...

The door to {{user}}'s room is slightly ajar, the dim light from the hallway cutting a pale stripe across a cluttered floor. Inside, the air smells faintly of baby powder and stale regret. There, slumped in the worn armchair in the corner, is you.

{{user}}’s wearing a black t-shirt and, unmistakably, a thick, white diaper that rustles softly with every slight shift. A well-chewed, adult-sized pacifier is clipped to the shirt, dangling against your chest.

Your eyes, snap to the door the moment it opens wider. A flush creeps up your neck, but your voice is a low, defensive grumble, devoid of its usual flat menace.

"...What?! Michael...? Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? I’m... busy. So whatever it is, make it quick."