the little things.

pretty.

He feels pretty.

It is an understatement; such a simplistic term could not begin to grasp the euphoric buzz in his veins as he spins, giggles escaping his lips as he stumbles from his lack of balance. It is strange, watching himself strut in the mirror, eyes glazed with adoration and gaze trained on the boots adorning his feet. They gave him a height he'd never imagined himself in, adorned him with a femininity that he'd never thought he'd enjoy to such an extent.

He is surprised, how much he enjoys them.

His attire is casual; a pair of jeans he favours and one of the various over-sized Vetements hoodies Mitch had convinced him to buy, yet coupled with a random pair of high-heeled boots he had stolen from the brunette what felt like mere hours ago gave him a rush of confidence that made him dizzy and brought a drunken smile to his face.

He thinks it might be the concept; to see himself in something he'd always thought Mitch looked gorgeous in and the wonder of it looking almost as breath-taking on himself. Or, perhaps, the more popular conception – to see he, the masculine alpha in many, if not all, situations brought down to such a vulnerable state simply through his newfound feminine personality, something he doubts any fans of Pentatonix had considered him capable of achieving. Maybe it is even the societal perception, he theorizes. Perhaps he is filled with such a glee to be defying what society deems as "abnormal" that it makes him feel stunning.

Although he believes that it is possibly because dressed like this, accepting one of his many differences, he feels like Mitch: strong, bold, powerful, beautiful. He wonders if the countertenor always feels like this, like the world rest at his fingertips and the galaxy lay in his palm.

His breath hitches as he hears the front door open and close, nearly twists his ankle as he staggers toward the bed and rushes to unlatch the boots from his feet and appear as he is – masculine. Normal.

But then Mitch is opening his bedroom door and Scott had barely unzipped the siding of one shoe, let alone taken them off. There is a pause, tears welling in the blonde's eyes as he hurries to find an explanation, an apology, but then he remembers that he is Mitch, and Mitch does not judge you for being different, he commends you for embracing it, and Scott swears he is in love with Mitch in any sense possible when his favourite brunette smiles at him and whispers, "Beautiful."

***

I kinda like this and I kinda have another idea for it and I'm kinda gonna work on it when I have the time woah.

Okay so this was a concept where both Scott and Mitch are femme as fuck bc I've always read fics with both one or the other, but never both, and I find the idea of Mitch helping Scott embrace his more feminine side really cute for some reason. It's also this thing where Scott's femininity isn't really as much a part of him as Mitch's is, it's more this thing where certain feminine things (such as the heels) reassure his self-confidence and make him feel like he's beautiful, etc. etc.

I hope everyone liked it! Love you all, bye <3