figure out where exactly I fit in this strange equation.
When dinner ends, Mia’s clearing plates with her usual humming, Sophie’s putting leftovers away, and Tom leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know,” he says lightly, “you three make a good household. Different, but it works.”
Different.
The word hangs in my head long after the laughter fades.
When the dishes are finally cleared, Mia claps her hands once. “Movie night,” she declares. “It’s Friday, we’ve all survived the week, and Tom brought snacks.”
Sophie nods without looking up from wiping the counter. “Fine. But nothing loud.”
Tom grins. “Nothing loud, got it.”
I edge toward the hallway. “You guys watch. I should get some sleep.”
Mia turns, eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh no you don’t. You cooked, so you’re joining. Come on – one movie. You’ll like it.”
Before I can argue, she’s already tugging at my sleeve, leading me toward the sofa. I glance at the armchair near the corner. “I’ll just sit there.”
“Nonsense,” she says, waving it off. “You’ll get a crick in your neck. Sit with us.”
And somehow, that’s that.
Sophie takes one end of the sofa; I settle beside her, close enough that our thighs almost touch. Mia drops down on my other side, the cushion tilting me toward her until our shoulders press together. Tom claims the far end, remote in hand. I'm sandwiched between them now – Sophie's body heat radiating through her shorts, Mia's bare arm warm against mine.
The lights dim. The movie starts.
I try to focus on the screen, but every small movement sends ripples through the couch. Mia shifts, her thigh sliding against mine. Sophie adjusts her position, her shoulder bumping mine as she reaches for her wine. The contact feels electric, deliberate, even when it's not.
Mia laughs at something on screen, her whole body shaking with it, pressing closer for just a second. Her hair spills over my shoulder, soft and smelling like vanilla and wine. When she turns to whisper something to Tom, her breast brushes my arm – casual, innocent, driving me crazy.
She looks incredible tonight: no makeup, completely relaxed, eyes bright in the TV's glow. Every laugh, every small gasp at the film makes her body move against mine. When Tom pulls her closer, she melts into him, but her leg stays pressed to mine, warm and distracting.
The rest of the movie passes in a haze of shifting light and half-heard dialogue. The room feels too small, the sofa too close, and yet some small, shameful part of me is grateful to be included at all – to be there, part of this small circle.
When the credits roll, Mia smiles at me. “See? Not so bad, was it?”
I manage a smile that’s half true. “No. Not bad.”
But as Tom pulls her close and Sophie switches the lights back on, the glow from the screen lingers in my chest – something warm, heavy, and confusing all at once.
When the credits finally fade, everyone stretches, the spell of the movie breaking.
Tom stands first, ruffling his hair. “That was fun. We should do this more often.”
Mia grins. “We do. You just have to show up on time next time.”
Sophie gathers the empty glasses, her version of goodnight. “I’m turning in. Don’t stay up too late.” She gives me a brief, approving glance – the kind that says you behaved well enough tonight – then disappears into her room.
Mia starts collecting the popcorn bowls while Tom lingers by the doorway. “I’ll help,” I offer quickly, more out of instinct than sense.
She smirks. “See? You really are the most polite one here.” Then, with a teasing glance: “You handled tonight well. I was half-expecting you to run off when Tom arrived.”
I blush, trying to laugh it off. “I thought about it.”
Her smile widens. “But you didn’t. You sat with us. You even laughed at his terrible jokes. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud?” I echo, embarrassed.
She nods, tone softening. “Yeah. You’re fitting in, Ethan. Better than you think.”
Before I can respond, Tom slips an arm around her waist. “You ready?”
She nods, then turns back to me. “Goodnight, Ethan.”
“Night,” I manage, though my voice comes out faint.
They disappear down the hall, Mia’s quiet laughter echoing from her room, a sound that’s both warm and painfully intimate.
I stand there for a long moment in the dim light, the living room still faintly smelling of popcorn and perfume. Then I head to my room.
