...Dickinson pov…
She suddenly stared at me, her eyes fixated on my hair. Confused, I asked her what was wrong, but she simply howled, "What happened to your...my hair?"
I was taken aback by her reaction and instinctively reached up to touch my hair. It felt the same as always, so I didn't understand what had made her so worked up. "What do you mean? What's wrong with it?" I asked.
Emile pointed at my hair, which I had hastily arranged that morning before leaving the house. "It's wrongly arranged!" she exclaimed. "What is this?" She wagged her hands in front of my hair.
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling a little self-conscious now. "I didn't know how to do it," I admitted.
Emile stood up, her hands reaching for my hair. "Oh no!" she said. "We need to fix this."
I sat nervously as she gently tried to arrange my hair, but it seemed like she wasn't satisfied with how it looked. After a few moments, she decided to turn it into a ponytail, and I couldn't help but feel relieved.
"Thanks," I said, feeling grateful for her help. I looked down at the bright and colorful outfit that Emile was wearing, I couldn't help but think that the colors didn't match. I was a little surprised that I hadn't noticed it before, but then again, I had only been inhabiting this male body for a short time.
"Don't you think the colors don't match?" I asked Emile, hoping that I wasn't offending her.
Emile rolled her eyes, clearly not bothered by my comment. "This isn't too many colors," she said, gesturing to her outfit. "It's perfect for me."
"But it's a lot of colors for a male, don't you think?" I asked, feeling a little self-conscious about my own clothing choices. "Your shirt too".
"What's wrong?" She asked, noticing the way I was staring at me.
"It's your shirt," I said, pointing to the way it was misaligned on her shoulders. "It's not sitting properly."
She looked down at the shirt, confused by what I was pointing out. "What do you mean?" I asked.
I sighed and gestured to my shoulder again. "It's not sitting straight," I said. "It's bothering me."
…Emile POV...
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Here we were, having a nice conversation, and he was getting worked up over the way my shirt was sitting. "Why does it matter so much?" I asked, feeling a little defensive.
"Because it's not right," he said, his tone growing more frustrated. "Things should be in their proper place. It's just how it is."
I shook my head, feeling annoyed. "But why does it matter?" I asked. "It's just a shirt. It's not hurting anyone."
Dickinson sighed, clearly exasperated with me. "It matters because everything has a proper place," he said. "It's how we know what's right and what's wrong."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was like he was obsessed with everything being in its proper place. "But what about people who don't fit into those neat little boxes?" I asked. "What about people who are different?"
Dickinson looked at me, his expression softening. "I'm not saying that people can't be different," he said. "I'm just saying that there's a certain order to things. It's how we make sense of the world."
I shook my head, feeling frustrated. "But sometimes things don't fit neatly into those boxes," I said. "Sometimes things are messy and complicated."
Dickinson sighed, clearly at a loss for what to say. "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree," he said.
I nodded, feeling a little defeated. It was clear that we had very different ways of looking at the world. For me, things were constantly shifting and changing, never quite fitting into neat little boxes. But for Dickinson, everything had a proper place, and he couldn't rest until everything was in order.
Emile let out a sigh as she looked down at my legs with a manly grin, feeling a twinge of discomfort. "Yeah, I know," I said. "These heels are a pain. But you insisted on wearing them."
Emile rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I just thought it would be fun," she said. "But clearly, you're not enjoying yourself."
I shrugged, feeling a little annoyed. "It's not that I am not trying to," I said. "It's just that it's a lot to get used to. I'm not used to walking in heels."
Emile gave me a sympathetic look. "I know it's a lot to take in," she said. "But maybe there's a way we can find a solution."
I perked up, feeling hopeful. "What do you have in mind?" I asked.
Emile paused, clearly thinking. "Well, maybe we can try wearing something more comfortable," she said. "Like sneakers or flats.I couldn't help but laugh at Dickinson's suggestion. "Are you serious?" I asked, still chuckling. "Do you really think we can find a fairy to help us with this?"
Dickinson shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean, it's worth a shot," he said. "You never know, maybe there's some kind of magical solution to our problem."
I rolled my eyes, feeling a little exasperated. "I think we need to come up with a more realistic plan," I said. "Something that doesn't involve magic."
Dickinson nodded, looking thoughtful. "Okay, fair enough," he said. "But what do you suggest we do?"
I paused, thinking. "Well, maybe we can try switching back to our own bodies," I said. "That way we don't have to deal with the discomfort of being in someone else's body."
Dickinson nodded, looking a little relieved. "That's a good idea," he said. "But how do we do that?"
I shrugged, feeling a little uncertain. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "But maybe if we focus really hard, we can put ourselves back into our own bodies."
Dickinson looked a little skeptical, but he nodded anyway. "It's worth a shot," he said. "Let's give it a try."
As we closed our eyes and focused on our bodies, I could feel a strange sensation coursing through me. It was as if I was being pulled in two different directions, one towards Dickinson's body and one towards my own. But no it was all an imagination.
But as the sensation faded, I opened my eyes and realized that nothing had changed. I was still in Dickinson's body, and he was still in mine.
I let out a sigh, feeling disappointed. "Well, that didn't work," I said.
Dickinson nodded, looking a little dejected. "I guess we're just going to have to keep trying," he said. "We'll figure it out eventually."
I nodded, feeling determined. Despite the challenges we were facing, I knew that we could find a way to overcome them. Whether it was through magic or just sheer willpower, we were in this together, and we would find a way to make it workMy phone rang suddenly, jolting both Dickinson and me out of our conversation. I glanced down at the screen to see the caller ID, and my heart sank when I saw the name.
"That call is for me," Dickinson said, turning to look at the phone. "You want to speak with your feminine voice?" I teased, grinning mischievously.
He rolled my eyes, feeling a little annoyed. "No, I don't want to speak with my feminine voice," he said. "But it's Mr. Brandon. I have to take this call."
Emile looked a little puzzled. "Who's Mr. Brandon?" she asked as she handed the phone over to me.
"A business partner" , he said. I will just send a text". He said while ignoring my giggle. I will keep this as he dangled the phone in his hands.
"And…"
Yeah these are words he said as he passed my phone over.
Everywhere went silent as I looked through my phone to check if he had done anything funny. I don't place passwords on my phone for reasons I don't know and surprisingly he doesn't too. That's why we could contact each other Although we were switched.
"What are you doing?" I asked as I dropped my phone and began to played with my beards running my hands through them as I stared at Dickinson. Between us he is the most irritated by this fiasco.
"Ordering pizza, of course," he said with a shrug, already tapping away at the screen.
I rolled my eyes, feeling a little exasperated. "We're in the middle of a crisis here," I said. "I don't think now is the time for pizza."
Dickinson just laughed, not seeming to take the situation seriously at all. "Come on, Emile," he said. "We need some food to fuel our brainstorming session."
I sighed, feeling a little helpless as I watched Dickinson continue to scroll through the pizza menu. "I don't know if I'm in the mood for pizza," I said, feeling a little nauseous at the thought of food. I ate a lot today thanks to Dickinson's kitchen.
"You? He scoffed you aren't the one pregnant here and you had gobbled all the snacks and that--"