Quick A/N: Hey all, recently I watched the movie Your Name. That movie is absolutely fantastic and I highly recommend it. However, I couldn't help but notice the parallels between the movie and Life is Strange. So naturally, I decided to write a Max/Warren story with the Your Name plot. Spoilers of the movie will obviously happen, but it's not the entire movie plot because obviously I have to change some things to use the LiS cast. Still, I hope you enjoy. I had to make changes to the LiS canon. Those changes will be made obvious in the story.

I hope you enjoy!

Warren:

A dark, grey sky encircling him. Debris lifting from the foundation of houses, being ripped away like a child opening a present. A large, massive tornado moving impossibly fast towards him.

The rush of the air. The grating noise of the train. The feeling of metal under his fingers. A girl, shorter than he with pale skin. Her face a sea of tiny freckles. Her grey blue eyes alight in urgency. Her short brunette hair framing her face. Warren felt himself reach out and catch the bright blue object spiraling through the air.

"My name is Max!"

Warren woke with a start. Immediately, he opened his eyes to stare at the white painted ceiling above him.

The dream had felt so real, yet, he couldn't for the life of him remember a single detail. Warren wasn't someone to dream often, but when he did, his dreams were vivid and memorable.

He was frustrated. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember anything except feeling. He remembers feeling metal underneath him. He remembers feeling material on his fingers. He remembers now hearing a noise. It was this noise that jolted him awake.

Warren grunted in aggravation. He sat up in bed and rubbed his tired eyes. When he opened them, the first thing he saw was the wall in front of him. What was significant about this wall was that it was decorated with dozens of polaroid photos.

Since when did Warren own a polaroid camera? For that matter, when did he take a dozen pictures in his life?

He shifted his position. Now he sat on his knees. Gingerly, his bent to take a closer look at one of the polaroids. The picture on the wall was one of two girls. It was obviously a selfie.

Both of the girls were pretty, but in different ways. The girl on the right was pretty punk rock. She had blue died hair under a grey beanie. She had fair skin and pretty bluish-green eyes.

This punk rock girl was cheek to cheek with the photographer. This girl was more ordinary, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. She was paler than the other girl, with short brown hair, an ocean of freckles and bluish-grey eyes. She had a really cute smile.

Warren felt a slight blush creep onto his cheeks. Slowly, he reached out to touch the picture.

Once his fingers made contact, he ripped his hand away. He stared down at his hand, his arm. It was pale. Just like the complexion of the girl in the photo.

No way, he thought to himself.

He sat back on his booty on the bed. His peripheral vision allowed him to look beyond his hand and down. The blankets had fallen off him during his movement. His brain sluggishly worked out three things:

The sheets he laid under were not his Doctor Who inspired ones.

He did not recognize the clothes he woke up in. He wore a green shirt with baby chicks on it, and black short shorts. His legs were now hairless and impossibly pale.

His chest poked out. In fact, he could swear it looked like he had breasts. Sure, they were small, but they were definitely breasts.

Experimentally, he placed one hand over the right organ. He squeezed. He then blushed.

But he continued. He then placed his other hand on the opposite breast and squeezed.

"What the- They feel so… real."

He felt a little embarrased, but thankfully no one could see him. This had to be a dream. There was no other way. The only thing wrong was that it felt so real.

Warren was a guy deep down. He never had boobs. He continued to squeeze the breasts.

At the moment, the door burst open.

"Get up, Max Attack! Your breakfast is getting cold."

The exact same blue haired girl from the photograph stood in the door frame. She leaned against the door, her hands in her pockets. She wore a black t-shirt with a white skull design, a dark green overshirt, skinny jeans and boots. On her head was the same beanie from the photograph. The girl cocked an amused eyebrow at Warren.

"Were you just fondling your boobs?"

Warren's cheeks burned a bright crimson red. "Uh…"

The girl laughed. "You're so weird, dude. Hurry up, lazy ass. You slept in for an extra 10 minutes."

This girl looked at Warren with a sense of familiarity. It puzzled him. She was talking to him as if they were best friends or siblings. He swore for the life of him he did not know who this girl was.

"I'll… uh… be right out." This had to be a dream.

"Alrighty," the girl slinked off the door. "Just hurry up. That's a nice breakfast Vanessa made, it would be a shame if something… happened to it."

With a wink, she disappeared, much to Warren's relief.

Something weird was definitely going on. He did not recognize this room. Sure, there were some things that were familiar. He had the same posters that adorned some of the walls, but that was it. It was like the guys at Extreme Home Makeover completely redid his room while he was asleep.

And gave him a blue haired girl.

And made him pale.

And gave him boobs.

Warren took several deep breaths to fight off a panic attack. Once he regained what little composure he had, he got out of bed. Apparently he needed clothes.

He strolled over to the closet tucked in the corner of the room. Just beside the closet, leaning against the wall was a mirror.

Curiously, on the corner of the mirror was a drawing of the Space Needle.

But that wasn't what caught his attention.

In the mirror, his reflection was not Warren. It was a pale girl. The same girl from the photograph.

Warren screamed, and the reflection screamed too.