bakerstreet | taken from a prompt on rpanons

taken from a prompt on rpanons

TRAPPED TOGETHER
a fuck or die smut meme

You don't remember falling asleep, but now you're waking up, and it's nowhere familiar. The room is white from top to bottom, clean and sterile. There is no visible door or other means of escape. Fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling provide the only light.

The room is mostly empty, but not entirely. A large monitor sits recessed into the wall opposite you. A chest of drawers sits on the wall to your left, and a closet in the wall to your right. You are sitting on a large, white bed, and you are not alone. Do you know this person? Are they a friend, an enemy, a lover? Or are they a complete stranger, someone you've never met before in your life. There is a strange collar around their neck, and with a start, you realize you have one on around your throat as well. Try as you might, you cannot remove it.

Whatever the case, the person you are stuck with is awakening as well, but before you two have time to so much as introduce yourselves, the monitor comes to life, and text appears on the screen.

YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE.
THE GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN.
DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE.
ONCE WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, THAT IS.
IGNORE YOUR ORDERS AND DIE.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHEAT. WE WILL KNOW.
AND PLEASE, TRY TO HAVE FUN.

The message remains for a minute, just to make sure you both have time to read it, before fading away. Moments later, your first orders appear. Ignore them, and your collars will begin to constrict until you comply. Finish, and new orders will eventually appear. Between the chest of drawers and the closet beside the bed, everything you need is provided to you to perform, including toys, tools, special medications of various effects, and even food and drink.

Is your collar getting tighter? Better get busy. Remember, they're watching.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character information and preferences in the subject, as usual.
OOC communication is extremely important in this meme, the orders your characters are given are determined between the two of you. They can be tame, or they can be extreme. Plan out what you want to play ahead of time, or surprise each other, just get a feel for what each of you want! Leaving a kinks list and/or an example of what kind of orders you like in your comment is a terrific idea.
Keep on going as long as you please! If you really want, your characters can escape after a single smooch, or they can be going at it all day long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Alois. [ And he doesn't affix a pleasantry onto it, as he can't really say it's nice to meet him. Not here. ]

I'm sixteen.

[ Almost seventeen. But then there's a longer than warranted pause before he returns the question, Miyuki unsure whether he wants to know the answer anymore.

He pops his shirt collar up, slings the tie around his neck, and sets to make the knot. ]

What about you?

Six— [eyes glued onto hands winding the knot. Can sixteen-year-olds look like that? He's bound to have seen some in the days of Jim, but. It's just... it's not so far off from his own age. Can he look like that? Does he want to, when he starts thinking of how far looking like this has gotten him— but none of this is important.

He lifts on his toes, detaching from the wall, almost enthusiastically, gaze jumping from tie to Miyuki's,] I- I'm thirteen! [As though it's quite a big deal. See, he's just never really been properly around or had much experience with someone so close to his age before—not since he was kept with other boys under the house, so perhaps it isn't that different. In terms of other experience, this is new. And, in terms of being imprisoned in his own estate by a demon, living among demons, it's not really something he ever expected to happen.]

Three years. It's little! It's close, three years, woh.

[ Miyuki blinks at him wide for that odd enthusiasm. Thirteen. That's... actually a bit older than he'd thought. The face, the way he acted skewed things lower. But as Miyuki considers him again, the boy is as tall as, if not taller, than a couple of guys he knows from school. One of them is even older than Miyuki.

He's straightening the collar and tucking tie into vest with lips quirking as the oddness continues. Wouldn't most kids his age think three years is forever? ]

Little? Three years is an entire high school career.

[ Though Miyuki's halfway through those three years and he's felt it. It depends how one looks at them, whether they are a long time or three years too short.

He turns to pick up the jacket and pulls it on before plopping to sit on the bed again, reaching for the shoes. Alois is thirteen, three years younger, and in light of everything that seems so vast, so young. But he tries not to let the heaviness curl around him again, quick to keep this friendly air going. ]

You're pretty tall for thirteen, aren't you?

[ He flicks his eyes up at him briefly as he leans to fit the shoes on. ]

[Asking what a high school career is is prepared, but his first distraction comes by way of reverting back to admiring while Miyuki finishes putting the outfit on. He's really out done himself! Miyuki should've picked the dress so Alois could've easily made fun of him the whole time they're trapped here, much easier pill. And, then, of course, he forgets to ask for the time being when the older boy mentions his height.]

