Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Race, Spot, Albert, and Finch just finished watching a movie for one of their Halloween movie nights, a tradition they’d upheld since becoming next door neighbors about five years prior. Race and Spot, his husband of four years, were invited over to Albert and Finch’s house. They even brought their dog, Duck, to play with the other husbands’ two dogs, Mocha and Muffin. 

The kitchen had been commandeered earlier by Race and Albert, decidedly the best cooks here, and they made dinner for the group. Let it be known that they worked really well separately in the kitchen, but together, it was perhaps one of the most chaotic scenes you’d ever see. They wouldn’t stop teasing and judging each other’s methods, had zero ability to work around one another (other people were perfectly fine, by the way), and to top it all off, they made a huge mess. Albert and Finch’s poor kitchen was still a disaster, and Race and Albert promised to clean it up later. 

But for now, they lounged on the couches as the credits rolled, chatting and watching their three dogs play in front of them in the living room. 

Ten minutes into a random conversation, the topic of kids somehow came up. All of them being 26-27 years old, they’d talked about it before but still nothing had been decided by either couple. Race zoned out a few minutes ago, disinterested in covering the pros and cons of parenthood again, and decided now would be the perfect time for his body to tip over to his right. 

Spot didn’t react much, just wrapping an arm over his shoulders when Race leaned close enough. Mission success. 

“Good job, Racer. You got my attention,” Spot told him, and Race nodded proudly. “How long ago did we lose your attention?” 

“Not long,” Race replied lightly. He spared glances towards the other couch to Albert and Finch, both of whom were listening. “We’ve talked about kids before,” he added as further explanation. 

“Yeah, because none of us actually have kids yet,” Albert said bluntly, earning a look from Finch. 

“We can change the subject,” Finch suggested and everyone agreed. He directed his next words to Race. “What do you want to talk about?” 

Race hummed thoughtfully. “How about… things we’ve never told each other?” 

Spot laughed. “What is this, a high school party?” 

“Aw, babe, are you saying you don’t want to spill your most well-kept secrets?” Race faked disappointment, a smile overtaking the act when Spot’s face scrunched up in disgust. 

“Do not call me ‘babe’ ever again.” Spot shuddered as he repeated it. 

“But babe —” 

“Nope. Stick to what you know or I’m divorcing you.” 

Appalled, a hand flew to Race’s chest. Albert and Finch were laughing at the pair’s antics. Race noticed as Albert guided Finch by the chin towards him for a quick kiss, then pulled back just a little bit. 

“I get away with calling you ‘bub’, don’t I?” Albert drawled, his hand raising to card through Finch’s curls. Finch barely managed to nod, sinking quickly into relaxation and slumping closer to his husband. 

“If you don’t stop, Al, we’re going to lose him,” Race warned pointedly. They all knew how Finch got when Albert touched his hair, and he could easily fall asleep if Albert kept at it. Upon being ignored, Race pouted and turned to Spot. “I want to play my game.” 

Forever weak to Race’s pout, Spot soothed him with a kiss to the temple. He proceeded to get Albert to stop what he was doing, even when Finch reacted with utmost disapproval at the action. 

Shortly afterward, all was sorted. Duck, Mocha, and Muffin were taking a break from playing, choosing to lay on the floor close to their respective owners, and it was decided that in this so-called ‘game’ of sharing things they’d never told one another, Albert would go first. 

“Once upon a time —” he opened with, earning a deserved chorus of groans. Albert’s glare held no heat, and he said, “You’re all so disrespectful. As I was saying: once upon a time, I had a crush on you.” 

Race rolled his eyes from where he was focused on petting Duck. He was ready to tell Albert off and say, that’s not a secret, we know you liked Finch back in high school, when Spot tapped his shoulder. It caused Race to look up, finding that Finch and Spot were staring expectantly at him. Race quickly met Albert’s eyes across the room, connecting the dots. 

“Wait, you had a crush on me?” Race echoed in disbelief. Albert nodded, and Race was pretty sure he’d never heard anything more strange. 

“It was back in middle school, for about two months — we were like thirteen, I think,” Albert recounted. “I won’t give details, but let’s just say that I was very confused over being attracted to you.” 

There was a momentary silence as Race processed this new information. He supposed that he could see it, especially when they were so young, but thinking about it now was perplexing. Race and Albert viewed each other as brothers in all the ways that mattered, and for Race’s part, he was never romantically interested in his best friend. 

“That’s so weird,” he finally settled on saying, amusing both his husband and Finch. 

“Trust me, I know,” Albert agreed solemnly. 

Per Race’s initiation, they proceeded to volley the ‘bro’ endearment (because what else would it be?) back and forth until their partners shut them up. Before they continued, Spot offered to refill drinks and walked into the kitchen to do so. Race stood up just because he was getting restless from sitting on the couch, and he caught a glimpse of Finch leaning over to whisper something to Albert, who smirked at his words. Consider Race’s attention piqued. 

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked. 

“I have something that I could share, but I asked Al if I should say it when Spot is here or when he isn’t,” Finch admitted easily. 

“I really, really want to see his reaction,” Albert chimed in with his two cents. 

“Do you want to screen it with me first…?” Race said, unsure how to approach a solution for the couple. 

“No,” Finch answered quickly, and now Race was very curious as to what he might say. 

Albert bumped Finch’s arm and muttered, “Time’s up.” 

Just after he said it, Spot returned with the requested drinks, completely unaware of the other three’s conversation. Race, still standing, reached out needily to Spot and wrapped up his husband in a secure embrace. Over Spot’s head, Race looked to Finch imploringly and mouthed out: Say your thing. 

Finch held up a finger — one minute — while Albert stifled his laughter into Finch’s shoulder, which turned into peppered kisses a second later. If they were busy kissing, then Race could do that too; when he and Spot released their hug, Race drew Spot back in for a sweet, languid kiss on the lips. Unnoticing of their dads, the three dogs drifted off to nap. 

By the time everyone was done, Race and Spot sat back down on the couch and their game of secret-telling continued with Finch. 

“I need to preface this with a key detail before I say my thing,” he said, then looked pointedly at Spot and Race. “We were very drunk when it happened, okay?” 

Race’s mouth quirked up into a faint smile. “Oh, so what you’re saying is that this’ll be fun.” 

“Who’s the ‘we’ you’re referring to, Fi?” Spot checked. 

“Race and I,” Finch clarified. Speaking more to Race, he said, “I don’t know if you remember it, but… you and I have made out before — when we were drunk, don’t forget that part.” 

