Dante Adams woke up expecting to find a ratty-haired blonde in his arms, the girl he took home from the previous night's homecoming party, but the bed was empty. This itself wasn't surprising. It had been a lousy night.
She couldn't stop prattling while straddling him about cosplaying as Yana-Yugo-San or some-such nonsense at an anime convention; all the while, Dante kept his ear peeled for the garage door in case his parents had lied and weren't staying the night with friends. He threw in the obligatory grunt here and there, whispered "I love you's" and "Oh yeah's" but his heart wasn't in it and he figured the girl knew. She was just happy some football player had paid attention to her.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The ceiling was the same slate-gray as his own, but everything else seemed different... The bed was closer to the ground, the sunlight came from another angle, the covers felt thinner and the corner pulled across his shoulder was decorated with green-and-brown bamboo sticks. His had been plain, and he was sure the nerd girl hadn't brought her own blanket...
A poster on the wall caught his attention. "MARTYR OF THE RUCKUS," bold, faux-3D letters declared beneath a photo of sleazy, scowling men in leather and dreads. They were the big pop-band of that year, geared mostly toward popular girls who wanted to feel "rebellious." All the cheerleaders loved them. Dante's thoughts began to race at the association until, spotting family photos featuring a certain brunette, his mind seized the impossible. He clutched his head and felt a thicker mane of hair, and in the motion several strands fell before his eyes - brown, not blonde and close-cropped.
The covers flew off and Dante discovered the damp camisole plastered to his new rack of epic proportions: breasts he only dreamed of, now two inches from his vision. Green boxer shorts cut off at his thighs and revealed tan, vibrant legs, no doubt as muscular as his old ones, but more compact in their power and capable of a grace beyond the limits of his old broad-shouldered, 6'3'' body. Bare feet with pink-pig toes wiggled at the edge of this smaller bed. They taunted him with the new reality.
"What the fuck!" he squeaked, voice crackly, soft and new. "I'm actually Maya Braynard!"
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