Am I! [with a tone that sounds akin to Oh no!] I don't know. Am I? [He glances at his own legs, raises his pupils and irises upwards despite the inability to ever see the top of his own head without tilting it toward a mirror. He was the same height as other boys at ten, has he had a growth spurt? Would Claude tell him?]

Well. You're pretty... stra... pping... for a sixteen-year-old, aren't you, hm? [If he doesn't sound sure enough to even be asking this, it's because he isn't.]

[ ... Homeschooled, maybe. That's Miyuki's best guess, given the apparent embarrassment at his changing before, and the boy not knowing how his height stacks up relative to others his age. He does seem as though he's missing some social grace (the universe laughs at this utterly hypocritical thought) that could conceivably be from a lack of interaction with peers.

The boy continues to be a conundrum, and the funny way he speaks is just another part of it. Miyuki lifts a brow, bemused but amused. ]

Dunno. You'd have to remind me what "stra... pping" means.

[ He teases as he mimicks him. Miyuki can't remember hearing someone use that word in a real life situation, though. It's a good word, he knows, but is it like, "big" or... ?? ]

So — [ Anyway. Finished lacing the shoes, he stands and tugs a bit at the fabrics to straighten things before straightening himself. His arms lower, hands spreading out slightly in presentation. ] How do I look?

[Moony staring again, gaze trailing slowly.]

Ah, you look... dashing.

[Softly spoken, authentic admiration. And then he deliberately wrecks it by shooting Miyuki's original, crumpled clothes a glance.] Maybe they'll let you take it home as an example to learn from.

[ The combination of the foreign feeling of such fancy clothing plus the genuine compliment has Miyuki feeling a bit sheepish, just for a moment. In the next it's dispersed, as he's tickled by Alois' barb rather than hurt.

A light huff, ] Too bad I don't have the money to put the lesson into practice.

[ He's not a rich boy, and even now his mop of hair dabs a blotch of natural roughness atop what is otherwise so sleek and fine. Miyuki strides forward toward the closet, then, flashing Alois a smirk as he passes. ]

My turn~

[ Before disappearing into it to start his hunt. It was more threatening than the truth, when the only thing Miyuki really intends is to give him something that will cover him.

Well, that and a bit of a scare, a resurgence of that natural urge of his to mess with others. Turnabout is only fair, right? And so he goes, much more quiet and less obvious in his search than the younger boy. Miyuki doesn't take as long either — without much of an eye for fashion, it's hard to be picky. When he sees vague matches to the sorts of things he's looking for, he picks them out, picks from those, and...

He's emerging from the closet with something held behind him, much more successfully able to hide it than the younger boy was with his own joke option of an outfit. And that is what it is, though Miyuki purposely says nothing of that fact in hopes of scaring him just that much more. ]

I think I've found something perfect for you. You ready?

[The suit fits him so crisply and neatly, and Alois' gaze can't help tagging along at the smallest of movements, with a sort of muted, adolescent enthrallment. He can't dare to bring his eyes to his face fully, though, because—in spite of Miyuki's boyish hair, and thicker rimmed glasses—that eye wear and suit together are too reminiscent of a certain someone, and he's ridiculing himself inly about whether he's made this mistake on purpose or subconsciously. Claude may as well be new blood cells existing inside of him.

While Miyuki vanishes into the closest, the younger boy drops to perch on the edge of the bed, extending legs to cross ankles, leisurely swaying feet, palms placed behind him. Both his eyebrows raise when Miyuki joins him again, in minor disbelief that he was much quicker than he expected.]

Oh, you have, have you?

[ His only criteria for this outfit was: be the absolute girliest thing he could find. Other than that, he didn't bother being terribly discerning with what he figured would be added to the clothing heap on the floor soon anyway. His eyes had caught on anything with bows, lace, ribbon, soft colors and ruffles. And what he ended up choosing is on the hanger pulled out with a flourish.

A pretty pastel thing he holds up in front of him. ]

Cute, right?

[ Muted sarcasm, a grin toned down only to sell how serious he'd like the boy to believe him to be. Inwardly, it's ear to ear and on the verge of giggles. ]

[...Oh. It. Really is cute. There's a delay in his response since he's really looking at it, and slowly he comes off the bed to walk over, going to grab skirt corners and extending it in further observation. Finally, he's daring to commit to look him in the eye, feline's smile just beginning to tug his own lips up.]