“Holy shit,” Race laughed out, Albert immediately joining in at seeing his and Spot’s reactions. “I definitely don’t remember that. When was it?” 

“At some party, not long after you turned 21, I think, and before we all got married.” 

“Why do you remember it?” Spot asked Finch, his serious tone catching Race off guard. He couldn’t quite place where it was coming from. 

Finch wilted slightly under his gaze, but his voice held strong. “I guess I wasn’t as drunk as Race was, so I didn’t completely forget about that night.” 

The living room was silent while Spot considered that answer, his unexpectedly intense gaze tracking to Race before landing back on Finch. After a few moments and some well-hidden reluctance, he finally said, “Do you ever think about it?” 

Albert immediately rushed to intervene, anger flaring out of nowhere. “What the hell do you think he’d say, Conlon? That’s he’s been fantasizing about kissing your husband again or some shit?” 

Race and Finch were quick to cut that line of discussion off before things spiraled out of control between Albert and Spot, the latter of whom only tucked Race closer to his side. Once Finch calmed down Albert, he proposed that they should probably stop sharing secrets for the night. There were no objections, and Race gently pulled away from his husband with a kiss before dragging Albert to the kitchen to clean up their mess from dinner. 

Chapter Text

In the kitchen, Albert and Race put away ingredients, wiped up messes on the countertops, and split up the leftovers. Albert was now at the sink, washing up some bigger cookware that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher while Race dried and put things away. 

“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not interested in hearing you rant about what Spot said,” Race stated bluntly at one point, entirely unprovoked. 

Albert had been thinking about Spot’s question to Finch — Do you ever think about it? — but he hadn’t said shit about it since they came in here. Instead of arguing the point or defying Race’s request and bringing it up anyway, he simply said, “I won’t then.” 

“Thank you.” Race carefully lifted another pot out of the dish drainer and wandered over to the window while drying it. “All four of us are still on for tomorrow, right? With JoJo and Mush at the pumpkin patch?” 

“Yeah, we should be,” Albert confirmed, finishing up with the last skillet and shutting the water off. He couldn’t hear Finch or Spot’s voices out in the living room, and he hoped his partner wasn’t being unreasonably interrogated. Grabbing a new hand towel for his wet hands, Albert turned to Race to ask, “What time are we meeting up again?” 

Race didn’t respond. In fact, it appeared as though Albert’s question went right over his head. He was standing motionless at the window, staring outside at something. Weirded out, Albert tried to get his attention, only to be cut off. 

“I didn’t know it was a full moon tonight,” Race said, his voice remarkably casual. Without turning away, he gestured for Albert to join him. “Come look at how pretty it is, Al.” 

Now, Albert had seen plenty of full moons in his lifetime, but with the kind of strange way that Race was acting, Albert was more intrigued by it than usual. With dried hands, Albert left the towel on the counter and walked over to stand beside Race, who pointed outside to where Albert should look. He traced the line of sight and found, unsurprisingly, the full moon. There were no clouds to obscure his view of it, and it appeared to be both larger and brighter than he’d expected it to be. He was left in a similar position to Race, both unmoving and staring at the moon’s beauty. 

And man, was it truly captivating… Albert thought he could spend the rest of the night admiring it, but then something flashed in his vision and he blinked away the prominent spots in his eyes. A wave of tiredness washed over him afterwards, and he wondered if he’d been standing for too long or if the time was later than he thought it was. 

Still in the process of reorienting himself, movement to Albert’s right drew his focus. Race stood there, likely in the same boat; he covered a yawn with his hand before he promptly swayed away from the window, slowly drying the rest of the pot in his hands. 

“You good?” Albert asked, and Race hummed. 

“Just tired I think. It hit me out of nowhere,” he replied, laughing a bit. 

“Same,” Albert agreed. He felt fine a minute ago (was it only a minute?), but he was drained now like he sometimes got after socializing too much or after a busy day with few breaks. He just kept in mind that he could go to sleep soon while they wrapped up in the kitchen. 

Albert led the way back to the living room, Race following with a container of leftovers. Out here, Finch’s brows furrowed at the sight of Albert and Race. Spot was more stoic-looking than usual as he moved to stand at Race’s side, quick to interlink their hands and take the leftovers from Race. Finch stood too, wrapping an arm around Albert’s waist (Spot noticed the action but said nothing) that he really wanted to lean further into but stopped himself. 

Finch broke the silence with an unnecessary question. “Are you guys leaving now?” 

“Clearly,” Spot said, and Race nudged him. 

“We’ll see you both with Jo and Mush at the pumpkin patch at 2:00.” Race smiled at Albert and Finch, stepping closer to hug them both before he left. For whatever reason, Spot didn’t release Race’s hand, so the hugs were one-armed and kind of awkward. If Albert was really paying attention, he’d notice that when Race hugged Finch second, Spot started to pull his husband away prematurely to make the embrace shorter than it would’ve been. Any other day, Albert would’ve had something to say about that, but he was too tired right now to do any such thing. 

Spot was actually the reason their farewells were so brief, and before Albert knew it, Spot and Race were gone and he was alone with Finch. He finally let himself slump into his partner. 

“Can we go to bed?” Albert relaxed into Finch’s hold, relishing the feeling of his fingers delicately combing through his hair. 

“If you want to go lay down, then go ahead. I’m not quite ready to sleep yet though,” Finch said. “Might read for a bit, then I’ll join you. Does that sound good, sweetheart?” 

Albert nodded. He moved back just enough to steal a tender kiss before grabbing his phone and heading off to their bedroom. The clock said it was earlier than when he usually went to bed, but his body didn’t care, directing him to go to sleep now. He allowed it, unbothered to fight. 

Chapter Text

Mornings were always slow for Race, but this morning felt particularly off. 

Just something about it didn’t feel quite right. Being barely conscious for all of ten seconds, Race couldn’t place his finger on what exactly was different. If he could just crack his eyes open… 

Shit, the effort of it all. Despite his struggles, Race managed to look around, honestly rather bleary-eyed, but he couldn’t deny the fact that this was not his bedroom. 

The fuck? Whose room was this? Race leaned up more to see his surroundings better, only to disturb the other person in the bed beside him. He froze immediately — he thought he was alone in here, but again, he was half-awake not even a whole minute ago. 

Race debated lifting back the sheet himself or waiting until the other person did it, but before he knew it, no decision needed to be made. 

To Race’s complete and utter surprise, the other person turned out to be… Finch? Not Spot, not Race’s husband, no — but instead it was Finch, Albert’s husband.  

Why the fuck are we in bed together?  

