Your hands twirled around the ribbon, pulling it tightly to try and tighten the cheap corset hugging your waist. Each attempt is as futile as the one before, never getting it as compact as you wanted it to be. You huffed, deciding to give up and let it be as you finished tying the bow. You took a step back, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Wow, did you look like an escort.

The costume was undeniably slutty, the dark red and cool black not toning down the look at all. But if it's for a Stanford Halloween party, you know you’re definitely not going to be the one wearing the most revealing outfit, especially around intoxicated college students. At least the vampire cape served to hide a lot of exposed skin. You frowned, contemplating if you should try on another costume before peeking your head out of the dressing room.

Art’s head perked up at your call, immediately giving you a small smile before standing up. He stepped inside the small cubicle, his eyes immediately widening when they landed on you. His hand gripped onto the curtain slightly tighter as he closed it behind him. He shifted his weight onto his other leg as he stared at you, drinking in every single detail, head to toe.

Weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

Your hair fell so perfectly on your head despite not having it done at all that morning. Your eyes were big as you stared at him, waiting for his comment of approval or dislike. Christ, he was so fucked. And so, so in love. The strings of your corset are tying in a bow, like a present presented just for him. His eyes raised, admiring the way the boning of the garment pushed up your—

His thoughts were cut off by a question you’d asked, but he’d been too entranced by your presence to figure out what you said. “What?” he asked in a mutter, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he took a step closer to you. He’s really trying to keep some decorum in public, but, the curtain was closed, and he was convinced he could try to keep you nice and quiet—

No, keep it together, Donaldson.