The first lights of the day are probably the thing Ben hates the most along with chocolate and slow-people on the pavements. It reminds him of how early it is, how tired he is, and the fact that he has to go to work. His nights are usually shortened by insomnia, which doesn't help with his general mood and the dark circles starting to settle under his eyes.

Still, he'd learned how to make mornings a bit less unpleasant: his alarm was set to a relaxing melody, his room smelled like chamomile and he'd invested in a comfortable mattress that made him feel like he was sleeping on a heap of clouds. It usually worked wonder, but today seemed to be the exception. His back was aching like he'd slept on the ground, his head felt like someone had hammered nails into it all night and the bed somehow felt narrow.

The second his eyes opened, Ben realized two things: first, this wasn't his bed; second, this wasn't his room either.

The thought that maybe he'd drunk himself stupid skimmed his mind, but this clearly wasn't an option: Ben hadn't had a drink in years, and the evening before had been rather calm. He remembered the restaurant his boss had taken him and his coworkers to, the egg-yolk ravioli and white truffles he'd had, and clearly recalled setting his phone in Airplane mode before heading to bed. Still, he instinctively turned, dreading the sight of another body lying next to him.

No one. This should've been reassuring, but Ben was starting to seriously wonder where he'd ended up and how exactly, when he remembered the entire evening. His eyes opened a bit more as the seconds passed, allowing him to get a better look at the place. Whoever lived here definitely wasn't into minimalism: shelves on the walls were covered with books and other unidentified objects. A few items of clothing were scattered around the room –jeans and t-shirts, mostly which only renewed Ben's earlier fear that he might've spent the night with some stranger.

Where the fuck was he?

"Rey? Come on, we're gonna be late!"

And who the fuck was Rey? Whoever she was, someone was looking for her, and Ben doubled his hopes that he hadn't been stupid enough to hook up with a stranger who, added to that, seemed to live with a man.

With his head still dizzy, Ben straightened up and sat in the middle of the bed. Something about it felt odd; the mattress, even though floppier than his, didn't sink under his weight. Not that he intended to break it, but he was used to… more. More efforts, more stability (he'd almost flown a leg out of the bed in the process), more everything. Something about this morning wasn't right, and Ben realized what it was when he ran a hand through his hair. His hair usually didn't run past his shoulders. Slowly, his hand left his hair and landed on the bed, and Ben let his eyes drop to it with anticipation.

His hand had somehow grown smaller during the night and was only half its usual size, thinner and less pale. Whatever had happened must have been rather brutal, because his skin was now calloused on the fingertips and the edges of his palm. Out of habit, Ben ran it through his hair once again and stopped himself mid-air. His head should've felt bigger in his reduced hand, but… nothing. It even felt slightly smaller and rounder and… With something tightening in his stomach, Ben risked touching his face and felt his heart fall to his feet when, once again, nothing felt familiar. His eyebrows were lighter, his big nose was no more, his ears were definitely smaller and were those earrings?

Either this night had been wilder than he remembered or…

Ben immediately shook his head as if the sole movement could chase this idea away. Ironically, his newly shoulder-length hair followed and whipped his face. This couldn't be what he was thinking about, this only happened in movies; still, with each passing second, it became clearer that this body wasn't his own.

Getting up from the bed appeared to be a dangerous idea as he stumbled his way out of it. He'd overestimated his legs, or whoever's they were: this wasn't his usual height or weight, and his shoulders usually took way more space. With a fast-beating heart, Ben walked to a mirror fixed on a wall and, cautiously, took in the image it sent him back.

The hair he'd run his hand through was straighter and thinner than his, a light chestnut color. It stopped just beneath his shoulders –her shoulders, Ben realized as he noticed a soft bump where his chest had once been. A sudden blush crept over his cheeks at it, and he quickly looked away as he continued his self-but-not-quite inspection. He'd lost at least seven inches, and probably around seventy pounds, which was rather frustrating after numerous evenings spent at the gym.

This body didn't feel weak, though: the legs were quite toned, and he was pretty sure these arms would we strong enough to carry his usual amount of grocery bags.