Goodness, [can the older boy tell already by the curling lilt that his sly teasing is only going to be met by more,] is this the sort of thing you like? [A bit of the unshy boy who was formerly feeling the other captive up in an effort to distract himself is unearthed, and he lets go of the skirt to slide the scarf off, soft blue eyes still glued to brown ones.] Do you want to see me in it, Miyuki?

[ From the moment after, it is not at all the reaction Miyuki expected. The thought of being stuck in such a thing for the foreseeable future would make any boy fluster immediately. Or so he thought.

But his confusion shows barely on his face. Quick comes the instinct to continue pushing the joke, because the boy must be bluffing to save face. Must be. Just denying Miyuki the payoff, and such a thing is only to be expected when his joke is so similar to the one Alois made, and therefore able to be anticipated and prepared for. Thought of in that way, the other boy's teasing is even kind of cute. And if all it is is bravado meant to outlast Miyuki (which, surely it is), all he needs is to assure the boy again that he is indeed serious when he isn't at all.

So, lowering it slightly as he holds it between them, Miyuki leans in with keener smirk and narrowed eyes. ]

Yeah. I bet it'd look adorable on you.

[He removes ridiculous headbands while waiting for an answer, during it, and his gaze never strays, not until the dress is lowered a bit, and only to glance to it. He had a hunch it was only meant as a joke, but perhaps the teasing wasn't born from this, but Miyuki picturing him in it instead. Maybe he really does like this sort of thing, he's not entirely certain with his reaction. Alois himself had been seriously considering Miyuki's looks when picking the suit out for him after all, so it isn't impossible, is it?

Here, he reaches out to take it.] I guess we won't know until it's on me, huh? Will you button it up for me?

[ And he doesn't try to stop him, though part of him wants to hold tight to the hanger. He can't tell if Alois has the skill and shamelessness to be a formidable opponent, or...

Or he's really, perfectly okay with the idea of wearing the dress. Which is so incredibly foreign a thought that Miyuki accepts it slower than he should. But still, that acceptance creeps up on him along with a feeling of unease, as it changes the slant of their teasing, in retrospect. ]

Try it yourself, first. [ He turns around, a hand lifted casually to wave off their little bout. Much like a white flag. ] If you really can't do it, I'll handle it.

[ There you go, kid, you won — you got him to give up on earning fluster. But surrender comes easy, when there is the feeling sinking into him that the other boy is not denying him that reaction, but does not have it to give. In light of that comes the realization that, though not purposely, it is his fault the other boy is now putting on a dress. The same boy with whom he has been doing certain things with. Whom he is stuck in here with for who knows how long. Who can tease like that despite being condemned to wear some frilly girly thing.

Miyuki doesn't think to look for accessories, one of the reasons being he's not all that into the whole dress-up thing. Do their outfits need to be head-to-toe complete, anyway? He is standing, facing away for the modesty he assumed of the other boy after that earlier reaction to him undressing. That, and he'd rather not watch. He'd be fine not turning back around period, really. ]

[Shy? he wonders, initially, brows dropping a bit, eyes narrowing at the back of Miyuki's head in concerned confusion. It's promptly obliterated by rapidly recalling the older boy's previous reactions, an adamant lack of interest; Alois almost wants to say, to captors, Couldn't I switch with someone else, if you're going to keep me here, anyway? Being captured is one miserable fate—or punishment, cruel cosmic joke—and having to return to, what may as well be, his roots is another, but leaving him with co-captive whose skin looks like its crawling periodically—well, it's enormously distressing.

He's unused to it. He's polished and intended himself to be desirable for such a long time, even knowing that they're strangers, even knowing there's nothing between them, even knowing Miyuki will forget all about him, he wants to demand his attention, and for Miyuki to say, 'You're perfect, you're perfect; I'll never have anyone like you,' and he might feel a little bit comforted then, because he can't do or be anything else.

The dress has been laid on the bed, and with residual, clinging awkwardness, he silently removes clothing. What he wants to do is make his skin crawl right off, and cement the idea he's most sure he's harboring that Alois is syrup of ipecac. Cross every border with the teasing they'd only just shared. And normally, he would, cushioned by the promise that he'll never have to look at his face again, because it'd surely run him off, but who knows how long they're to be here. Perhaps they'll never be sent home, which is to say, that if he isn't going to amplify his loneliness, he's got to keep himself under control. It's obnoxiously challenging.

