Conflict Evolution

 

Mr. Duncan sat in the principal’s office tapping his finger on the chair’s arm rest, eyes scanning across the room. Three empty chairs, with peeling backs, sat beside him. The principal's grand leather office chair also sat vacant. There were awards and degrees on the walls, photos of family and friends on the man’s desk. The surrounding shade of blue wasn’t provoking its intended calming effect. Mr. Duncan’s blood boiled even though he hid it under a calm and silent demeanor. The carpeted dark green floor got compressed under the weight of Mr. Duncan’s polished black oxfords. A thick scent of cinnamon dispersed, released by the air freshener plugged in the wall. Mr. Duncan’s nose turned–didn't smell like usual–as he unfastened his dress shirt’s cuffs. He got the sense the dispenser's real purpose was to distract from teenage regret and disappointments.

How many times had he been called to the principal's office? School had barely breached November and now THIS? He leaned back in his chair, peeping through the small window on the door. The Principal was out there running his mouth with the secretary, evil incarnate. Ms. Holdem never had a kind word for him until today. An old sourpuss of a woman. She didn’t care why anyone arrived at the principal's office even for mundane or good reasons. They were all ‘guilty’ of one thing or another in her minds. Made students and parents wish Mrs. Hastings and her husband never moved to be closer to their grandchildren. Principal Giordano was no better company, the smarmy existence of a man. Mr. Duncan tutted, while shaking his head returning to an upright position. 

The door opened and not the principal, but a jock Mr. Duncan knew all too well, stood there mouth agape. Mr. Duncan and the teen had similar appearances, red hair, curly at the front, and striking green eyes. Minor, almost imperceptible differences included, Mr. Duncan's hair having a duller color to Caleb vibrant red, and Mr. Duncan’s eyes being hazel upon inspection, not pure green. The major difference, being the student’s leaner body on its way to someday being the masculine powerhouse Mr. Duncan’s was.

“Dad I—”

“Sit, Caleb.” The words were said firmly, lacking emotion so that Mr. Duncan’s son could stew on what his father was thinking. The young man did as told, joining his father in front of the principal desk. Two empty seats left to go.

The man’s eyes roamed the boy judging and studying how Caleb sat down, well mannered, no slouching, even hands folded on his lap. Caleb Duncan was as handsome as his dad, but with a mean streak probably also inherited from his father. But whereas Nolan Duncan ruled board rooms, Caleb disrupted classrooms. Having the face of an angel didn’t mean he had the heart of the saint. Caleb had been blessed with genetics that fast tracked his body on the path to athleticism but unfortunately put a target on smaller students' backs. Mr. Duncan rubbed his eyes, his muscles flexing under his shirt. He did not want to do this. Every ounce of his body screamed it’d rather be at a gym.

When the principal finally returned, he was followed by two figures. Mr. Duncan knew them well; the taller one 6’3” being Jakai Osman, the smaller one appeared to be his son, Samir Osman. Jakai was dressed like a family man, black frame glasses, a lapis blue sweater over his dress shirt paired with jeans and tennis shoes. His hair was mussed, resembling an ‘out of bed’ look, undoubtedly from overworking himself. The man’s face was unhappy, but also confused as he walked in, hands on his son’s shoulders to provide moral support. Samir walked in focused and unafraid, not even a slight falter in his step with Caleb in the room. There was a look on the boy’s face Mr. Duncan had never seen in the mirror before. Samir wore a fitted hoodie and athletic jeans. His black hair was combed back, with one strand hanging down over his forehead. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of guy Caleb was known for bullying. This so-called ‘Samir’ was only a few inches shorter than Caleb and looked almost as built as him. Not exactly bullying material.

The Osmans sat down in the open chairs with Samir sitting next to Caleb. Such was the usual routine in these Admin-parent meetings. Force kids who despise each other to stomach 30 mins to an hour while adults discuss punishment.

“Ah, where shall we begin?” Principal Giordano plopped down into his chair, swiveling it around to face both father-son pairs.

“How about I start,” Mr. Osman spoke up. “I got a call saying Samir got a black eye. It nearly gave me a heart attack. But now that black eye is gone? Your employees don’t need to make up injuries to bring me here. When have I never not shown up?” It’s him you need to get invested in his son.” Mr. Osman nodded with his head towards Mr. Duncan who sat there and listened. “I find it highly disrespectful that you guys would treat me and my son’s health this way.”

“My apologies, Mr. Osman.” The principal stated, “The nurse must have been overly cautious in her call.”

Mr. Duncan blew out a puff of air. Everyone’s heads turned, but Mr. Duncan’s eyes stayed on the principal.

“You think it’s funny that his son got hurt?” Principal Giordano asked.

“Or do you think this is a waste of your time?” Mr. Osman leaned forward from his chair. “Surprised you’re here and not your wife. She’s the one you usually pawn these off on.”

“Dad…,” Samir said in a quiet, ashamed voice. And THAT pissed Mr. Duncan off. The deeper but weak timbre was grating his ears. Was the boy going to try and spin up some tale to dissuade his father’s anger? 

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Mr. Duncan spoke up, cutting the boy off. “Forget the black eye, since we can’t prove it,” He gave a quick tight lip smile to principal Giordano, then turned to Caleb “Did you give Samir a black eye?”

Caleb hung his head down low, “I didn’t punch him! We were playing kickball in the gym,” He responded quickly, then shrunk into himself, “But I did hear he got a black eye.”

“Good,” Mr. Duncan clasped his hands, “Doesn’t the truth feel great?” His eyes grazed over to Samir who avoided his gaze. He turned back to principal Giordano. “What’s the punishment, detention, suspension, expulsion? Let’s hear it.” 

“Well, since Caleb has confessed and this is the first time things have led to a physical altercation. We’re willing to give him detention.” 

Mr. Duncan pursed his lips. “Is that all?” He crossed his arms, forearms and biceps threatening to hear the wrong answer.

“Now, don’t think of anything hasty son.” Principal Giordano began panicking and looking at files inside his desk.

“Is that all?!” Mr. Osman interrupted. “No, that's not all, my son got hurt! You may want to run back to your meetings, but I’m not done here.” His voice was strong with righteous anger, breaking only because he was holding himself back.

Mr. Duncan just wanted the meeting to be over. The sooner it was. The sooner his day should get back to normal. 

The families were dismissed, but Mr. Osman stayed back. He gently rubbed his son’s arm. “Wait in the lobby for me. I have a few more things to talk to the principal about.” Samir agreed like the good son he was, and Mr. Duncan's stomach turned. When the three exited, leaving only Mr. Osman and the principal in the office, they heard the yelling start.

“Oh man, he's pissed.” Caleb said looking back. Had that been genuine concern or was he simply commenting? Mr. Duncan could deal with it. He shoved his keys in his son’s hands. “Go wait in the car.”

Caleb nodded, walking off. 

Harsh eyes fell on Samir as Mr. Duncan sauntered over. “You see how the meeting ended but nothing is resolved?”

“Y–Yeah.” The boy spoke.

“I don’t know how this became my problem; this is all on you.” He pointed a finger at the younger male. “If you fuck him over in any way, ruin his life. Make him sad or angry, I will end you.” Mr. Duncan didn't threaten, he made promises.

