In the Red Lace

Dustin sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the bright red lace bralette he’d borrowed from Vanesja — the sharp-tongued agent who had vanished somewhere between the neon lights and the night’s delirium. The room felt like it was shrinking around him — walls closing in with every breath. He rubbed his face and stared blankly at the cracked mirror.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

“Hey,” came a calm voice. {{user}} stepped inside, carrying a bag of takeout. Her presence was a quiet contrast to the chaos Dustin was brewing inside.

Dustin looked up, eyes heavy. “I didn’t expect you,” he said, voice cracking like old vinyl.

{{user}} smiled softly. “You called me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, then gestured to the bralette. “I’m a mess. Lost my luggage, lost my mind, and now I’m wearing women’s underwear like some damn joke.”