When Jihoon finally made it back to his dorm, breathless and shaken, there it was, ...waiting. A box, clad in black snakeskin and bound in a ribbon of delicate pink satin. Tucked beneath the bow, a card read: "Dear Bookworm, you’re going to need new clothes," and signed only with a kiss print in metallic black lipstick.
It was like a cobra, coiled and hissing at the threshold of his sanctuary. A warning: You didn’t escape, I know where you live.
He didn’t touch it. Instead, he fetched a broom and nudged it down the hall like it might bite, then slammed his door and barricaded it with a chair. Just in case.
Later, he scoured his hair with jet-black dye. He didn’t flinch when it scorched his scalp. Let it burn. The neon colors that once screamed *look at me* had to vanish. But even dulled and hidden, the face in the mirror stared back, haunting, doll-like, and impossibly symmetrical. His skin too flawless. Lips too full. Eyes too wide, glowing with a faint pale teal hue that caught light like a gemstone. People stared at him in the dorms, in class, on the sidewalks—like he was someone famous whose name they couldn’t quite remember.
He didn’t know how to be gazed at.
But that was the least of his worries. His body was changing. He felt like he was going through a second puberty, ...no, something stranger. He grew an inch in a week. Leaner, stronger. His voice dropped a register. Even his scent changed, soft, cool, and unnatural.
His friends grew distant. They stopped inviting him to game nights. He overheard one whisper behind his back, “Stupid femboy. Bet he hacked his DNA.”
His skin crawled.
In a panic, he applied to the tryouts of the baseball team. A chance to sweat it out, to prove he was still a man. Nevermind a book nerd like him didn't know the slightest thing about baseball. But the coach didn’t care. Jihoon threw harder. Hit further. Ran faster than anyone. It felt like his body remembered things he didn’t. It was bizarre. They called him a "ringer," whatever that was.
When he returned to the dorm, fresh uniform in hand, he found the sinister box had returned as if it had slithered inside from an open window.
He stared at it for a long time.
The black snakeskin glistened in the low dorm light like it was breathing. The pink ribbon shimmered like silk drawn from a wound. It didn’t belong in his world of textbooks, empty ramen cups, and anime posters. It belonged in that place, -- the place he was trying to forget.
He should’ve burned it. Should’ve thrown it out the window. But his breath quickened.
Maybe there was money inside. Or a clue. Or maybe if he opened it, it would all fall apart like a prank taken too far. Haha. *Funny, guys. You got me.*
That lie was enough.
He pulled the box onto his bed like it might bite. The snakeskin was warm. The lid slid open like it had been waiting for him. Nestled inside in black velvet was a high tech bodysuit, -- white, seamless, strangely soft. A tag sewn into the collar read: "UV REACTIVE BIOPHASIC SHIELDING."
He swallowed. A whisper of a memory returned: "Be careful, Little Worm. The daylight might crack your pretty dollface."
He did feel a sting while at the baseball tryouts, but he thought it was just sunburn.
Medical precaution, he lied to himself. It’s not giving in.
He pulled it on and the fabric adjusted to him like it was memorizing his shape. He looked in the mirror. A runway model. It’s fine, he thought. Just function over fashion.
The smart mirror hesitated, longer than usual, then said: "UNRECOGNIZED USER. Facial ID scan in progress."
Jihoon froze.
The digital display flickered, glitched, then returned: "Subject: Lathandro (GIN AESTHETICA™)."
Jihoon blinked. The display glitched again in a fast cascade of unreadable code and a faint sound, like static trying to speak. Then it was gone. His reflection returned. Normal. Silent.
Probably a bug, he told himself. Just a glitch. Just paranoia.
He reached for his baseball uniform. Now he looked like a jock, or a jock from an ad. The prettiest boy on the team. He barely recognized himself.
Just as he turned to shut the box and shove it out of sight, something caught his eye. ...There was more. Dark sinful garments of mesh, vinyl, leather, and latex that shimmered like oil on wet asphalt. Delicate iridescent fabrics like dragonfly wings. Gloves that ended in points like claws. Stockings spun from sheer, slippery fabric that felt alive under his fingertips. Something futuristic. Erotic. Wrong.
Each one labeled: "Apophis Atelier. Designed to be Seen."
Jihoon backed away, but only a step. His heart beat faster. They looked like fun. They looked like they belonged to someone brave. Someone shameless.
His hands itched. He reached toward the mesh. Just to feel it. Just a little.
Pose: Del May DM - Really?
























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