Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shiro knew it was going to be a bad afternoon when he could already hear the shouting from down the hall.  Sure enough, when he opened the door to the science classroom for the robotics club meeting, Pidge and Lance were at each other’s throats, Hunk was trying to mediate, and Keith was ignoring the rest of them and working on some homework at the table with his headphones in.  Pidge was even kneeling on his stool to be at the same height as Lance while they both yelled at each other across the table.  On the ground between them was Pidge’s laptop, screen cracked and keys scattered across the tiles.   Uh-oh , Shiro thought.

“I told you to watch where you were going!”  Pidge shouted.

“And I told you to move your computer away from the edge of the table!”  Lance retorted.

“I was using it !”  Pidge threw his arms out.  “What did you want me to do, sit in the middle of the table and work?!  Why don’t you just look where you’re going?!”  

“I was carrying the club stuff!  You saw that!”  Lance pointed to the box where they stored their club hardware and current project.  Their science teacher, Coran, let them use the classroom to work, but they had to keep their project in a box in the storage closet when club wasn’t in session.

“I can’t believe I can’t turn away for five seconds to get a freaking protractor out of the cabinet without you destroying everything in your path!”  

“One laptop is hardly ‘everything in my path’!”  Lance glared at the shortest team member.  “I get that it’s important, but you’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.  You can just build another one!”  

“That’s not the point!”  Pidge seethed.  “I had work saved on this one, you numbskull!  And I can’t just snap my fingers and make another computer from scratch!”  

“Oh come on, it’s not even that hard for you.”  Lance rolled his eyes.  “Since you’re just a perfect little tech genius with a perfect little life--”

“‘Perfect’?!  What’s perfect about it?!  You wouldn’t be able to last one day in my shoes!”  Pidge shouted.  

“Oh please!  How hard can your life possibly be?”  Lance scoffed.  Pidge growled and shoved him in the chest.  Shiro quickly moved between them before Lance could retaliate.  

“Alright, let’s not get physical here.”  He said sternly.  “No one’s life is ‘perfect’, and you’re both valued members of this team--”

“Then treat me like it!”  Lance snapped.  “Just let me do something from time to time!  Let me help!”

“You break everything you touch!”  Pidge shouted, pointing to the shattered laptop at his feet.  

And they’re back in this cycle… Shiro sighed internally.  

“You know what, fine!”  Lance threw his hands up.  “Fine!  Pidge gets what he wants, I’m out!”  

“Try not to break the door on the way out!”  Pidge shouted.  Just for that, Lance slammed the door as he stormed out of the classroom.  Pidge smacked his hands down on the table top with a growl.  Shiro turned a cold glare on him.

“Pidge.”  

“He broke my laptop, Shiro.  I have a right to be upset.”  Pidge slid off the stool and started picking up the pieces of the smashed computer.  

“You do, but it was an accident.”  Hunk said patiently.  “You were too hard on him.”  

“This isn’t even the first thing that klutz has wrecked,”  Pidge said.  “If no one is hard on him, he won’t ever learn to be more careful.”

Shiro slowly released a tense exhale.  “Alright, club is cancelled today.”  

Pidge looked up, shocked.  “What?  Why?”

“You’re upset, Lance is upset, not to mention missing,” Shiro explained.  “Even if we were to get him to come back, neither of you are in any state to be productive today.  Go home and cool off, and we’ll try meeting again on Wednesday.”

“I don’t need to cool off--”

“Yes you do.  You both do.”  Shiro said firmly.  

Pidge glared at him for several long moments, then turned away with a scoff.  “Fine.  But my laptop is still going to be just as broken on Wednesday, and Lance is still going to be just as much of an idiot.”  He said, shoving the broken computer into his backpack.  He tried to storm past Shiro, but the taller man caught his arm.  

“Just try to put yourself in his shoes for once, okay?  You could both do with appreciating each other a little more.”  

