Micah rolled in the bed from right to left, then back again, the sheets twisted around his legs. His head was a mess, his heart was a mess, and even his body felt wrong. After the third turn, he finally gave up and sat up abruptly, hair messy, breathing uneven.
"…Fuck, the makeup!" The words burst out of him as he slapped his own forehead.
How could he forget something so simple?
He had been so busy being hurt and angry and confused over Clyde's cold attitude that he had completely forgotten he was still wearing his disguise. He was still Asena, from the white wig, makeup, right down to the fake chest, dress, and everything.
No wonder he felt so uncomfortable!
Grumbling under his breath, Micah carefully slid off the bed. His injured ankle protested the moment his foot touched the floor.
"Tch…"
He grabbed the bedframe for balance and hopped awkwardly toward the bathroom, moving like a crippled rabbit. Every small movement reminded him how helpless he felt right now.