But Miyuki is spared, and Alois undresses blankly. His gaze goes from brunette hair, to suit, to Miyuki's clothes from home, and with no urgency it occurs to him that his own costume is likely not to receive any finishing touches. And he decides it doesn't matter, not at the rate things are going. The dress isn't as complicated as he thought it might be to get into: the buttons are only at the bodice, an additional one at the collar, and he unfastens them, and slips it over, and reaches around slim back to do them up.

It's an unfairly beautiful color; he wishes he were as wonderful a shade as this, and he wants to look at himself in the mirror, but he doesn't want to say so. It doesn't feel complete, not only without stockings and shoes, but with his shorts present. He dusts his hands over the skirt, and smooths them down the bodice, hugging his waist, and then, unceremoniously, he drops to sit on the edge of the bed.]

Done, [pouts sulky thing, trying to sound bored, and sitting with his legs extended again, with a kind of inattentive, puerile grace. Sylphlike as he is, the dress seems right at home—with dainty, willowy limbs, no accentuated muscle mass, no bulk to disturb the feminine design of it. He sweeps his fingertips absently over his hair, seeking flyaways.]

[ The boy's discontent presses against his back and it's confirmation that Miyuki was so far off the mark. His thoughts of earlier return as he stands there, of how it seemed like Alois wanted the older boy to like him when they first indulged in fakery. Miyuki's teasing is meant to frustrate, to embarrass and provoke. To push. Alois' teasing...

Is flirting, pulling, and putting a name to it only makes it worse. The cascade of thoughts continue to fall and pile up uncomfortably, unable to be sorted out. Why was that what the boy went for, in the face of being made to withstand unwanted touches? And how can a boy of thirteen so effortlessly slip into that sort of thing, as he did moments earlier? Why is he apparently at ease with the idea of wearing girls' clothing? Does he actually want Miyuki specifically, or just his attention, or none of the above?

His head at once hurts sorting out the puzzle with missing pieces and resists trying, when one of the ones he has on hand led him to do an unspeakable thing.

Neither does he want to turn but Miyuki does, pivoting slow on pointed shoes. His eyes are at the dress first, and oh it fits him perfectly. The first impression is like that of a doll, sitting left by itself with no one to pick it up and play with it. All slender and pale, smooth limbs that draw the older boy's eyes away from center. They dip to the fabric draped over legs that disappear underneath, before bobbing quickly up to the boy's pouting face. And despite it all Miyuki huffs lightly, saying something that falls short of his sort of teasing. ]

... I was right.

[ Then he's looking to the monitor, raising his brow and frowning a bit as he waits the seconds for what isn't coming. ]

Guess it's not satisfied. [ Great. He starts to turn again to head into the closet, but beckons Alois. ]

Wanna help me out here? I'm not used to shopping for girls' clothes.

[Alois watches Miyuki looking at him, with staring blue-eyes, lightly kicking one leg. There is a tendency in him, which he's smothering, that wants to jump up, and flaunt, and tease, and ask what he thinks, but he opts for pretending as if it doesn't matter.

When the older one mentions the computer being unsatisfied, Alois also glances to it, and turns back with a mischievous smile at his next words.]

Oh, come now. [He stands, and moves like a little fawn past him, pausing just before the threshold to look back. The words that follow, floating on half of a giggle:] You picked this dress out without any trouble.

[And stifling the potential for really cracking up at him, he moves further into the closet. He must truly find himself funny, because he has to obscure his non-stop grinning behind his palm and fingers, eyes glittering at Miyuki, when he asks,] will it count if I'm choosing for myself?

Edited (forgot da icon. shameful. ) 2017-01-17 02:41 (UTC)

[ Miyuki rolls his eyes as he follows after with much less of a spring in his step. He thought, perhaps, it was mere enthusiasm for the act of picking out accessories, but the amount of giddiness earns a quietly skeptic look from the older boy.

He's not sure what's up. Though, he does concede that Alois has a point. ]

"Choose something for each other"... [ He thinks aloud, going toward the shoe rack on the smaller boy's side of the closet. Shoes are simple, right? Simpler than socks or- or stockings, or whatever he should be looking for there. ]

It didn't say you couldn't give me some guidance.

[ He glances back over to the boy — to the dress, really, before turning back to hook his fingers in a pair of white dress shoes with flat heels. Holding them up for appraisal: ]

These alright?

[Whole afternoons have been gobbled up by catalog browsing, at times, and he can't help but lose himself to browsing now. Especially with the variety of choices, and things so different from what he's seen before. He spots a pair he likes, too, but graciously casts the ones Miyuki selects a glance.]

