The stairs creaked under Jon’s bare feet as he made his way down, but even those felt different—glossier, better kept, like everything else in this version of his house. He slowed, one hand trailing along the smooth banister, eyes catching on the photographs lining the wall.
He stopped halfway down, breath catching.
They were all new.
Where once there had been stiff school portraits, awkward family gatherings, and the occasional half-hearted holiday snapshot, now there were bright, candid images of smiling faces. There was Jon—this new Jon—in nearly every frame. Laughing at a birthday party. Holding up a medal, water dripping from his hair. Throwing an arm around his younger brother’s shoulders while they both grinned like fools.
Jon swallowed hard. He barely recognized himself, all teeth and easy charm. But what hit him hardest wasn’t his own image—it was the way Mikey looked at him in the photos. Admiring. Happy. Close.
In his old life, Jon and Mikey hadn’t been enemies, but they weren’t close either. Three years apart had made the gap wide. Mikey was the younger tagalong, the pest who always wanted to copy his older brother but never quite fit in. Now, in these photos, the gap was gone. They looked inseparable. Best friends.
“Yo, Jonny! Ready for swim?”
Jon blinked and looked up. Mikey was bounding down the stairs from above, hair tousled, baseball glove hanging from one hand. He moved with easy energy, his body lean but muscular in a way that startled Jon—he was only a couple of inches shorter now, fit and confident in his movements.
Before Jon could react, Mikey hopped the last two steps and shoved him playfully forward. Jon stumbled, caught himself, and suddenly Mikey’s arm was slung around his shoulders.
“Morning, bro.” Mikey grinned, nudging him. “Wanna play more Fortnite when you get back from swimming? I got practice later, but I’ll be home before dinner.”
Jon stared at him, stunned. Mikey’s grin faltered a little, uncertain.
The stone pulsed in Jon’s hoodie pocket, and again that strange knowing filled his mind. His wish had reshaped Mikey, too. Made him look up to Jon, copy him, chase after sports and activities just to be like his big brother. It had drawn them closer, the bond his parents had always wanted for their sons.
Jon felt his throat tighten, his chest aching with something he couldn’t name. He had never had this. Not before.
He forced a smile, his voice cracking slightly higher than he expected. “Uhm… y-yeah, sure, Mikey. Sounds cool.”
Mikey squinted at him. “Dude, you’re acting weird.”
Jon chuckled weakly, letting his brother steer him toward the kitchen. The scent of bacon and eggs drifted through the air, warm and welcoming.
When they entered, Jon froze again.
His mother was bustling at the stove, hair neat, makeup subtle but flawless, her face brighter and more rested than he had seen in years. She turned and gave him a smile so warm it made his chest ache. His father sat at the table, newspaper folded neatly beside his plate, coffee steaming. He looked up, eyes landing on Jon and Mikey, and for the first time in Jon’s memory, he smiled—a broad, genuine smile.
“There they are,” his father said proudly, “my two perfect boys. Lucky to have sons like you.”
The words hit Jon like a punch. His knees went weak, his stomach twisting.
He had wanted that all his life. He had dreamed of it. To see that look of pride on his father’s face, to hear those words, to feel wanted.
And now he had it.
So why did it feel like he was suffocating?
He managed a small smile, his voice thin. “Morning, Dad. Morning, Mom.”
Mikey echoed him and flopped into a chair, already stealing bacon off the plate. He nudged Jon with his elbow, chattering easily about teammates, a funny video he’d seen online, boys at school Jon had never heard of but apparently should know.
Jon tried to keep up, nodding and smiling where it seemed appropriate, but the room spun with too much brightness, too much warmth. His chest tightened with panic. He didn’t know these people. Not really. They all knew him—this new him—but he didn’t know them.
He wasn’t Jonny, the golden boy swimmer with a tight circle of friends and a glowing family life. He was Jon—the awkward sixteen-year-old who had just stolen this boy’s life.
His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he jumped up, his breath hitching. His mother frowned in concern. “Jonny? You alright, sweetheart?”
“Bathroom,” he blurted, voice cracking, and bolted down the hall.
He shoved the door shut behind him, locking it with trembling hands. His reflection in the mirror above the sink mocked him—bright-eyed, perfect, everything he had never been.
On the wall beside it, a framed photo showed him and Mikey side by side at the beach, both in swim trunks, both tanned and smiling. Behind them stood Zoe, arms crossed, scowling at the camera, her black eyeliner smudged, her body language screaming that she didn’t want to be there.
At least she was the same. At least some things hadn’t changed.
Jon slumped against the sink, pulling the stone from his hoodie pocket with shaking fingers.
He stared down at it, the weight heavy in his palm.
He was crashing in this life. No memories. No knowledge. Just thrown into the middle of someone else’s perfect existence. A life that everyone loved him for, but one that didn’t feel like it belonged to him.
The only thing that hadn’t changed was him. His mind. His thoughts. His awkward, out-of-place personality.
What am I going to do?
His breathing came shallow, his hand tightening around the stone until his knuckles turned white.
He stared at it, thinking furiously.
And then he made a decision.
