They made their way back the hotel room after the dinner. Luckily their parents didn't notice a thing.
He and Gemma were quite literally reliving a part of their childhood. He remembered this vacation—the laughter, the arguments, the way their family had been before life pulled them in different directions. It was strange to experience it again through different eyes.
He caught himself admiring the way his shadow fell across the hotel carpet, the feminine silhouette so unlike his own.
He reached up and touched Gemma’s face –his face- tracing the contours with fascination.
But then Ryan caught Gemma's suspicious gaze. She was observing him with narrowed eyes, clearly picking up on his unusual fascination with her body.
"I need to talk to you," she whispered, pulling him by the arm into the small balcony area of their hotel room while their parents were in the bathroom.
Once outside, with the door slid shut, Gemma crossed her arms—Ryan's arms—and stared him down, "What was taking you so long in the bathroom?"
Ryan felt heat rush to his cheeks, "Nothing! Just... trying to figure out how to act like you."
Gemma's eyebrow arched skeptically, "And why do you keep looking at my—your—body like that?"
"Like what?" Ryan tried to sound innocent.
"Don’t play dumb. I know you better than anyone. I saw you checking yourself out in the mirror."
"I was making sure I looked like you!" Ryan protested, but the flush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him.
Gemma leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, "Listen to me very carefully. That's my body you're in. My …underage, fifteen-year-old body.”
"I know," he said, trying to sound casual despite the hammering of his heart, "Trust me, I'm aware."
Gemma looked him up and down in silence before opening the balcony door, “Alright.”
The tension between them lingered as they stepped back into the hotel room. Their parents were already settling in for the night, their father flipping through TV channels while their mother arranged toiletries on the bathroom counter.
"Early start tomorrow, kids," their father announced, "Boat tour leaves at nine sharp."
Ryan nodded, trying to appear normal despite the knot in his stomach. Gemma's warning echoed in his mind, making him acutely aware of every movement he made. He slipped into the bathroom after their mother finished, clutching Gemma's pajamas—a soft cotton set with tiny strawberries printed across the fabric.
As he closed the bathroom door behind him, Ryan's hands trembled slightly. Gemma's suspicion had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. He stared at his reflection—her reflection—and tried to compose himself.
Ryan took a deep breath, determined to push Gemma's warning out of his mind. He was in control now, he reminded himself. He could do whatever he wanted inside this body.
He picked up Gemma’s toothbrush and began brushing his teeth, watching himself in the mirror. It felt strange, using her toothbrush, feeling the bristles against teeth that weren't his own. He spat into the sink and rinsed.
He dug through her toiletry bag and found a pink bottle of face wash. Squeezing a dollop onto his palm, he massaged it into Gemma's skin, admiring how soft it felt beneath his fingertips. The ritual felt intimate, as if he were caring for someone else while simultaneously being that person.
After washing his face, Ryan changed into the strawberry pajamas, savoring the feel of the soft cotton against his skin. He couldn't help but notice how different fabric felt against a girl's body—lighter somehow, more sensitive. The pajama top hugged Gemma's curves in a way that made Ryan's breath catch.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Gemma gave him a pointed look from where she sat cross-legged on one of the beds. Their parents had already settled in for the night, their father's soft snores filling the room.
"Your turn," Ryan whispered, gesturing toward the bathroom.
Gemma nodded curtly and slipped past him, her movements awkward in his lankier frame. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Ryan alone with his thoughts and the rhythmic snoring of their father.
He crawled into bed, relishing the sensation of the cool sheets against Gemma's bare legs. The strawberry pajama shorts rode up slightly as he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. It felt different, lying down in this body—the weight distributed differently, the curve of his hips pressing into the mattress in unfamiliar ways.
Ryan stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of living as Gemma.
Gemma walked out of the bathroom in Ryan’s old pair of pajamas and slid into bed next to him.
Ryan held his breath as Gemma settled in beside him. The two single beds had been pushed together to accommodate the family of four in the hotel room, their parents already fast asleep on the other bed.
"This is weird," Gemma whispered, turning to face him. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, Ryan could see his own face looking back at him, the features tense with concern.
"I know," he whispered back, trying to sound appropriately uncomfortable despite the thrill still coursing through him, "But we'll get through it."
Gemma sighed, pulling the covers up to her chin, "Just remember what I said, okay?"
"I got it," Ryan assured her, turning away to hide his expression, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Gemma murmured, her voice already heavy with exhaustion.
Ryan lay awake long after Gemma's breathing had slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep.
He couldn't sleep. Not with Gemma's body.
He slowly slipped his hand up to cup her tit. He glanced over at his sister, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully in his form.
This wasn't just some anonymous body he'd been dropped into—this was Gemma. His little sister. The same sister who had shared ice cream with him on summer evenings, who'd bickered with him over the TV remote, who had always looked up to him as her protective older brother.
Sleep eventually claimed him, bringing dreams where he danced between identities, sometimes himself, sometimes Gemma.
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