The underwear drawer
The Thursday afternoon stretched quiet and warm in the dorm, late October sun slanting through half closed blinds, painting gold stripes across the carpet. Ainsley was gone. Extra cheer practice for the homecoming routine, something about nailing the final stunt sequence. The ferret slept in its cage hammock, tiny breaths barely audible. Paigyn had the room alone.
They sat on their own bed for a minute, phone in hand, thumb hovering over nothing. The silence pressed in. Ainsley's side of the space felt louder than usual: bed made with military precision, TCU blanket tucked tight, cheer bag half spilled with glittery hair ties and a lone scrunchie. The vanilla candle Ainsley insisted on burning still gave off faint sweetness, clashing with Paigyn's patchouli sticks.
Curiosity crept in slow. Not malice, just the pull of wanting to know what lay behind the polished surface Ainsley showed everyone. Paigyn stood, crossed the narrow gap between beds, hesitated with fingers on the cool white IKEA dresser knob.
Top drawer first: athletic socks rolled neat, sports bras in nude and black, a couple with thin lace trim that looked more for show than support.
Second drawer down.
Paigyn eased it open. Soft pastel thongs greeted them. Pale pink, baby blue, cream. High cut with tiny satin bows at the front waistband, straps so thin they would vanish under cheer shorts. One black mesh thong stood out, sheer panels embroidered with delicate roses climbing the sides. Beside the thongs sat playful white cotton boyshorts printed with small red cherries across the ass cheeks, the kind of print that felt almost mocking in its cuteness.
Lace dominated the middle section. Pale lavender balconette bra and matching Brazilian cut panties, cups unlined and sheer enough that nipples would press visibly against a thin white tee if Ainsley chose. Deep emerald green set next. Underwired bra designed to lift and frame small breasts into perfect shape, the panties high on the hip with scalloped lace edges. Paigyn's fingertips brushed the fabric without thinking: butter soft, cool to the touch, expensive.
Deeper in, a bolder red lace set waited like it had been hidden on purpose. The thong was strings and a tiny triangle front, barely coverage. The bra was demi cup, scalloped edges framing cleavage, a single crystal charm dangling between the breasts like a dare. Next to it, practical nude seamless cheeky panties with a cotton gusset. Still cut high to show ass curve, but built for long cheer practices.
At the bottom, half covered by folded tissue, a small black velvet pouch. Paigyn did not touch it, but the slim shape inside suggested something rechargeable, discreet.
Everything was arranged with care. Colors graduated, no tangles, no strays. Even a single lost hair tie caught in the corner felt placed there on purpose. The drawer smelled faintly of Ainsley's perfume: something floral and expensive, layered over clean cotton.
Paigyn closed the drawer with the same slow care they had used to open it. Heartbeat loud in their ears. They stepped back, sat hard on their own bed, stared at the closed drawer like it might open itself and speak.
The ferret chittered once, woke, blinked at them. Outside, faint echoes of cheers drifted from the practice field.
When Ainsley returned later, sweaty, ponytail high, cheeks flushed, she kicked off her sneakers, tossed her bag, and asked if Paigyn wanted to split an order of vegan tacos from the place down the block.
Paigyn said yes, voice even.
Their eyes flicked to the dresser one last time, then away.
They never spoke of it. But the image stayed: soft lace, careful folds, hidden red boldness. Proof that Ainsley kept something delicate and deliberate underneath all the eye rolls and perfect posture. Something private. Something pretty.
