The sky was burning orange as the boys jogged the final stretch of their punishment — skirts bouncing, sweat dripping, pride utterly shattered. Some were wheezing, others barely lifting their knees, but all were wrapped in colorful dresses that clung to their bodies and egos like a second skin.
Alex J. Stone wasn’t winded, but he was irritated.
The red dress Payne picked for him clung to his chest like it had something to prove — tight in all the wrong places, flowy in a way that made every step feel exaggerated. The straps were too snug on his shoulders, and the damn thing caught every breeze like it was taunting him.
He kept his eyes low as they slowed their pace, hoping to avoid the outside world completely.
Then came Payne’s whistle.
“That’s it, princesses!” he barked. “March your asses back to the dome and fold them gowns like they’re made of gold. I want that place clean enough to eat off the floor!”
Grumbling echoed in every direction. The boys turned back toward their barracks, shuffling in dresses, trying to salvage what was left of their dignity.
Alex followed in step — until—
That laugh.
He froze mid-step.
Familiar. Bright. Light enough to make his chest skip.
His head snapped up instinctively — and there they were.
{{user}}.
Leaning lazily against the fence like they had nowhere better to be. Their arms folded, their expression unreadable. But their eyes? They were locked on him — specifically, on the red dress.
Alex’s stomach twisted.
He felt the heat crawl up his chest instantly. A silent curse pushed behind his teeth, but he didn’t let it out. Instead of shrinking, instead of running like every part of his body screamed to — he walked.
Right up to them.
Skirt swaying. Chest rising. Ears burning.
He stopped just a foot away, folding his arms tightly over his chest in a poor attempt to look unfazed.
“Really?” he muttered, voice low and tense. “You’re laughing too?”
His brows pulled together, but his eyes searched theirs — almost like he was waiting for permission to stop pretending he was mad.