“Finch?” Race managed to say around his confusion. The man in question only hummed. “Why am I at your house again?” 

Getting no response, Race shook his friend’s shoulder a bit frantically. Finch swatted at him, his eyes blinking open. Somehow he only appeared slightly annoyed at being woken up, not concerned at all about Race being in bed with him. 

What the hell? 

“Finch.” Race repeated, earning the wanted eye contact. “Why am I in your bedroom?” 

“You live here,” Finch replied casually. He moved to idly grab one of Race’s hands, who pulled it away hastily. The two of them weren’t the type to hold hands with one another (they did it with their respective partners), so that reaction shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Finch looked taken aback. Race was freaking out too much to apologize. 

“No, I don’t live here. I live next door,” he corrected. “So why did I wake up here? Why are we in your bed together? Actually, why did Albert let this — no, why did you let this happen?” 

Now it was Finch’s turn to look utterly lost. He leaned up all the way to match Race, almost making a move to touch him again but deciding against it. 

“You’re saying nonsense, sweetheart. Are you sick?” 

Sweetheart? Finch called Albert sweetheart, not Race. What was going on here? So far this morning, nothing made sense. It certainly didn’t help that Race felt sort of jumbled, like he’d been in one place, blinked, and found himself somewhere else. It was like he’d lost time recently, but he couldn’t even parse out when that might’ve been. That begged the question: was he missing something important? 

“Al, are you okay?” 

Woah, no. Something was very wrong today. 

“Did you just call me Al?” Race questioned, finally turning back to Finch beside him. 

“...Yeah?” Finch’s voice lilted up at the end as if he wasn’t sure he said the right thing. 

“Okay, fuck — that’s cool,” Race mumbled to himself, standing and walking briskly to where he knew a bathroom mirror was. He had the craziest feeling about what might be going on, even if it made zero sense. He left Finch scrambling to follow, his tone concerned in every call from behind. 

In the bathroom, Race braced himself before flicking on the light, and looked at his reflection. 

Albert was staring right back at him. 

What the actual fuck?  

Race dropped his head into his hands, taking deep breaths. After a few moments, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” Finch asked quietly, like he was afraid of hearing the answer. 

“I’m going to sound insane.” Race mumbled. 

“Just tell me. Please?” Carefully, Finch wrapped an arm over his shoulders. Race had the distant thought about how bizarre it was to be shorter than his friend; he was usually one inch taller than him, not three inches shorter. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.” 

Of course he was right. That didn’t mean Race wanted to say what the issue was. Hell, how do you say something like this? I’m actually Race even though I still look like Albert and I don’t know what happened or how to fix it? Real convincing. 

He didn’t really have a choice though, so screw it. 

“I’m not Albert,” Race admitted into his hands before lifting his head to see Finch in the mirror. “I’m Race, actually. I don’t know…” He gestured at himself helplessly. 

“Sure, and I’m Spot.” Finch chuckled, as if it was a joke. 

“No, Finch —” Race stepped out of his friend’s hold to look him dead in the eye. “I swear I’m not kidding. Please tell me that you can tell the difference. Right?” 

“But that doesn’t make —” 

“I know, I know it doesn’t make sense,” Race took another breath. “Just tell me you believe me.” 

Finch noted the clear desperation, but still shook his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

Race all but slumped in place. “How can I prove it? How can I…” he paused, an idea hitting him. “Let’s go to my place and we can see Spot and Albert, okay? If I’m right, our husbands should be over there probably having the same weird ass morning like we are.” 

“But you’re…” Finch struggled to comprehend the situation, and Race couldn’t blame him. 

“I’m not, though,” Race said kindly. “Somehow, I’m Race stuck in Albert’s body, and I don’t know why yet. At the very least, I’d like for you and I to head next door and check on them.” 

Several tense seconds later, Finch nodded, and the pair went about getting ready to go to Race and Spot’s house. Race mentally prepared for the image of himself (or rather, his body) already over there and attempted to craft some kind of explanation. Unfortunately, everything continued to make no sense, so Race needed Finch to start functioning properly again — if they, along with Spot and Albert, got on the same page, things might start clicking into place. 

Chapter Text

Albert woke up first, stretching in bed before reaching over for his phone. Tapping it awake, he was blinded temporarily, blinking away the black dots that had appeared in his eyes. There was an indistinct groan from beside him, and Albert apologized as he lazily entered his passcode. 

It wasn’t working. He definitely didn’t change it recently, but whatever. Wasn’t there some fact that waking up and immediately looking at your phone was bad for you or something? Maybe he could learn from that today. Just before Albert put it back on the bedside table, the lock screen photo caught him by surprise. 

That wasn’t Albert’s lock screen; he wouldn’t have selected a picture of Race and Spot for it, anyway. Experimentally, he twisted the phone around — wrong phone case — in fact, it was Race’s phone case, which meant this was his phone. 

Why was Race’s phone here? 

Albert didn’t get a chance to ponder it. A heavy arm draped itself over his torso, locking him in place, and four drawled words reached his ears: “Go back to sleep…” 

That isn’t Finch.  

Albert knew Finch never spoke right away in the mornings, so the fact that this other person said anything at all was jarring. He couldn’t decipher who it was yet — they were practically buried under a blanket — so Albert took the chance to survey the dark room. 

He quickly realized he recognized this bedroom. His usual view was different than this though, not from where he now laid in bed. It was Spot and Race’s room. 

If Albert was in their room, and there was only one person in bed with him, where’s the other half of the couple? Why did he take one of their positions? Surely not willingly. No, he loved Finch and Race and Spot loved each other — and yet, here he was. Trying to think back, only one question came to mind: 

What happened last night…?  

“Racer.” 

Albert could only blink over at the voice, now officially confirmed as Spot. He cleared his throat before asking as earnestly as he could muster, “Do you know who you’re with right now?” 

“My love.” Spot spoke with a softness of tone never before heard by Albert’s ears. It was eerily off putting, especially since it was directed at him, and not Race. 

“No,” Albert told him sternly. He hoped that Spot would recognize his voice and maybe just kick him out of the room or something. It would be better than whatever was happening right now. 

“Yes,” Spot said with a hint of possessiveness (that vaguely sparked something in Albert’s mind, but he couldn’t place it), trying to shift closer to Albert. 

It was at that moment Albert knew he needed to get out of there five minutes ago. He shouldn’t have entertained it for so long. This whole situation was super weird and being the awake one, Albert should’ve just left already. He scrambled to his feet, feeling very unsteady, and used the mattress to keep himself upright. 

