Brother and sister (Patreon)

"Damn it, why the hell didn’t she wear a bra today," thought Francis, staring down at the nipples poking through the thin fabric of his sister’s shirt. Her mocking voice immediately echoed in his mind: "Francis, only guys like you get distracted by crop tops and braless girls!" Back then, she had scolded him for his "basic" taste. But now, for some godforsaken reason, she had decided to dress exactly like that. And she probably had no idea that another random "swap" would happen at the worst possible moment.

— Hypocrite, — he muttered under his breath, noticing the glances from two guys at a nearby table.

The guys were openly staring, or rather ogling his sister's body, whispering shamelessly and occasionally glancing at him. One of them winked, and Francis could feel his sister's cheeks flush with embarrassment. He quickly averted his eyes to their table, where an unfinished soft-boiled egg sat. Suddenly, the gnawing hunger hit him like a freight train.

— Seriously? Carrie, for fuck's sake! — Francis mumbled, his stomach clenching painfully. On the table in front of him was a single soft-boiled egg. His sister was apparently on one of her eternal diets again. An egg? Just one? That was nothing.

Then his eyes landed on the table opposite. There it was: a massive, appetizing burger peeking out from under a napkin. Francis gulped, staring at the burger like a starving wolf eyeing a juicy steak. The smell of grilled meat, cheese, and fresh bread made him forget everything — including the unspoken sibling rule about not ruining each other's lives.

He grabbed the burger greedily, barely restraining himself from devouring it whole. With every bite, he cared less and less about appearing like his graceful sister. That was the last thing on his mind. "God, this is so good!" He tore into the burger, feeling the sauce drip down his chin and onto her light-colored pants.

— Shit! — Francis muttered, looking at the spreading stain. He licked his lips and then noticed the raised eyebrow of the guy across from him. The guy was staring at him in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened to the elegant and composed Carrie, who just a moment ago, before he going to the restroom, had claimed she wasn’t hungry and had barely nibbled at that egg he had convinced her to eat.

— Is this some kind of joke? You just lectured me about how unhealthy fast food is... — the guy cautiously said, sinking slowly into the seat opposite. His expression hovered between confusion and hurt.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Francis chewed slowly, trying to maintain a neutral expression despite his stuffed mouth. His heart was racing. He suddenly remembered his phone and realized that maybe, just maybe, he should’ve called his sister first.

While the guy sat there, baffled, Francis frantically reached for the phone. He saw five missed calls and several messages from "Brozilla." "Brozilla? She renamed me that again?! And why the hell did she turn off the sound and vibrations?! Damn it, Carrie!"

Francis barely skimmed the messages before jumping up and almost toppling over, desperately trying to keep his balance on those damn heels Carrie had decided to wear today. He clutched the table, narrowly avoiding spitting out the half-chewed burger in front of the guy, who now looked not just confused but outright concerned. With his mouth still full, Francis mumbled something unintelligible — an obvious attempt at an apology — and bolted towards the restroom.

Gripping the railing with both hands, he practically crawled up the stairs, battling the cursed heels that threatened to buckle with every step. Under the bewildered and skeptical gaze of the guy who couldn't fathom what had happened to the slightly haughty but undeniably graceful woman he'd been talking to minutes earlier, Francis finally reached the bathroom door. He yanked it open and stumbled inside, utterly exhausted from the effort of not breaking his ankles on those heels.

Seeing the sink, he sighed in relief, only to freeze as he noticed a man at the urinal. The man turned, clearly startled and a bit embarrassed, frowning as he stared at Francis. It hit him immediately: he had just barged into the men’s restroom.

— Uh... hi, — he managed, forcing an awkward smile before bolting back out, feeling the flush spread across Carrie’s cheeks. His foot betrayed him, twisting on the heel, and he nearly fell but managed to catch himself on the doorframe. He burst out, only to spot the unmistakable silhouette of the women's restroom sign nearby.

"I’ll never get used to this! And I don’t want to!" he mentally cursed, hesitating for a moment before heading toward the women's restroom, trying not to die of shame.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Francis leaned against the sink, struggling to catch his breath and wiping the leftover sauce from his chin. Looking into the mirror, he nearly screamed. There was Carrie’s face: her sharp, expressive eyes glaring back at him with irritation, her hair still a mess from the rush, and her earrings swaying in a way that reminded him all too well of his current reality.

The phone buzzed. Carrie was calling. He immediately answered, staring at her angry face reflected back at him in the mirror.

— WHY DID YOU TAKE SO LONG?! — the deep, male voice — his voice, from a few hours ago — echoed loudly in the restroom.

— Hey, keep it down! Stop yelling! — Francis hissed into the phone, covering the receiver and glancing nervously at the stalls, praying the restroom was empty.

— WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE NOW?! — Carrie’s voice was sharp and accusing.

— Hey, calm down! I didn’t do anything! — Francis protested, raising his eyes to the mirror. — Well, except maybe... uh, stain your pants. But it was an accident! The burger just... kind of... fell.

— A BURGER?! Are you serious? You ate a burger? — Her voice grew louder, and Francis’s stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. — YOU. ATE. A BURGER. WHILE ON A DIET. AT MY FIRST DATE?!

