“Little bro” as Matt heard those words his heart hitched – he was the younger brother now, and Tim seemed to know it. ‘Shit. Keep calm, the little shit is enjoying this. Don't give him the satisfaction’.
“Doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t be looking, perv” was the best reply he could think of, but in actuality the bigger reason he wanted to get dressed was he didn’t want to look. But having to look at this new Tim as he towered before him, a thought did occur to Matt.
“I mean, you really need to change too. It looks like your clothes shrunk in the laundry…”. For in front of him was, as far as anyone else would be concerned, a 16 year old near adult wearing someone much youngers clothes.
The top he wore was stretched across his newly broadened chest and shoulders, the collar right up against his neck. The cargo shorts ended well above his knees (helping to make his newly hairy legs even more visible); and the waist looked like it was going to pop if he so much as breathed out. Frankly it was a good thing Tim hadn't been wearing shoes or he would have either comically ripped them open, or seriously hurt his toes.
It was an absurd sight to behold – as if he had gone in to his brothers closet, thrown on the smallest clothes he could find, and was now looking in the mirror to see how they didn’t fit.
Except it wasn't a mirror. It was reality. That was Tim, looking just like him, and he was sat on the bed looking, jesus christ, like Tim. 'This is a nightmare' he thought, seemingly having to fight himself to stay calm.
At that Tim looked down at himself and then not so subtly attempted in vain to adjust his junk in the overstretched shorts.
“Yeah, uh, this is pretty … tight now” he grabbed for the bottom of the t-shirt and started lifting whilst leaning forward to pull it over his head, then (to Matt's subtle irritation) casually dropped it to the floor. Next he sucked in a massive breath in order to try and undo the button on the khaki shorts, taking a new seconds to fumble before getting it undone; the second he succeeded he let out a deep huff and allowed his belly to expand again.
While the shorts slowly slid down his legs to the ground Matt was left staring at his own body – and frankly beyond his confusion and fear of this whole swap horror show – he ... actually didn’t look too bad. Maybe it is looking in from the outside, but he wasn't in bad shape he allowed himself to think, he still needed to build muscle, but he was lean in a good way. He was … attractive. But then as he continued to take in this new perspective of his own body, his view settled on the frankly obscene bulge being barely contained by much too tight tighty whiteys.
He rapidly became aware of the feeling of his face turning red again, the tips of his ears burning. It must be a Tim body thing, because he definitely didn’t normally feel this … shy and embarrassed about ... well anything.
He coughed slightly and cleared his throat – chagrined by the higher pitch once again – whilst turning to look somewhere (anywhere) else.
“Okay, well, uhh. You get changed in here, feel free to just grab something from my drawers. I’m gonna, uh, go do the same in your room.”
“No probs, baby bro” Tim smoothly replied, hands already on the waistband of the underwear, and then winked as Matt scuttled as fast as he could out the door, hands still covering his reduced crotch.
‘Did he fucking wink. What the fuckity fuck is happening in my life right now?’ Matt couldn’t help but be a little scandalised. Was Tim always like this? Had he just not noticed?
But he didn’t have time to consider how his brothers personality might be changing as he finally grew up – he walked in to Tim's room and slowly surveyed the familiar surroundings from a new vantage point.
It was a fairly standard tweenage boys room, but it almost felt like a prison in that moment. ‘What if I’m trapped here, if we’re stuck like this, and I have to live Tim's life, live like this…’ but before he could go too far down that rabbit hole he heard the distant sound of furniture moving and Tim shouting “Hey, what drawer do you keep your underwear in? You know what, never mind, I’m good”.
‘Clothes. I came in here for clothes, I need to get dressed – because this situation’ he mentally gesticulated to his current body, its complete lack of clothing, and the fact he really didn’t want to look at his younger brothers physiology ‘is totally unacceptable’.
Moving over to the open closet he saw the first signs of Tim's usual wardrobe choices. Well, choices might be too strong a word. The younger teen was effectively still being dressed by their mom – she bought pretty much all of his clothes for him, and would not so gently nag him to dress a certain way.
It was the firm opposite situation with Matt's stylistic choices, he’d been organising his own wardrobe for a few years, not that it was a complex task – but he’d jumped at the chance when he was younger than Tim for some sort of independence and personal identity.
Something Tim didn’t yet seem to be doing – though that might be on the horizon based on a conversation he overheard not too long ago where his mom had implied Tim would be able to select all the new stuff being bought for the coming school year.
Frankly, based on what little of Tim's ‘style’ he had seen (and that really seemed to be his best friends style being absorbed by fashion osmosis), it was going to end up being very 90’s grunge.
‘Which is fine, better than, well, any of this’ he thought as he moved a hanger to get a better look at a patterned short sleeve button up shirt hanging there. ‘Planets, like a fucking toddler, jesus’.
The clothing before him was almost all primary coloured or patterned, button up or polo shirts. Along with khaki or navy pants, or cargo shorts. You wouldn't even need to size it down much and it would suit a 7 year old fine, forget a 13 year old. The only saving grace was there didn't seem to be any cartoon character t-shirts.
And this was the problem, at least in Matt's opinion – not only did Tim not particularly look like a teenager, but he dressed almost like a child too. He wasn't actually that immature personality wise, but he just gave off his whole image of childishness. Standing at like 4’8 really didn’t help though.