He let his eyes fall shut briefly, faintly nauseous from standing so fast and possibly from another reason. Maybe it was a hangover? Truthfully, he didn’t recall whether he drank recently, and he was just now realizing that he didn’t recall what really happened last night, either. 

“Race, are you —” Spot tried to say, but Albert took a couple of shaky steps away from the bed. 

“Do you even know who you’re talking to? Who you are looking at?” 

As intended, Albert’s words got Spot’s attention. His friend rubbed at his eyes and sat up against the pillows, appearing far too relaxed for Albert’s liking. 

Spot spoke deliberately. “I’m talking to Race, and I’m looking at Race. Should I be saying something else?” 

Albert shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?” 

“No, I’m being serious.” Spot’s brows furrowed minutely. His tone turned more sarcastic when he spoke again. “Are you joking? Because you sound like you were expecting a different answer, love.” 

“Do not call me that.” Albert shut him down because what the hell. “I’m Albert, and I don’t know what kind of…” he searched for an explanation, “cheating thing is going on here but I don’t want any part of it, okay? You and Race can keep your problems to yourselves — don’t get me wrapped up in it.” 

Then Spot gave Albert the most confused look he’d ever seen. It took a while for his voice to work again, and even then all he said was, “What?” 

“I’m Albert,” he repeated with conviction, motioning at himself. “Can’t you see that?” 

Spot slowly shook his head and Albert groaned. Running on a short fuse, he was about two seconds away from turning on a light when Spot stood up first. 

“Come with me,” he said, heading for the bedroom door. Albert followed wordlessly, despite how convoluted this was starting to become. If it was any other day, he’d be making fun of Spot’s apparent blindness — it really shouldn’t have been so difficult to tell the difference between two people who looked nothing alike, even in the not-quite-dark of the bedroom. 

They ended up in the bathroom. In one smooth motion, Spot directed Albert to stand in front of the mirror and he flicked the light switch. 

“Holy shit.” 

Race was reflected back where Albert should’ve been. 

“So you get why I literally can’t see otherwise?” Spot prompted eventually. “I genuinely don’t know if this was a planned joke with Albert today or if you’re being serious, even though it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I am being so real right now, man…” Albert muttered, lifting a hand to see Race in the mirror copying him. 

“Okay, that sounds like something you would say to sound more like Al,” Spot explained, leaning against the door frame. “Do you see where I’m coming from at least?” 

Albert nodded, somewhat sympathetic. “I guess.” Spot threw a hand up in exasperation. “Can we go see them? Race and Finch, I mean. Race might be able to —” 

“Corroborate the little story you’re twisting? Yeah, I’m sure he could.” 

“No, it’s —” Albert brushed past Spot, going to find a pair of shoes. Any pair would work, so if he could just find some that’d be great. “I’m just worried about how Fi will —” 

Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the front door downstairs, cutting off Albert. With the knocking came a shout: 

“Albert, open the goddamn door!” 

“Thank fuck, he knows.” Albert sighed in relief, heading down the steps quickly to greet Race and hopefully Finch, too. 

Chapter Text

Finch was roughly 50/50 on the situation. 

Part of him was worried that Albert was ill and making things up, even though nothing like this had ever happened before. The other part of him wanted to believe that Albert and Race had planned to stage a prank and pretend to be each other for the day. He couldn’t decide which one would make him feel better. 

Especially with how Albert — who was claiming to be Race — had genuinely made an effort to console Finch when he said that he couldn’t believe Albert. Given the circumstances, Finch was torn, mostly on the side of confused concern and not quite near panic. 

As they got ready to head next door, Finch had watched his husband with a careful eye. He noted that Albert held himself awkwardly, like he was off-kilter; it gave evidence to the illness point. But then he even moved around in unfamiliar ways, maybe more bouncy than usual. It exuded Race’s energy through and through, a decent imitation of their best friend. 

How far would Albert go for this prank? Finch thought. Would this even apply if he was sick? 

He pushed away the questions, resisted the urge to hold Albert’s hand as they walked outside — Albert had pulled away from physical contact earlier — and approached Race and Spot’s house. According to Albert, the couple over here would be having an equally strange morning, and Finch had just agreed, not knowing what else to do. 

Albert pounded on the front door, yelling, “Albert, open the goddamn door!” Right, because he was pretending to be Race. 

The door swung open to reveal Race and Spot. Finch quickly assessed that Spot was unimpressed about something, looking expectantly between his partner and Albert, whereas Race sighed in relief upon making eye contact with Finch. Almost like it was planned, both Albert and Race moved past one another through the doorway to embrace each other’s partners. Finch froze up, unsure of how to react. 

Spot had no such shortcomings. He promptly shoved Albert away from him, glaring as he said, “That’s a little far, DaSilva.” 

Finch saw what looked like hurt flash across Albert’s face before it settled into resignation. He didn’t know whether a pang of jealousy should be sprouting up, or just more concern. 

When Finch didn’t reciprocate Race’s hug, too stunned to do so, Race pulled back and tentatively decided to rest his hands on Finch’s shoulders. He caught Finch’s gaze, giving him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Fi.” 

“Hi,” Finch said, then hesitantly tacked on, “Race.” 

Just like with Albert, Race appeared disappointed by this reaction, but within the next moment, a sense of understanding overtook his features instead. Finch was so lost. 

“Okay, let’s maybe lay off hugging until we’ve all talked?” Albert suggested to Race, who nodded in agreement. 

“Talk about what?” Spot prompted, crossing his arms. “Your swapping prank? Personally, I’d like to know how long you two plan to keep it up — everyone here has plans today, after all.” 

Race groaned and spun to face Spot. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Spot.” His tone was unexpectedly sharp; even Spot was shocked by it, his eyebrows raising slightly. 

Albert cleared his throat to cut through the awkwardness. “How about we all just come inside and try to figure out what happened?” Finch nodded along silently with Race and Spot, and he followed Spot further inside. Behind them, Albert held up a hand to stop Race and whisper to him: “Quit being so hostile, Al. I know this is stressful but you could at least try to avoid lashing out.” 

There they went, calling each other by the other’s name. Race mumbled back a reply, but it was too low for Finch to catch, so he decided to let them have their private conversation and instead joined Spot in the living room. He tapped Spot’s shoulder to get his attention. 

“Do you think you and I could talk, alone, before talking with them?” Finch asked, gesturing back towards the entryway where Albert and Race hovered. 

Spot agreed, and he told their partners to give them a few minutes alone in the kitchen. Once there, Spot leaned into the inner corner intersection of the counters while Finch just sat up on the island, finding himself too weary to stand. 