Pidge shrugged his arm out of Shiro’s grip with a scoff.  “Whatever.”      

~~~

Lance was not a morning person.  

When the loud beeps of an alarm clock rudely ripped him out of his sleep, he blindly reached out and smacked at it until it stopped.  He groaned and pushed himself upright, still unwilling to open his eyes, and yawned as he slid out of bed...

And promptly fell flat on his face.  

“Ow!”  What the heck…?  Was his voice higher?  He blinked his eyes open and with a jolt, was suddenly very, very much awake.  This was definitely not his room.  Gone were his blue-painted walls decorated with baseball and soccer posters.  These walls were painted green, and there were some light brown and green curtains over the window.  In the corner was a desk holding a desktop monitor and modem that looked like they had been built using parts from other computers, like a Franken-computer.  The bookshelf next to the desk was cluttered with an assortment of books, pliers, wire cutters, screwdrivers, bolts, a couple of external hard drives, and what looked like a few circuit boards.  There was a sweater draped over the back of the chair and a pile of clothes in a laundry basket next to the closet, and that sealed the deal that this had to be a dream; his mother would never let him be that messy.  Everything was also blurry, and he couldn’t focus on small details.  That meant it had to be a dream, surely.  

Lance got to his feet, looking down at himself and wondering why his brain had to whitewash him in his own dream; his skin was much lighter than normal, pale even, with little flecks of brown scattered up and down his arms.  Huh, so that’s what he would look like with freckles?  What an odd thing to be included in a dream.  He scratched the back of his neck, then paused and felt his hair.  It was much longer; shorter than chin-length, but even that was longer than it usually was.  

When he got to his feet, he realized how he had fallen out of bed before.  His own bed was pretty simple, what he would consider an average height off the floor.  This bed, however, was about half a foot higher and had drawers underneath the bed.  It wasn’t much difference, but it had been enough to take him by surprise when he… well, was it really ‘waking up’ if you were still dreaming?  But wait a second, was he…?  He looked up and down between the ceiling and the floor, frowning.  Was he shorter, or were the ceilings just really high in this dream?  Weird.  

He jumped as someone knocked on the door.  “Katie, hurry up or I’m going to eat all your pancakes!”  A male voice called cheerily.  Lance blinked like a deer caught in the headlights, stunned.  Who was Katie?  He didn’t really know how to respond to that.  Apparently, silence wasn’t the right answer, though, because another knock came on the door.  “Katie?  You’re not still asleep, are you?  It’s nearly seven-thirty.”  The door opened and a young man Lance had never seen before in his life poked his head in.  He had short, auburn hair and hazel eyes behind a pair of round glasses, and he looked… vaguely familiar, like Lance knew someone who looked similar, perhaps.  “Hey sleepy-head, wakey wakey-- Oh, you are up.”  The guy gave him a bemused look.  “What’s with that face?  Did you stay up all night watching ghost hunter shows again?  I told you, they’re not real.”  

“I… what?”  Lance had had a lot of weird dreams, but usually even the most bizarre ones made somewhat sense while he was actually asleep.  Now, though, he had no idea what was going on.    

The guy laughed.  “Guess that answers that question.  I’ll make some coffee.  You look like you need it.  Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.”  With that, he closed the door.

If there was anything he had learned from playing video games, it was to follow the advice of the friendly NPCs when they talked about specific places.  The same logic probably applied to dreams, too, he figured.  He walked towards the door, intending to follow the guy, when he suddenly noticed someone out of the corner of his eye.  At first, he thought that guy had come back, but then he realized it was just a mirror hanging on the wall next to the door.  The image that was reflected, though, wasn’t Lance.  It was… Pidge?!  What was Pidge doing in his dream?!  It was strange to see Pidge in pajamas and with his hair messy and ruffled from sleep.  He was wearing a too-big black t-shirt with a green alien face on the front, and a pair of green and orange plaid pajama pants.  He squinted at the reflection, which squinted back at him.  Why was this dream so blurry…?

He spotted a pair of round glasses folded up on the desk, so he picked them up and put them on.  Oh, that took care of the blurriness.  He blinked owlishly, marveling at his brain’s attention to detail in this dream.  He still couldn’t figure out why he looked like Pidge, though.  Wait... how could he really be sure this was a dream?  (Besides the fact that this was crazy, of course).  He reached down and pinched his arm -- Pidge’s arm? -- sharply.  Ow, that actually hurt.  Which meant…

No.

“No, no, no...”  Lance pinched his other arm, his calf, his left side… no matter how many times he pinched himself, though, he wasn’t waking up.  Which meant he was awake.  But how was this possible?  How had he ended up in Pidge’s body?  This wasn’t a wacky teen comedy movie, this was real life!  

Another knock on the door startled him and he jumped as the guy from before called through the door.  “Hey, you’re really going to be late if you don’t hurry up.”  

“Um, yeah, coming.”  Lance tried to make it sound like he wasn’t completely freaked out and having a quite literal out-of-body experience.  Why was Pidge’s voice so much higher than normal?  He cleared his throat a little, and that seemed to help, but he still had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice from going too high.  Maybe it was just because he was nervous.  That was probably it.  

So… no longer a dream, but he still had the same objective.  Follow the NPC -- Pidge’s… brother?  Did he have a brother?  He had never mentioned it -- and attempt to get to school and find Pidge, who hopefully had Lance’s body, and maybe they could figure out how to switch back.  Hopefully.  He just had to survive getting past Pidge’s family without them noticing.    

Okay, so first things first: clothes.  Probably in the closet, right?  He opened the closet and dug through the drawers in search of a shirt and pants.  He grabbed some clothes at random, not having paid enough attention to what Pidge wore regularly.  This kid had the lamest taste in fashion.  All of his shirts were loose and baggy.  Would it kill him to get a pair of skinny jeans or a fitted t-shirt?    

He pulled off the pajama shirt and reached for a green t-shirt, plain and boring like the rest of Pidge’s wardrobe.  He glanced down as he put it on.  Huh, Pidge was pretty scrawny, but not as lean as Lance, a little chubby around the lower stomach and hips, honestly.  And he had a serious case of man-boobs.  It practically looked like a girl, albeit a smaller one (maybe an A-cup?).  Puberty was a bitch, Lance thought; he remembered when that had happened to him, for a little while, before he sprouted up.  At least Lance knew he had a hotter body than Pidge, now.  He felt a vindictive sense of pride at that.

He sleeps in boxers and pajama pants?  What a weird kid… Lance thought as he stripped off the pajama pants and reached for a pair of jeans.  He had absolutely no desire to check out Pidge’s dick.  Pidge was already enough of a dick himself, and based on the rest of his body, Lance was already confident that he was better endowed than him.  Just as he was pulling on the jeans, the phone on the nightstand rang.  

He frowned at the name on the screen -- Lanece the Menace -- before picking up the call.  “You’d better have my body, runt.”

“So we did switch.”  Lance’s voice said over the phone.  It was strange to be listening to himself talk.  “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”  Lance threw his hand up in frustration, glaring at the wall in front of him like he could bore his gaze across town to his own house.  “I am not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong in your life, Pidge!”  

“Well I didn’t do anything,” Pidge said.  “So how did this happen?”  

“I have no idea.”  Lance sighed.  “We’ll just have to figure it out.  Right now, I have to go eat your stupid pancakes and get your ass to school.”  He had half a mind to just skip breakfast and punish Pidge’s body with hunger, but he didn’t know how long they would be stuck like this.  

“Wait, did you… uh, get dressed?”  Pidge asked, sounding nervous.

“Well I wasn’t going to go to school in pajamas.”  Lance said sharply.  “Kinda trying to not attract lot of attention here.”

“Yeah, but you…” Pidge hesitated.  “You saw… Did you… put on the binder, at least?”

Lance raised an eyebrow and reached for a stack of school binders on Pidge’s desk, then paused.  Put on the binder?  How do you put on a…? “The what?”

“Binder.  It’s in the top drawer on the right hand side.  Looks like a tank top.”  Pidge said, voice quiet.  Lance opened the drawer in the closet and found socks, a bunch of pairs of boxers, and a couple of tank tops with stiff paneling on the front.  

“Oh, is this for your man-boobs?”  Lance said.  “Sorry, gynecomastia or whatever?  My uncle gets upset when we call them moobs.”

Pidge was quiet for a long moment.  “...Yes.  For my… man-boobs.”  He said slowly.  “Just make sure you wear that under your shirt.”  

“Alright, whatever.”  Lance pulled the t-shirt off with one hand and set the phone on the corner of the dresser.  

“Hey, promise you won’t tell anyone?”  Pidge asked.

“About your man-boobs?”  Lance said, frowning as he worked the tank-top on.  “Sure.  It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything.”  Damn, this binder thing was really tight.  All Pidge needed to do was work out a little and they’d go away on their own, jeez.

“Thank you, Lance.”  Pidge said.  “I… I owe you one.”

“Thank me by figuring out a way for us to switch back.”  Lance told him.  It was weird to hear Pidge not barking at him for something.  Almost as weird as the rest of this morning was.  “I’m going to eat your pancakes now.  See you at school.”  He hung up the phone, glancing at the time worriedly.  Crap, would he even have time for breakfast, at this point?  

He grabbed Pidge’s backpack, hoping he had all his homework in it already because Lance sure as heck didn’t know what was supposed to go in there, and ran downstairs.  The guy from before, who had to be Pidge’s brother, was at the table with a laptop in front of him and a couple large textbooks open on the table next to him.

“You’re gonna be late, you know.”  The guy said.  “And I can’t give you a ride.  I have to meet up with a professor before my first class so I’m going to campus early.  Leaving in a couple minutes.”  

So was he a college student?  Why had Pidge never mentioned having a brother before?  Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall ever hearing Pidge talk about his family at all.  

“Yeah, I’m going,” Lance grabbed about four pancakes in his hand and folded them in half like a squishy taco.  He would just have to eat them on the run.  “So, uh, how do I usually get to school?  Bus or bike or…?”  

The guy quirked an eyebrow at him as he looked up, amused.  “You walk, dingus.  It’s literally five blocks.”   