Timidly, Ben looked up, making a point to avoid looking at the breast again, and stared at his reflection. The eyes staring back at him were a warm hazel, underlined by a trail of freckles running along round cheeks and a small nose. Just under all that were thin pink lips begging to be hydrated that looked rather enticing. Eyes wide open, Ben lifted a hand and traced said lips with the tip of a finger.

The stranger called through the door once again, this time with a knock. "Rey? You slept in?"

And that was when it hit him. He was Rey.

"Yeah, I-" His voice had changed, too. It definitely wasn't his, and it took him a second to clear his throat and think about what to say. "I don't feel good. I think I'm sick."

The other man let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that's what happens when you have five margaritas." He had an accent- British. "Alright, I have to leave but keep me updated. I can call Poe for you."

"Thanks," Ben muttered, with no idea of who Poe even was.

Whoever this Rey was, she must've made quite an impression last night, because the margarita excuse seemed to be enough to who Ben suspected was either her roommate or her boyfriend. A series of footsteps echoed behind the door, less and less clear, then the sound of a closing door and a lock. As soon as an engine started roaring outside, Ben turned around and scanned the room, looking for his phone that of course was nowhere to be seen.

His breathing became irregular, and swallowing appeared more difficult than it should've been. With trembling fingers, Ben touched his hair one more time, only to increase the dizzying sensation that absolutely everything was wrong because this wasn't his hair or his hands. This wasn't him, this wasn't supposed to be, and where the hell was he?

With his palms going rather sweaty, Ben fumbled with the bedsheets and climbed back into bed. This was just a bad dream. He was going to close his eyes and wake up in his Brooklyn apartment with his chamomile aroma in the background and the sound of traffic outside his window. All he had to do was calm down and wait for it. Clenching his fists into the sheets, Ben curled up in the tiny bed and shut his eyes tightly until his vision was nothing but blurry fireworks, then complete darkness.

He opened them what felt like hours later, not to the sound of horns and shouting, but to a ringtone that he didn't recognize.

What he'd been dreading somehow happened before his eyes when he got out of the same little bed, in the same little room: his legs were still half their usual size, and smoother than they should be. A shuddered breath left him. So this wasn't a dream. Another sigh crossed his lips, and it took Ben all his willpower not to jump back into the bed and wait for something, anything to happen that could fix this situation. Having a panic attack would only make him waste time and lose track of the mysterious phone. His fists clenched on his sides as he began to count to three and regain control of his breathing.

The phone stopped, then rang again, calling him from wherever it was. Careful not to stumble again, Ben got down on his knees and found it under the bed, along with a wallet and some screwdrivers. The device was identical to his apart from the color, yet felt insanely large in his hands. It suddenly occurred to him that he probably shouldn't answer- despite his new voice, whoever was on the other side of the line would probably feel something was off. Still, Ben raised the screen to his eyes and felt his heart jump at the number- his number. Finally something familiar. Without even thinking twice, he accepted the call and almost crushed the phone against his ear.

Just when Ben thought this couldn't get any more confusing, his own voice echoed through the device. Except it wasn't exactly his voice, because he didn't have a British accent.

"Hello? Who's this?"

The question was just as unsettling as the situation itself, and Ben found himself unable to say anything. This person sounded just as nervous as he'd been when he first woke up, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to help them when his own plan of action had included going back to sleep and ignoring the situation.

"Can you say something please?"

There was a hint of distress now, which pushed Ben to speak.

"I'm... I don't know."

"I'm Rey," the other voice cut impatiently.

And maybe it was the stress or the realization that he was talking to the actual owner of this body, but Ben cracked a little laugh and heard the words before he could stop himself. "Oh, yeah, I think I found your body."

"Any chance you could return it?"

Ben didn't feel too bad about his chuckle this time, and felt his jaw relax significantly. At least this Rey had a good sense of humor. A sigh of relief left him when he heard another chuckle echo through the phone, and he suddenly felt slightly less alone in whatever this was. Curious, he walked to the little window and peeked outside. "Can you tell me where I am, Rey?"

"I was actually hoping you could tell me where I am."

A group of kids passed by the window, all dressed in uniforms, and Ben felt something tighten in his stomach. "Can you describe the place?"

