Warnings: temporarily-a-girl!Louis, genderbend het sex
Summary: Louis wakes up and realizes a few of his favourite bits are missing and he's gained a few others instead. Harry tries to be helpful but might just be making it worse.
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
When Louis wakes up the first thing he notices is that he somehow managed to twist the blanket underneath him again. It's bunched up under his chest and feels a little painful to lie on, so he rolls onto his back, blinking his eyes open slowly. He brushes his fringe out of his eyes and absent-mindedly reaches a hand down to brush away whatever's tickling his chest; an errant hair most probably. Instead of the hair he had been expecting, he gets a hand full of flesh and for a frozen few seconds, Louis doesn't move, his brain desperately trying to come up with an explanation other than the one his senses are screaming at him. He lifts his head a little from the pillow and glances down at his chest and, yep, that's a breast he's grabbing. And, oh look, there's second one on the other side of his chest. He puts his head back down onto the pillow and slowly lets go of the breast, letting his hand rest on his waist that feels sort of... wrong, now that he thinks about it.
His breathing picks up and his head starts spinning and he can hear blood rush in his ears and, wow, is he having a panic attack? For a moment he wants to call out to Harry, notices at the same time that he's not in the room, and can't bring himself to utter even the slightest peep, because what if his voice has changed? He rakes his nails over his forearms to centre himself in the pain and takes deep slow breaths to calm his heart beat. This is either a really strange dream or.... No, he's got nothing. This has to be a really strange dream. And there's no fucking way he can test that hypothesis because you can't tell you're dreaming while you're dreaming, right? And he's not about to pull an Inception and find the nearest train, because what if it somehow, deliriously strangely isn't a dream? That would suck. A lot.
Okay, then. Operating like it's real. He can do this. Apparently he's a girl. Fully, as it seems, 'cause when he clenches his legs together he's met with an unsettling amount of nothing. He can't bring himself to slide his hand down and check, but he's pretty sure having a cock feels more like something than nothing.
If he's on his period, it suddenly flashes across his mind, the universe truly hates him.
That thought at least plasters a grin across his face and at least smiling doesn't feel different. Another deep breath later he throws the blanket back and swings his legs off the bed, getting up and out of bed. The boxers briefs from yesterday fit almost as well, with the notable exception of emptiness where there isn't supposed to be emptiness. There's a strange calm where the panic was a few moments ago and Louis opens the closet door to stare at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the inside of it.
He makes an involuntarily appreciative noise and wow, okay. That's not okay. That is so not his voice and he is so not okay with that. His face doesn't look that much different except for a slighter chin, more defined cheekbones and a more defined bow to his lips. They're definitely poutier than they were when he went to sleep, but still nowhere near Harry's Jagger lips. He watches his mouth curl into a smile and notices the slight upturn to his nose. He has a button nose now. His lashes are longer and thicker and his hair falls to his collar bones, still the same mousy brown and the feathered cut, only longer. There's also still a fringe that sweeps across his forehead and it's maybe a little weird that he doesn't really look like any of his sisters. Well, obviously he does, a little, but he still sees more of himself in his reflection than them.
His gaze trails lower - bye bye shoulders and arms, he thinks sadly - over collar bones and the swells of his breasts. His breasts. Yeah, okay, that's still weird. And apparently girl-Louis tans in the nude or at least the breasts are the same sun-kissed colour as the rest of his skin. Well, it makes sense, actually since when Louis had tanned he hadn't needed to worry about wearing a shirt. And tanning in speedos has never been more worth it than when he lets his gaze drift further down over the splendid pair of legs he's working, if he dare say so himself.