“They’re really committed to this bit, don’t you think?” Spot started the conversation casually. “I don’t know about you, but Race was actually getting kind of pissed at me this morning when he tried to convince me that he was Albert.” He let out a laugh. “I wonder how much they have planned… what do you think?” 

Finch pressed his palms into the cold surface of the counter. “So you don’t think they’re being serious? Or that they might be sick?” 

There’s a brief pause. It’s long enough for Finch to glance over to Spot, who seemed to be almost sympathetic towards Finch. Not pity, just understanding. 

“This isn’t something that happens in real life,” Spot stated, not unkindly. 

“You mean body swapping?” Finch clarified with a tight laugh. “I mean, I’d hope not, but…” 

He knew it was kind of stupid to consider it as a genuine possibility. That was the stuff of fiction, and there was no reason why it would just become a real thing. If Finch truly wanted to apply his book and pop culture knowledge, then the fact that there was no evident trigger for a body swap to occur should’ve been case closed, done and dusted. 

“For the record,” Spot carefully broke the silence, “I highly doubt they’re sick, so we can take that off the table. Everything they’ve done is too over the top to consider —” 

“If it’s ‘over the top’, then don’t we have reason to question that they might not be lying?” Finch interrupted. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was pushing this angle so hard, especially when he partially expected, and hoped, for it to be a huge joke. 

Spot walked over to where Finch sat. “If you want, we can just go tell the guys to stop their dumb prank. You know they’d listen.” 

Finch sighed, hanging his head. That didn’t answer his question. Regardless, he said, “Are you not stressed at all? I know our brains tend to work the same way. Surely you’ve — over-thought this situation already, Spot.” He looked at his friend, imploring. “What do you really think?” 

Another pause. Spot’s face took on an unreadable expression, and Finch could only guess that he might’ve been right about the mutual overthinking. There was probably a developing explanation hidden away in that mind of Spot’s, but right now, being friends for years still didn’t grant Finch any deeper access than surface level. A minor twinge of frustration sparked in his chest, but Finch paid it no mind. It wasn’t the time for that. 

“I don’t know yet,” Spot finally admitted in the most non-answer possible. “Perhaps Al and Racer will persuade me one way or the other, then I can figure out what I think.” 

“Whatever you say, but I think you think all of this is fake and that I’m being an idiot by overreacting,” Finch muttered as he slid off the counter. A second later, he realized what he’d just said: he’d let the frustration slip out by accident. Internally scolding himself, Finch said aloud, “Please ignore what I just said. I didn’t mean to —” Say it out loud. “— just ignore it.” And please don’t question me any further.  

Spot’s sympathetic look returned, even after Finch’s comment. “I’m going to get everyone some water real quick. How about you head out to the guys?” 

Thank you. “Sure,” Finch said, and walked back to the living room. 

Chapter Text

Spot made two trips to bring the four glasses of water to the living room. He brought his and Finch’s first, then placed the other two in front of Race and Albert without arranging them a certain way. Spot knew that Race would want the water with ice, so he was testing whether they were actually paying enough attention to do it correctly — meaning swapping preferences. Sipping his own drink, Spot watched the pair; Finch hovered nearby, apparently too tense to sit. 

“A test, wow,” Race drawled while Albert, without hesitation, reached out for the ice water. Simple as it was, Spot couldn’t really give them points for convincing him yet. 

“Thanks,” Albert told Spot sincerely. He took a drink, his face twisting when he was done, muttering, “That is cold.” 

Race turned to him, perpetually annoyed this morning and yet still teasing. “It is ice water, Racer. That’s what it’s supposed to do.” At least he didn’t mix up the name while pretending to be Albert. Spot belatedly wondered how much practice may have gone into this dumb prank. 

Finch sighed and began to pace the living room. Spot’s gaze shifted from him to the others, finding Race casting a worried look over at Finch. 

Spot spoke without thinking. “Race,” he said, but only Albert looked at him attentively. Slightly irritated, Spot used a firmer tone, staring right at his husband, who had yet to pay him any mind. “Tony.” 

Finally, Race leaned forward on his knees and turned stiffly to Spot. He said, “Now I know you don’t mean me, asshole. We went over this already — I am not your fucking partner. Race is right here,” he motioned at Albert, “stuck in my body, okay? Get it through your head.” 

Before Spot could even think of what to say, Finch tossed his hands up, still pacing. “This is way too confusing. What if I just believed you two? Would you laugh at me for falling for your trick? I don’t know. And would you,” he said to Spot, “think I was being unreasonable for thinking that a goddamn body swap actually occurred? Probably, but my head fucking hurts trying to think of another explanation, so body swap it is.” 

He pointed at Albert and said, “You’re Race,” then switched to point at Race, saying, “and you’re Albert.” Far more stressed than Spot would’ve expected, Finch held out a shaky hand to Race — who was actually Albert if this was to be believed. “And I need comfort please.” 

Spot still couldn’t accept this as reality, so when his eyes told him that Race got up and went over to embrace Finch and soothe him, Spot was sharply reminded of the night before. Of the secret sharing, of Finch saying that he’d drunkenly made out with Race before, of wondering about their relationship now that that information had been voiced. 

That same overwhelming urge to have Race all to himself overcame Spot once more, but he immediately tampered it down. Now wasn’t the time. Besides: 

“Hey, Spot?” Albert had scooted closer to Spot, but didn’t switch couches. 

“What?” Spot said, begrudgingly allowing conversation. 

“I know this doesn’t make sense — trust me, it was pretty weird to wake up in a bedroom that wasn’t ours — or yours, I guess?” Albert second guessed himself, then shook his head. “No, I meant our bedroom.” He paused, searching Spot’s eyes intently. “If you can bring yourself to remotely consider that you’re talking to your husband right now, then I’d really like some help figuring out what happened last night.” 

His sincerity threw Spot for a loop. Something about it, about the way that it was said, sounded almost inexplicably like Race, even though who Spot was looking at didn’t match who he’d heard. 

Am I losing my mind? Are we losing our minds? Spot thought, and after a moment, resignation set in. Probably. I might as well accept it.  

Looking beyond physical appearance, Spot focused on Race, who was waiting for an answer. “Okay, Racer,” he said, glad to see Race’s relieved smile, “you said something about last night. Do you not remember it?” 

Race shook his head. “Only some of it, like arriving at Al and Fi’s house for movie night. Past that, it’s blurry, then at some point, my memories are completely missing until I woke up beside Finch earlier.” 