The boy nodded, not speaking. Mr. Osman opened the office door, principal Giordano standing behind him. “You’re unbelievable.” Mr. Osman stepped in between his son and Mr. Duncan. “What did he say?” The man asked.

“He didn’t say anything, dad.” Samir didn’t meet Mr. Osman’s gaze.

Mr. Osman froze, then slowly turned around, “You’re…you’re lying.” His voice was clear yet heartbroken. “You don’t lie to me.” He squatted and gave his son a quick hug, Samir’s body went stiff, “Car. Now.” were the man’s words. The boy walked out glaring at Mr. Duncan.

“You’re unfucking believable.” Mr. Osman stood back up, now you’ve got my son lying, he's so terrified of you.” He cocked his head to the side, “What made you come today, and not your wife?”

Mr. Duncan’s eyes drifted to the principal, standing in his office door frame. “I was told there may have been a way to reach a resolution.”

“Funny,” Mr. Osman nodded. “I was yelling at principal Giordano because he told me the same thing.”

“And as I was saying, Mr. Osman. “Principal Giordano harrumphed, fixing his blazer. “Steps to resolve this conflict have already been taken. Samir has already agreed.”

Mr. Osman spun on his feet, “Samir agreed? Samir, hasn't done anything wrong, what does he need to agree to?” Mr. Osman threw up his hands, “What is this guy, a powerful donor?” He pointed at Mr. Duncan.

Principal Giordano face flushed red, “While it is true Mr. Duncan has donated generously to us in the past—

“Ah, there it is. Finally, the truth is out of you.” Mr. Osman turned away from the Principal to Mr. Duncan. “Keep your son away from mine.” 

Mr. Duncan leaned over to his side to view the principal. “Do you want to add anything else?”  Mr. Osman watched them pass looks before getting fed up and storming off. 

Principal Giordano walked to the front to make sure Mr. Osman was out of hearing range.

“You could have supported me back there. Left me floundering like fish.”

A snort escaped Mr. Duncan's lips with a dry cackle, “Why would I do that? That was a bed of your own making.” He straightened his stance. “Besides, you told me all I had to do was attend the meeting. I even stomached the BS that you were spouting. This should be over.”

Principal Giordano brushed past him. “I told you only resolution would bring an end.” 

Mr. Duncan snatched his arm, and the older man yelped, “What games are you playing at?”

The old man raised his free hand motioning for Mr. Duncan to calm down. “I assure you this method may be new, but it is recommended in extreme cases.” The old fart was slippery than he appeared and managed to wiggle his arm out of Mr. Duncan’s grasp. He retreated to his office holding the door close to shut, “Now I can’t be too sure, but I think working out may be a better use of taking out your anger than assaulting school staff.” He raised an eyebrow, then shut the door as Mr. Duncan took a step forward.

Walking out the school, Mr. Duncan sensed the stares of the lingering parents picking up their kids. All of them were enraptured with the fantasy of his 6’6” frame and business attire, not stopping to consider if he was actually a nightmare. Then again, perhaps it was hard to consider with most of his chest sitting out of his pink dress shirt. Or even his ass under his black slacks, sticking out from his back at such a curve, it was a shelf on its own. Hopping into his cardinal red Mercedes-Benz, Caleb sat up putting his phone away.

Gripping the steering wheel, Mr. Duncan stared at his hands, then sighed pushing the engine button, “Let’s… go home.” The car tore out of the parking lot.

Sitting in their own car, Mr. Osman paid no mind to the vehicle zooming out. Though he noticed his son had his eyes locked on it. “Hey, don’t even think about them.” He rubbed his son’s head. “Maybe we should look into finding you a new school?”

Samir took a deep breath, “Dad, I’ll be fine. Caleb’s not going to hit me again.”

“You know that for a fact, do you?” Mr. Osman gave a slight smirk.

“No,” Samir paused for a moment. “But I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”

“Oh, yes because bullies love when victims stand up for themselves.” Mr. Osman scoffed.

Leaning back in his seat, his dad’s comforting hand left his head. Samir turned sadly, “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

“Buddy, forget work—

“Dad, I know we really need the money and I’m fine, so.”

The duo sat in silence. Painful truths. Mr. Osman was a single father; He couldn’t swap or ask his wife to sit in on the parent meetings. Working, supporting, raising all fell down to him. There had been issues and difficulties before, but Caleb Duncan's increasingly aggressive behavior towards his son was stretching him thin. He’d take off work as many times as he needed for his son, but in the eyes of the workplace that couldn't happen forever.

“I don’t like the thought of you being alone.” Mr. Osman let his emotions show in his voice.

“I’m always alone.” Samir closed his eyes for a second before they snapped open. “I didn’t mean–”

“No, you’re right son. The truth just hurts to hear.” Mr. Osman bit his lips, disappointed in himself.

“Dad, no, that was about me. It had nothing to do with you.”

“You're my son, how could it not?”  Mr. Osman stuck his key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. Samir stared out at the window, having been shocked into silence. He closed his eyes thinking back to that morning and how different everything was.

—

Samir Osman had been invisible for most of his life. He never actively hated it, but also never realized how much he would miss it when gone. If not for himself, for how much trouble it caused his dad.

The fall leaves gathering on the ground were a foreshadowing set piece of that first day’s prologue. Thressalman High School was a monster waiting to devour and sort students into social hierarchies. Caleb Duncan was just one of its horsemen, performing the duties of popularity. When Samir walked in with his cherubic face, wide eyes, button nose, barely breaking 5 ft within his oversized hoodie, Caleb saw: target.  

A few snide remarks whispered between Caleb’s football teammates was how it started. By the end of the month, Caleb was outright commenting about Samir’s soft demeanor. In October, Caleb began to actively confront Samir to bother him. The jock would walk up to his locker and talk non-stop, then throw an arm around his neck as if they were friends, but Samir sensed the menace. Caleb was asserting dominance in a subtle way. A couple weeks in led to indiscriminate shoulder shoves in the hallway, or knocking down books. 

Samir knew his dad was not a fan of Caleb. Mr. Osman wanted the situation resolved ever since September when he came home and found his son curled up on the couch, blankly watching TV. Samir had always been smaller than the other boys, and gotten picked on here and there, but no one had ever singled him out. However, despite talking to the principal and meeting with Caleb’s mom nothing came about. Mrs. Duncan had a kind personality but also had dismissive care towards her son. Caleb would sit in those meetings slouched, legs spread, staring up at the ceiling, not acknowledging his mom or engaging in any of the talks. Doubly awkward since Samir had to sit on the other side of him. Samir always thought himself to be a kind and empathetic person but never understood why he was also getting sent to the principal’s office. Many teachers seemed more annoyed that Caleb was being so blatant, rather than the fact he was doing it. Sending Samir along with him was like their personal revenge for making them punish the athlete. Didn’t take a genius to put together Caleb’s wealth and the school’s blasé attitude. Caleb’s father was a big deal that the school was ensuring not to piss the man off. 

The best part of Samir’s day had always been talking to his dad. He’d finish homework, pass out on the couch, let his dad wake him up once he was home and dinner was ready. The two could talk back and forth for hours about anything. Once Caleb entered the mix, the talks were more serious on tackling bullies and less fun stupid topics. Samir just wanted to fade back into obscurity, but Caleb wouldn't let him. Everyone had to know Samir was his victim.

