just when you think you've got a hold / just when you think you're on a roll
William was running out of non-repetitive ways to decently describe waking up and things not being normal.
This was of some concern.
Still, he supposed he could always cheat1 or use ever more obscure language. The problem with living your life, he reflected, was that you couldn't begin in media res.
Which was a nicely distracting line of thought and occupied him for all of ten seconds before he had to attend to the fact that he had just woken up, and his body was different than when he'd gone to sleep.
He opened his eyes. It was their ceiling. That was good. He shifted slightly in the bed, and just like that became actually aware of his limbs and extremities. In particular, the fact he'd been using the wrong pronoun for the last five paragraphs.
William looked down, and sighed. This had a noticeable effect on the line the sheet made over her reclining form. She twitched the sheets up, found herself no more clothed than when she'd gone to sleep - a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else, which was fine when you were male but could be considered pushing it as a girl - and let it fall back so that it was covering her again.
She sighed again, and wondered if it was a bad sign that this was mostly just bothersome, and not actually terribly embarrassing2 or terrifying.
1Like he just did, for instance.
2Yet.