The world did not grant Johnny his request.
Instead, it greeted him with a crisp chill and the faint scent of pine trees and old paperbacks.
Johnny stirred beneath the sheets, a strange heaviness tugging at his limbs. Something was off. The blankets felt thicker, the air cooler, and—
He sat bolt upright.
Layers of muted flannel and denim rustled stiffly as he moved. His arms were wrapped in a red plaid shirt over a plain gray tee, both slightly oversized but cinched neatly at the waist by a fitted pair of skinny jeans. There was an odd weight to his feet: brown canvas sneakers, worn and laced tightly. And around his neck, a faint chill from the open collar of his shirt made him shiver.
Beneath it all, he could feel it—a set of soft, lacy lingerie clinging to his skin. A dusty rose bralette with delicate scalloped trim hugged his chest, paired with matching boyshort panties that were both snug and uncomfortably intimate. Every shift of movement reminded him they were there, the lace grazing his hips, the elastic gentle but firm.
He sighed. "Well... at least it’s not pink and frilly."
His hair—
He bolted to the mirror.
His brown locks had been tousled into a subtle wave, parted slightly to the side, falling just so. It wasn’t his style. It was effortlessly messy in a very deliberate way. And his face...
He still looked like Johnny. But softer, sleepier. His brows seemed a little more furrowed, his lips naturally pursed in permanent teenage disapproval.
His eyes, though... they looked like they'd spent all night contemplating a doomed romance.
"No... no no no," he whispered.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Hey, you up yet?" Stacy called casually as she stepped in—and froze.
Her eyes swept over him from head to toe, brow furrowing. "What the hell are you wearing?"
Johnny turned slowly, arms limp at his sides. "I think... I’m Bella Swan."
Stacy blinked. "You what?"
"I mean—not actually. But this is definitely her wardrobe. And I think I’m starting to feel like her."
He opened his mouth again, but what came out was a soft, awkward mumble: "I guess I just... feel kind of weird today. Like... off."
He blinked slowly, his shoulders curling inward.
Stacy stared, visibly unnerved now. "Okay. You’re acting super weird. And are you seriously wearing lingerie under that?"
Johnny nodded miserably. "It's lacy. And very clingy. I can feel the bow on the back waistband. Why would she even wear this under flannel?"
"I don’t know! Why does she fall for a dead guy who wants to drink her blood? Twilight logic!"
Johnny paced toward the mirror, his steps uncertain, almost timid. He hugged his arms around himself and bit his bottom lip. "Do you think people are staring at me all the time? Like they know something I don’t?"
Stacy's eyes widened. "You sound like you're about to write bad poetry about rain clouds."
Johnny sighed again, dramatically this time. "Everything just feels... emotionally heavy. Like I’m carrying the weight of a supernatural love triangle on my shoulders."
Stacy pinched the bridge of her nose. "This curse is getting weirder by the day. Alright, come on. We’ve still got stuff to do."   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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