Jon reformed with the characteristic rush of butterflies, finding himself naked and disoriented inside the crumpled plastic bag. He scrambled out, his skin feeling cool against the synthetic material, and quickly tossed the bag—now just a normal bag holding two dirty socks—into the laundry basket.
He bolted to his room, locking the door and snatching his clothes from the floor. He leaned against the door, pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, still feeling the phantom tightness of his brief existence as a foot wrapper. The realization that Mikey had used him without uttering a single word about the wish—merely stating his need for socks and suggesting Jon—hit him hard. His ability was entirely silent and seamless in its activation.
He sat on his bed, mind reeling from the intensity of the transformation. He reached for his phone, needing a distraction.
A text message notification popped up from Sarah, a close friend from school.
Sarah (7:45 PM)
> Sarah: Hey Jon. Are you home? I have a major favor to ask you. It's super urgent and I can’t explain it over text.
Jon’s stomach tightened. The timing was too coincidental. Was this his power acting again? Did Sarah somehow need him in a way she couldn't articulate, even without knowing he possessed the transforming ability?
> Jon: Yeah, just got back. What’s up? Are you okay?
> Sarah: I'm fine, but I'm having a fashion catastrophe. I need to borrow something from you, and you’re the only person who can help. It sounds crazy, but trust me. Can I swing by now?
Jon hesitated. If she came over, the wish might activate simply because she had a need that was easier solved by changing him than by finding a solution elsewhere. He was scared to even open the door.
> Jon: Borrow something? What kind of something? I don’t think I have anything you’d need.
> Sarah: You do. It's... a very specific kind of support. And it’s not really borrowing in the usual sense. Just let me come over, Jon. I’m desperate. I’m going to my cousin’s party tomorrow night and my best bra just snapped a strap beyond repair. I have the perfect new sheer top, but none of my other bras work with it. They’re either the wrong cut or the wrong color.
Jon’s eyes went wide. A bra. He had been right. Her need was centered on clothing support, and the easiest solution... was him.
> Jon: Sarah, I really don't think you should come over. I'm busy. Can't you just wear a different top or borrow a bra from your sister?
> Sarah: My sister is out of town, and no one else has my size and fit. Trust me, I've checked. Look, this is ridiculous, but I have a crazy idea, and you’re the only one who can make it happen. You have to be here. Please? I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
Jon gripped his phone. He couldn't stop her. He knew if he refused, she might just show up anyway, and the transformation would occur regardless of his consent. His mind raced, desperately trying to find an argument that would convince her to stay away, without revealing the truth.
> Jon: Sarah, I’m being serious. Do not come over. I can’t help you with this. Find a store, try a last-minute shopping trip. Anything but this.
He saw the three dots indicating she was typing a reply.
> Sarah: Why are you acting so weird? It's just me. I'm literally standing on your street corner right now. I just need five minutes of your time. If you don't help me, my night is ruined. I need a perfect, comfortable, white, plunging bra, and honestly, Jon... I think you're my best bet. I’ll be at your front door in two minutes.
Jon's blood ran cold. He knew there was no stopping it now. She wasn't asking for permission, she was stating a need and a plan. He had to assume the ability was about to activate.
He jumped up, pacing his room, panicking. He couldn't stop Mikey, and he certainly couldn't stop Sarah now that she was physically closing the distance.
He heard the faint ding-dong of the doorbell from downstairs. Too late.
Jon dropped his phone on the bed, his body already tingling with a rising sense of dread and anticipation. He braced himself, closing his eyes, waiting for the familiar rush of butterflies to consume him.
