Part 1

When 22-year-old Terry moved in with his 19-year-old sister Geri, he was less than thrilled. College had ended, rent in the city was brutal, and his options were limited. Geri, ever the optimist, had offered her place without hesitation. She had a sunny smile, a tiny apartment, and a room that looked like it had been dipped in bubblegum.

Terry had always mocked her for that-her pink walls, her frilly handwriting, the way she said "oh my gosh" with real sincerity. She was bubbly, excitable, and unapologetically girly. Terry, in contrast, had always been cool, sarcastic, and dressed in monochrome like a walking storm cloud.

At first, the teasing resumed like old times. “Geez, Geri, did someone throw up cotton candy in here?” he’d say, flopping on her ruffled pink bedspread. But this time, he lived with her, and that gave him endless material. He began doing impressions-exaggerated versions of her voice, mimicking her cheerful dances to bubble pop songs. He even borrowed her pink sunglasses one day “as a joke.”

But the jokes got weirder.

It started with a pink toothbrush. Then a pink mug with a heart on it. Then he bought a fuzzy pink throw for the couch. “Irony,” he explained.

By the end of the week, Geri came home early and caught him in her room. He was wearing one of her favorite pink tops and trying on a flowy skirt. The mirror caught his soft expression-the kind she wore when she was happy with herself. She stared.

Terry froze.

“Can I... borrow this?” he asked, quietly.

Geri crossed her arms. “Terry. Enough is enough.”

He looked down, his face turning red. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. The joke’s over.”

But the joke wasn’t over.

He tried to go back. He changed into jeans and a T-shirt, forced a smirk, and avoided her scented candles like they were poison. But it didn’t stick. Within days, the mug returned. Then the throw. Then the pink slippers.

He started humming bubble pop songs without realizing it. Calling things “adorbs.” Laughing like her. Talking like her. The worst part? He liked it. He felt good. Soft. Safe. And it terrified him.

One night, he snapped at his own reflection. “Stop it! Stop acting like her!”

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t an act. He had stepped into something he couldn’t step out of.

Geri noticed. Of course she did.

She found him in the kitchen one morning wearing one of her pink hoodies, quietly eating cereal out of a glittery bowl. She sat down across from him.

“You okay?”

He hesitated, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“I... I can’t stop,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I feel this way. I used to laugh at you for being like this and now I-” His voice cracked. “I think I always... envied you. You’ve always known who you are.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Terry... there’s nothing wrong with you. Maybe you’re just starting to figure out who you are.”

“But I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered. “Or- I don’t want to want it. But I do. And I’m scared.”

Geri squeezed his hand. “Then I’ll help you. Whatever this is. We’ll figure it out together.”