— Technically, it wasn’t me. It was your starving stomach, — he muttered, trying to play it off as a joke. But judging by the silence on the other end, Carrie was in no mood for laughter.

— Do you realize I haven’t eaten anything heavier than a cucumber in two weeks? — she hissed. — And now this guy thinks I’m a hypocrite who preaches health and then attacks fast food like a maniac!

Francis froze for a moment, stunned.

— Wait, wait... You’re telling me that guy out there is your boyfriend? Well, the guy you’re dating?

— Not yet! And his name is Tom, if you’re interested! — she snapped. — The first decent guy in six months! And now he probably thinks I’m insane!

Francis rubbed his temples, feeling a surge of irritation.

— You know, it’s not my fault we swapped again, so stop blaming me, alright?! — he shot back, his patience wearing thin. — And why the hell did you put on heels today?! I...

He trailed off as his eyes met those of a woman who had entered the restroom unnoticed. She stood there, mouth slightly open, staring at him as if trying to comprehend what on earth was happening.

Her gaze drifted over him: the stained pants, the sauce smudged on his face and hands, the emotionally swollen eyes, and the phone pressed to his ear. She raised an eyebrow, muttered something like "God, what drama queens," and hurriedly shut herself in a stall.

— What’s going on? Why’d you stop talking? — Carrie’s irritated voice broke the silence.

Francis glanced at the closed stall door, feeling unbelievably awkward.

— Nothing... Someone walked in. And now they probably think you’re... — he hesitated, eyeing himself in the mirror, — …well, slightly unhinged.

— SLIGHTLY WHAT?! — Carrie exploded.

— Slightly off your rocker, — Francis muttered, dabbing at the stain on the pants with a damp paper towel, which only smeared the sauce further. — Can you stop yelling? We need a plan! How are you doing over there?

Carrie sighed heavily on the other end, her voice tense but slightly calmer:

— Are you serious?! — She was clearly holding back from screaming. — I’m in your filthy apartment, surrounded by empty energy drink cans, and there’s a pot on the stove with something that looks like biological warfare!

— That’s not biological warfare; that’s soup... — Francis grumbled, the familiar wave of annoyance rising. Carrie always had something to criticize: his lifestyle, his habits. Now, with these swaps, she had even more opportunities to unleash her disdain. Every time she ended up in his body, she left behind a trail of snide comments like "How can you live like this?" or "Francis, you look like a hobo!"

— By the way, I’m cleaning your pigsty so I don’t die from disgust! — Carrie snapped. — And one of your friends just barged in, shouting, "Frankie, bro, let’s hit the bar! I got tickets to the wrestling tournament!" — she mimicked mockingly. — You should’ve seen his face when I, meaning you, told him, "Buzz off, I’m on my period!"

Francis snorted, imagining Joe’s expression, but quickly composed himself:

— Alright, focus! You didn’t explain anything to him, did you?

— Oh, sure, I told him everything: "Hi, I’m Carrie, Francis’s sister, we occasionally swap bodies for reasons beyond our control. You wouldn’t believe it, so just leave, okay?" — her sarcasm was dripping through the phone, he could hear her turn on the water and start, apparently, washing the dishes — But that doesn’t matter! Listen carefully, the most important thing right now is not to ruin this date entirely. Tom is a great guy, and if you screw this up, I’ll never forgive you!

— Oh, of course, it’s all about you, as always, — Francis muttered under his breath, but Carrie ignored him.

— Right now, you just need to leave the date in a way that makes me seem... mysterious. — Carrie’s tone shifted to something almost pleading. — You need to act like I’m someone with quirks, but in an intriguing and sophisticated way. Don’t let him think I’m crazy. This is crucial, Francis!

— How exactly am I supposed to do that? — Francis pressed his lips together, feeling his irritation grow. — I’m sitting here in burger stains, heels that are literally trying to kill me, and he already saw me nearly choke to death. What do you want me to say? "Oh, excuse me, I just remembered I have a lecture on living off water and air?"

— No, — Carrie snapped, clearly struggling to keep her composure. — Tell him you suddenly remembered some work... no, a project... something important. Just add a touch of mystery. Make him want to see me again!

— Mystery? — Francis glanced at his reflection. — Do you even see how I look right now? The only mystery here is how I’ve survived in this body wearing these heels!

— FRANCIS! — Carrie practically growled through the phone. — This isn’t up for debate. You’re just going to do it. Or do you want me, when I get back, to tell your friends that you... uh... collect dolls? And not just collect them but act out scenes with dialogue?

Francis froze, horrified by her ability to invent something so humiliating in seconds.

— Alright, alright, — he sighed, rubbing his temples. — But if I mess this up, it’s your fault. You picked this body, this outfit, these heels... and this Tom!

— You’ll manage, — Carrie said, her tone softening slightly. — Just be... me. Act calm and confident. Say something simple and... elegant. Then leave. That’s it. Good luck, little brother.

She hung up, leaving Francis staring at his reflection as if trying to summon even a shred of the sophistication Carrie expected from him.

"Just be me," he muttered. "Easy for you to say..."

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face clean, attempted to fix his hair to look somewhat presentable, and finally staggered out of the restroom, cursing everything under his breath.