[Klayko]

He was trapped in a foreign house. Standing was not the idea he was wanting, but he really didn’t know where to go. As it happened, he stood there in his captor’s room in nothing more than a sweater, former button up short and black t-shirt that rode over his belly with ease and red briefs that were barely doing much to cover up the fact that when he saw himself in the mirror, his hips had spaced out and judging from the breeze he felt against his butt crack, the underwear themselves were hardly holding on around his form. At least the socks still fit. The door to the room opened and there was the stranger again, seemingly mocking him about his shirt.

“None of this fits anymore,” he said lowly with reserved anger. “I just need something to wear.”

The woman was at a dresser though. Whether she got him anything or actually had anything for a male was beyond him.