The middle of P.E. class was when it happened. Samir had almost made it to the end of the day without an incident. They were playing kickball in the gym, next thing Samir knew he was waking up in the nurse’s office. The left side of his face was numb.

“Try to take it easy sweetie,” The school nurse hovered over him. “Your eye swelled up. I’ve already called you father.”

Samir wasn't sure if he had sustained a concussion because the nurse stated he walked to her office all on his own. The next minute Principal Giordano is knocking at the door asking to speak. Then suddenly, Samir is sitting in his office alone. He’d been here way too many times and how many more would there be?

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with me for a while.” The principal pulled folders from inside his desk and set them down, “Now, I wished the nurse had waited to call your father, but as he is on his way I saw it important to bring this up with you now. The district is proposing a new policy one that will hopefully really help get to the core root of issues: a conflict resolution method.” He pulled a slip of paper from the folder and presented it to Samir. “All we need to implement it is your signature agreeing to participate.”

“Should my dad be here for this? And why do I have to sign shouldn’t Caleb be doing this?”

Principal Giordano waved his hands dismissively, “All the parents signed the permission slips for their children over the summer, when all the other paperwork went out.”

Reading over the paper it was the most milk toast therapy and counseling collection of words ever. Deescalation, finding common ground, offering a new perspective, the word salad went on. No wonder parents signed it. It sure sounded nice but there was no actual description of what entailed, though it implied hours of intense therapy. Samir wasn’t excited to sign but reflected on how patiently his father listened to him. There was no way he wanted to continuously bog down his dad with high school drama. What if his dad got fired over missing work to attend meetings? This was free therapy, which meant his dad wouldn't have to pay and it’d probably be nice to have someone else to hear him out. He leaned forward and signed. 

“Excellent!” The principal snatched up the paper tucking it away back in the folder. “In cases like these, it’s best to start as soon as possible.”

“Before we start, can I go to the bathroom first?” Samir asked and was excused. He exited the office ignoring the stink eye Ms. Holdem gave him on the way out. He walked past the closest bathroom. Heading straight for his gym locker, he wanted his clothes. An empty locker room meant he was able to change in peace. His shirt was tight on his chest and he shrugged, pulling his hoodie down over his head. The worst part was his jeans refusing to fasten, there was simply too much space between the button and hole. He walked out of the locker room, back in his regular clothing, but his movements were restricted now. Samir worried if a concussion was making him think that, or he had simply forgotten how tight his clothes were. 

At his school locker, Samir retrieved his cell phone, he wondered if the principal even noticed he wasn’t in a rush to get back? None of the students he passed by gawked at his face. Finally, walking to the bathroom Samir saw the missed calls and messages from his dad, asking if he was okay. 

“I’m okay.” Samir texted, “Ready to go home.”  His dad was on the other side of town, so it’d take a bit for him to get here. School would already be over by then. Samir now stood alone in the middle of the bathroom across from the sinks and wide mirror. He caught a glimpse of his face and walked closer. He didn't see any swelling at all; the nurse was greatly exaggerating if not fabricating. He pressed a hand to where it had been numb. No pain at all. Samir’s eyes lingered on his face. There was something off about it. He couldn’t name what but having seen his face every day of his life his subconscious knew. Time passed, and he noticed his acne was gone, not healed, cleared as if it never existed. His eyebrows were bushier, fuller. The unmistakable softness of his face faded as his jawline pushed its way forward. Samir smirked; he looked quite handsome once the baby fat was gone.

A pressure overtook Samir from within. No pain, intense pleasure. He gripped the sink, hunching forward. His spine pushed out, along with his legs. The baggy pull-over hoodie he wore didn't reveal much, but he could tell his shirt was rising over his abdomen. Tension in the hoodie strained on as his shoulders moved further apart to create space for his delts and traps.  The hem of his jeans was getting farther away from his ankles. He gritted his teeth as his bones creaked and groaned. The fat cells in his body were burning up at an extraordinary rate. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the taller body made his face appear older. He stood up, legs wobbling, jeans barely covering his calves, and his sleeves stopped at mid forearm. At his new height, his reflection resembled Caleb wearing an outfit to mock Samir. The pressure inside him built up at his stomach as he retreated to the handicap stall.

He sat down on the lid as his body continued to seek more room to grow. There was tearing at the seams of his jeans as calves double in size, legs forcing themselves further over the floor. His shirt frayed under his hoodie as his body forced it apart, each strand snapping over his skin. Connecting fabric, split into imperfect halves. When Samir thought it was over, he was disappointed to have his chest buck. The involuntary body jerk pushed his pecs to the forefront, allowing his inside to reshape. More air for the lungs, more room for the ribs, thicker abdominals to protect the intestines. His arms must have been on set timers as they erupted in unison. It flowed from his biceps, veins and muscle fibers reworking, as the muscle group dominated the hoodies sleeves. Upon reaching his forearms, his blood melted everything it crossed intoxicatingly. The internal workings rose stronger, forged from years of training. When the blood flow touched his hands and de-morphed them into blobs, loud cracks were released. Not a millisecond in between, the palms thickened, pushing out longer, rougher fingers; his slender hands burned away for good.

The pressure faded, but the tingling pleasure lingered. Samir mustered the courage to stand, his feet pressed at the edge of his shoes, toes curled. Couldn’t risk his shoes snapping. He got up and his glutes exploded out the seat of his jeans. His striped boxer briefs were on display, though that didn’t appear a permanent fixture as his cheeks were continuing to wobble themselves larger. The front fared no better as his crotch launched itself forward, fly undone, zipper popping off and hitting the tiled floor with a clack. A throbbing tube of flesh rudely protruded his underwear with what felt like goose eggs resting below it. A thick forest of hair filled the gap between his body and waistband.

“Ohhhh,” Samir touched his temples, head throbbing. "Is this a concussion?” That realization in mind, he awkwardly waddled out the stall. This had to be a result of brain trauma. A severe hallucination. Though standing in front of the mirror, it was hard to comprehend that. He looked like a senior college wrestler stuffed into an outfit, only marginally less embarrassing than a small elf uniform. Somewhere along his body's reformation, Samir had picked up stubble. The hundreds of dark follicles looked lazily slapped on. A hormone-induced shadow that carried the promise of a true beard on its way. His hamstrings popped, pressed tight for only a moment before refusing to be packed with sardines. The blue denim jeans gave up and split like a banana peel and dropped to the ground. His chest heaved forward, collar bone rising as his pecs pumped themselves, ungracefully, but beautiful, nonetheless. Samir was sure his concussion was getting worse and bolted to the school nurse’s office.

He ran inside and the nurse was gone. Of course she was. He collapsed on the bed closing his eyes, praying for the hallucination to end.

Two quick knocks on the door, Principal Giordano stepped in with a wide smile, “There you are! I was wondering where you ran off too.” He shut the door and walked up to Samir’s bedside. 

“Principal Giordano, I think I got hit harder than we thought. My mind is playing tricks on me. Feels like I’m ripping out of my skin…and it doesn’t even hurt.” Samir’s hoodie ripped down the middle, his chest having created its own opening. Mounds of flesh spilled out into the room, continuously swelling, his undershirt long in tatters.