“Right, yeah, of course.”  Lance tried to laugh it off, but it just sounded awkward.  He shoved half a pancake into his mouth.  “Uh, see you later.”  

“Have fun at school, make good choices and all that jazz,” the guy waved his fingers at Lance, already turning back to his laptop.  

Lance pulled on Pidge’s beat-up orange Chuck Taylors at the front door with one hand, chowing down on more pancakes with the other.  He realized, belatedly, that he didn’t know where the school was in relation to Pidge’s house, but then he spotted several other kids with backpacks all heading the same direction and figured following them was a safe bet.  

Chapter Text

Lance had to practically run to make it to school on time, and he had just made it into the building when he suddenly realized he wouldn’t have time to meet up with Pidge before first period began.  Cursing silently, he decided he would just have to go through a couple of Pidge’s classes before he could meet up with him in third period history, which the two of them had together.  He knew Pidge had PE first period, though -- the kid never stopped complaining about it, although anyone who ended up with PE first period complained about it, with good reason -- so he headed for the gym.  

Coach Iverson gave him a steely glare as Lance pushed open the door to the gymnasium.  “Well, Holt, will you be gracing us with your presence today?  Or should I just mark you down for another zero for participation right now and save myself the trouble at roll call?”

Lance wondered what crawled up his butt and died there.  “No, I’ll participate.”  He didn’t know why he wouldn’t.  What did Iverson have against Pidge, anyway?

“Now there’s a first.”  Iverson cocked an eyebrow.  “I was starting to think you didn’t even own a uniform.”  

“I, uh… left it at home.”  At least, he hoped he had.  The alternative was that Pidge hadn’t washed his uniform over the weekend, which would be gross.   

Iverson scoffed.  “Figures.”  He reached into a basket and grabbed a spare gym shirt and shorts that said ‘RENTAL’ on the name spaces.  “Fifty cents.  Pay up and remember your uniform next time.”  

Lance dug out Pidge’s wallet from the side pocket of his backpack -- he had seen the guy pay for too many energy drinks at the vending machine not to know where it was -- and begrudgingly handed over the money.  At least it wasn’t actually his money.  He took the uniform from Iverson and headed for the locker room.

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Iverson put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.  

“To go change?”  Lance said, puzzled.  

“Not there, you’re not.”  Iverson crossed his arms.  “We’ve talked about this.  I don’t care what you say, the only thing that matters to me is what’s on your papers.  Now get your ass to that locker room and suit up before I mark you as tardy.”  He pointed toward the girls locker room on the opposite side of the gym.  

Confused as heck but not wanting to be marked late, Lance did as he was told.  He paused at the door and looked back at Iverson.  “You’re sure I go in this one?”  He pointed at the door uncertainly.  

“Did I stutter, Holt?”  Iverson frowned.  

No, but you’re also not making a shred of sense… Lance thought.  He didn’t want to argue with the meanest PE teacher in the school, though, so he sucked it up and opened the door.  

It was every bit as awkward as he imagined.  He could hear at least a dozen girls inside, chatting and getting changed for class.  At least the lockers were around a corner, so he couldn’t see anyone yet.  This was supposed to be every guy’s dream, but when faced with it in real life, it was just too weird.  That, and he didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention to himself when he was stuck in Pidge’s body.  Thinking quickly, he ducked into the toilet stalls that were in the restroom near the door and changed in one of those instead.  He had no idea why Iverson wanted Pidge to go in the girls locker room.  Surely making a boy change with the girls had to violate some kind of school rule, or even federal law.  He changed as quickly as he could in the tiny toilet stall, making sure to keep wearing the tank top thing Pidge had told him to put on.  By the time he was finished, most of the girls had already left, and he managed to slip out without anyone spotting him.  

He panicked for a moment when he realized he didn’t know which line to sit in, but knew they were alphabetical so he took the space between Maria Fulgencio and Alex Irving and just hoped for the best.  That seemed to be the correct spot, as no one made any indication that anything was amiss.  He had just managed to sit down when the bell rang.  Iverson’s lip twitched downward in what looked like disappointment; he had obviously been ready to mark Pidge as late.

“Alright, cupcakes,” Iverson barked, striding to the front of the class.  “We’re doing the mile run test today.  Now, state fitness requirements say that you should all be able to run one mile within one hour.  Personally, I think they set the bar shamefully low.  You’ll only be required to run one mile to pass the test, but if you do two or three, you may earn yourself some brownie points with yours truly for the rest of the semester.  Nothing on the record, of course.  Alright, everyone head out to the track.  And make sure your shoes are tied this time; we don’t need any more stupidity-induced bloody noses.”  He shot a pointed look at a boy in the front row.

The students all got to their feet, with varying levels of enthusiasm ranging from boredom to resignation to dread.  Lance didn’t mind the mile run test; it wasn’t really a big deal for him.  One mile in an hour?  He could probably do it power-walking.  He pulled his arm across his chest in a stretch as he followed the rest of the class outside.  

Iverson scoffed at Lance as he passed.  “Think you can handle this, Holt?  I bet you won’t even make it to half a mile.”  

Oh, that does it , Lance thought.  He glared at Iverson.  “We’ll see about that.”  

Iverson just laughed coldly.  “Sure.  I don’t exactly have high hopes for a lazy kid who hasn’t participated in class all year.”  

Lance didn’t know what Coach Iverson had against Pidge, but he was going to make him eat those words.  Two or three miles in an hour?  No problem.

Ten minutes into the run, though, Lance wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.  Pidge’s body clearly wasn’t used to working out; the muscles of his calves ached and and he was out of breath.  The tank top thing Pidge had told him to wear felt tighter around his chest, like it was squeezing the air out of his lungs every time he tried to draw a deep breath in.  He wondered if he should have taken it off before starting.  There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, by this point.  

He noticed Iverson eyeing him every time he finished a lap around the track, eyebrow cocked like he was just waiting for him to fail or give up.  But if there was one thing Lance was not, it was a quitter; even in Pidge’s body, he sure as hell wasn’t going to give Iverson that satisfaction.  Powering through the pain, he managed to complete twice the number of required laps, putting him at just over two miles.

“Well, knock me over with a feather,” Iverson said snidely, jotting something down on his clipboard as Lance stood bent over with his hands on his knees, panting hard.  Iverson glanced at him.  “Or maybe I should say, knock you over with a feather.  You’d better not throw up, Holt.”

“I’m fine.”  Lance glared at him, straightening up.  The bite of his tone was a bit diminished by the fact that he was still out of breath.  

Iverson scoffed.  “Sure.  Just go get changed.  I’m not writing you a late pass to your next class.”  

Muscles screaming in protest at the movement, Lance jogged back to the girls’ locker room.  In his efforts to make it to that two mile-mark, he had stayed on the track longer than most of the rest of the class, so no one saw him slip into the toilet stall again to get changed.  By some miracle, he even managed to sneak out without being spotted, and was just wondering what class he was supposed to go to now when someone grabbed him by the arm and yanked him around a corner.

“Hey--!”  Lance was about to smack the person away when he noticed it was… himself.  Or, rather, his body, presumably with Pidge in it.  “You!  Did you figure out a way to switch us back yet?”

“What?  No!  I just barely managed to survive your Spanish class!” Pidge snapped at him, and his words reminded Lance that he would have a French class to get through later in the day.  Great.  Pidge glared at him.  “And this isn’t all on me , you know.  You should be thinking of ideas too, instead of being useless.”

“Hey, I just got on Coach Iverson’s good side for you.”  Lance crossed his arms.  “You should be thanking me.  I went above and beyond expectations at the mile run.”

Pidge’s eyes widened.  “You what ?!”  

“Yeah, ran two miles instead of one.”  Lance smirked, feeling proud of himself.  “You could do with working out a little every now and then, you know, you’re a little out of shape.”

“You dressed for PE?!”  Pidge looked aghast.  “You said you weren’t going to tell anyone!  You just outed me to the whole class!”

Lance blinked, taken aback.  “Huh?”  

Pidge groaned in frustration.  “Getting changed in the girls’ locker room?  That counts as outing me, Lance!  And that’s a really shitty move!  I didn’t think you were that much of a dick!”

“Outing what?”  Lance was confused.  

Pidge spared him a murderous glare.  “I worked so hard , Lance, you have no idea how much I’ve sacrificed these past couple of years to keep people from finding out.  I haven’t dressed for PE once since I started here, so I’ve had to put up with writing bullshit reports on health and fitness, and actually study for those stupid unit exams just to scrape a passing grade in freaking PE .  Until today, as far as everyone knew, Pidge Holt was just a regular guy.  Now they all know, because you ruined it!”

“Ruined what?”  Lance still had no idea what he was talking about.  “What do they know?”

“That I’m trans , you numbskull!”  Pidge hissed, and Lance got the feeling he would have been shouting if they weren’t hiding around a corner where anyone could walk by.  Suddenly the words caught up to him.

“Wait, you’re a girl?!”  Shit, wrong answer.  Pidge’s eyes narrowed and he gave him a look that practically vaporized him on the spot.  

“I’m not a girl ,” Pidge seethed, poking him sharply in the chest, and Lance found it very strange to realize that Pidge was actually considerably taller than him, for once.  “I am a trans guy , and you are the biggest dick in the universe.”

Dick… wait… Without thinking, Lance reached down and grabbed the front of his jeans, immediately snatching his hand back when he realized there was nothing there.  Holy shit…

Pidge let out a strangled noise and smacked Lance’s hand away from his own groin.  “What the fuck , Lance!  Don’t grope me!”  

“I mean, technically, you groped yourself.”  Lance defended lamely.

“ You’re the one controlling my body, you pervert! ”

“I’m sorry, I just had to make sure.”  

“Make sure of what ?”  Pidge threw his hands up in the air.  “You didn’t get enough of it when you woke up?  Fuck, Lance, I don’t even know what you did to me when you figured it out.”

“I didn’t do anything.”  Lance said quietly.

“Right,” Pidge scoffed.  “Says the guy who outed me to my whole PE class and literally just groped my body.  Yeah, I really trust you.”