“Shocker, but I’m the same way,” Albert related, apparently having listened in. Even though Spot was now going with the whole ‘the body swap is real’ thing, seeing the body of Race holding Finch ignited a small spark of disdain. But no, Albert was standing with Finch, so there was no reason to lash out. 

“Did you guys notice anything weird last night?” Race asked Spot and Finch. 

“Not really, but you were exhausted by the time we got home despite being fine all evening otherwise,” Spot replied, and Finch nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, Al was the same way.” To his partner, Finch said, “Ringing any bells?” 

“Annoyingly, no.” After taking a second to think, Albert added, “Was there a time where the four of us weren’t together? Because whatever triggered the swap must’ve happened when neither of you were around since you didn’t see anything, right?” 

Spot mentioned the time when Albert and Race went to clean up the kitchen after the movie, but that still left one problem: “If something happened while you guys were in there and you don’t remember it, then we don’t know what we need to undo to fix this.” 

The group was silent for a minute, left pondering on their next course of action. Spot found his mind trailing off, instead thinking about how strange this entire situation was. Logically, it was impossible for two people to swap bodies, but Race and Albert were adamantly serious — too much so for it only to be a prank. All Spot could do was believe it. 

“What if we try to trigger your memories?” Finch proposed eventually. “Talk about the same things, go back next door, and see if anything comes back.” 

“No harm in trying,” Race spoke for the group, not that Spot would have objected, and Albert didn’t either. When Finch and Albert headed to the front door, Race stopped Spot briefly, giving him a sweet smile (it was odd on another face). “We’re going to figure this out,” he said, tentatively reaching out like he wanted to hold Spot’s hand, but Spot pulled away. 

“Sorry, it’s just —” 

“Unusual, I know… I won’t do it again.” 

After their distantly awkward interaction, Spot and Race followed their two best friends back over to their house with hopes of learning more than they knew now. 

Chapter Text

Nothing worked. 

None of Albert or Race’s memories of the night before were triggered — if anything, running through last night caused Spot to act differently towards Finch again, which he really didn’t understand but didn’t know how to bring up — and before they knew it, 2:00 had swiftly arrived. 

They talked extensively on the way to the pumpkin patch on how they would approach interacting with one another. Since JoJo and Mush would be there too, Finch made a point to say that all four of them would literally sound insane if they tried to explain the body swap. Granted, both Finch and Spot came around to the idea, but they also reasoned that the less people that knew, the better. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long to find a way to swap Albert and Race back to normal; they were all banking on being able to drop the charade by the end of the day or the next morning. 

Speaking of charades, it was agreed upon that each couple should make sure to hang around the partner that looked correct by physical appearance, not by who they really were. This meant that Finch and Race (who looked like Albert) would stick together, and Spot and Albert (who looked like Race) would do the same. It wasn’t strict of course — they were all friends and would be expected to mingle as a group — but Finch was still looking forward to hanging out with Race. Spot in particular wasn’t enthused about the arrangement. 

Finch could easily guess that it had to do with him admitting to the group yesterday that he and Race had drunkenly made out once about five years ago. He regretted saying it, even more so when Spot seemingly found it offensive, or maybe ‘dangerous’, to his and Race’s relationship somehow. That was ridiculous, especially when both couples were happily married and Finch had certainly never considered Race in a romantic sense. Not to mention that the things his drunken self did back then never reflected the intentions of a sober Finch. 

In the wake of Spot’s mood, Finch strived to ignore said mood and enjoy himself at the pumpkin patch with his friends. Finch, Albert, Race, and Spot arrived as a group and found Mush and JoJo already waiting for them. 

“Hey guys,” Mush greeted with a smile, which was reciprocated. 

“Are you all ready to pick out pumpkins and get some nice photos?” JoJo asked happily, adjusting the strap of his camera bag. Right, Finch had totally forgotten that they’d planned to get pictures today. With some luck, they could skip on the romantic ones this time, instead focusing on shots between friends. Finch made a mental note to tell JoJo that later once he got out his camera. 

Beside Finch, Race grinned and said, “I’m definitely excited.” His energy was generally higher than most people, like Albert (who he currently appeared to be), and Race had made no attempt to tone it down at all. 

To prevent questioning, Finch, Albert, and Spot all seemed to have the same idea, and divided up their other friends’ attention by agreeing about how excited they were to be there. The diversion was successful, and the six friends made their way into the patch of farmland. Spot and Mush led the way, Albert and JoJo behind them, and Finch and Race stayed in the back even though Finch knew that Race would have normally rushed ahead of everyone else. 

“I wanted to check something with you,” Race said quietly, and Finch hummed to show he was listening. “Are you okay with us holding hands? I do it randomly with Spot all the time, but it’d look weird to do it today while I look like Albert, so…” 

Finch didn’t debate it for long. “Sure, I don’t mind.” 

Race enthusiastically locked their hands together, both of them smiling at the action. In front of them, JoJo chose that moment to glance back over his shoulder, doing a double take before fully spinning around. 

“Aw, you two are adorable.” JoJo exclaimed, already pulling out his fancy camera. He’d spoken loud enough to draw Spot and Mush’s attention, effectively bringing the group to a standstill on the path. 

Finch caught Albert’s eye from where he stood at JoJo’s side, exchanging warm smiles with one another. JoJo called Race by saying, “Al, look at the camera or your husband please,” and Albert came to attention at JoJo’s words, confused before realizing what he’d done and turning away. His guilty face made Finch laugh, and he hoped that it added something genuinely sweet to the photos JoJo was taking of himself and Race (as Albert). 

Chapter Text

“Are you going to get any romantic photos like that with Race today?” Mush casually asked Spot as they watched JoJo take shots of Finch and technically Race — not that Mush knew that. 

“I don’t know. It depends on him.” Spot gestured over to Albert while glaring past him at Finch and Race, at them holding hands.  

He’d been annoyed all morning, carefully watching when and how Race and Finch interacted because Spot just couldn’t kick the feeling that something must have changed between them after yesterday. Another explanation was that maybe he was concerned about something changing between himself and Race. The feeling was nagging, pervasive enough that he couldn’t focus on much else. 

“Sounds about right,” Mush replied, huffing a laugh before bumping Spot’s arm. “Since Jo is too busy to notice at the moment, I’ll be the perceptive one here. What’s going on with you? And Race, Fi, and Al, for that matter? I feel like you’re all acting a little off or something.” 

Spot took a few seconds to think about how to phrase this. Like they agreed upon, he wasn’t going to admit what actually happened, so it’d be a vague answer. Eventually he settled on, “We’ve just had a confusing morning.” 

