Page 29 of Unbound
My stomach clenched. "I should go inside."
"Miller." Tyler caught my arm as I turned toward the door. "You know you can talk to us, right? If anything... weird happens. We've got your back."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and escaped into the house. But even surrounded by familiar voices and familiar faces,I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted.
My fraternity brothers thought Adrian was hunting me.
The terrifying part wasn’t that they might be right.
The terrifying part was the possibility that I didn't want him to stop, that maybe whatever he saw in me that made him pursue me wanted to come out. Wanted to be recognized. Freed.
Sunday morning before church, alone in my apartment, I found myself standing in my bedroom holding the grey pair like they might burn me.
Nobody would know.
I could try them on, and if they felt wrong or made me feel too different, I could take them off and forget this ever happened.
I peeled off my standard white briefs and stepped into the grey.
Oh.
They fit like they'd been tailored for me specifically. The fabric moved with my body instead of against it, soft and supportive and completely different from anything I'd ever worn.
I looked in the mirror.
I looked... different. Not obscene. Not inappropriate. Just—defined. Adult. Like someone who inhabited his own body with intention instead of apology.
Like someone who made choices.
The grey would look incredible on you,Adrian had said.But I'm biased.
Except he hadn't said that. Couldn't have said that. We'd neverdiscussed this. He'd just somehow known, and bought them, and handed them to me in the student union with Rebecca sitting right there, and—
I sat down hard on my bed.
This was insane.
This was a test, maybe. Some kind of elaborate setup to expose me. Prove I was what they all suspected.
Except Adrian's note hadn't felt cruel. It felt like... permission.
Life's too short for boring underwear.
I wore the grey pair to church.
I sat in the third pew from the front, my usual spot, wearing my best suit and most penitent expression. Father sat beside me, Mother on his other side, the three of us presenting the picture of faithful devotion that our congregation expected.
Nobody could see them. That was the point, wasn't it? They were hidden beneath my dress pants, my secret, my choice. But I could feel them—the soft fabric against my skin, moving with me instead of bunching awkwardly. A constant, tangible reminder of everything I was trying not to think about.
Pastor Caldwell was preaching about temptation this morning. About the subtle ways Satan worked to corrupt the righteous, using seemingly innocent encounters to plant seeds of doubt and rebellion. About the importance of recognizing spiritual warfare when it came disguised as intellectual curiosity.
I shifted slightly in the pew, acutely aware of how the underwear fit. How right they felt. How wearing them made me feel like I was inhabiting my own body with intention instead of apology.
Like someone who made choices.
I tried to focus on the sermon. Really tried. But my mind kept wandering to dark eyes and challenging questions and the way Adrian's voice dropped when he said my name. Every time Pastor Caldwell mentioned the devil's deception, I found myself thinking about constitutional law and moral authority—and expensive underwear that fit like they'd been tailored for me specifically.
The crack in my certainty seemed to widen with each passing day. With each subtle shift of fabric against my skin, reminding me that I'd already crossed a line I couldn't uncross.