“No, I really… I didn’t know.”  A sinking feeling settled in Lance’s gut as he thought back on everything that had happened this morning.  Pidge’s brother calling him Katie, Iverson’s words, the girls’ locker room… suddenly it all made sense.  “Shit.  Pidge, I… god, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

Pidge just stared at him in disbelief.  “You spent the whole morning in my body and didn’t figure out I wasn’t a cis guy?  Are you really that much of an idiot?  How did you not notice the boobs?  And the lack of a dick?”

“Sorry I was a little too preoccupied with the whole switching bodies thing to feel you up.”  Lance snapped.  He paused, realizing something.  “Wait, did you… me…?”

“Did I see your junk?”  Pidge asked flatly.  “Yeah.  You sleep in pajama pants and nothing else ; it was a little inevitable.  But I didn’t freaking grope you, I just put on some damn boxers as fast as possible.”

“Oh god, this is so awkward…” Lance felt himself blushing and he rubbed his hands over his face.  Pidge snorted.

“Oh, now he gets it.”  He muttered scathingly.  

Lance sighed, dropping his hands and looking at the clock on the wall.  The passing period was nearly over.  “Look, we don’t have time for this right now.  Just know that I’m ninety-percent sure no one actually saw me go in the girls’ locker room.  I changed in one of the toilet stalls because I was too nervous to go in the locker room area.”  Pidge just stared at him, so he went on. “Well, one, I didn’t know your gym locker number or combination, and two, I didn’t want to accidentally stare at anyone.  What if I saw boobs or something?”

“You saw boobs this morning and did nothing!”  Pidge said, gesturing to his chest.  Or, well, Pidge’s body’s chest.

“I didn’t know they were boobs!”  Lance said.  “And anyway, I was still operating under the impression you were a cis guy, so I was more concerned with not getting caught and trying to figure out why Iverson wanted you to change in the girls’ locker room.  So I’m pretty sure no one saw me.”  

Pidge paused, some of his anger ebbing.  “...Really?”  

“Really.”  He glanced at the clock again.  “We’ll have to talk more later.  Tell me what class I need to go to now.”

Pidge nodded, understanding.  “Pre-calc.  Room 205.  Sit in the second to last desk in the row next to the window.  Where do I go?”  

Fantastic.  Lance braced himself, looking down before answering.  “Math essentials.  Room 107, next to the library.  It doesn’t matter where you sit, there are only five kids in the class anyway.”  

Pidge’s brows drew together in puzzlement, but Lance turned away, shouldering his backpack and walking away before he could say anything.  He would figure it out soon enough.

Chapter Text

Although the extra height had taken a while to get used to that morning, Pidge was grateful for Lance’s long legs as he ran through the rapidly-emptying hallways to the library.  He skidded to a halt in front of room 107, a plain door wedged between the library and the administration office, which he had honestly never noticed before.  The rest of the math classrooms were up on the second floor, so he had no idea why this one was all the way over here.  

Slipping inside the door just as the bell was ringing, he quickly dropped into the remaining available seat at the U-shaped table in the room.  Just as Lance had said, there were only four other students in the class; a girl with the thickest glasses he had ever seen, a boy with a hearing aid, a blonde girl who was quietly murmuring to herself as she frantically looked over a study guide, and a boy who was twirling his pencil between his fingers and bouncing his foot under the table, looking bored.  

“Good morning, everyone,” a tall, kind-looking woman with dark skin and silver hair pinned up in a bun walked in carrying a few folders.  Pidge had occasionally seen her around the school, but admittedly didn’t know her at all.  “Ready for the chapter 7 test?”

“No,” the blonde girl muttered quietly, gripping her study guide.  

“Should we have a review session before the test?”  The teacher asked.  The boy spinning his pencil shrugged, looking like he didn’t care.  The girl who had spoken up before shook her head, despite her earlier answer.  The other two just took out pencils and calculators wordlessly.  The teacher waited a moment longer, then went on.  “Alright, then, let’s begin.  Did everyone bring a calculator?”  

“I left mine at home, sorry.” The girl with the glasses raised her hand.  

“That’s not a problem.”  The teacher handed her a calculator with ‘Ms Allura’ written on the top of it.  Pidge reached into Lance’s backpack and found a pencil case, but no calculator.  He figured he could get by without it, though.  He took out a pencil and eraser as the teacher started handing out the tests to everyone, as well as a sheet of formulas for the pencil kid, the blonde girl, and Lance.  The girl with the glasses was given a test that was written in large text on a big sheet of paper.

Pidge frowned down at the test.  Was this… algebra?  Lance and Pidge were in the same grade, so why wasn’t he taking pre-calc?  A quick scan of the questions revealed that this test looked like a mix of algebra and geometry, and it seemed… suspiciously easy.  Furthermore, Pidge had never heard of being given a sheet with all the types of formulas written out on it to use during an exam.  

“Lance?”  Ms Allura said, and she had to clear her throat and call his name again before Pidge realized she was speaking to him.  “Lance, did you bring your calculator?”  

“Oh, um, no.”  Pidge said.  “I should be fine without it, though.”  

The teacher frowned in concern and placed another calculator on the table in front of Pidge.  “Don’t be afraid to ask for it, dear.  It wouldn’t do for you to get a poor grade over something so minor.”  

Pidge hesitated, then accepted the calculator.  He didn’t think he would need it, but… well, if it would keep his cover as Lance, then he would do it.  He flew through the test, seldom needing to use the calculator and never once looking at the formula sheet, and managed to finish in about fifteen minutes.  After checking his work, he stood up and brought his test to the teacher, who was grading some papers at a desk in the front of the room.  

Ms Allura looked up, blinking.  “Did you have a question?”  

“No, I finished.”  Pidge said, holding out the completed test.  

She frowned, her confused gaze flicking between the paper and Pidge’s -- Lance’s -- face.  “You’re sure you don’t want to check your work?”  She asked.

“I already did.”  

“You get time and a half, dear, there’s no need to rush.”  Ms Allura said patiently.  

'Time and a half?'  What was that?  “But I… I finished.  And checked my work.  So…?” Pidge was confused why he wasn’t being allowed to turn in his test.  

She studied him a moment longer before accepting the test.  “Alright then.  Go ahead and work on something quietly for the rest of class.”  

Still a little perplexed by this whole ordeal, Pidge went back to his seat and hunted around in Lance’s backpack for something to do.  He found Lance’s planner and opened it up, and was relieved to find a printed-out schedule taped to the inside of the front cover.  At least he would know where to go for the rest of the day.  Not knowing what else to do with his time, he flipped to this week and looked up what homework he had for this class, then got started on that.  The homework was as easy as the test had been, and Pidge only had half of his attention on jotting down the equations while the other half tried to process this unusual class he had landed in.  Several times, one of the other students would go up to the teacher and ask a question, and they would talk quietly for a few minutes before sitting down again.  Pidge didn’t think he had ever heard of students being allowed to ask questions during an exam.  

About fifteen minutes later, the teacher cleared her throat.  “Lance, may I speak with you for a second?”  

Confused, Pidge went up to her desk.  Ms Allura did not look happy, but she kept her voice even and calm.  “I don’t like to assume the worst of people, dear, I really don’t.  But I need to ask, did you manage to get a copy of the answer sheet before the test?”

“No, of course not.”  Pidge shook his head.

“Really.”  She didn’t sound convinced.  “It’s just that this score isn’t consistent with your usual average.” She pointed to the bright red 100% in the corner of the paper.  “Cheating is a serious matter, Lance.  Abusing your IEP is also a serious matter.  What’s going on?  Is there something we need to talk about?”

IEP…?  What was… Wait.  Pidge realized where he had heard that word before.  Back when he was in high school, Matt had gotten a concussion and had been granted an IEP -- Individualized Education Plan -- that gave him extended time on tests and frequent breaks for long reading while he healed, as he had some memory problems and got frequent headaches.  He hadn’t needed it for long, only about one school year, but it was better than having to take time completely away from school while he healed.  

Pidge felt guilt settle in his stomach like a cold stone.  “No, I… I just studied really hard this past week.  Sorry.”

Ms Allura eyed him carefully for a moment before offering him a smile.  “Alright, then.  No need to apologize.  It was just a surprise; this is quite a jump from your usual average score.  Good job, it looks like your hard work payed off.”  

Pidge nodded wordlessly and went back to his seat.  He felt awful.  How many times had he called Lance an idiot, or stupid, or mocked him when he didn’t pick up on something as fast as Pidge did?  And all this time, Lance… well, Pidge didn’t know specifically what he was dealing with, but whatever it was, it was enough to land him in a specialized math class.  Pidge was the real idiot, a gade-A jerk.  He had had no idea what Lance was going through.

When the bell rang, Pidge shouldered Lance’s backpack and made his way to the second floor for history.  He took Lance’s seat, only one in front of his own.  A couple of minutes later, Lance walked in, but he didn’t look at Pidge as he dropped into the seat behind him.  His expression was dark, as if he had just been told someone had died.  Pidge turned around in his seat. “Hey,”

Lance didn’t say anything or made any indication he had heard Pidge.  

Pidge took a deep breath and went on, keeping his voice quiet.  “I’m so sorry, Lance--”

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me just because I’m retarded.”  Lance bit the words out sharply, taking out Pidge’s history binder with a bit more force than necessary.  Pidge flinched, more from his words than the action.

“No, that’s not… I’ve been a huge dick to you, and I’m sorry.”  Pidge said.  “I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you.  You have the right to hate me forever, and I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I don’t hate you.”  Lance said, his voice quiet.  “I’m sorry, too.  About all the gender stuff.”  He fiddled with the zipper on Pidge’s pencil case.  “And I’m sorry for failing your pre-calc quiz, just now.  I… I tried.”  He sighed, looking tired and defeated.  

Before Pidge had a chance to say anything else, the bell rang and the teacher strode to the front of the classroom.  “Alright, today we’re going to learn about the election of 1800, a pivotal point in early United States history…”