With so little (at least to his mind) choice – he grabbed a dark green and white stripped polo, a pair of briefs, and a pair of thin white socks that seemed like they would only just get past even his now small ankles. ‘I swear to god, if we arnt back to normal in the next few hours, I am going to dig out some of my old clothes. Because this is just embarrassing’ he thought as he looked for clean pants. “Hey Timmy? Where are all your pants at?” he shouted over his shoulder, but jumped when immediately he got a reply.
“Here, just take these Matty” Tim said from the doorway with a smirk, and threw the shorts he’d been wearing earlier, along with all the other dirty clothes, to hit him in the back.
“Oh, uh, okay I guess” Matt hadn't really wanted to wear shorts, and he really didn’t want to wear something Tim had just recently been wearing – but, at that thought he looked across and was immediately struck. “Dude, are you wearing my stuff from before I showered?!”.
“Oh? Yeah, maybe, I guess. I just saw them on the floor and they seemed clean enough. They’re only clothes.”
“Gross. That's gross, I wore those earlier”.
“I mean, did you, or did I?” Tim replied, raising his eyebrow with what could maybe be described as a look of challenge.
“I, uh, wha?”
“Oh, I ordered pizza too. Should be here in a minute. You might want to get some clothes on squirt” and with that, Matt had to watch his own body, wearing his own clothes walk away from him. He wanted to protest, but honestly it was a good point if snidely made. He really did need to put something on.
So resigned to this horrific fate he grabbed the bundle of clothes he’d picked out and walked over grabbing the thrown shorts, and laying them all down on Tim's bed.
First were the underwear, more tighty whiteys – ‘I haven't worn these in fucking years – I’m really going to have to help him pick out a new wardrobe after this’ – he lifted one smooth leg up and put them on, and then the other, standing up to pull them towards his waist. But then quiet unexpectedly to himself he let out an honest to god “eep” as they suddenly made snug contact ‘down stairs’.
It was probably a mix of his perception of proportions being off, and the fact he was used to wearing much looser boxer briefs – but the sudden feeling of ‘support’ was … weird. He almost automatically went to adjust his package, before realising there really wasn't much he actually needed to do. Everything was snugly in place now.
Then polo top – easy enough to pull over his head – but as he did he noticed the label on the inside neck “Boys Age 10-11”. Continuing to push his arms up through the holes he tried to ignore the mental image that anyone who saw him was going to think he was barely in junior high – forget that Tim was starting high school, and not even mentioning that he was actually really meant to be not all that far off graduation.
Honestly he kind of wanted to see how he looked, to get a view of just what he had had to put on – but there was also relief Tim didn’t have a mirror in his room. He knew he wouldn't be happy with what he would inevitably see.
For the first time something his new body did didn't alarm him - he felt the murmuring of his stomach from hunger. “Fine, lets get this done”.
He picked up the shorts and stepped in to them, pulling them up – again the tightness was a surprise, not just of ‘downstairs’ though - ‘I guess 11 year old’s don’t need much room’ – but also at the waist.
He usually had slightly looser jeans with room to breathe and maybe a belt. ‘How the hell didn’t they split earlier when they are this tight on this tiny body’. Putting his hands in to the pockets to feel out how much space there was, mostly dressed he had one thing left.
The socks – they were nothing like what he normally wore. They were thin, almost like dress socks – he basically always wore crew socks, or sport socks, or something with some padding, even if he worse slacks he was probably wearing crew socks with smart shoes.
‘But I guess when you weigh less than a wet paper bag, you don’t need padding’ he offhandedly considered to himself as he rubbed the material between his fingers.
He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and grabbing one sock at the open end and lined it up to slip it over his toes and up his foot – he couldn't avoid noticing how much smaller his foot looked, how much easier the sock went on; usually there was tugging and pulling involved. As he did the same with the other he started to try to shift focus on what he was going to do next instead.
'Look at the ring – carefully. Maybe see if there is anything on the internet about swapping bodies?! Hopefully something about how to reverse this mess'. With socks on, he stood up and then stilled.
… He needed to piss.
He had really been hoping to avoid this experience entirely – or at least for as long as possible – but that wasn't to be because apparently he had a tiny bladder now.
The call of nature too much he trudged to the bathroom, noticing on the way that Tim seemed to have left the other bedroom. Walking in to the bathroom and closing the door (he must have left the light on earlier during his quick escape) he approached the toilet and unzipped.
“How the fuck am I meant to…” the fly on the briefs was way more fiddly than he was used to, but eventually he managed to slip ‘little Matt’ out.
‘Jesus he hasn't even started puberty' maybe that was an unfair thought, Matt knew Tim had at least some beginning of hair, ‘but christ I was bigger at this age’.
There really wasn't much he had to work with now. Imagine if Sophie saw him now, she'd be crying with laughter. “Fuck”. Finishing his business as quickly as possible and then tucking away he turned to wash his hands but without thinking looked in the mirror to check his face as he usually did.
The water was running, but he was just standing still, his hands frozen. Staring – at the boy in the mirror, at the bathroom reflected there. He was even smaller than earlier, the sink was father away, the mirror bigger. But in that mirror, there was Tim staring at him.
Light brown hair (until a few years ago more blond than brown), medium length – longer than Matt had let his get to, but not much past his ears, in a curtain middle parting. Bright blue eyes. Button nose. Pouty frown. And as he slowly turned his head side to side, the mirror image did too – his hair briefly swishing in front of him. It wasn't him, it wasn't some in-between person - it was Tim. They had swapped fully.
He had to fix this – he could not be stuck as Tim.