I made it about two weeks before I saw Sir again through the crowd. In that time I had learned two very important things. One, the little trick they had pulled was to leave a glowing mark of three keys piercing an anatomically correct heart over my entire fucking cheek like a tower-sized billboard of ownership. Two, everyone who saw that mark thought it meant I was going to become their familiar. That had made interacting with other students or even the teachers difficult as they always default to just assuming I was already a pet and not, y’know, a person? So there ended up being a lot of “Talk to your owner about this” and “See how that schedule works with your magus-to-be” and so on and so forth when I didn’t even know Sir’s name????
And I wasn’t even supposed to be a familiar already anyway, I was an apprentice just like everyone else and- anyway, more important matters. When I did finally manage to see Sir again it was one part relief to see that unfairly pretty face again and one part pure frustration that they had so lackadaisically tilted my life with just a gesture. I was supposed to be studying cryptobotany! Instead I was fending off accusations that I should be ‘studying homemaking skills.’
“You!” I practically shouted as I stormed towards them.
“Hello!” They waved with a wonderful cheery smile that was so aesthetically perfect it just made me want to scream and then punch it off their perfect face. “You still have my mark?”
“I… yes?” I froze mid-step, all anger immediately transmuted into confusion. “It doesn’t come off?”
“Yes it does, you just grab the corner and peel it off.” To demonstrate they flipped a wand out of their pocket and then tapped it to their wrist, producing another mark of the same shape which they then peeled off like a sticker.
Confusion thus became revelation, which in turn became embarrassment overflowing. Ah, the wonders of emotional alchemy and apparently being a gay airheaded ditz. I grabbed the edge of the mark on my cheek, then froze to look around. As rude as it has been to fend off beliefs that I was a claimed familiar, I also hadn’t dealt with any predatory remarks going my way either, so… later. I’ll take this off later. That Sir’s grin seemed to deepen as my hand dropped back down flew right past me.
What was I about to do again? Oh yeah, I was gonna give Sir a piece of my mind. “You-”
“Are you busy this weekend?” They interrupted me.
My entire train of thought immediately derailed off a cliff and was never seen again. “Yes?” I answered.
“Let’s go on a date, I’d like to get to know you more.”
…a date? With me? My face must have flushed at least a dozen interesting shades of red at the thought. “Uh, yes?” I stammered out in reply. Don’t blow this, silly, a hottie asked you out just play it cool.
“Wonderful!” They smiled and it melted my goddamn heart. Of course they had pretty teeth too. Fuck, they probably looked perfect all the time I bet. Especially after working out those rippling muscles and being all hot and sweaty- well now I was blushing for a whole different reason but at least my tuck held up. Wouldn’t do me any favors to walk out of here looking like I stashed a magic broom in my dress. “I’ll go ahead and take care of all the pesky details for our date so you don’t have to worry about that. Shall I pick you up at your dorm?”
My dorm! It was probably a mess- well, that wouldn’t really matter it’s not like they’d be seeing inside (though maybe that’d be okay if they were throwing me over my desk and- SILENCE, THOUGHT). “Uh, yes! I’m in room 392, building E.”
“I”ll be there before lunch on Saturday.” They shot me a wink. I said something in affirmation but it came out more like a gay bumble of words as I stumbled on out. A date!!! I had a date!! WIth Sir!!!??? Maybe I’d hold off on stripping this mark then, like, that’d be rude to do, so I’ll just, save it for later? I’ll save it for later.
On the day of my oh so exciting date I was absolutely overflowing with nervous energy. How could I not be? Only like, the hottest person ever had asked me out directly? Oh stars how should I dress, what about makeup, was it a casual event or a formal one? It was hot out, and mid-day, so, like, probably casual, right? Oh you stupid gay bimbo brain actually focus for once PLEASE.
A knock on the door froze me in my tracks. Was it time already!? I practically screamed in frustration. I hadn’t even picked an outfit??? I ran over to open the door, realized I was still in my underwear, and promptly shut it before landing face-first on the bed in utter shame. Bury me in chocolate, please, my life is ruined.