~~~~~

Lance was barely able to pay attention during class, even less than usual.  That pre-calc class had been one of the most frustrating experiences of his life.  He had hardly understood a single word the teacher was saying, even though the rest of the class clearly got it.  He couldn’t even take notes, because he was just that completely lost.  The teacher had even called on him to answer a question, and then he had chewed Lance out for not paying attention when he didn’t know the answer, even though he had been trying , really.  He just… didn’t get it.  It was like everyone was speaking a language he had only learned a few basic greetings in, and now they were expecting him to be able to hold a proper conversation in it.  The quiz at the beginning of class may as well have been written in Greek -- some of it was written in Greek -- and he was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten a single one of the five questions right.  But he did know enough about math to know that missing even one question on a five-point quiz was the difference between letter grades, so unless pure dumb luck intervened, he probably got a zero.  The class had really done a number on his self-esteem, and he quickly found himself stuck in a dark spiral of negativity and self-loathing.  He hated that he was like this, that he didn’t pick up numerical concepts as quickly as his classmates, that he needed more time to read things, that he had been in special math classes ever since he was in fifth grade.  He had long ago accepted his abilities for what they were and he knew it didn’t make him ‘stupid’, but still, every so often, things like that pre-calc class had to come along and knock him flat on his back.  Why couldn’t he just be neurotypical?  Why couldn’t he just be more like Pidge?  

Although, now, he realized that Pidge didn’t have the perfect life Lance had thought he had.  Sure, he was in higher classes and was a computer whiz, but he realized now that Pidge had his own fair share of struggle.  He didn’t know if those classes were easy for Pidge like he thought before, or if he was just putting on the air of it being easy while really working his ass off like Lance.  And he remembered that morning, how Pidge’s brother had called him ‘Katie’... did he know?  Did anyone in Pidge’s family know he was trans?  Or was he just shouldering this burden in silence, hiding who he was from his friends and dealing with being misgendered at home on a daily basis?  Did he have anyone he could confide in, anyone who could support him?  Lance didn’t know what he would do, if he didn’t have the support and unending patience of his family, his tutor, his counselor… Even as difficult as things were for him, he really couldn’t imagine having to struggle all alone.  

Maybe his and Pidge’s lives weren’t any easier or harder than each other’s, he realized.  They were just different.

~~~~~

Shiro had to admit, he was kind of dreading lunch today.  Both Pidge and Lance were someone you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of a grudge with, and unfortunately, they had both done just that with each other.  He was already resigning himself to thirty minutes of tense, stony silence between the two.

When he arrived at the cafeteria, he found that Lance and Pidge were both quiet, although they seemed to be more deep in thought than angry at each other.  They both responded when Hunk or Keith tried to draw them into conversation, but something was off about them, like they were uncertain of themselves.  

Pidge opened his lunch-box and looked down at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a few moments, then raised his head to watch Lance, who had lifted up the corner of his own ham and cheese sandwich and was eyeing it as someone might examine a dead frog in science class.  

“Hey,” Pidge said.  “Wanna trade sandwiches?”  

Lance glanced up, looking between Pidge and the sandwich with a calculating gaze.  “No.”  

“Wha… why not?”  Pidge asked, sounding miffed.  

“Because this is a ham sandwich, and you don’t eat pork.”  Lance said pointedly.  Pidge blinked.

“Oh.  Right, yeah…” he laughed awkwardly.  

“Why don’t you eat pork?”  Keith asked.  

“He’s Jewish.”  Lance slipped the ham sandwich back in the plastic bag and picked up the apple instead.  

“Huh.”  Pidge looked thoughtful, then suddenly straightened up.  “I mean, yeah, I’m Jewish.”  

Lance shot him a sharp look, although Shiro had no idea why.  

“Really?”  Hunk tilted his head.  “I didn’t know that.  Since when?”

“It’s… uh… a recent thing,” Pidge said.  There was a thump under the table, like someone kicking a leg, and Pidge winced.  “I mean, it’s not a recent thing.”

“Okay…” Keith said slowly, looking between the two of them.

“Are you guys alright?”  Shiro asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine.”  Pidge said quickly.  

“Just peachy.”  Lance added.  Both of them were looking down at their lunches, avoiding meeting their eyes.

“Are you still fighting about yesterday?”  Shiro asked.  

“It’s not that.”  Lance said.  

“Yeah,” Pidge said quietly.  “Yesterday… that was stupid.  We were both in the wrong, and I realize that now.  I’m sorry.”  

Lance looked up.  “I’m sorry, too.  I over-reacted and blew it out of proportion.  I know you didn’t mean it.”

Pidge nodded.  “I over-reacted, too.  I’m sorry.”  

Personally, Shiro thought Pidge was slightly more in the wrong than Lance, in terms of over-reacting.  But as long as they were both apologizing and making up, that was good enough.  

“How’s your laptop?”  Hunk asked Pidge, voice careful.  Pidge glanced at Lance across the table.  

“Uh, I haven’t really had the chance to look at it.”  He said.  “Some… stuff, came up, and I don’t think I’ll touch it until that gets sorted out.”

Lance nodded minutely, looking satisfied.  

“What stuff came up?”  Keith asked, curious.  

“... Just, some personal stuff.”  Pidge said evasively.  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”  

“Well, we’re here for you if you need some help with anything.”  Hunk said.  

~~~~~

After their third period history class together, Pidge and Lance had swapped schedules and locker info so they could at least know where they were supposed to go for the rest of the day and have somewhere to put their books.  Most of their classes were the same, just in a different order and with different people.  They did have different electives, though, so both of them had to suffer through different foreign language classes, and Pidge got the chance to fail spectacularly at ceramics in art class while Lance tried very hard not to lose any fingers in the machinery in shop class.  

A little after lunch, Pidge was in study hall when he felt Lance’s phone vibrate in the pocket of his jeans.  After checking to make sure that the teacher was busy with his crossword puzzle, he slipped the phone out and checked it.  There was a message from the contact named Annoying Pidgeon (but honestly, Pidge couldn’t blame him for the name, since his own contact name for Lance was equally petty).  The message read: kind of an emergency… meet me outside?  

Pidge looked up and noticed Lance poking his head into the window set in the study hall door, peering in through Pidge’s glasses (20/20 vision was one perk to being in Lance’s body, he supposed).  Lance raised his eyebrows and made a ‘come here’ gesture.  Pidge glanced over at the study hall teacher, then slid the phone back into his pocket and went up to the teacher’s desk.  

“Can I go to the restroom?”  He asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”  The teacher said without looking up.

Pidge gritted his teeth.  “ May I go to the restroom?”  

“You may.”  The teacher handed him a slab of corkboard the size of a brick with the words bathroom pass -- study hall 111 written on it in permanent marker.  Pidge took it and left the classroom.  Lance was beckoning him from around the corner, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“What’s the emergency?”  Pidge asked, crossing his arms.  

“I have to pee.”  

Pidge arched an eyebrow and gave him a flat look.  “So go?”  

“Is that… okay?”  Lance asked.  “I mean, it’s… kind of a personal thing.”  

“Yeah, but not much we can do about it, since we don’t know how to switch back yet.”  Pidge said.  “And it’s a better option than you wetting my pants.  Your pants.  The pants, whatever.”  

“Alright, just wanted to check.”  Lance started to walk away, then paused.  “Wait, which bathroom do you use?”

“Neither.”  Pidge said.  “Welcome to trans youth hell 101: you don’t get to pee.”  

“What?”  Lance stared at him.  “Then what do you do?”  

