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They dressed in silence, pulling on loose, soft clothes from Frank and Amy’s drawers. The familiarity of the garments—Frank’s worn t-shirt hanging on Claire’s new frame, Amy’s yoga pants stretching over Will’s borrowed hips—somehow made the strangeness worse. They made lunch, the simple act of spreading mustard on bread feeling like a complex performance. They ate at the kitchen island, not tasting the food, the air between them thick with the memory of the shower, with the unspoken, humming need.

It became too much.

Will put his plate in the sink with a clatter. He turned, his expression a war between self-loathing and desperate want. Without a word, he walked back to the bedroom. Claire followed, her heart—Frank’s heart—pounding a heavy, anticipatory rhythm.

He lay down on the rumpled bed, on his back, and began to remove the soft clothes. Claire watched, Frank’s body already stirring in response to the sight. Amy’s body was revealed again, pale and curved in the afternoon light. Will stared at the ceiling, his jaw tight, as if trying to disassociate. But his breathing was shallow, quick.

Claire shed her own clothes, letting them fall to the floor. The cool air on Frank’s skin was a shock, but the heat pooling lower was greater. She joined him on the bed, kneeling between Amy’s—between Will’s—spread legs.

“We should…” Claire began, her voice rough. “We should make sure it’s ready.”

Will gave a tight, jerky nod, his eyes still fixed above.

Claire leaned down, her new body large and shadowing his. Using Frank’s hands, she touched him. Not as a husband to a wife, but as a soul trapped in one body, trying to communicate with another. Her fingers found the soft, warm folds between Amy’s legs. Will flinched, a sharp intake of breath hissing through Amy’s teeth.

“Relax,” Claire murmured, though she was anything but. She explored, gently, learning the terrain. With a careful thumb, she found the little nub of Amy’s clit and circled it, watching as Will’s borrowed body reacted independently of his will. His back arched slightly off the bed. A soft, choked sound escaped him.

She worked him with a focus that was part clinical, part worship. She wanted him wet, pliant, ready. She wanted to feel the acceptance. Her touch grew more confident, stroking, rubbing, until Will was shuddering, his hands …