Chapter 7: Additional Remedies

Ethan showed up at his own apartment wearing someone else’s life and a scowl that had taken the whole walk to perfect.

Kai opened the door in Ethan’s sweatpants and an old T-shirt, looking unfairly comfortable in skin that still felt stolen.

"You brought the jacket," Kai observed. "Good. It looks better on you anyway. Tragic, but true."

Ethan stepped inside and closed the door harder than necessary. "I’m here, I ate something that wasn’t terrible on the way. Talk, then I’m leaving before your body does something we both regret."

Kai raised both of Ethan’s hands in surrender. "No funny business, scout’s honor. I was never a scout, but the sentiment stands."

He walked to the tiny kitchen, pulled two beers from the fridge that still only contained oat milk and sadness, and tossed one. Ethan caught it on pure panic reflex. The new body had decent hand-eye coordination when it felt like cooperating.

They sat on opposite ends of the neat couch that still smelled like laundry detergent and low-grade anxiety.

Kai spoke first. "Harlan wrote in the margins. Actual ink. I brought the page." He pulled the folded printout from under a coaster and held it up. "My favorite note is this one: "People are already breaking. The only question is whether we admit it." That’s not a no, spreadsheet boy. That’s a man who has been grinding his teeth into dust and just got handed a possible exit ramp."

Ethan took a long drink. "An exit ramp into what? Turning the office into a free-use zone with better branding?"

"Don’t say free-use like it’s a bad word. Say it like it’s a benefits package." Kai leaned forward, eyes bright. "Think about it in contracts language. High performers burn out. We already pay them in money and hollow praise. What if we paid them in something their bodies actually need? Scheduled release, structured, vonsensual. Documented enough to keep Legal from having a stroke, vague enough to keep it off the official employee handbook."

Ethan stared at him. "You want to write a breeding policy into a finance firm."

"I want to write a pressure-release policy that happens to include the possibility of breeding for people who are into that. Big difference. Mostly." Kai’s grin was pure trouble. "But yes. The breeding part has a certain elegant finality. Nothing says ’I am invested in this company’s future’ like carrying its next generation while still making billable hours."

"That is the single most unhinged sentence I have ever heard come out of my own mouth."

"And it sounded great, didn’t it?" Kai toasted him with the beer. "Your voice has range. I’m discovering all sorts of things it can do."

Ethan set the bottle down before he broke it. "This is my job, my name, my reputation. You’re going to torch it for a kink."

Kai’s expression flickered. The humor stayed, but something sharper moved underneath. "I’m going to use the only leverage we currently have. You’re in a body that walks into rooms and makes people want things. I’m in a body that walks into rooms and gets ignored until it starts speaking in complete sentences about structural failure. Together we are a loaded weapon with excellent health insurance. I’m not torching your life, I’m renovating it."

"Renovation usually doesn’t include impregnating the junior analysts."

"Only the ones who ask nicely. Or the ones who read the fine print and still sign." Kai tilted Ethan’s head. "You’re hard again, by the way. My body keeps voting while your mouth files complaints, It’s very democratic."

Ethan looked down, cursed, and crossed the new legs. "I hate this."

"I know, yhat’s why it’s working." Kai softened, just a fraction. "Look. I’m not going to force anything on anyone, that’s the whole point of putting it in language. Consent, structure, exit clauses. The same way you write a clean indemnity section. People are already fucking in stairwells and crying in bathroom stalls. I’m just suggesting we stop pretending the stairwell is the professional option."

Ethan dragged both hands down his face and laughed once, helpless. "You make it sound almost reasonable. That’s the scariest part."

"Thank you. I practiced in the mirror."

"Of course you did."

They sat in silence for a few seconds. The apartment felt smaller with both of them in it. Ethan could smell his own shampoo on Kai’s skin. Kai could feel the way Ethan’s old pulse still jumped when the conversation turned explicit.

Kai set his bottle down. "Tell me the real objection, not the HR one. The one that lives under your ribs."

Ethan was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, the new voice came out lower.

"I’m scared I’ll start liking the wrong parts. The attention, the way people look at this body. The way it wants everything I used to be ashamed of wanting. I’m scared that if we go far enough I won’t want to switch back even if we find a way."

Kai watched him. The usual sharp amusement dulled into something more careful.

"Yeah," he said. "That one’s real."

"And you?"

Kai exhaled. "I’m scared I’ll get addicted to being listened to. To walking into a room and having the most powerful person in it actually consider what I say. My old life was loud and empty. This one is quiet and full of knives, might not give it back either."

"If we do this and I’m not saying we are, there have to be limits. Real ones. No one gets hurt in ways they didn’t sign up for, no careers destroyed for sport. And we keep looking for a way to reverse this. Every day."

Kai nodded slowly. "Deal, limits, consent. Daily search for the eject button. And in exchange, you stop pretending the office isn’t already a pressure cooker full of people who would kill for permission to breathe."

"I’m going to regret this."

"Probably. But you’ll regret it with better posture and a significantly more interesting performance review."

Ethan almost smiled. The new mouth still wasn’t used to the shape. "You’re the worst person I’ve ever met."

"And yet you came over. And you’re still here. And my body is still voting yes on every terrible idea I put on the table." Kai stood, collected the empty bottles, and looked down at him. "Stay the night. Separate beds or separate couch and bed. I just don’t feel like being alone in your careful little apartment while the document sits in Harlan’s drawer like a live grenade."

"Separate beds," he said. "And if you snore I’m smothering you with your own pillow."

Kai’s grin returned, bright and unrepentant. "I don’t snore, you do. I found out last night, it’s adorable. Like a stressed accountant dreaming of redlines."

"I hate you."

"I know. It’s mutual and complicated and weirdly hot. Classic slow burn." Kai headed for the bathroom. "I’m showering first. Try not to open the nightstand drawer while I’m gone. We’re still in the ’humanize the disaster’ phase. Smut comes after the emotional damage is properly seasoned."

Ethan listened to the water start and dropped his head against the back of the couch.

He was still hard though, goddamned body.