Jesse awoke the next morning to a soft buzzing sound. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and the sensation of another body beside him made his heart lurch. He blinked slowly as Sam, still half-asleep, reached out and swatted his phone to snooze the alarm. The soft buzz ceased, but Sam barely stirred, instead shifting even closer under the blankets. He curled his arm around Jesse in a way that made Jesse’s heart pound, but not in a good way.
It was intimate—too intimate—and Jesse froze, his body stiffening. He stared at the ceiling, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move. He needed space, air, anything to break the closeness that felt completely wrong.
Sam's breathing remained slow and even, his face just inches from Jesse's shoulder. It wasn’t aggressive, but the casual familiarity made it worse. Sam clearly saw nothing wrong with it. In this reality, they must’ve shared this bed countless times before, and Jesse was supposed to be comfortable with it.
But he wasn’t.
Carefully, Jesse began to slide out from under the covers, inch by inch, doing everything in his power not to disturb Sam. His heart raced with each tiny movement, his body tense as he maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed. His feet hit the floor, and the sense of relief was immediate, like he could finally breathe again.
He stood there for a moment, glancing back at Sam, who had shifted into the space he left behind, still completely unaware. Jesse felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Sam wasn’t doing anything wrong—it was Jesse who was out of place here. Sam was just acting like the best friend he had always been in this world, comfortable and close. Jesse was the one who didn’t belong.
Rubbing his hands over his face, Jesse stepped quietly over to his vanity. He didn’t know what to do next. His mind raced with the chaos of the situation, the confusion of waking up in a world where nothing made sense. He stared into the mirror at the person he barely recognized, feeling like an intruder in his own life.
The reflection looking back at him was soft, delicate, with features he didn’t fully recognize as his own. He ran a hand through his long hair, trying to make sense of it all, but the unease wouldn’t go away.
He sighed quietly, glancing over his shoulder. Sam was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the internal storm Jesse was going through. The thought of facing everyone again, of pretending to be this version of himself that he didn’t understand, felt overwhelming. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the act.
Jesse quietly crept out of his room and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, hoping the sound of his footsteps wouldn’t wake anyone else. The house was still, save for the soft hum of the morning. As he entered the bathroom, he closed the door behind him and let out a long, shaky breath.
He turned on the light and stared at himself in the mirror again. His eyes scanned over the features that, even after a day in this body, still didn’t feel like his own. Everything about this body seemed foreign—the smoothness of his skin, the lack of stubble on his chin, the fullness of his chest.
With a sigh, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear his head. The shock of the water made him jolt slightly, but it didn’t shake the feeling that he was still trapped in some strange dream. Maybe it wasn’t a nightmare, but it was no less disorienting. The water dripped down his skin, and for a moment, he let his mind go blank, focusing only on the sensation of coolness and the rhythmic sound of droplets hitting the sink.
He grabbed his toothbrush next, eyeing the soft pink handle with reluctance. Even this felt alien—this reality where every small object seemed to reinforce the fact that he was living someone else’s life. After brushing his teeth, he stood there, staring at the shower. He knew he needed to get ready, but the thought of stepping under the water and being alone with his thoughts was daunting.
Finally, he tugged at the hem of his oversized shirt and slipped it off, feeling the strange weight of his chest as he did so. His skin was smooth—shaven, soft in a way he wasn’t used to. He couldn’t shake the odd sensation of having no body hair. Running his hands over his arms and legs, he barely recognized the body that was now his own.
With a resigned sigh, Jesse slipped out of his shorts and turned on the shower. Steam filled the room quickly, and he stepped under the warm water, closing his eyes as the water cascaded down his skin. For a brief moment, he let the warmth soothe him, trying to push aside the anxiety gnawing at his mind.
But even in the shower, he couldn’t escape the foreignness of everything. His hands brushed against his breasts, a reminder that this body was not his own. The sensation was uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and he tried not to linger on it as he reached for the shampoo.
The shower caddy was filled with feminine care products—pastel-colored bottles with flowery scents. He hesitated, staring at the unfamiliar labels. In his old life, he’d had a basic routine—cheap body wash, maybe some two-in-one shampoo. Now he was faced with an array of conditioners, body scrubs, and lotions.
This is ridiculous. he muttered to himself, grabbing the nearest shampoo bottle, hoping it didn’t matter which one he chose. He poured some into his hand, the thick, creamy texture and flowery scent instantly filling the small bathroom with the aroma of lavender and chamomile.
As he massaged the shampoo into his scalp, Jesse couldn’t help but notice how soft and smooth his hair felt, something he'd never experienced before. It was longer than he was used to, cascading over his shoulders, and he realized with a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration that the products were doing their job. His hair felt amazing, even if it made him feel more out of place in this body. The strange, feminine softness that clung to him, the pampered texture of his hair—it was all so foreign, so unlike the rough, hurried showers of his old life
Jesse reached for the body wash, staring at the pastel bottle for a moment, its label adorned with cursive lettering that promised "silky smooth skin" and "hydration." He used to just grab whatever was cheapest at the store, something with a generic scent like "Fresh" or "Sport." Now, everything about his routine seemed designed to soften, to pamper—words that felt like they didn’t belong in his world. Not his world, anyway.