The reflection in the dark window catches me as I pass – the soft lines of the skirt, the faint shimmer of the top under the low light. I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand over the fabric, trying to make sense of it all. Tonight I’d sat dressed like this in front of a stranger, shared dinner, watched a movie, even laughed.
I think about the first week here: the awkward dinners, the careful politeness, the way I used to keep my door half-closed even when I wasn’t doing anything. Back then, I’d felt like a guest trying not to disturb anything.
Now… I’m not sure what I am.
Somewhere along the way, my world started adjusting to theirs. Piece by piece. The hair. The perfume. The clothes. The quiet expectations that came dressed as small requests.
It was supposed to be temporary. Just fitting in.
But when does temporary become normal?
The thought lingers as I close my eyes, the faint scent of Mia’s perfume still clinging to my top. It should be comforting. Instead, it leaves me wide awake.
Through the thin wall, I can hear Tom’s and Mia’s voices again – quiet at first, just talking and laughing about the movie.
Then the talking stops.
A moment of silence, then I hear the bed creak. Once, then again, slow and deliberate. Mia lets out a soft sound – almost a sigh – that makes my stomach flip. I know exactly what's happening, but I can't make myself move.
The creaking gets more regular, finding a rhythm. Her voice comes through the wall again, quieter now, breathier. Little sounds that she's trying to keep down but can't quite manage. My face burns with embarrassment, but I stay frozen on the edge of my bed.
It's getting more intense. The bed frame starts hitting the wall with each movement – soft thumps that match the rhythm. Mia's breathing harder now, making these small gasps that cut right through me. I should put on headphones, blast music, anything to block it out. Instead, I sit there like an idiot, listening to every sound.
Her moans get louder. She's not trying to be quiet anymore. Each sound sends heat straight through me, and I hate myself for it. This is my flatmate, and here I am getting turned on listening to her with someone else.
The rhythm picks up. The headboard's really banging now, and Mia's voice rises with it. She lets out this long, breathy moan that makes my hands clench into fists on my knees. My whole body feels tight, aroused despite how wrong this is.
It goes on and on. Every gasp, every moan, every creak of the bed feels amplified in the quiet apartment. I can hear Tom too now – low grunts and heavy breathing that mix with her higher sounds. The wall between us might as well not exist.
Mia gets louder, more desperate. Her voice breaks on sharp gasps that sound almost like sobs. My heart pounds as I imagine what she looks like right now – hair spread across the pillow, skin flushed pink, lips parted as she breathes hard, breasts rising and falling with every breath, back arched as Tom moves over her.
Then she cries out, loud and clear, her voice hitting a peak that echoes through both rooms. The sound of pure pleasure that makes my whole body tense with want.
Everything goes quiet except for heavy breathing and whispered words I can't make out.
I sit there in the sudden silence, aroused and miserable and hating every second of it. The wall between us feels paper-thin. All I can think about is her face during those final moments, how she sounded, how she looked on the couch earlier with her dress riding up.
The quiet stretches on, broken only by soft murmurs and the occasional shift of the mattress. I finally lie down, and try to pretend I didn't just spend several minutes listening to my flatmate have the kind of sex I can only dream about.
***
I wake up early, but I don't get out of bed right away. Instead, I lie there staring at the ceiling, replaying everything from last night. The way Mia looked in that white dress, how it clung to her body. The sounds through the wall. I can't shake the image of her flushed and breathless, completely lost in pleasure.
My body responds to the memory before I can stop it. I close my eyes and let myself picture her again – the way she laughed on the couch, how her thigh pressed against mine, the little sounds she made later with Tom.
Finally, I force myself up. When I step out of my room, Mia's already in the kitchen, wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely covers her thighs. Her hair's messy, face fresh without makeup. She looks up and smiles.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
"Where's Tom?" I ask, glancing around.
"He left early, had some work." She grins and takes a sip of coffee. "Hope we weren't too loud last night. These walls are pretty thin."
My face burns. She knows. Of course she knows.
"I... I had headphones on," I lie.
Mia laughs, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sure you did. That's why you look like you didn't sleep much."
She laughs again, softer this time. "Relax, Ethan. Honestly, I feel more comfortable with you around now – you’re one of us girls."
