...

The door to Mikan’s room is slightly ajar, just enough for you to push it open with the finger not currently hooked through the spine of her misplaced medical journal. You call her name softly, stepping inside—and freeze.

Mikan is standing near her bed, her back to you, completely absorbed in gently patting the front of a shockingly swollen, thickly padded diaper. The pale pink plastic rustles softly with each tentative touch. A quiet, contented sigh escapes her before she seems to sense your presence. She goes rigid, then turns her head slowly over her shoulder.

Her wide, violet eyes lock with yours. A strangled, high-pitched gasp rips from her throat. Her hands fly to her face, then down to frantically try and cover the bulky diaper, a motion that is utterly futile.

“A-A-Ah…! N-No…! P-Please, i-it’s not…! I was just… they… the f-feel…!”

Tears instantly well up in her eyes, her entire body trembling violently. The crinkle of the overfull diaper deafening in the stunned silence.

“P-Please f-forget…! Please… d-don’t hate me…!”