He squeezed the thick, floral-scented gel into his hand, hesitating for a moment as he stared at the smooth, hairless expanse of his legs. Running his hands over his skin, it felt surreal. His body wasn’t just unfamiliar; it was too perfect—soft in places where he used to be rough, his legs and arms unnaturally smooth compared to the stubble and muscle memory he was used to. He hated how the floral scent of the body wash clung to him, embedding itself in the very air around him as if trying to smother his old self.
Jesse scrubbed his arms, wincing slightly at the softness of his skin beneath his hands, the gentle curve of his body constantly reminding him of how much had changed. It felt like he was washing a stranger. The familiar rhythm of scrubbing dirt and sweat away from his old, athletic body was gone, replaced by a lighter touch—one designed not to irritate the sensitive skin he now wore. Even his hands felt smaller, more delicate, as they moved across his chest, avoiding the unmistakable rise of his breasts as long as possible.
But eventually, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. His fingers brushed against them, and he froze, the sensation jarring and uncomfortable. His breath hitched, and for a moment, Jesse could barely bring himself to continue. It was too strange, too real. He didn’t want to acknowledge what his body had become, but the physical reality of it was impossible to ignore. The body wash glided easily over his skin, and he scrubbed as quickly as he could, trying to avoid lingering on the places that made him feel most out of place in his own skin.
When he finally rinsed off, the floral scent seemed to linger in the steam around him, even more overwhelming than before. He stood there for a moment under the water, his hands resting on the shower wall as he tried to collect his thoughts. The silky feeling of his skin, the smoothness of his legs and arms—it was all so alien. The part of him that still felt like Jesse couldn’t reconcile this new version of his body with who he was inside.
Jesse shut off the water and stood there for a moment, letting the steam rise around him. His mind was a haze of confusion, frustration, and exhaustion. Reaching for the towel hanging on the nearby rack, he wrapped it tightly around his body, trying to shield himself from the lingering discomfort of everything he had just experienced.
The fabric was plush and soft, far more luxurious than what he was used to. He normally had a simple, worn towel that barely did the job. But now, like everything else in this new life, even the towel felt foreign—too soft, too delicate, like it wasn’t really his.
As he dried off, Jesse avoided looking at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t ready for that yet. The reflection would only serve as another reminder of what had happened to him, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Instead, he focused on getting dry quickly, patting his legs, arms, and torso without thinking too much about it. The soft skin under his hands still felt wrong, like he was touching someone else entirely.
Once dry, he wrapped the towel around his body again, tucking it securely under his arms. It barely felt like it was enough to cover him. Everything about this body felt smaller, more exposed. The vulnerability was suffocating, and as he stepped out of the bathroom, he wished desperately that he could just go back to his old life, where everything made sense, where he didn’t have to think about how to carry himself or what his reflection looked like.
Jesse paused outside his bedroom door, the towel wrapped snugly around his body, heart pounding as he realized Sam was still inside. The last thing he wanted was to walk in and make the awkward situation even worse. He had hoped Sam would still be asleep, unaware of the time he’d spent in the shower. But as he gently turned the doorknob and peeked into the room, his hopes were dashed.
Sam was awake, lounging comfortably in bed, scrolling through his phone with a soft smile on his face. Jesse’s stomach twisted with discomfort. His mind raced, desperate to figure out what to do next. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it—after all, they were both boys, right? But the way things felt right now, everything was different, and the last thing Jesse wanted was for Sam to see him this vulnerable.
As he stepped into the room, Sam glanced up from his phone. "Hey, took you long enough." he teased with a light-hearted grin. "You feeling any better? You know, like... is your memory back or anything?”
“Not really.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, trying to hide his discomfort.
Sam frowned, tilting his head as he tried to make sense of the answer. He didn’t seem to pick up on Jesse’s nerves, instead sitting up and stretching. "Well, at least you’re up now. We’ve got to figure out what you’re wearing today, right?" He hopped out of bed with the kind of energy Jesse wished he had right now. The situation made Jesse feel even more self-conscious as he stood there in just a towel.
"Uh, yeah." Jesse mumbled, his voice shaky as he crossed the room to his closet. He opened the doors to reveal a sea of clothing that felt completely foreign to him—pastel tops, fitted jeans, skirts, and dresses. None of it looked remotely like the clothes he used to wear.
Sam walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the selection. "Alright, let’s see... How about this one?" he said, pulling out a cute floral crop top and a pair of light-wash denim shorts. He held them up, raising an eyebrow as if expecting Jesse to jump at the idea.
Jesse froze, staring at the clothes in Sam’s hands. The idea of showing that much skin in front of everyone again made his stomach churn. "I don’t know..." he started, feeling a lump in his throat.
Sam gave him a reassuring look. "Don’t worry, Jess. You always look cute in stuff like this. It’s your style! Besides, you’ve worn this outfit a million times before, trust me." He flashed a grin, trying to be encouraging, though Jesse was hesitant.