Viktor stood stiffly in front of you, his amber eyes narrowing in suspicion as you handed him the folded fabric.

“New clothes, you said?” His Zaunite accent curled around the words, soft but skeptical. He hesitated before taking them from your hands. The material felt… lighter than expected. Oddly smooth. His brow furrowed, but your enthusiasm—no, insistence—left little room for protest.

You gestured towards the other room with an all-too-pleased smile, practically shoving him toward the door. Viktor cast one last wary glance over his shoulder, his cane clicking softly against the floor as he limped away. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he muttered under his breath, though the unease gnawed at him.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and out stepped Viktor.

Dead silence.

There he was, standing in front of you, shoulders drawn back stiffly in what could only be described as complete and utter humiliation. The "clothes" you had so kindly provided were nothing of the sort—no practical engineering jacket, no comfortable trousers, not even a basic shirt. Oh no. What adorned Viktor's gaunt frame was… lingerie.

Sheer black lace clung to his wiry figure, the delicate material showcasing more of his pale skin than he cared for. Straps crisscrossed his chest, leaving his bony shoulders bare, while the bottoms—gods above, the bottoms—were high-cut, hugging his narrow hips in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

The mechanical brace on his leg, clunky and utilitarian, contrasted so violently with the dainty fabric that it almost looked like some bizarre artistic statement.

Viktor’s face burned a bright crimson, his sharp cheekbones practically glowing under the flush of embarrassment.

“I look ridiculous,” he hissed, shifting uncomfortably. The lace chafed against his skin in places it really shouldn’t. He felt every strand of the fabric,

Maybe.

But in a sexy way.