The Principal clasped his hands together, “Ah yes, the Conflict Resolution Initiative.” He leaned over, “Don’t worry, you’re not crazy. This is just the program doing what it was designed for.” He gave Samir a once over as he crossed his arms and nodded. “Looks like it’s going well, give me a call when it’s finished.” Then he left. He walked out not once looking back.

Samir couldn’t make sense of what he heard, but the principal’s nonchalant attitude was off-putting. The bed began to creak as his entire body inflated. His limbs, all hanging off the sides of the bed, grew along with him. It was a miracle his small sneakers and socks held on so long, but a miracle that would last no longer as his feet popped both shoes and unfurled, toes wiggling. Samir gawked at the colossal boot-fillers, now freed. The immense 5 digits at the end of each foot didn’t even look like his. “No, no” He held the sides of the bed, sitting up as his abs made their grooves sink further into his skin. A familiar tremble above the abs and Samir tried to close his hoodie back up. Large hands, struggling to close the gap, accepting the challenge, popped beyond the steady pace it had set. Years of bench presses, incline bench presses, and pec flys found their way into his muscle memory and embedded itself there. He pulled off his hoodie’s torn halves, having received his chest's answer.  

The muscular mounds made it difficult to see his abs and still his body grew. No longer up, but out. Workout results piled into his body, mimicking his chest’s transformation, decades of them harmonizing in perfect unity. The information didn't stay there; it flowed back into Samir’s head imparting all the know-how as if he’d done it himself. Hair poked out from the center of his chest and coated his pecs until it swirled around his nipples. A fair dusting of leg and forearm hair claimed his limbs. Nervous, he scratched his face. Once. Twice. And without moving his hand his fingertips were soon met with heavy wool of beard. Not the pathetic patches of hair teenagers in the school would pass off. This was a real man’s beard. Thick, groomed, and healthy. Underneath, a sharp chin lay hidden that Samir didn’t recognize. 

There was a mirror across the room, but it was too high up from the bed’s vantage point. He stood unsure of what he’d find. The second his ass was in the air; an opportunity was presented and ass and crotch blasted off the tiny fabric digging into his skin. No longer held, His testicles dropped lower, hot and heavy churning with potent seed. But none of that surprised Samir more than his reconstructed face. There was not a single recognizable thing about it. A man in charge, that’s what his face conveyed, youth barely clinging on. His ears didn't stick out the sides of his head, now appearing much sleeker. Plumper lips were the center focus between his full beard and mustache. His head shape was sharper, slicker, with no intent but all capability to strike a pose for every angle.  What got Samir was his nose cracking and enlarging straighter, losing his signature upturn. Scared him so good he fell back on the bed. The frame whined and groaned before it collapsed under his massive weight. 

Samir went to stand again, but there was a thick scent of testosterone clinging to the air. The smell made his thoughts weird, or maybe clearer. There was more inside his mind than just workout routines. Another aroma entered the air subduing Samir’s musk but not erasing it entirely. It was still there, below the surface. The new addition was cologne, an expensive one that Samir used in professional settings. That realization brought the thoughts to the forefront of his mind. Memories unlocked: His route to work, how many suits he owned, where his house was. A collection of memories stood out among all the others:

His son, Caleb.

“Wha the?” Samir started, shocked as his head downloaded memories from the ether. He knew all about how Caleb was raised, how many sports camps he attended, and what his grades were like. Didn't stop there he remembered Caleb as a baby, a boy, a preteen and the jock he was now. Samir bit his lip, unable to run away from any of this knowledge, and forcibly intoxicated with the fact he was turning into Caleb’s dad. Nothing about Nolan Duncan was hidden from Samir’s mind. He knew where the man was born, His gym routine, when he married his wife, how he fucked his wife. “Dammnit!” Samir shouted as he even recalled the night Nolan impregnated his wife with Caleb as if Samir had done it himself. The stream of a full-grown ass man's life did not stop, but Samir managed to open his eyes to see his brown skin turning white, as his black body hair underwent a recolor. 

“No, I don't want to be—”

When Nolan Duncan woke up in his office, sitting in his chair with his cock out, he knew something was wrong. He ran into his private bathroom, flicking on the lights. His reflection was there, as it should have been, same height, same build. Though Nolan had just been ‘Samir’ mere moments ago. Part of him had been expecting to find a teen staring back. He tucked his cock away, examining his body as inconsistencies appeared. Samir recognized he was Nolan inside and out, which meant all of Nolan’s memories even how he looked in a mirror. The way Nolan looked now was off. His hair wasn’t a fiery red that matched Calebs; it was an eye-catching rust color. The pure green in his eyes had a deep saturated brown that christened them as hazel. As for his skin, what was once pasty white now had a rich undertone that easily snatched up tans. Nolan poked at his face. It was as if a fading image of Samir got fused into the classic Nolan’s body. 

Standing in the bathroom head much clearer he remembered the principal’s words and called him.

“What did you do to me?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Now, calm down there. This is all a part of the resolution process, completely by the books. I’m quite sure Mr. Duncan’s got a lot of testosterone going, so you’re going to need to reign that in for the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“Of course, with all parties and parents involved!’”

The conversation didn't last long after that as Nolan was flooring his way to the school. Barely any time to appreciate how tall he was, how handsome he was, or the fact he was driving at all. By the time he stepped into the building though, his anger had calmed. He was certainly still ready to demand to be put back, but Nolan’s mind worked differently. Nolan was a master at analyzing and dissecting data, reports, people, his emotions weren’t any different. What were the facts? What could he change? What was the best way to achieve his outcome? Eliminate all unnecessary factors. His shoes clacked against the school floor, as he strolled taking in the familiar surroundings through new eyes.

He spotted ‘Samir’ outside the principal’s office waiting. It wasn’t his old body sitting there, this one was taller and more built. The two locked eyes with each other and ‘Samir’ looked away.  Nolan stepped up to the front desk.

“Hello, my name is Nolan Duncan. I’m Caleb’s father. I’m here regarding an incident that happened earlier this afternoon.” The words came out of his mouth, naturally. Though Nolan would never have dared to set foot in this school, his mind knew the script.

Ms. Holdem was floundering about, grabbing her phone awestruck. She tried to flirt but Nolan’s demeanor didn't give her an inch. He was quite used to people looking at him that way, one of the reasons he tended to avoid them. That and Nolan found the act of being around others a chore. 

The Principal came out and pulled Nolan and Samir back to his inner office. A flood of ‘what the hell did you do to us?’ came from both parties. Tugging on his blazer smugly, pleased with himself the Principal explained how both men agreed to the same Conflict Resolution Policy. That parents gave carte blanche when they signed returning papers over the summer and Samir’s recent signature was what caused it. The Principal did not entertain any, “It shouldn’t be possible,” “Doesn’t make sense”, “How did it happen?”. He was firm in that it DID happen and this is where they ended up, time to figure out next steps.

“So how is this going to help us resolve conflict?” Samir asked.

“Once your father, and your son come in. We will squash this once and for all. Shouldn’t be too difficult with access to each other’s minds.”

Samir sighed, “Let’s get this over with, I'd like to finish up some work.”