Mush’s brows furrowed. “…That’s all? You’re pretty on edge to just be confused, Spot.” He lit up like he had an idea, then motioned at Albert in front of them, who Mush would see as Race. “I doubt you’re upset with him though. Hey Racer?” 

“Yeah?” Instinctively reacting to his own name, the real Race responded to Mush. Unfortunately, this meant it appeared as though Albert was the one who answered him. JoJo even caught that slip-up, because of course he did too, and Finch did a poor job of hiding his momentary panic. Spot mentally face-palmed; they sucked at this. 

Albert spun to address Mush, clearly trying to save this mess by putting on a show. “Ignore that idiot. He wants to be me so bad that he keeps cutting in when people try to talk to me —” 

“Shut up —” Race cut in. 

“But anyway, you had a question for me?” 

Their imitations were good, Spot gave them that. Mush seemed to believe it for the most part, slowly nodding his head in acceptance. JoJo, on the other hand, stepped back to fully study the group. 

“What happened between you four?” he asked, straight to the point. When met with uncertain silence, his gaze landed on Finch, the least composed about the body swap situation. JoJo walked closer to him and said, “Finch, what’s going on?” 

Finch tried and failed to say anything, but Race reacted quickly to cover it up, pulling Finch to his side protectively — just like Albert would probably do. “Since when is this an interrogation, Jo? Maybe we’re fine, or sleep deprived, or just —” 

“You two have perfect sleep schedules,” JoJo said, puzzled by the comment. 

“Well, what if they got messed up last night? How would you —” 

“Do you think you could cheer up Spot?” Mush’s voice overpowered the other group’s conversation, and Spot belatedly realized that Albert had joined him and Mush. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Albert replied brightly. He moved to prop an arm on Spot’s shoulder, grinning down at him. “Let’s have a fun afternoon together — yeah?” He stuttered at the end, possibly thinking about tacking on one of Race’s endearments for Spot but wisely choosing not to. Spot was certain that he wouldn’t have been able to refrain from punching his friend if the word ‘darling’ came out of his mouth. 

Needless to say, Spot found this act — Albert pretending to be Race to keep the body swap under wraps from their friends — rightfully unsettling. More than that though, Spot didn’t want to be stuck with Albert. What he wanted to do was keep an eye on Race and Finch, that pervasive feeling in his mind urging him to monitor the pair, to make sure nothing bad happened. But he was left with both from now on, simultaneously putting on his own act and believing Albert to be Race, while quelling his frankly amplified urges to watch Finch and Race, who’d managed to evade JoJo’s confused-turned-marginally-concerned questioning. 

The group of six finally continued walking through the pumpkin patch, searching around for good pumpkins and posing occasionally for photos. Spot acted as he needed to with Albert, though to a significantly lesser degree of affection than if it was really his husband. Mush and JoJo supposedly bought it, but Spot did see them whispering privately while sparing glances at everyone else at one point. Every time that Finch and Race interacted, Spot saw and eventually noticed that Finch had calmed enough to properly enjoy himself with Race. Spot knew they were good actors, making each touch or comment look natural and sweet as if they were truly together, but again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe they weren’t acting. That maybe something was changing. 

His frustration reaching an upper limit, Spot gave up on pretending to play husbands with Albert, who’d only grown more irritated with Spot the longer they were here. 

“Can you get a fucking life, man?” Albert whispered harshly to Spot, smacking his arm. 

“Does this seriously not worry you at all?” Spot replied flatly. He didn’t react to Albert’s words, laser-focused on one thing but dividing enough attention to talk. “How our husbands are acting together?” 

Albert glanced over at Finch and Race, the former laughing at the latter’s joke. He smiled at the sight before whirling back on Spot, stepping into his line of sight with a firm expression. “Listen to yourself for a second. You said ‘our husbands’, the two men we each love and devote our lives to, so when you’re worried about how they’re acting together, you’re —” Albert broke off, seemingly in disbelief, then in recognition. “Why the fuck are you jealous?” 

Spot diverted his eyes. He’d been avoiding calling it that. “I’m not —” 

“Nope, I’m not hearing any of that denying bullshit,” Albert interrupted, plowing forward with his own thoughts. “You were like that last night too, but more possessive of Race then, and even today, you’re acting the same way — probably worse.” 

“What the hell, Al —” Spot tried to say, offended, but he went unheard. 

“You’re so stuck in this mindset that you can’t keep your eyes off Race and Finch, who you get to see hanging out romantically,” Albert made clear air-quotes, “while we’re here. The body swap was the only reason you could have seen them act openly like this, so…” He refocused on Spot, glaring. “All this is your fault.” 

Spot returned the icy glare, turning his frustration onto Albert instead. “That’s your conclusion? That I somehow know how to make people swap bodies? Because I can’t, but if you really want to go there, I don’t have any sci-fi tech or magic to do such a thing.” 

“I know you can’t, asshole,” Albert retorted, “but something magical must have —” 

“Hey, did any of you see the full moon last night?” JoJo projected his voice to catch Spot and Albert’s attention as well Race, Finch, and Mush’s. He held his camera, presumably looking through the photos, and lifted it up to show everyone the screen. “There were basically no clouds, so I took some really good pics of it. Come look.” 

From beside Spot, Albert looked like he’d been hit over the head with a profound revelation. Hovering a bit further away, Race was similarly stunned. When they made eye contact, Albert muttered, “The full moon, that’s it,” before meeting Race halfway to talk. 

Spot didn’t move at first. He debated between pulling Finch away from JoJo and Mush so they could see whatever the hell Albert and Race figured out (about the moon?), or just going to stand with the others until Albert and Race approached them on their own. Ultimately, Spot chose the second option, although waiting was decidedly kind of tortuous. He made sure to subtly fill in Finch that their husbands were off talking, tapping his arm and tilting his head in their direction; Finch nodded in understanding. 

After an indeterminate amount of idle chatter with Finch, Mush, and JoJo, and when Spot’s patience was starting to wear thin, Albert and Race finally walked back over. Their body language didn’t show that anything was wrong per se, and they didn’t say anything to that effect either. Instead, Race complained about his feet hurting from all the walking they’d done, and Albert suggested that they could pick out the pumpkins they wanted, get final pictures taken — including a group photo — and then they could leave. (Spot yet again commended the mutual imitations.) Everyone agreed, the plan was enacted as stated, and fifteen minutes later, Spot was leaning against his car in the pumpkin patch’s dirt parking lot with Race, Albert, and Finch. 