“I avoid drinking water, and just hold it til I can go home.”  Pidge shrugged.  

“But… why ?”  

“Because I’m stealth.  No one but the administration and my teachers know that I’m trans, and I already emailed all the teachers before school started, to tell them about my name and pronouns.  The principal said I have to use the girls’ bathroom, though.  And since everyone else thinks I’m a cis guy, I can’t use that bathroom without outing myself.  So it’s not really an option.”  Pidge explained.  

“That… really sucks.”  Lance frowned.  

“Yeah, it does.”  Pidge said flatly.  There wasn’t anything he could do about it, though.

Lance shifted again, looking uncomfortable.  “Okay, so I’ll do the not drinking water thing tomorrow, but… I can’t hold it the rest of the day today.”  

Pidge looked up and down the hall, checking to make sure it was empty.  “Alright, follow me.”  They went down the hall to where the bathrooms were.  “Use the men’s room, I’ll guard the door.  If you hear me talking to someone, stay in the stall and don’t come out until they leave.  If a teacher catches you in here, you’ll get sent to the office, but if a student catches you in the girls’ room, you’ll also get sent to the office.  Make it quick, and remember, no standing.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much.”  Lance said dryly, ducking into the men’s room.  

Pidge pretended to be very engrossed in reading a flyer pinned up to the wall about football tryouts, but was really keeping an eye out for any teachers or other students wandering the halls.  Lance didn’t take long, and was back out in just a couple of minutes.

“I need to get back to class now before someone comes looking for me,” Pidge said.  “You good?”

“Yeah.”  Lance nodded.  “I should get back too.  Hey, Pidge?  I… I really meant what I said at lunch.  I’m sorry about your laptop.”  

Pidge looked down, unable to meet his eyes.  “I’m sorry, too, about everything I said.  I’m really sorry.”

Lance gave him a small smile.  “I forgive you.  It’s okay.”  

They made a plan to meet up after school to try and figure out a way to switch back, then went their separate ways to go back to class.    

~~~~~

Pidge stood in front of Lance’s locker, frowning down at his planner.  He wanted to make sure he got all of Lance’s homework in his bag for him, but he wasn’t familiar with what was supposed to go in there.  He knew a few of them, like English and History and Bio, just because Pidge had the same classes, but he was a little lost when it came to the others.  He had done a good chunk of Lance’s math homework for him as a way to show he was sorry about all the crap he had given him before.  The art teacher had said something about ‘design plans’ being due next Friday, but he didn’t know what that entailed.  And all he had written on the line for Spanish was just a bunch of question marks, as he really hadn’t understood a word the teacher had said.  Better to be safe than sorry, though, so he threw the Spanish textbook in Lance’s backpack too.  

“Hey, how’s it going?”  Hunk asked, opening the locker a few away from Lance’s.  

“Hey,” Pidge said, shoving Lance’s lunch bag in his backpack and zipping it up.  “Fine, how about you?”

“You sure?”  Hunk eyed him carefully.  “You seem kinda off lately.”  

“Just… going through some stuff.”  Pidge said evasively as he reached for Lance’s coat.  

“Was it what Pidge said?”  Hunk asked.  Pidge’s hand froze, suspended in the air.  Hunk went on.  “I don’t think he really meant it, you know.”  

“He didn’t.  I know.”  Pidge said quietly.  “He… really overreacted.  He was an idiot.”  He closed his eyes, feeling guilt and shame wash over him.  “Such an idiot…”

Hunk gave him an odd look.  “Well, that might be a little harsh… You’re sure you’re not still mad at him?  Because it sounds like it.”  

“I’m not.”  Pidge said.  “I’m mad at myself, honestly.”  That much was true.  

“What for?”  Hunk asked, puzzled.

Pidge just shook his head.  “I don’t really want to talk about it.  Sorry.”  He closed the locker and walked away before Hunk could say anything else.  A little ways down the hall, he found Lance crouched in front of his own locker, looking like he had been putting books in Pidge’s backpack when he suddenly stopped to try reading the French textbook, frowning in concentration.  “Hey,” Pidge greeted him.  “Want to go to the library and try to work out this… thing?”  

“Sure,” Lance nodded, closing the textbook.  “You know, it’s kind of cool how Spanish and French have some similarities.  Not a ton, but you can definitely tell they’re part of the same language family.”  

“I was totally lost in your Spanish class.”  Pidge admitted.

“I was, well, mostly lost.”  Lance said, sliding the book into the backpack in front of him.  “I think I got about half of what the teacher said.”

“You must be pretty good at languages, then,” Pidge smiled.  

“Well, I gotta have something to be somewhat decent at, and it isn’t math.”  Lance shrugged, closing the locker and standing up.

“You’re smart, Lance,” Pidge said seriously.  “You really are.”  

Lance didn’t look like he was entirely convinced, but he managed a small smile anyway.  “So, to the library?”

“Sure, let’s go,” Pidge agreed, and the two of them headed for the school entrance.  Neither of them noticed the way Hunk and Keith -- who had walked up to Hunk’s locker moments after ‘Lance’ walked away -- were watching them.

“Is it just me, or have those two been acting weird all day?”  Keith asked, tilting his head as he studied them.

“I was just thinking that.”  Hunk nodded.  As he watched, Pidge, who had been crouching in front of his locker with a textbook balanced on his legs, smiled at Lance as he stood up.  

“I wonder what’s going on with them.”  Keith crossed his arms.  The other two had some kind of exchange of words -- he couldn’t hear what they said, from here -- before they both started walking toward the front of the school.

Hunk frowned, tapping his finger against the metal of his locker door, brow furrowed in thought.  “You don’t think they’re…”  Keith looked at him, and Hunk shrugged vaguely.  “... you know?”

Keith arched one eyebrow.  “Hunting cryptids?  Secretly working for the FBI?  Plotting a murder?  You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Dating?”  Hunk clarified.  Keith blinked, looking surprised.

“Really?”  As they watched, Lance touched Pidge’s shoulder to stop him and said something, then held open the door with a grin.  Pidge easily walked under his outstretched arm, looking amused.  They caught one last glimpse of the two of them laughing as the door swung shut.  Kith cocked his head.  “Huh.  You think so?”

“It’s a little weird, considering they hated each other just yesterday,” Hunk said, zipping up his backpack.  “But maybe.  Hate is a passionate emotion.  Maybe it was just misguided attraction.”  He looked at Keith, who was frowning at nothing in particular, looking lost in thought.  “Are you thinking about what a cute couple they’d make?”  Hunk elbowed him with a playful smile.

Keith looked up.  “I was thinking about how my mind jumped to ‘cryptid hunting’ and ‘plotting murder’ while yours jumped to ‘dating’, actually.”

~~~~~

“Hey wait, there’s something I’ve always wanted to try.”  Pidge said, stopping Lance with a hand on his shoulder.  Lance looked confused, and watched as Pidge pushed open the school door with his arm straight out at shoulder height, grinning.  

Lance laughed.  “You like being tall, don’t you?”

“It’s certainly a different perspective,” Pidge said.  “I kept bumping into things this morning, though.  You’re, like, 80% leg.”   

“So does this give me permission to do this to you after we switch back?”  Lance asked, easily walking underneath his outstretched arm.

“No way.  The only one who can poke fun at my height is me.”  Pidge said, letting the door swing shut behind him as the two headed out into the bright, warm sunlight.  

“But right now, I’m you, so…” Lance cleared his throat.  “I’m Pidge and I’m a short little gremlin, but don’t get on my bad side or I swear I’ll bite your ankles like a bloodthirsty chihuahua…”

Pidge chuckled and reached out to ruffle Lance’s hair.  Or, technically, his own hair.  He looked around and saw that there weren’t too many students around.  “Hey, what are we going to do if we can’t find a way to switch back?  Just keep doing this?  Forever?”

Lance’s smile slipped and his brow furrowed in concern.  “I don’t know.  I guess we won’t really have much choice.”         

Chapter Text

“What the hell are we supposed to be looking for, anyway?”  Lance asked, running his finger along the spines of the books on the shelf in front of him.

“Well, seeing as there’s no Dewey Decimal classification number for switching bodies…” Pidge frowned at another shelf.  “...anything useful-looking, I guess.”  

Lance spared him a flat, unamused look.  “Thanks, that really cleared it up.”  