Nolan was coming to terms with the fact that Caleb’s actual dad had access to HIS memories and vice versa. How embarrassing and violating, and for what? This ultimately felt like a way to coddle Caleb’s ego. Though this Nolan would have barfed if Caleb and Samir’s dad had to become each other. This was a better outcome than that scenario, but damn. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, to destress. “Man, I just wanted to go home. Fine.” He waved his hand, accepting. “We’ll have the meeting and turn back, whatever.”

The principal clapped his hands, a wide grin on his face bouncing with excitement, “This is my first time implementing his policy. I’m excited to see it play out.” He turned to Samir. “Please wait in the lobby for your father with Me and Ms. Holdem. I want to gauge your father’s reaction.”  He then hit Nolan’s shoulder with a soft punch, “You can wait for Caleb in here.” Before they left, he added, “And of course don’t mention the swap. We don’t want people thinking you two are losing your minds.”

—

The drive home for Nolan was swift and silent. He was quietly fuming, but skilled enough to stay steady and hit all the turns with one hand on the wheel. The meeting was a bust, his own father was mad at him and worrying over Caleb's dad. Caleb’s dad didn't even get hit! He may have had the memory, but he never felt the actual pain. All that AND Nolan was taking Caleb home. He sighed. His mind refused to let him think of himself as Samir, he was Nolan Duncan. They came upon a small manor with its own driveway set apart from the other houses in the block. Home sweet home. Nolan sat there staring at the house. No idea what to do next. Was he supposed to just walk in a stranger’s home? He forgot Caleb was still sitting with him.

“Uh dad…you, okay?” Caleb leaned forward unbuckling himself.

Okay? He was fucking pissed. He was in a nightmare, Help! I’m Trapped in My Bully’s Dad’s Body wrote itself. “I’m very disappointed in you, Caleb.” The words were cold and calculated. Nolan was fine with that. If Caleb was going to make Samir's life hell, Nolan could do the same. However, Nolan didn’t need to yell or pick on Caleb, he could go straight for the heart. “We’ve been blessed with all that we have and you act like this?” The man let that sit as Caleb’s face frowned. “Not only have you embarrassed me, you've embarrassed your mother making her clean up after your messes. Are you a dog?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then don’t shit all over the place then act dumbfounded when everyone’s upset. Actions have consequences.” He raised a hand as if giving up, “Get out of my car, I’m done with you.” Nolan was certain he saw a tear falling down Caleb's eyes. Caleb got out of the car grabbing his book back trudging inside. Nolan pulled down his window, “You are grounded.”

He sat outside for hours studying the house and yard, taking in every detail. All of it was already there in his mind, but for once stopping to take the full breath of everything he’d accomplished was breathtaking. A House cleaner who came on the weekends, landscapers at the end of the month. The Osmans could only dream of living in a place like this. Nolan tilted his head back on the seat, frustrated. He’d trade it all to be in his real home. The sun had set and the night sky was beckoning him in. Stepping out, he walked to the front door as the smell of a maintained lawn hit his nostrils. Put a smile on his face as he opened the door and walked in. His entire body shivered inside as he closed the door.  He was used to no “hello”, or “how was your day?” since his dad often worked late, but there was something about the house that seemed detached. Wide open spaces, beautifully decorated, but only as if for show. Nothing felt lived in. Cold white and gray wall paint greeting every gaze. Nolan’s mind told him this was normal standard fare. He’d come home, go up to his office, or sit in the living room recliner and doze off. However, it was also that same mind analyzing how unfeeling the space was. Nolan appreciated how hard his dad worked to make their home feel warm and secure. He moved in further, as if he were walking on ice, afraid of what attention he’d bring.  

A picture on the wall grabbed his attention for the first time in years. All three members of the Duncan family, posed standing proudly, the men in suits, Mrs. Duncan in a dress. Nolan’s face was his new one. A quick glance at the surrounding photos. They were all his new face. His old one had been scrubbed clean and erased from history, though Nolan could remember passing by the images with his former looks. With a groan Nolan went and sat on his living room couch, collapsing like a fallen tree. His body collided onto the cushion, with a weighted thump absorbing the strong impact. After carefully taking his shoes off with his feet, he spread his arms out along the spine of the couch. Leaned back, all he could be was in awe of how big his body was. Why did it need such a wide berth to exist? He ran a real estate firm, no need to look like a CrossFit athlete or bodybuilder. 

 

Arms wrapped around him from behind, Nolan was sure he was about to be choked out, until 

 until two dainty hands rested on his pecs. Mrs. Duncan, his wife, had embraced him from behind, bent over the couch.

“I was worried about you. You were out there for a long time.”

“Just had to clear my head.” Nolan stated. He was confused as he worked in his office uninterrupted often and she never bothered him or commented on his behavior. He placed his hands over hers, an act that seemed to surprise her, but she carried on.

“Caleb was very upset when he came in.  Want to talk about it?”

“Caleb was upset?” Nolan arched an eyebrow, “What about the boy he hurt? What about wasting that boy’s father’s and our time?” An odd delicate dance of emotions, Nolan had to navigate. His lingering sense from being formerly Samir was boiling over what Caleb had done. However, Nolan Duncan had no personal stake in the matter, his body and mind were more unsettled by missing work. 

“Geezus Nolan,” Mrs. Duncan pulled away, “Can’t you be a little invested in your son?”

“Me?” Nolan twisted on the couch, raising a leg up to turn back, “Claire, you never told me he was getting called to the principal’s office for bullying.” 

“Would you even have cared?” Mrs. Duncan sucked her teeth. “If it doesn't fit into your schedule, god forbid.” She walked off into the kitchen in a huff.

Nolan was absolutely sure he had every right to be mad at Caleb’s mom and dad. Neither of them had done anything to dissuade their son’s actions. They were both wrong in his eyes.  Being forced into Mr. Duncan’s life showed a layer that he did not want to broach. The answers were already there though. This man loved his family, but there was so little care invested into them. Claire and Caleb were sadly, no more than props or trophies to Mr. Duncan. Visual representations that communicated with the world a level of success.

He sat on the couch in silence. There was no way Caleb’s father would have ever thought twice about this. Mr. Duncan moved through life completely unaware of his own entitlement. Unaware how revered he was in his own home. Claire and Caleb followed a lead the man didn't even realize he was setting. The only reason he could see it now was, Mr. Osman’s son had been converted into him. Nolan's entire life now had a second unbiased perspective to contrast from.

He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, “I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled before standing up, grabbing his shoes, and going upstairs. He gave three soft knocks on Caleb’s door and waited for a “Come in.”

“Dad!” Caleb sat up from his bed. “I thought you were mom.”

That much was obvious, this maneuver was not in Nolan Duncan’s wheelhouse. His wife was the one that did the emotion regulating. Tonight however, he’d stolen this play straight from Mr. Osman. Tragic, that this father’s body and mind had no idea how to approach its own son in this capacity. It had to rely on memories of another dad to even start. “I wanted to apologize.” Nolan said and let it sit in the air. Every single cell in his body that had been Mr. Osman’s son had no remorse, justifiably, but as Nolan Duncan he should have acted as a father, not a bullied teen.

“While your grounding is staying, this is about my actions.” He closed the door and asked his son to scoot over so he could join him on the bed. Once again Mr. Duncan’s body, specifically his ass this time, monopolizing a large amount of space. 

“I want you to apologize to that boy, sincerely.”  Nolan could not come to terms with calling Caleb’s father, Samir. 