"Yes. It's…" A brief silence fell between them, followed by a hesitant tone. "Big? There's a huge desk, a huge bed, a huge window and everything is grey or black. It's pretty empty, like a show flat."

"That's my bedroom," Ben said in a breath.

Another group of kids crossed the street before his eyes, and his heart started drumming again. Rey broke the silence with a small, uncertain voice he hadn't heard from himself in years.

"You're in mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, I think I am."

Another silence.

"Where's your room?" Rey asked after a moment.

"Brooklyn," Ben murmured, his eyes fixed on the red wardrobe situated on the other side of the street.

Nobody seemed to care about its presence, yet this kind of thing usually attracted at least a small crowd of selfie-takers. This seemed rather normal here; as normal as the old houses facing him and the dark pavements. It took him a second glance to realize this wasn't a wardrobe but a phone booth, and that nobody seemed to care because this wasn't unusual here.

"I take it yours is in England," Ben breathed out. An approving hum sounded from her side then he heard her whisper shit, which was something his mouth was more used to. "Ok. Give me a second."

Careful as to not step on any of the discarded clothes, he walked back to the bed and sat there, knees under his chin with his hand desperately gripping at the phone. This defied the laws of physics and all logic. This sounded like a bad dream, and yet felt more real than he would like to admit. It shouldn't be happening, but it was. Or maybe it wasn't- but for now, he was living what felt like an unbelievable reality and needed to do something about it. And if this was just a dream… well, he would be both scared and proud of his unconscious self for the rest of his life.

"What time is it for you?" he asked after a whole minute of silent consideration. "There's a clock in the living room," he added when she made an uncertain noise.

The sound of her- his footsteps filled the silence, followed by the information. "Five a.m."

Ben quickly checked the time on the phone- eleven- and nodded. This meant he'd managed to get a few more hours to sleep, and that whatever had happened to them must have happened in the night.

"Ok," he started when the phone met his ear again. "So you're… me. And I'm you. This is…"

"Insane," Rey completed from the other side.

On that, he could agree.

"There's also a high probability that this isn't real," Ben continued, his voice slightly less assured. "It could be real just as much as it could be a dream."

"Or there's a glitch in the matrix."

Ben wasn't sure if she was joking or not, mostly because this suddenly didn't sound like such a crazy theory. She didn't seem sure either, because no laugh followed her words this time.

"This has to be a dream," Ben repeated in a breath, "but in the insane eventuality that it isn't… is there anything I should know about you? Someplace you should be?"

The sound of her footsteps echoed through the phone, followed by a muffled noise that he recognized as his body falling back in his bed. "Work." Another ruffling. "Two hours ago."

"What's your job?" Ben asked, already dreading the answer. What if she was a scientist in some very specific area? An engineer? Worse, a teacher? He'd rather dissect brains than set foot in a school again and deal with two dozen kids he didn't even know.

"I fix cars, mostly. Bikes sometimes."

From the way it sounded, she'd either buried her face in his pillows or stuffed her face with the pop tarts he'd left on the counter the night before. Or both. The thought drew a little smile from Ben, followed with a sigh of relief when her words registered. "I can do that," he assured with more hesitation than he wished.

His memories of the life of a garage were tightly intertwined to those of his father, which wasn't something he wanted to think about right now. In a vain attempt to chase the memories starting to rush back in, he shook his head and took a deep breath. Hopefully, he wasn't too rusty and still knew how to change a tire or what a brake pad looked like. This promised to be an interesting day to test his anxiety- in the case, of course, that he didn't wake up.

"Great. My boss will already be there- that's Poe. Laugh at his jokes and listen to his drama but don't say anything, I don't want to get involved."

"Wait," Ben started, his stomach tightening at the prospect of having to spend an entire day with a talkative stranger, "which dram-"

"Long story," Rey cut impatiently. "I'll text you the details. What do I need to know about you?"

Not much, Ben thought before he remembered the night before. He'd purposely ignored his mother's calls as well as her voicemails, and hadn't even bothered opening his father's text. If this was indeed a dream, his subconscious seemed to have some things to tell him- but then again, Ben didn't want to face it yet, so he just shook his head. "We can talk about that later. Call in sick and get some sleep, I'll call you when I come back."