Those are... not. Bad. [Helpfully,] the color's good! However, [both tiny hands dart out to latch at the heels to pluck up the pair he'd rather wear, and he holds them proudly out for inspection.]

What about these! [practically peeping.] Look, oh, look. They've got hearts, and little charms shaped like stars. [His effervescence gives way to a more serious tone.] Tell me to pick these so that loathsome thing will think it was your idea.

[ Miyuki easily slips those shoes back, but not without some qualms about the ones Alois has chosen. Looking them over, he supposes the sheer girliness of them fits with the dress, but there's one feature in particular that catches his attention: ]

Could you even walk in those things?

[ Honestly though, he somehow doubts the boy will have much trouble, and that makes Miyuki give in easy enough. ]

Fine — I choose those, if you're really set on them. But I'm not carrying you around if you break an ankle.

[ Waving it off, he goes to a nearby container displaying small packages of stockings, shingled in rows by color, style, and height. And he's at a loss — not only from not knowing what to choose but from the feeling that what he's choosing for the other boy now is a bit more intimate than shoes. ]

[Alois follows, and for a moment, he's unsure what they're looking at as well. But, after setting the shoes he's selected down, he reaches in to rip one of the packages open, and what had been rolled up black thigh-highs unravel.] Oh. [The packaging is just different. Or, there's packaging at all seeing as his clothes are made in the house.]

Socks! [He drapes the open thigh-highs over the edge of the container, and begins rummaging. Just shifting packages, but not picking any up. There's so many colors and patterns. When he wonders if they're all thigh-highs, then he starts to open one from each row, and before long, they've a small selection of full stockings, thigh-highs, knee-highs, and little anklet socks to choose from draped as examples.]

We should go with white again, for a dress like this, but we can do either opaque or translucent. [Blinking up at him, now.] From there, it depends on if you want patterned or not, and how high up you want them to go.

[ He would critique how messy he's been about his browsing, but there's something cathartic in watching the other boy's destruction of a part of this place. Miyuki merely watches, idly picks up the edge of a sock between two fingers and lifts it to reveal a translucent thing with a lined pattern he promptly drops. When Alois looks over he meets him, though. ]

Uh. [ Wait — weakly pointing to himself, a bit incredulous, ] Me?

[ If he wants it patterned? How high he wants them to go... ? ]

You don't have your eye on anything?

I see a few I like, [he concedes to the suit he took great care in picking out for Miyuki, more than to Miyuki himself. He does mean possible stocking choices, but it's the suit who gets to hear about it, because Miyuki didn't help choose his own outfit at all. And while this may be fun to some degree, there's an under current of dread sticking like barnacles to his stomach, and the truth is that he just wants to get this over with. The finishing touches aren't as important to him as they would be back home, but that stupid thing isn't content with what they've put on so far.

Air expels from his nose, and his gaze slips back to the array of stockings and the like, and he runs his fingers for something to do along the brim of the container. As he elaborates, his anxious hands end up undoing the thread bit by bit of some peach colored pantyhose.]

But I'm already in a dress, and I don't need to give you anymore reason to laugh at me. The size and style can say a lot, and what it makes the outfit say depends on who's looking at it. So, I could choose one, and you'll think, 'That's a nice outfit. It suits him.' Or, another, and think, instead: 'He looks ridiculous.'

[Hello, again, Suit. (This is an unintended passive-aggression. His feelings are simply bruised easily.)] It comes down to what you fancy. I've already suggested color. And, [staring at socks and all again,] you barely think the word no, and whoever it is keeping us here, has no trouble making sure you're choked. Who's to say how it'll respond if I'm picking out every last thing.

But, just... pick whatever you want, because I don't want to be here anymore.

...

[ Miyuki steps closer to him, ] Hey. [ bringing a hand up to grab the younger boy's chin between thumb and fingers, tipping his face up past the suit to meet Miyuki's stare.

He doesn't want to be here either, but the boy should know that. There's nothing more he thinks to say about their situation and he's made it clear what his intentions regarding it are. He addresses something else instead — implications that irk him because not only is the boy wrong, Miyuki wishes he was right.

Without trace of a grin, just a bit of an edge, ] If I was laughing at you? You'd know.

[ Not like he hides it. Not like he's in the habit of taking care not to bruise others' feeling at all, really. But Miyuki hasn't been laughing since he'd put on the dress, because there isn't something to laugh at.