Pidge sighed.  “What do you want me to say?  I have no idea where body-swapping information would be filed.  And I’m pretty sure if we asked a librarian, they would just point us in the direction of some fictional novels.”

Lance sat back on his haunches.  “Well, I guess we can rule some things out.  We’re not going to find anything in the cookbook section, or the art section, or the religion section.”  

“Good point.  Unless…” Pidge trailed off, disappearing into the next row of shelves.  Curious, Lance got to his feet and followed him, rounding the corner just as Pidge was pulling a black hard-cover book off the shelf.  The title, embossed in gold, read The Occult and You .

“You’re kidding.”  Lance crossed his arms.  “You think this is magic?”

“Well, what else could it be?”  Pidge said, flipping through the pages.  

“I don’t know, maybe something that’s real ?”  Lance said.  

“We have as good of a chance of finding it in these books as we do science.”  Pidge said.  “Maybe even more.”  He paused at the chapter entitled Astral Projection .

“Right.  Well, good luck with that, I’m going to look in the science section.”  Lance said, strolling off.  One he found himself reading through the titles, though, he had to admit, he really didn’t know what ‘body-swapping’ would be classified under.  Physics?  Natural sciences?  Miscellany?  He pulled everything that looked vaguely promising off the shelf and carried them over to the table he and Pidge had claimed when they came in, Pidge having done the same.  They sat on opposite sides of the table, silent except for the sound of pages being flipped and pencils scratching against notebook paper.

Hours later, they had barely any more information than they had begun with, and they were both growing frustrated.  

Lance laid his top half across the table with a groan.  “Why is there nothing about switching bodies in real life?”  He asked, letting his head fall onto the book in front of him with a thunk .

“Probably because this doesn’t usually happen in real life.”  Pidge said, turning another page of the heavy tome in front of him.  “And don’t break my glasses.”  

Lance picked his head up, but stayed slouched over.  He rested his chin on the book and let out a huff.  “I’m sore.  Why am I sore?”

“How should I know?”  Pidge groused.

“It’s your body.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been the one running around in it all day.”  Pidge pointed out.  Touché, Lance thought.  Pidge turned another page.  “What kind of sore?”

“Well, my calves, but that’s from running in PE.”  Lance sighed.   That pain, he could recognize, since he ran himself.  Whenever he went a while without running, his legs ached a bit while he got used to it again.  “And also, like, my ribs?  No clue why.  It feels like I got hit by a truck for some reason.”

Pidge’s pencil stilled over the paper as he froze.  “Wait… did you wear the binder during PE?”

“Yeah.”  Lance looked up.  

“You ran.  Two miles.  In a binder.”  Pidge pressed the tips of his fingers together and pointed them toward Lance.

“Yeah?”  Lance blinked.  “You said to wear it.”     

He knew he had said something wrong when Pidge pressed his steepled fingers to his lips, closing his eyes like a shutter being drawn over a window.  

Lance frowned.  “What?”

“I’m not mad at you.”  Pidge said.  “I’m mad at myself, for not explaining it.”  He sighed and opened his eyes.  “You’re not supposed to exercise in a binder, or sleep in it, or wear it for longer than eight hours.  Too much compression can warp the ribcage.  And it’s been about twelve hours now.”  He said, checking his watch.

Shit.  “Sorry.”  Lance felt guilty.  “I didn’t know.”  

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”  Pidge said.  “I should have explained it this morning.  I’ve spent so long not dressing for PE that it didn’t occur to me that you would try to.  But you should take it off, now, at least for a little while.”

“What, here?”  Lance looked around the mostly-empty library.  There was a kid reading manga on the bean-bag chair in the teens section with his headphones on, and an old man using one of the computers along the wall.  No one was looking at them, but Lance figured that might change if he suddenly stripped off his shirt.

“Well, not right here, obviously.”  Pidge said.  “In the bathroom.”  He pointed to a sign on the wall with the word restrooms printed on it, along with an arrow.  Pidge reached into Lance’s backpack and dug out a hoodie he had found in his locker.  “Here, put this on over, and it’ll hide it a little better.”  

Lance nodded and accepted the sweatshirt.  “Which bathroom?”

Pidge waved a hand carelessly.  “Doesn’t really matter, I guess.  No stupid principal’s rules to worry about, here.”  

With a nod, Lance stood up from the table and headed for the restrooms.  He paused only briefly in front of the two doors before entering the mens’ room.  He was more familiar with it, and he had a feeling Pidge would have picked it, given the choice.  There was always a chance he would run into one of their classmates on the way out, after all.  

Bypassing the urinals, he went into the stall and hung up the sweatshirt on the hook on the back of the door, then pulled off the t-shirt he was wearing and looked down, wary.  Seeing Pidge’s chest hadn’t seemed like a big deal that morning.  It felt different, somehow, now that he knew he wasn’t… well, not that he wasn’t a boy, just that… it just felt different.

Stop stalling , he told himself, grabbing the bottom hem of the binder.  It took a lot of maneuvering and a fair amount of wiggling to get it off, and he knocked his elbows a few times on the metal walls of the toilet stall.  He had to go slowly, being careful not to rip or tear the fabric, and at one point it got stuck around his head, but eventually he managed to work the tight binder off.  Almost immediately, he felt he could breathe easier, but the relief was short-lived, and quickly followed by an aching soreness in his chest that he had never experienced before.  It didn’t hurt too terribly, he just wasn’t used to the sensation, having significantly less in that particular part of his own anatomy.  

He folded up the binder and shoved it in his pocket.  Lance didn’t like to think he was an idiot, but looking down, well… he wasn’t sure how this had gone over his head.  They were small, but they were very obviously breasts.  Someone as small and skinny as Pidge wouldn’t have gynecomastia quite this badly.  He could certainly understand why Pidge had thought he had figured out the whole trans thing long before he actually had.  

Seized by a sudden curiosity, he reached down and held them.  Pidge was likely an A-cup, he realized.  Even looking down at them like this, Lance couldn’t picture Pidge wearing a bra.  He hadn’t even come across any in his drawer; just the binders.  Curious, he gave them a squeeze.  Huh.  Kind of underwhelming, to be honest.  That was a little disappointing.  He had thought having boobs would be a bit more fun than that.  

He mentally shook himself off, admonishing himself as he reached for his shirt.  Pidge would kick his ass into next week if he found out what he just did.  He pulled on the t-shirt, then the sweatshirt and left the stall.  Pausing to check his reflection in the mirror, he found that the bulky sweatshirt did a pretty good job of hiding the slight curve of his chest.  It was an incredibly weird thought, that he-- that Pidge-- ...that the body he was currently inhabiting had boobs.  To him, that felt even more unsettling than switching bodies in the first place.  

When he got back to their table, Pidge was slouching in his chair and reading from a book that was propped up on the table, entitled Hauntings, Possessions, and Exorcisms of the 20th century .  “Took you long enough.”

“Got stuck a couple times.”  Lance said truthfully, shoving the folded-up binder in Pidge’s backpack.  

Pidge snorted dryly.  “Sure.”  

“What?”  Lance raised an eyebrow.  “I did.”  

“Like you weren’t just fondling my boobs for the past five minutes?”  Pidge said flatly.

Lance swallowed and avoided looking at him, opening his book up to a random page instead.  

“You did, didn’t you.”  It wasn’t a question.

Lance felt his cheeks burn and cursed Pidge’s pale skin.  “Okay, but only once.  I really did get stuck in the binder a couple of times.”  He defended.  “Besides, like you didn’t fondle my dick at all?”

“I did not fondle it.”  Pidge said.  “I may have… examined it, a bit.”  

“That doesn’t make it any better!”  Lance bristled.

“I had to pee, what was I supposed to do?”  Pidge said.  “I had to touch it a bit for that.  I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done yourself.”  

“Honestly, that isn’t that reassuring…”  Lance muttered, thinking of all the things he had done to his own dick.  He was a teenage guy, okay?

Pidge made a face at him over his book.  “Too much info, dude.”  

Lance sighed and leaned his elbow on the table as he went back to reading.  His -- Pidge’s? -- chest brushed against the edge of the table and he shifted, uncomfortable.  He glanced down and crossed his ams over his chest, but that only made him more aware of what was under the sweatshirt.  He was starting to feel deeply unsettled.  