He'd only known Rey for a few minutes, but something in him was already expecting her to protest. Instead, she remained silent for a moment then gave him a soft hum of approval that betrayed her tiredness.

"Ok," she conceded with a yawn. "Who do I call?"

Snoke was the obvious answer, but something in Ben didn't want her to have to deal with him- not yet. His boss may be uninterested in his personal life –not that he had any- but he could smell change from miles. Andrew Snoke was many things, but he was far from being stupid. Ben still hadn't managed to figure out where his accent was from, but he would probably hear Rey's the moment she opened her mouth.

"Snoke," Ben eventually said as he walked to the wardrobe next to the window. "But just text him."

Another chuckle echoed through the phone, and he realized his body mustn't have done it that much since long ago. "Why? Isn't it going to be suspicious if I don't call?"

"You can't call him and talk like that," Ben stated as he opened the wardrobe. Shelves of clothes appeared before him, all messy and in different shades of beige and grey.

"Like what?"

A small smile made it to his lips at how British-y she'd said it. "With your accent," he explained as he cautiously ran a finger along the disorganized piles of t-shirts. His instinctive thought was that he would never fit in those, but his brain was quick to remind him that he indeed would. "I'm American."

"Oh, right." She cleared her throat -his throat, Ben corrected mentally- and spoke again, this time more softly. "How about that?" She already sounded a little more like his usual self, which was still immensely disturbing.

"Better," Ben approved. "Maybe watch some YouTube videos to perfect it."

"Well, you should do the same because you don't sound Brit in the least."

She'd been quick to lose her newly found American accent, which only confirmed that staying home for today was the best solution on her end. Ben, on the other hand, would have to leave soon; he couldn't run the risk of letting her roommate or her boss suspect anything about her current situation. A heavy sigh escaped him as his eyes wandered over the numerous outfit options before him, and suddenly, a terrifying thought occurred to him. "Do I need to put makeup on?"

"Makeup," she corrected with the right accent. "Don't bother, I can barely do it myself. Just… put on some comfortable clothes, jeans and a jumper."

"A jumper?"

That didn't sound like something comfortable at all, and truth be told, Ben didn't feel like going so much out of his way. What if she had to wear heels? What if he had to? He might sprain an ankle, or both, and he wasn't sure they needed another complication to this whole situation.

"A sweater," she corrected herself with the most American accent he'd heard of her. It made him smile again.

Getting dressed didn't feel as different as he'd expected: jeans were part of his usual outfit, except his were darker and less tight. The first difficulty he faced came when he realized nothing would hide her breasts from his eyes once he'd taken the t-shirt he'd slept in off, so Ben decided to keep it on and put the first sweater he could find over it.

"This isn't how I intended to celebrate my birthday," Ben mumbled as he took one last brief look at his reflection. The blue of the sweater somehow enhanced the color of her eyes and made her hair look slightly lighter.

"It's your birthday?" The tone she'd used reminded Ben of his own whenever something surprised him or got his attention, which he suspected, in this case was both.

"Yesterday," he clarified.

His theory was confirmed when she remained silent for a few more seconds. "That's weird," she murmured, so low that Ben had to crush the phone against his ear to hear the rest. "It was my birthday too. I just turned twenty-three."

Weird wasn't the word Ben would've chosen. Terrifying was more fitting. A wave of shivers ran down his spine as he bit his lower lip; this felt more and more like one of those dreams full of symbolic and repressed trauma. Of course, this was a dream: this felt more and more like his brain trying to remind him of how lonely he'd always felt. The shared birthday was probably just here as part of whatever fantasy he'd repressed up there, and the choice of face and body… Well, she wasn't bad looking at all.

"Weird indeed," Ben whispered, finally turning away from the mirror. "Ok, I can't keep your boss waiting any longer. Text me the address."

He was about to open the door when she interrupted him. "Sorry, I didn't even ask your name?"

The answer left him in a whisper as he opened the door. "Ben," he said after a brief look into the new room. "Ben Solo."

When it seemed like no one else was around, he stepped out of the bedroom and carefully closed the door behind him then searched for what looked like the main door. This day hadn't even really started but already promised to be a long one.

"Well," Rey said with another yawn, "Happy birthday, Ben."