Panties and Panic

He had never unpacked slower in his life.

Gary knelt beside the open duffel bag in the spare bedroom, pulling out item after item as if the bag were some kind of cursed magician's hat. Every time he reached in, he braced himself, and every time, the universe rewarded him with something worse.

First came a tiny baby-blue camisole trimmed in lace. Then a pair of panties so small they could have doubled as an eye patch. Then a vial of perfume labelled Cherry Whip in loopy, flirtatious script. He stared at the growing pile with the same expression a man might use when discovering a nest of venomous snakes in his sock drawer.

Behind him, Wyatt lay on her stomach on the bed, idly kicking her stocking-clad feet in the air as she watched him unpack. Her tiny pencil skirt had ridden up again, because of course it had. Reality seemed committed to making sure that particular skirt never stayed in an honest position for more than four seconds.

Gary tried not to look. He looked anyway.

Immediately.

Regrettably.

Wyatt smirked. She always caught him.

"It is so weird," he muttered, turning back to the dresser and placing a pair of pink satin panties in the top drawer, a guilty expression on his face like he wanted to apologise to the piece of furniture. "Like, are you seeing this? All of it? Why is everything a thong or made of lace? Why is everything blue? Why is everything my size?"

Wyatt flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder and tried very hard not to sound flirtatious when she said, "Some of them aren't too bad. And besides, it's not the wrapper that matters, it's how sweet the treat is inside. And by the way you look in those shorts, I think you could make it work, Lisa."

A shadow of frustration washed across her face.

"Lisa. Lisa. Lisa Lisa Lisa."

Gary froze. His shoulders tightened.

"Could you not," he said sharply.

"I swear I'm trying," Wyatt sighed. "It just comes out. I open my mouth, I think your real name, and boom, Lisa." She frowned, pushing herself upright on her elbows. "Everyone treats you like a woman, and everyone treats me like a man. Like, has the world gone blind today? I wore this skirt today, this skirt, at the store on the corner before you came over and the cashier called me 'sir'. I was holding lipstick."

Gary ran a hand through his hair. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean look at you! You're the most... I mean... You look like..." He gestured helplessly at her.

At her legs.

At her chest.

At the unfair, impossible hourglass reality had **** onto her.

Wyatt's smile tilted. "Like a woman?"

"Like... a poster for a perfume commercial," he said weakly. "A really, aggressively sexy one."

She flushed, pleased despite trying not to be. "You think so?"

"I think," he said, stuffing another pile of lingerie into the dresser, "that our last attempt to order replacement electronics turned into a thousand dollars of luxury lingerie, and that should be our main concern right now."

Wyatt winced. "Right. I tracked the order. It arrives in two days."

"Great," Gary said. "Maybe we can build a motherboard out of silk garters and perfumed lotion."

Wyatt rolled onto her side, edging closer to the end of the bed. Too close. Far too close. Gary felt his face grow hot before he could control himself.

"We'll fix the rig," she said softly. "We just need the right parts."

"Right parts cost money," Gary reminded her. "And we spent all of ours on..."

He waved at his bags.

The crop tops.

The booty shorts.

The makeup.

Wyatt hesitated, then said, "I have an idea."

He looked at her warily. "Is it illegal?"

"Not... traditionally."

"Wyatt."

"It involves going somewhere in person," she admitted. "A place where reality hasn't rewritten everything yet. I know a guy, well, sort of know a guy. I've talked to a guy online who would have what we need. Tools. Components. Maybe if we don't order online, maybe if we just get it in person, it won't change."

"This guy," Gary said, "where does he get this stuff?"

"He's, like, kind of a no-questions-asked kind of guy," Wyatt answered, "but I've bought a couple things from him before, and he always came through. But he's pricey."

His pulse kicked. Hope. Actual, un-sabotaged hope.

"Okay. So. Money."

"Yeah," she murmured. "We need a lot. And fast."

She sat up fully, sliding to the edge of the bed, knees almost brushing his hand. Gary backed up fast, nearly tripping over one of the pink heels he had arrived in.

Wyatt steadied herself with a hand on the mattress, leaning in just enough that he could smell her shampoo. Something floral and unfair. Her eyes softened, warm in a way that made his stomach knot.

"Hey," she said gently, reaching a hand in his direction. "We'll figure this out. Together."

He jumped, stepping away so quickly he bumped the dresser. "Don't. Please. Not... not that."

Wyatt blinked, pulled her hand back, then seemed to realize what she was doing. "I'm not trying anything. I just... I mean... I didn't mean to."

"You don't have to try," he said. "Last time we touched, last time we sparked, things got even worse. I can't even say my name anymore! I don't need to wake up tomorrow dressed like a Playboy bunny. Looking at you is hard enough, but living like this..."

Wyatt looked away, guilty and frustrated. "I can't help it if I'm... if this stupid curse made me..."

She gestured vaguely at herself.

Every curve.

Every impossible detail.

"Look," Gary said, voice low. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just... terrified of what happens if we slip again."

Terrified was one word for it. Desperately aroused was another. He refused to think that second part loudly.

A knock came at the door.

Both of them jumped.

Gary scrambled to the far side of the room, instinctively clutching a lace bralette like a shield.

"Chet?" Wyatt called.

"Yeah," came his voice through the door, smug as always. "Just checkin' in. Wanted to tell Lisa if you want a little company tonight, sweetheart, I can show you a real good time."

Gary's whole body stiffened. He opened his mouth to shout something back, but only a small, strangled sound came out.

Wyatt bristled, rising from the bed. "Chet, go away."

Chet laughed and walked off, his footsteps fading down the hall. Silence hung in the room. Wyatt turned back to Gary, her expression softened by something protective and strangely tender.

"We need money," she said. "And we need it before Chet decides to get... bold."

Gary swallowed. He didn't like the tremor he heard in his own voice.

"We'll think of something. Just... not touching. Okay?"

Wyatt's eyes dipped to his mouth, then back up.

"Okay," she whispered.

But her voice trembled, too, but not from fear.