“Okay dad.” Caleb said with conviction in his voice.

A sense of pride flowed through Nolan as he stood up and made his way back to the door. The moment his hand touched the knob, he stopped and slightly turned back to his son,” What do you have against the Samir kid?” 

A troubled look flashed on Caleb’s face before being wiped away, “Don’t know dad. He just gets under my skin.”

Nolan nodded and pressed his lips. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but that was a tall order when his bully practically admitted not even knowing the cause. “It’s okay son, you’ll figure it out,” he stepped out, closing the door, “Love you.” His eyes caught one last glimpse of Caleb’s surprised face. Nolan’s face went hot, he hadn't meant to say it, but the last two words flew out his mouth. The conversation edged so close to reminding him of ones with his father their natural conversation closure snuck out.

—

Samir Osman woke up in his bed, when there was a soft knock at his door. He sat up realizing his nightmare continued. His homework was completed but left out in the open on his desk along with his bookbag in his chair. The door opened as Mr. Osman walked in carrying a bowl of ice cream, scoops of chocolate fudge brownie and coffee, Samir’s favorite. Mr. Osman sat on the bed right next to his son, passing along the ice cream. “My apology,” he pointed to the dessert, “for having to go back to work.” Mr. Osman gave Samir a side hug and sat up on the bed with him, hiking his legs up. “Wanna talk about today?”

“Today sucked.”  Samir leaned into his father’s side, pouting. He meant every word in that simple sentence. That morning, he had woken up as Nolan Duncan, as he had every damn day of his life until then. Now, he was stuck in the body of a student his son had been bullying. Samir wanted nothing more than to get back to his old life. He loved his work, but beyond that he had never realized how much comfort those routines bought him. His silo; his world.

He was now forced to play the role of someone else as dictated by a demented principal. Samir couldn’t stand it. Being turned into a teen again was bad enough. His head was crammed with new memories that weren’t his. He knew every intricate detail of Mr. Osman’s son’s life especially, having to remember being bullied by his own son. A few hours ago, he poked and prodded at his face. It didn’t quite align with the way he remembered it. Samir's features should have been softer, shorter, but his current face was sharper and body taller. Samir had always tried to ensure Caleb’s possible fuck ups never got in the way of his life and yet, here he was.

But the worst part about this life: Mr. Osman. What made him the worst? He was too nice, attentive, apologetic, caring, the list went on. The man didn’t have a single quality Samir could latch onto to despise him for. He could justify hating the whole experience if the man was simply awful to him. Not to mention, even if Samir’s body had a new pilot, it fell into all the same patterns. Previously, in his old life Samir would have hated someone invading his personal space, but the Osman’s had a deep familiarity with one another, it came naturally. And to Samir’s bitter regret, his mind wasn’t bothered by it. A strange experience, to know he should and would be troubled, but his body and mind prevented him from feeling as such. 

Begrudgingly, Samir stuck a scoop of ice cream in his mouth, and they lit up his taste buds: delicious. He kept eating, unable to take the smile off his lips. 

“So, apology accepted?” Mr. Osman asked.

“Mmmmhhhmm.” Samir nodded and meant it completely. A sweet tooth was not really something he got to enjoy before. He paused for a moment.” Dad, I don't blame you for going back to work. You know that right?” Samir got why people would love work so much, he did. Or used to. Osman apologizing to his son? Now THAT was weird. As far as Samir was concerned, the Osmans were unremarkable people, and he had no idea why Caleb was obsessed with making their life worse. This would all be resolved easily.

___

A Week Later

Nolan strolled into the diner, calm and collected, removing his blazer from work. He plopped in a booth across from the teen staring daggers at him. The boy was angry and Nolan knew. He was angry too. 

The apology from Caleb didn’t go as planned. Some might say he tried, others would say, not hard enough. Regardless, Samir wasn’t really in the mood to hear an apology from his son, former son, not-current son…Whatever. Samir’s former indifference for his son mixed with his current mind's fear and apprehension for a crude result. When Samir tried to walk away in the cafeteria and Caleb grabbed at him, Samir’s body redacted and twisted the boy's arm. Skills that Osman’s son would have never had, pure influence from his old life. Caleb wasn’t hurt, beyond his pride, but that meant rain check on the apology. 

Nolan wasn’t too upset about that, Caleb could do with a twisted arm for all the bullying. Nolan was here in respect due to his own issues.

“You can start.” Samir said.

Nolan slammed his fist on the table, phone in hand, Samir’s Instagram page on screen. A photo of Mr. Osman and Samir, smiling in a small boat on a lake. “You went to lake Hana with my dad? Do you know how much I was looking forward to that?!” 

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Samir rolled his eyes. “You want to whine about a vacation meanwhile you're hopping into bed with my wife.”

Nolan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem shocked by the callout, “Look, all we’ve done is sleep in the same bed.” 

“You should sleep on the couch.”

“Are you serious? How do you think Claire would feel about that?” Nolan shot back. “I don’t have a choice; YOU could have waited till I was back in my body.”

“Your dad was practically begging me to go. Said it’d make me feel better.” Samir fired.

“Because he thinks you’re me!” Nolan said through clenched teeth.

“I AM!” Samir fired back. 

“AND I’M YOU.” Nolan said firmly.

The two’s tempers died down, as they stared at each other. 

“Listen,” Nolan unfastened his cuffs, “You have my memories, I have yours. We’re practically the same age now mentally. You know I had no choice. I can…accept… you didn’t either. “ 

Samir didn’t appreciate the way he was being talked to, or how casually Nolan was rolling down the dress shirt sleeves over his large forearms. That was his body and the Osman boy was way too comfortable navigating it only a week in. Meanwhile Samir felt stifled, stuffed into a younger body forced back into school, with classes and homework and schedules. Where was the fairness in that?  Samir rested his elbows on the table running his hands through his hair. There his stupid mind went again, Fairness? What an adolescent concept to get caught up on. When had he ever thought of fairness before?

“Fine. Let’s pretend we’re equal.” Samir managed to get out. “How do we get back into our lives?”

Nolan gave a small chuckle while shaking his head.

“What?” 

“You’ve got a real attitude problem, you know that?” Nolan locked his hands, setting them on the table. “And it’s weird to see my body so stressed. I mean, yeah you look a bit different, but I know all the faces I’ve made. That’s not one.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry you’ve never been properly pissed off before. Maybe if your dad wasn’t coddling you, you’d know what this face looks like.”

A change was in the air. Samir finished his tiny rant. Nolan’s casual demeanor had shifted, his relaxed face was tense, jaw clenched. His fists were separated, balled, and clenched for dear life. Samir became acutely aware of how easily his former body’s displeasure was transmitted. The look in Nolan’s eyes said he wanted to reach across the table and grab Samir’s neck. 

“My dad is worth a hundred of you.” Nolan’s sentence carried no emotion, a simple fact. “I’m sorry my dad is stuck with an asshole, who he thinks is his son.” Now the anger was rising in his voice. “You think your life is perfect, it’s not. There is growing resentment from your wife and son. I don’t need your knowledge in analysis to see that. You're never present. This past week they’ve loved having me around more, because I was acting more like my dad. Maybe you could learn something from my dad. And perhaps Caleb would be a nicer kid.”

