Ever since Malik was little, all he remembered was how good it felt wearing something beautiful like a dress or a skirt, or even lacy panties. It made him feel...he didn't even know. Safe? Content? ...Pretty? When he stared at himself in the mirror, all dolled up in a lacy dress, bows in his long hair, some of Isis's makeup glossed over his face, he felt happy.

Shameful, yes. Because boys weren't supposed to wear dresses, were they? No, no they weren't. Boys were supposed to be tough and play with action figures and wrestle with their older brothers.

Malik wanted none of that. He wanted to play with Isis's dolls as a child. He wanted to wear high heels. He wanted-did he want to be female? No, no, he liked his body the way it was. Even though Isis was really curvy and the dresses looked more fetching on her, because she was a woman, they looked nice on him, too. As luck would have it, he was scrawny for a boy, and when the dresses came out of the closet, the bikini panties, the makeup and bows and high heels, Malik looked very, very feminine. But he liked that.

To see himself in the mirror, looking that way, looking beautiful, it made him happy, so, so happy. He had to smile, he had to smooth down the folds of the dress, twirl in a circle, see how pretty he looked in his mirror.

Of course, this was only done in secret. Rishid and Isis were never to know, nobody at school, none of his friends, nobody. And-he hoped to any god up there, not Mariku of all people.

All of his dresses were hidden in a box in his closet, stuffed in the very back and only dragged out when Rishid and Isis went away for awhile. Isis had started to notice some of her makeup going missing, so he had to buy his own. Which was fine, he didn't need to steal from her anyway.

When his siblings were gone, the house to himself, the world to himself, the box was pulled out, he could drop the macho man act, and be himself. Be beautiful and pretty and lovely on those dresses and that makeup.

Sometimes, he would even go out with all of that on. It was only done on rare occasions. He didn't need anybody from school recognizing him and teasing him about it later.

And then he wanted to go out one day. He wanted to be beautiful in that pretty pink dress, the one with all the ruffles and lace and sparkles on it. the one that went down to his knees and matched with the lacy socks and the long ribbon he tied into his hair. Malik wanted people to see him. He wanted them to see how pretty he was. Why, why, it was stupid, what if someone from school saw-but he didn't care either.

Never could he be beautiful with Isis and Rishid there. Only when they were gone-only could he really be Malik Ishtar then.

It was decided. The box was removed from the closet, the dress was ironed and zipped up his back, not a wrinkle in place, the ribbon was tied into his hair once he brushed it, all that pretty makeup was put on. And he looked into the mirror.

This was wrong, it was wrong, wrong, wrong. No, no, he shouldn't be doing this. Boys don't wear dresses, boys aren't beautiful. Boys play with G.I. Joe figures and wrestle and play baseball and, and. Why, why couldn't he be pretty too, why did everyone demand he be something. Why couldn't he decide what to be now? He was almost 18, he was old enough to know what he wanted to be. And dressing in pants and T-shirts and palling around with the guys-it just felt wrong. He didn't understand. Why. Why. He just-He just wanted to be pretty.

If only Mariku would come out. Malik almost wished his other self was the dominate personality most of the time. Mariku was anything but feminine. He could be what Malik couldn't. He could...but, no. Mariku was murderous. He'd tried to kill people, Malik couldn't risk that. But-fuck, what was he supposed to do? Staring at himself in that mirror, he loved it, he loved it so much, the dress, the ribbons, all the fucking work he put into making himself beautiful. All that effort, and it payed off. He was beautiful, he was, he was. So gorgeous in all of that.

It was wrong, but it was right, no, no, no, what was right, what was wrong, this was wrong, he shouldn't be doing this, no. No. For Isis and Rishid, he wanted to be their little brother, not their-whatever the fuck this was.

But, he was a boy, he was, he just. Wanted to wear dresses and be beautiful. But boys weren't beautiful, but he didn't want to be a girl, but-BUT WHAT WHAT WHAT. WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, WHAT. HE COULDN'T THINK, NO, NO, FUCK.

Tears came, and he couldn't help it. They fell, and smudged all his makeup he'd worked so hard to get just right. All that mascara ran down his face, and he was ugly then. So horrid and ugly. No, no. This wasn't right.

Mariku, Mariku could help. Please, he just. No, he couldn't do this. It was a selfish desire to be beautiful, but he was so ugly, and nothing would change that. Not the dresses, the makeup, the ribbons, nothing. Malik was Malik.

"Mariku."

He had to be the brother Isis and Rishid wanted, that the world wanted. He was a boy, he had to act like one, whether he liked it or not.

"Mariku, come out. I need you."

"P-Please, I can't do this. Take over, please, it hurts too much." And he was still crying, fuck. Boys didn't cry. Not only was his makeup ruined, but now his eyes were red and puffy. Great. Fuck, he was so ugly. Fuck fuck.

Laughter, Mariku's laughter, he'd know it anywhere, they were the same person after all. Two Maliks, just in one body, but Mariku could be the masculine brother, he could be the male Malik that the feminine Malik couldn't be. Malik couldn't do it, so Mariku would have to. It was the only way.

The laughter got louder, and Malik knew when the switch happened this time. Usually his memory was blank, but not this time. Because he'd willed it. And then Mariku's voice. "Fucking finally, Jesus. You're unusually submissive today, Malik. You should stay that way."

Which was right though, Malik's desires or letting Mariku out? He didn't know, he just-he couldn't think anymore. Malik just wanted to sleep. He wanted to pretend none of this happened, and just sleep for a long, long time.

With his vision going black and Mariku's laughter echoing around him, Malik was still crying. At least he would be the masculine brother his siblings wanted now.

End