The words hit like a compliment wrapped in confusion. One of the girls. She says it lightly, fondly even, but all I can think about is last night – the sounds through the wall, the reminder of everything I’m not.
Before I can find a response, she adds briskly, “I need to buy some clothes. Be ready by four. We’ll leave together.”
No question, no room for argument – just a decision handed down.
I nod automatically, still reeling from her words. A part of me wants to protest, to say I’m not one of them. But another part – the one that still feels the faint warmth of her approval – stays silent.
At four, she knocks lightly, not waiting for my answer. “Let’s go.”
I inhale once, steadying myself, and follow.
Five minutes later, we are on the tram, her shoulder pressing against mine as she taps something on her phone. Every time the tram jolts, she steadies herself by grabbing my forearm. Casual. Thoughtless. Like it was just… normal.
When we reach the store, she heads straight to the women’s section, grabbing clothes off racks with quick, confident hands.
“Stay,” she says, pointing at a spot near the fitting rooms as if I’m her personal assistant. “I need opinions.”
Opinions.
From me.
Before I can answer, she vanishes behind the curtain.
A minute later, the curtain whisks open and she steps out in a short black skirt and a cropped beige top. The outfit clings to her curves, drawing attention to her waist and the smooth line of her back.
She twirls once. “Well? Too much?”
I clear my throat. “Uh… it’s nice.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Nice? Ethan, that’s the word people use for soup.”
She disappears again.
A minute later she walks out in a red dress so tight it looks painted on – plunging just enough at the neck to show the curve of her breasts, hem flirting with mid-thigh so every step flashes skin. My pulse jumps.
“Oh,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her smile spreads slowly. “Oh?”
She steps closer, studying my face with amused precision. “You mean it looks good?”
I nod too fast. “It looks… fine. Good. Yeah.”
She laughs. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She pokes my cheek. “Cute.”
My face burns hotter.
Then she disappears into the fitting room again.
Third outfit.
This one hits harder than the rest: a soft white sundress with thin straps that leaves her shoulders bare, the front dips until the edge of each breast shows. When she moves, the hem rides up just enough to show she’s wearing nothing underneath.
“What about this?”
I suddenly don’t know where to keep my eyes.
“It’s–” I swallow. “It’s very summery.”
“Summery,” she repeats, deadpan. “In other words, you like it.”
She loops her arm through mine without thinking, leaning against me as she studies herself in the mirror.
“Be honest,” she says, nudging me lightly. “Would you notice a girl wearing this?”
“Yes,” I admit before my brain could save me.
She shoots me a triumphant smile. “Exactly.”
Her fingers squeeze my arm, light but familiar. Too familiar.
And it hits me – how comfortable she is beside me, how she treats me like someone safe, someone easy to be around, someone she doesn’t need to hold back from at all. The way she would be with her girlfriends – open, relaxed, unguarded.
Warmth curls in my stomach. And something else – confusion.
I’m attracted to her. Of course I am. Anyone with eyes would be. Mia is… impossibly beautiful. But I never imagined anything more between us; it wasn’t even a thought in my head. Yet the more time we spend together, the more those lines blur. I catch myself noticing the sway of her walk, the way she leans into me without hesitation, the way her laugh pulls something tight in my chest.
And she’s gotten more comfortable with me, yes – but not in the way I ever expected. Not in a way that leads anywhere. Just in a way that folds me into her world like another girl in the flat.
I’ve heard of men getting friendzoned… but whatever’s happening to me is worse, stranger, almost comical.
I’m being girlfriendzoned.
Her voice snaps me out of it.
“Okay,” she declares, turning back toward the changing room, “I’m buying this one. And maybe the black skirt. You helped. Good job.”
She pats my chest like rewarding a pet.
As she disappears behind the curtain again, I stand there, pulse uneven, trying to understand why her closeness unsettles me… and why a tiny, shameful part of me doesn’t want her to step away.
When she loops her arm through mine on the way home, carrying her shopping bags, it feels almost natural.
Almost.