Samir’s words were cut off by his throat, what could he even say? Since living with Mr. Osman could see the disparity between the two families. Despite his protests, there was enjoyment to be found in the Osman household. The trip to the lake for father and son was a real mind cleanser. Not even his old work entered his thoughts up there. The space was so nostalgic for a place he’d never been that he’d seamlessly fallen completely into being Mr. Osman’s son.

“You…may be right.” Samir sighed. 

Nolan’s eyes softened at that.

___

A Month Later

Nolan walked the trail that lay in front of him. One foot after the other. Only one day and his tan was already golden. The boots on his feet compressed any rocks and pebbles on his path further into the dirt, with the power of his steps. His gait was slightly awkward as the shorts he had on, didn't do much to hide his endowment. An unfortunate consequence of Caleb’s father owning clothes more for style than practicality. His ass was already perked up for all to see in the shorts. The last thing Nolan needed was a slip and his thick cock to be dangling out one of the leg holes. 

Up ahead Caleb was leading the way, having a much easier time with his clothes, Nolan had bought. It was a father-son bonding trip Nolan had stolen from his dad’s play book, but Caleb was responding well. In fact, Caleb’s mouth moved a mile a minute and not a single one was an insult about Samir. Nolan could tell Caleb was hooked when he excitedly exclaimed, he was going to scope out ahead. A reconciliation between Samir and Caleb hadn’t quite come to fruition the way Principal Giordano had alluded to. It sounded preposterous as Caleb’s father was inhabiting Samir’s body, but Caleb had a LOT of shit to work through. It took a while, but Nolan discovered Caleb tended to project his insecurities onto Samir. It didn't matter if Samir actually portrayed those qualities.

They came upon a marked campsite clearing.

“We’re going to stop here, Champ.” Nolan slung his backpack off his strong shoulders. It was practically effortless for a guy like him. Nothing like when he and dad swapped off with supplies.  Caleb came running back, like a dog that had wandered too far. Nolan didn’t even know Caleb could make such an excited expression. A sad realization that even Caleb’s dad had no concept of what a happy Caleb looked like. 

After setting up their tents for the night, the two tossed around a football. Caleb was obviously gifted, but Nolan shocked himself by the power he put behind it. He made it spin and everything. Snapped from his grip effortlessly. Cool to be there and admire another body’s skill, even one that went unused.

When night came and the two got into their shared large tent, they lay in their sleeping bags, faced away from each other. Both were aware that the other one wasn’t sleeping. Nolan was at a loss of what to do sleeping so close to his bully. A small, irrational part was sure Caleb would suss him out with them being this close. As if there were some tiny details that’d make his forced deception fall apart. 

“Hey, Dad?” Caleb asked into the dark, his body shifting to his dad

“Yeah, son?” Nolan stated.

“How come you're being so nice to me? Are you…dying or something?” Caleb managed to get out and his voice sounded strained. 

“What?!” Nolan flipped over, “No, I’m not dying, son.” There was barely any moonlight coming in through the tent. Caleb was a mere silhouette, sitting up. Nolan wanted to be careful with his next few words. “I’ve just realized I wasn’t the kind of father—man I wanted to be for you. How could I expect you to change your actions when I won’t change mine? Parents lead by example.” 

Caleb was quiet. “Listen dad about Samir…”

“You’re not Samir.” Nolan said gently. “And Samir isn’t you. I get you’re angry, for flaws you think you have. Probably based on notions I put in your head or complexes I gave you without meaning to.” Nolan exhaled through his nose, “But you can’t take that out on that poor boy. Our insecurities can’t be other people's problems. I can take one look at that family and see Mr. Osman is stressed enough.” Nolan turned fully towards Caleb. “Let’s leave Samir alone and if the answer isn’t quite the root issue, let’s talk about therapy.”

Caleb’s body laid back down. No words were spoken. Nolan closed his eyes listening to Caleb breathe. Minutes passed. Nolan wasn’t sure when he heard it, but it came, all the same. “Dad, thanks.”

They came back home Sunday night, Caleb raving about the trip to his mom over Sunday dinner. She laughed and smiled, holding Nolan’s hand throughout: This was everything to her. When had she last seen Caleb give a genuine smile or talk with such passion?

“Maybe you two should take a trip.” Nolan threw out taking a bite of food.

"Don't be ridiculous sweetie, outdoors isn’t for me.” Claire lightly swatted him on the shoulder.

Nolan chuckled, and shrugged, “I didn’t mean outdoor per se, but maybe like a beach? Or a resort to get away. I don’t know, something that rings true to both of you. Mother and son bonding.”

Claire’s eyes went wide. “You're serious?”

“Of course.”

“Yea mom let’s do it! We should go to Hawaii.” Caleb interjected, still on his camping high.

“Wow, okay!” Claire was flustered. “I haven’t planned a trip in ages. We got to find where we’d stay, what we’d want to do.” Nolan could see the giddy smile creeping into her lips as she talked. Her and Caleb began feeding into each other’s loop. Nolan looked on thinking of his own mom, before she passed and the trips, she always talked about doing. He was genuinely happy for this mother and son.

___

Samir watched the waves crash on the shore. Cold sand on his toes as the sun rose up in the distance. Seagulls swooped down to snatch leftover food across the wide area. An ocean breeze came through. Felt good to live in a warm climate, even encroaching December. Not something Samir had ever considered before. He simply lived where he worked. 

Mr. Osman was walking beside him as they helped to clean the beach. Not something Samir would have done before. BUT getting involved in the cleanup had been Mr. Osman’s son’s idea to begin with. There were two large groups of people in front of and behind them all working to pick up garbage and dispose of it into bags.

“Hey, I think this little guy wants to be under arrest.” Mr. Osman called out to his son. He was wrestling a plastic soda pack ring from a crab, commenting on how one arm was through a hole like a prisoner. Once he won the fight, he kindly took the annoyed crustacean back to the sea, inviting Samir to join him. Samir watched in quiet awe following behind his dad. He couldn’t even tell if Mr. Osman wanted to be here, the man was so into it. Months ago, Samir had said he wanted to do this event, and Mr. Osman was all gung-ho about it. He just supported and invested in his boy so unwaveringly. Made Samir feel so inadequate as a father and so proud as a son.

“Want to do the honors?” Mr. Osman handed the crab over to Samir as they both crouched down, feet in the water. Mr. Osman’s son had handled various animals before in his memory, but for Samir it was a strange experience placing it back into the water and watching it go off.

“Let’s head back.” Mr. Osman tapped Samir on the back. “I think there’s a pelican ready to fight me because I put the crab back.” As they stood, Samir rose to just about midway to Mr. Osman’s neck. No one had brought attention to how Samir was slowly crawling in height. They probably assumed it was his own latent genes and not Duncan DNA infused in his body. More importantly, Mr. Osman wasn't being any less caring or doting on his son. Samir, naively, held the belief that because Mr. Osman’s son was a shrimp and a wimp, that was the reason the man doted on the boy. He hadn't considered Mr. Osman was the kind of man that would do it, regardless of his son’s attributes.

Mr. Osman softly grabbed his son by head and brought him in for a side hug as they walked out of the water. Samir’s head landed in the crook of Mr. Osman’s neck. He laughed, hugging the man back, and didn’t fight to pull out of it, keeping his head there for as long as he could. Never would he have imagined a father-son relationship could be this way. Enjoyable. Certainly, wasn't with his dad. 