He releases him, pausing. Before his hand goes to the top of Alois' head instead. His fingertips run gently through some strands, before his palm rests atop hair. And then ruffles it, Miyuki turning already before lifting it and his attention away from the boy.

His discomfort is set aside for the moment as he looks over the choices and comes to a decision blended from what would, aesthetically, look right (as far as he can tell) and what he himself would prefer if it were him. The boy has given up in a huff, apparently, but Miyuki still talks out his reasoning aloud as he's shifting and picking through them. ]

Translucent'd probably make sense, right? If it's solid, that's a lot of white, with the shoes... Shorter socks would look weird with a dress like that...

[ It'd be best if the top of them didn't show, but it seems to the older boy like full-length stockings are awkward things. Thigh-highs, then, would accomplish the same outward appearance but be that more familiar two-separate-sock system.

Then for pattern... he takes up a pair with a band of opaque lace at the very tops, a translucence down the rest of the length, and a subtle pattern therein of, simply, vertical white lines. Miyuki goes to the other boy and offers them. ]

Let's go with these.

[Upon the first word of his reply, Alois' eyes are slower than Miyuki's fingers, which have taken his gaze by the hand and firmly lead it to the older boy's visage proper. Initially, the younger of the pair is, even privately, uncertain—instinct, aside—as to why his own shoulders lock up, and his lashes go further apart, anxiety intensifying fleetingly. And as Miyuki takes to caressing his hair, then tousling it, that disquietude morphs into a strange creature of itself and something soothed, neither allowing the other sensation full-fledged room. A puppy, accustomed to being struck or starved or both, thankful to its new owner, who must still discipline but is worlds kinder, wiggling on its belly and thumping its tail after being scolded.

Miyuki's reasoning doesn't quite reach him, while youth stares at him and tries to parse out this murmur of familiarity. It doesn't come to him in a rush, since in more regards than not, they're nothing alike. But a mirage of Claude stands over Miyuki—taller, broader, golden-eyed, hair combed back, and all at once Alois understands that the previous assertive gesture, disguising itself as a trivial thing, was redolent of the same manner in which Claude, authoritative and guiding, hushes his uninhibited and soft little master.

Smoothing hand over his hair, or tipping his chin just the same, holding his cheeks and making certain Alois can see the bearing of his eyes; and Alois, oblivious, thrumming, nudging him away at the wrists, shying, shying, shying, not spurred on to try to fool Claude, but curling away from a deluge of Claude.

In short, simple, seemingly innocuous gesticulation that can make him grow fonder of someone, but it isn't his fault, he's deliberately been pruned this way. Not to say that this happens now, only the sinking realization that love is formed of a collection of moments like these.

The older boy is holding what he's chosen out to Alois, who's still staring at Miyuki himself, and his eyes are slow to descend, latching dumbfounded to the thigh-highs. His cognizance trudges out of recent past to catch up with both boys and their current goal. They will do nicely with the dress. A moth of a thing, his tiny smile appears, and he turns to reach out for them.]

All right. I'll put these and the shoes on, then. [And stooping only to pluck the heels up again, he shuffles back into the main room and drops on the bed to begin setting to the task of pulling thigh-highs on and up.]

[ He watches him leave, not following after. And Miyuki's hand goes to his own hair then, brushing it back as he shuts his eyes for a moment. Jeez, if that's what shopping with a girlfriend is like, he understands his fellow teammates' grousing about not having time for one even less than before.

But more seriously, he's content with knocking off the malaise that had grown on the boy's mind under his radar. Being a little harsh to those in his charge is quite familiar, sometimes even more than a little. It can be necessary at times to bring them out of whatever mental hole they've dug themselves into. He'd thought he'd scared the younger boy before, but perhaps a bit of firmness is safe. Effective, even.

He goes to exit the closet as Alois is pulling on the second sock, and Miyuki's eyes divert themselves off to the wall as though he'd intended to look there in the first place, continuing to walk as he was. It occurs to him then, and he wishes it didn't, that the boy was not wearing underwear in his regular clothing for some reason. So then...

Miyuki plops down on the end of the bed, facing the monitor wall, as he waffles between asking or not or whether it matters. Because it shouldn't — in both the sense that the outfit looks plenty complete to him! And also, there shouldn't be any weirdness to it.

He leans his hands back on the bed, casually: ]

Are you wearing your shorts under there?

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