He sighed and slumped back in his seat.  Before today, he probably would have jumped at the chance to see what having boobs was like.  Now, though, he just felt icky and unnerved, and like there was a weird sort of disconnect whenever he looked down, like he still wasn’t used to there being anything there.  “I don’t like having boobs.”  He groused.

“Welcome to the club.”  Pidge muttered darkly.  “That gross feeling is called dysphoria, by the way.”

Lance looked up.  “How did you…?”

“Because I deal with it every day.”  Pidge said, turning a page in his book.  “At least for you, it’ll be over when we switch back.”  

Lance thought about that.  “So… this is how you feel all the time?”  

Pidge shrugged.  “Most of the time, yeah.  Some days are better than others, some are worse.  Some days, I can forget about it for a while, and some days, I want to hack them off with a kitchen knife.  Most days are pretty in-between, though.”

Lance blinked, taken aback.  “You… a knife…?”

“I’m not going to .”  Pidge said firmly.  “It’s just tempting, sometimes.  But I’ll leave the knife-work to a surgeon, when I get to that point.  In the future.  Someday.  Hopefully.”  He sighed.  

Lance looked down, spinning his pencil between his fingers.  Pidge’s fingers weren’t as long as his, so it was a little harder than if he was in his own body.  “So, you don’t feel dysphoria in my body?”  At least something somewhat good could come out of this, for one of them.

“Eh, a little.”  Pidge shrugged.  “Mostly because I know it’s not my body and that’s a pretty weird thought.”

“Agreed.”  Lance nodded.

“But, it turns out having a dick isn’t as great as I thought it would be.”  Pidge went on.  “I do like the extra height and flat chest, though.  Also your 20/20 vision.”

“Yeah, glasses are annoying.”  Lance huffed.  He kept noticing the rims in his peripheral vision, and they were always sliding down his nose.

The two of them were quiet for a long time, both absorbed in their own thoughts and reading.  Then Pidge spoke up again, in a quiet voice.  “Lance?”

“Yeah?”  He looked up.  

Pidge set his book down with a sigh, looking troubled.  “We might not be able to figure this out tonight.”

“Yeah…” Lance had come to the same conclusion himself.  He hadn’t managed to find anything remotely related to switching bodies, let alone anything about switching back.  

“We’ve got school tomorrow.  And robotics club.”  Pidge went on.  “Maybe we should… put a hold on this.”  

“Yeah.”  He sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.  He was already so tired, he had given the same one-word response to Pidge three times in a row.  He was not looking forward to the mountain of homework that awaited him now, most of it not even his.  He didn’t have a single hope of getting anywhere with Pidge’s pre-calc or French homework.  

“Do you want to work on our homework here?  So we can each do our own, then give it to the other person to turn in tomorrow?”  Pidge suggested.

“That sounds like a good idea.”  Lance agreed, handing Pidge’s backpack to him as Pidge traded him his own.  

“I, uh… I kind of did most of your math homework.”  Pidge added.

“As a pity present?”  Lance frowned.  

“As an apology present.”  Pidge said.  

“Well, thanks.”  Lance looked down at the completed equations.  “But… I have to learn it myself, on my own.”

“Then finish the rest yourself,” Pidge said gently.  “But if you need advice, ask me.  Seriously.”  

“Okay.”  He could do that, he supposed.  Before today, he never thought he would ask Pidge for help on anything.  Today had changed a lot of things.  

They worked for a couple more hours, sometimes quietly, sometimes asking each other a question.  Pidge was patient and understanding in a way Lance had never seen before when he asked for his help with the last set of math problems.  Maybe he wasn’t as much of a jerk as Lance had always thought he was.  No, he definitely wasn’t.  Lance could see that, now.  He felt he knew a lot more about Pidge now that he had spent a day in his shoes, and it was obvious that Pidge thought the same, in how his demeanor toward Lance changed.  

The sun had long since set through the windows and the library had become very quiet, most of the other patrons having left.  Lance was halfway through his Spanish workbook page when he found he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.  He would just rest them… for a minute or two…  He took Pidge’s glasses off, set them off to the side, and laid his head on the textbook in front of him.  “Wake me up in five minutes, okay?”

“Mm, I gotcha.” Pidge replied, but he sounded like he was nodding off himself.  He was leaning his elbow on the tabletop and resting his chin in his hand, eyes heavily lidded and seeming unfocused on the science book in front of him.  Lance couldn’t really find it in himself to care, though, and let his eyes fall closed anyway.

~~~

The librarian was making her way through the building to turn off all the lights, coat already on and purse in hand, when she spotted two teenagers asleep at one of the tables tucked away in a corner, books spread out on the table all around them.  

“Oh, for goodness’ sake…” she wasn’t sure how she had missed them, before.  She strode up to the table and knocked her knuckles on the surface of the table.  “Excuse me, but the library is closing now.”

The two jolted awake, looking first at her and then at each other in surprise.  Perhaps they were shocked they had fallen asleep here, or that it was so late.  That wouldn’t account for why they both looked down at themselves with a expression of wonder on their faces, but she had never really understood teenagers.  

“I’m going to turn off the lights in the children’s reading area and young adult section,” she told them.  “Please take that time to clean up your books and leave the library.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of the boys said, still looking shocked.  Goodness, what a strange reaction to waking up in a library, she thought as she walked away.

~~~

After the librarian was safely out of earshot, Lance turned to Pidge.  “I’m me!  Are you you?”

“Yeah,” Pidge said, patting his face and arms like he couldn’t quite believe it.  “How…?”  

“I have no idea.  But we don’t have a lot of time before she comes back.”  Lance said.  Pidge nodded and started loading books into Lance’s backpack again.  They got the table cleaned up and quickly left the library, just as they heard the librarian’s footsteps on the stairs again.  

The night air was cool, a slight breeze ruffling their hair as they left.  It was very dark by this time, and the moon was high and clear in the sky.  Pidge checked his phone and found that he would be late for dinner soon if he didn’t hurry.  “Crap, I have to get home.”  

“Same.”  Lance nodded, checking his watch.  “We’ll have to talk about this later, see if we can figure out what happened.”  

“I just hope we don’t switch back again overnight.”  Pidge said, shouldering his backpack.  

“Yeah.”  Lance nodded, agreeing.  

“So, I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”  Pidge said, offering him a small smile.  

Lance smiled back.  “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

~~~

Shiro paused with one hand on the door to the science classroom, taking a deep breath and steeling himself before entering the classroom.  This was going to be a very long club meeting, he thought.  Assuming they could even get through the meeting in one piece.  Pidge and Lance had seemed fine all day, but it wouldn’t be surprised if something small tipped them over the edge and they started going at each other’s throats.  

Inside the classroom, he found Lance and Pidge sitting next to each other at one of the lab tables near the back of the classroom, Pidge’s broken laptop in front of them.  Lance was holding a magnifying glass up for Pidge, who was looking through it and picking at the broken laptop with two sets of pliers.  While Shiro stood in the doorway staring at them, he felt something nudge him in the back.  

“Beep beep.”  Keith said behind him.  He stepped out of the way and held open the door for Keith to carry the robotics club box into the classroom.  “Yeah, they’ve been like that since we got here.”  He said, nodding toward Lance and Pidge.  

“Keith suspects they’re plotting the downfall of the government.”  Hunk said, following him in.

“I said it was a possibility .”  Keith said, hefting the box onto one of the tables near the door.  

“Hold this,” Pidge told Lance, handing him some wires.

“Ooh, I feel like we’re making a bomb.”  Lance said, taking it.

“Not something you should say in a school.”  Pidge commented, picking up a microchip and wedging it inside the computer.

“What’s that?  Say it again, and louder?”  Lance raised his voice a bit.  

“Shhh!”  Pidge clapped a hand over his mouth, and Shiro instantly worried that this was it, this was the tipping point that would break them into yet another spiral of hurling insults and hurtful words.  But Lance just rolled his eyes, and soon the two of them were giggling.  Shiro, Keith, and Hunk all just stared at them.

“Hunk thinks they’re dating.”  Keith whispered to Shiro.

“I said it was a possibility .”  Hunk restated.  

“Well, as long as they’re getting along.”  Shiro said, relieved at this turn of events.  He reached into their club box and took out their project, a half-finished rover.  “Pidge, Lance, come over and help us kick Galra High’s asses at the competition next month.”