Part of him worried that if he laughed too loud, smiled too wide, felt it all too much, it’d all come crumbling down. Which wasn’t untrue. There was an endpoint, even if the dick of a principal didn't know when. Samir would turn back into Caleb’s dad at some point. Until then he was soaking up love meant for someone else.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Osman stopped walking to inspect Samir's head in his neck. “Are you crying?”

Fuck! Samir’s body was doing exactly that. Stupid sensitiveness. It wasn’t open sobbing–that’d been embarrassing. Just small hitches, and tears in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re here. I’m here.” Mr. Osman pulled his son in for a full hug. He held him close until Samir settled. He pulled away, hands on Samir’s shoulders. “Is this about school, Caleb?”

“No, no dad.” Samir waved him off, “Nothing like that. Caleb’s been much more normal at school.” 

“Well, that’s good. He’d better be, or he and his dad will get a HI-YA.” Mr. Osman stood on one leg and kicked the air. Samir laughed. “I’m serious,” he stated in a very unserious way. “I know a karate chop that’ll make them fall into 27 different cubed pieces.”

Samir threw his head back laughing, harder.

“You doubt my abilities?” Mr. Osman smirked.

“Haha, no, no, dad.” Samir backed away, still laughing, before running as, Mr. Osman chased after him.

___

December 17- Last Day Before Winter Break

The Duncan’s and Osman’s sat in the principal’s office for one last family meeting. Both Mr. & Mrs. Duncan were in attendance. The husband and wife held each other’s hand talking back and forth. Caleb, on the right side of his mother, near the wall, pretended to be grossed out by how affectionate they were being. 

Mr. Osman sat on the other side of Mr. Duncan, with Samir on Mr. Osman’s left. The principal had suggested the fathers act as barriers to the sons, as to not stir up any tension, but it was there. Hard not to be. Everyone knew why they were here. An apology was owed. 

The parents had already hashed it out the last hour before school ended. Mostly Mr. Osman handing the Duncans their ass on their callousness. Mrs. Duncan did try to retort back, but Mr. Osman wasn't having it. From his point of view, she came in spewed niceties then let her son continue ruining Samir’s life. Mr. Osman needed them to know the exact kind of people they were in his eyes. Mr. Duncan sat there and took it, nodding his head along, not disagreeing or defending himself.  And by the end of it Mr. Osman felt heard.

But now it was the boys' turn. Not hash it out. A simple exchange of words. Sincere words.

“We all know why we're here, let’s not dill dally, boys?” Principal Giordano motioned for his students to stand up.

“Look Samir, I’m sorry, I’m an asshole.” Caleb blurted out. “You never did anything, but I just wanted to pick on you because I knew I could get away with it. I know that’s not an excuse but it’s the truth. You deserve that.  You’ll probably never forgive me but–

“I do.” Samir started slowly nodding his head and turned to a surprised Mr. Osman. He wasn’t angry or mad, just completely astounded. “We all deserve second chances. And if I got one, why can’t you?”  he said. The shock on Mr. Osman’s face turned into profoundness Mr. Osman watched the compassion of his son. Samir smiled, catching it. This was simply Mr. Osman’s kindness reflected right back. How could Samir, as a father, not try to do all he could for his son? That’s what he learned from Mr. Osman. Samir wanted Caleb to have a similar experience to his time, Mr. Osman. 

Nolan nodded, with Samir’s decision. He understood more about Caleb’s dad and how that informed Caleb's actions. It didn’t make it okay, but there was a road to recovery and redemption for the Duncans. 

Samir pulled Caleb in for a quick hug, their height differences these days no longer quite as staggering. 

The families stood prepared to say their goodbyes as a calming wave flew through Nolan and Samir. 

“I have to use the restroom.”

“I gotta pee!”

They said and took off not waiting for an answer from their families. Samir felt it budding in his chest and he was sure Mr. Osman’s son was feeling the same. Bursting into the bathroom they ran towards the stalls. Nolan went for the biggest but then stopped himself, we should probably switch he pushed Samir inside. They locked the stall doors and their bodies buzzed.

“Gentlemen!” The Principal sang annoyingly, “That’s what I call a Resolution. The District is going to love this: Conflict, a thing of the past. All because of yours truly” Samir poked an eye through the crack of the stall; Principal Giordano was waving a hand in front of the mirror to a fake crowd. An annoying ass up to the end.  

“Will you get out of here!” Nolan shouted and the principal yelped, scurrying away. “God, I thought he’d never leave,” Nolan laughed. It was deep and hearty. Samir wasn't used to hearing his own body express such joy.  It sounded nice. He heard a belt unfastened then saw pants get thrown over top of the stall. “I figure we switch before all the annoying stuff.” Nolan added. Soon a dress shirt was added, along with jeans and a T-shirt from the other side. They slid their shoes under the bottom.

“Sorry, man but I’m not taking my shoes off on this floor.” Samir added.

“No worries, me neither.” Nolan said back. 

They were painfully aware of being two guys just standing around in their underwear, long enough for it to be awkward. Then it hit. Samir shot towards the Ceiling as Nolan shrunk down, height vanishing– or rather siphoned back into its original source. Nolan’s breathing got easier as his muscle tits deflated, lighting up on his lungs. Samir’s chest on the other hand bulked with conviction, determined to return to its former state. Nolan’s features were smoothing, de-aging, and muscle mass dropping. Samir hardened, sucking it all into himself ass and crotch, filling up Samir’s briefs to the point of comedy. The socks had no chance as Samir’s feet tore through, wider than before as his toes pressed free. The tingling traveled all across his body till it reached his head.

He wasn’t Samir anymore. He was Nolan Duncan. Mr. Osman’s son was Samir. 

Memories came into his head for everything that ‘Nolan Duncan’ had done since October. He knew the same was happening for Samir. Their lives were fixing themselves. The tingling moved one last time from his head, across his body and gathered in his ball. Nolan felt his balls plump, when the sensation gathered there. Then it was a scramble to pull down Samir’s underwear as Nolan’s cock hardened and expelled the sensation by cumming it out. Shot so far it splattered on the opposite wall. The district was going to have to get rid of that, if this initiative kept going.

After a few more minutes Nolan and Samir both exited the stalls. They paused upon catching sight of each other. Samir had not returned to the shrimp he used to be, rocking the height Nolan had, even blessed with left over muscle. Nolan for his part had tan and his red hair hadn't come back quite fiercely. Walking over to the mirror, they examined their updated bodies, not quite themselves, not quite what the other person had either.

Samir was too enthused, poking at his chest and prodding his biceps. He flexed like he’d seen Caleb do before. “My dad’s not going to be able to keep up.” 

“Feels sort of nice.” Nolan admitted,” Like a fresh start. And don’t count your dad short, he kept up with me just fine.” He walked to the door, “What do you say we introduce the word to the new us?”

Samir nodded, smiling as Nolan pushed open the exit for them and they walked out.

In the principal’s office, left out on the desk in a locked room was a folder containing various documents on Nolan Duncan and Samir Osman. A green stamp had been pressed on the folder: CONFLICT RESOLVED. 

 

A few feet away in a filing cabinet, countless other folders were sorted, waiting for the Conflict Resolution Initiative.