The gentle tapping at my door did succeed at raising me from the dead, however, and soon I was back at it’s wooden side. My hand gripped the handle, turned it, and froze in spot as it finally hit me that I had just shown my near naked body to Sir in it’s entire grotesquerie. Now, surely, there were *worse* ways to reveal that someone that you have had A Case Of The Genders, before, but flashing your entire fucking crotch cannon in lacy pinks by surprise is probably low on the scale of how it should be done.
Whatever, fuck it, if they were going to have a problem with me occasionally being a boy (in a girly way) or a girl (in a boyish way) then this whole thing was doomed from the start. I opened the door and peeked out from behind it.
Point one, the attire for tonight will be casual. I can tell because Sir is wearing one of those loose tank tops that shows off his lovingly toned sides and binder and I am only kind of staring at their bare arms.
Point two, Sir is blushing? So that could be worse.
“I’m sorry about that,” I peep out.
“It’s okay,” They wave off. “It’s, uh, not a bad surprise? You’re very pretty.”
Oh that’s just flattery, I’m sure. “I still haven’t picked out my outfit,” I replied.
“I should’ve mentioned what to wear, huh? Sorry about that, do you want help?”
Yes. “No.” Shut up, the answer is yes. “Well, maybe.” Stupid mouth say the word. “Yes, actually.” I slinked back behind the door as I pulled it open and allowed Sir into my private domicile in all it’s academic uh… ‘glory.’ Which mostly meant outfit choices draped over every surface.
“Ah, I see the problem.” They muttered as they looked upon the typhoon of dresses and skirts and other masculine things scattered about. As I stepped out from behind the door I also saw a not too subtle glance down to my chest, then crotch, then snap back to the clothes as the red in their cheeks deepened another step. Ah, sweet revenge. “You’ll want to have something light for tonight, but also I’d recommend layers in case it gets cold out.”
“Where will we be going?” I tilted my head.
“Want me to spoil the secret?” They smirked back, then realized they were looking decidedly beneath my eyeline again and tried (unsuccessfully) to stay focused on my face. Usually that was creepy, but with them it felt kind of flattering?
Something promptly bubbled up from my crotch-brain and spilled out my mouth, “It’s okay if you look,” I said, and immediately felt embarrassed for doing so. “I mean, like, I’ve already been ogling basically all of you so like, it’s only fair?”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Just,” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and struck a pose with my chest out and my arms behind my back. “Get it all out of your system so we can get going sooner rather than later.” This was probably a bad idea. Whatever. Fuck it. I worked hard to get this body (even if it’s imperfect (a condition that can be fixed once I become a magus (or a familiar, I suppose, if my to-be-owner knew and was empathetic enough to indulge my needs (not that it would be up to me at that point) ) ) ) so I should be proud of it.
…being proud of one’s body is *fucking* hard. I felt like I was sweating bullets just standing there ramrod straight. After what felt like a million billionty years I peeked one eye open to see Sir… actually sorting through my clothes? They had a sundress in one hand and were holding it up over the view of my body as they looked through my jackets and sweaters.
Huh. They actually got somewhere. I decided to remain still until they picked out a whole outfit for me, at which point I pulled on the getup as they went to grab my make-up too. Femme (in a boyish way) presentation today it is, then. Tights, boots, dress, jacket, cute little hat, even a spare pair of comfy shoes to keep in my bag, damn I could get used to having my outfits picked out for me if they all came together this good. When Sir returned with my make-up bag I politely (not obediently that’s different) followed their instructions as they painted up my face. At that point it wasn’t much of a surprise to me that they managed to make my face look good too.
“Where were you hiding *these* skills, Sir?” I asked as I admired myself in the mirror. I looked cute! Like, actually cute not the awkward attempt to be cute that I always saw in the mirror whenever I did this myself.
“A repressed youth in a feminine shell,” They sighed. “At least the skills I learned can be useful sometimes.
“Ah,” I breathed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Once I’m a Magus I’ll be able to fix all of the errors that biology has left me with anyway.”
“Or a familiar.” I replied.
They just smiled in response, “No, I don’t think I’ll end up that way.”