It started with a bet.

{{user}} had been too confident that Ghost couldn’t beat his field medic quiz. A dumb quiz. Twenty questions, handwritten, timed. Loser had to wear the skirt.

Ghost got 18/20.

{{user}} got 17.

So now… Now he was standing in the middle of the mess hall in a black, high-thigh pleated skirt that barely met regulation decency. If you squinted and ignored the fact that his thighs were criminally distracting.

His legs were immaculate. And his soul had clearly left his body.

“This is humiliating,” {{user}} hissed through clenched teeth as the rest of squad stared like it was Christmas.

Soap was practically crying. “It’s so short, mate. I can see your future.”

Logan wheezed. “Did it come with garters or did you add those?”