Race was to his left, tentatively shoulder-to-shoulder. The other pair of husbands stood nearby, close but giving Spot and Race, and themselves, a chance to talk. 

“You know how much I love you, right?” Race asked gently. 

“Of course,” Spot replied, swift and confident. 

“Okay.” Race began twiddling his fingers. “Can you explain what happened today then?” he asked, not accusatory in the slightest. When Spot sighed, already experiencing regret, Race added, “It’s okay if you can’t, darling.” 

Spot promptly ignored how off-putting it was to hear that word in Albert’s voice. He summed up an explanation: “I was worried that something would change, and overreacted.” 

Race nodded. “Well, if you ever need a physical reminder of our love, we have these.” He raised his left hand, pointing at the wedding band before chuckling. “Not this one, this is Al’s. But yours,” he motioned down at Spot’s hand, making no move to touch it, “is a good reminder. And you technically don’t need an emotional reminder because you already know how much I love you and will continue to do so. You know as well as I do that that’ll never change.” 

After a thoughtful pause, Spot confirmed it. “I do. Sorry for ever questioning it.” 

“Apology accepted,” Race said, suddenly smirking as he turned more towards Spot. “I would totally kiss you to seal the deal, but it would be way too weird to kiss you when I look like this right now.” He gestured at himself, at Albert’s body that he currently occupied, and successfully drew a genuine laugh from Spot. 

Deeming it safe to carefully interject themselves into the conversation, Finch cleared his throat to get their attention. “Do we get apologies too, Spot?” He asked, referring to himself and Albert. 

“Yeah, you deserve them.” Spot looked at them both in turn, speaking earnestly and succinctly. “I’m sorry for being an asshole lately.” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying — thank you,” Albert huffed in exasperation, and Finch promptly scolded him. 

“We’re both grateful, I swear,” Finch amended, exchanging a kind smile with Spot. 

Race stood up from where he was previously leaning back against Spot’s car. “I’m glad we got that sorted out, and now we have to deal with the next big problem: I want my body back.” 

Albert crossed his arms. “The feeling’s mutual.” 

“But how are we supposed to reverse it?” Spot said. “You said something about the full moon earlier, and —” 

“And I said this was your fault,” Albert repeated, though not nearly as harsh as earlier. 

“That’s related how, exactly?” Finch had missed that exchange, leaving him slightly out of the loop. 

“So you know how Spot has been acting super jealous and kind of possessive since last night?” Albert asked bluntly, and Finch very slowly nodded in response. 

“We think the moon had something to do with that,” Race continued. Upon receiving skeptical looks, he said, “You believe the body swap is real, so hear me out. Al and I think that because of how much Spot was… overreacting, the full moon, being all magical and stuff, managed to latch onto those negative feelings. It gave Spot a way to monitor how Finch and I acted together today, pretending to be romantic in front of others because I look like Albert.” His gaze flipped between Spot and Finch. “Does that make sense?” 

“…I guess so.” Finch spoke while Spot was still processing the bizarre explanation. “To undo it then, the moon needs to reverse the spell, which it probably won’t do until Spot is — back to normal?” His voice lilted up at the end, questioning. 

Three pairs of expectant eyes landed on Spot, who held his ground and gave a confident answer. “I’m good now. I’m not questioning anyone’s loyalties.” A pause. “Anymore.” 

Albert took point. “If that’s true, then I guess we just need to wait until the sun sets and we’ll see if the moon believes you, and if the moon is still full enough — like, powerful enough — to undo this swapping shit.” With an air of finality, he declared, “And if not, I will be throwing hands with whoever takes my body come tomorrow morning.” 

His probably serious threat was met with laughter, and Albert demanded they all finally leave the pumpkin patch. Twenty minutes later, they were back in their neighborhood. They decided to hang out again for the rest of the evening before realizing how they’d have to split up. Race had to leave with Finch next door, essentially ‘returning’ Albert’s body to its own bed, and the same applied for Albert staying with Spot. The latter pair found it more awkward to have to sleep in the same bed together, but agreed to brave it out to the amusement of their husbands. 

“I love you,” Race told Spot on the front porch before he left. 

“I love you too,” Spot returned with a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, promise.” 

Race gestured up at the not-quite full moon, although it was still very bright. “I’m sure it’ll hear you out and fix things.” He started to walk down the steps, Finch joining him after saying good night to Albert. 

“I have a quick request, Racer,” Albert said jokingly. “Don’t fuck up my body.” 

“What the hell! I’ve been fine literally all day, and you choose now to tell me to be careful?” Race shot back, faux offended. Before he could even get out another word, fate played against him: Race partially missed the last porch step, slipping and falling to the ground. Finch helped him up, and from beside Spot, Albert groaned. 

“Dude, I specifically asked you to not mess up my body not even five seconds ago.” He shook his head, dismayed. “If I have a bruise tomorrow, I’m blaming you.” 

“Alright, as fun as this is,” Finch cut in, “the sooner we all get to sleep, the sooner things will go back to normal, so good night.” He guided Race away with him, and everyone traded another round of farewells. 

Soon enough, Spot laid down in bed with Albert at his side, desperately hoping the arrangement would be different when he awoke again. 

The next morning, Spot woke slower than the situation warranted, but his sleep-heavy mind didn’t register that right away. Once it did, he reached out to the person beside him. 

“Racer? Hey, wake up,” he said imploringly. It looked like Race, but he couldn’t know for sure until he confirmed or denied it. 

“I don’t want to,” possibly Race replied, slurring the words together tiredly. 

Spot pulled at Race’s shoulder so they could face each other, scanning the blue eyes that blinked back at him. Clearly, he asked, “Are you actually Race?” 

For a split second, Race’s face scrunched up like he was confused — a terrible moment to stress out Spot, honestly — but then he lit up, running a speedy self-examination and grinning in excitement. 

“Hell yes! I’m myself again!” Race cheered, hastily tackling Spot in a hug, which naturally evolved into a nice make out session. When they pulled back, Race ran his fingers through Spot’s hair, gazing lovingly down at him. “Damn, I missed this yesterday, innamorato.” 

“Me too, love,” Spot replied sweetly, leaning into the touch. 

“I’m guessing Albert and Finch are good too?” Race asked off-handedly, and Spot shrugged. 

“They probably texted already since they would’ve gotten up ages ago.” 

Race turned away just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand, then held it between himself and Spot so they could both see the screen. As expected, two texts were sent earlier in the morning, and Race wrote a reply to the pair. 

Albert: I’M ME AGAIN

Finch: let’s agree to never do this again

Race: spot and i agree!! oh and i’m me again too :)