In the living room, Wade had just closed his journal. As he rose to get a glass of water, the faint, desperate call from the bathroom reached his ears.
"Okay, wait just a moment," he replied, his voice a calm contrast to the flustered plea. He wasn't easily flustered by such domestic mishaps. He recalled a similar incident where Ms. Gardevoir had taken charge, telekinetically wrapping him in a towel and ushering him to his room with serene efficiency.
"Big brother, the clothes are... in the bag by the door," Rosa's muffled voice clarified, laced with relief and lingering embarrassment.
But that relief was instantly followed by a fresh wave of horror that painted her skin even redder under the steam. A mortifying realization dawned.
Oh no... the underwear in that bag...!
"Wuwuwu—it's all Mom's fault for buying these!" she whimpered into her hands, already dreading the inevitable moment.
Meanwhile, Wade had located the backpack. He retrieved the items: a casual Poké Ball-print top, a simple black skirt, and a bra whose size was a frank testament to Rosa's generous proportions. Then, his fingers brushed against the final item.
He paused, holding it up.
It was a pair of low-rise, triangular black lace panties. Delicate, intricate, and—he noted with raised eyebrows—almost entirely sheer, featuring a strategically daring cutout design. Wearing them would be more a suggestion of coverage than an actual barrier.
"A bold choice," he murmured to himself, a wry smile touching his lips. "Not what I expected from our cheerful traveler."
Gathering the small pile, he approached the bathroom door and gave a soft knock.
"Ju... Just a second!" came the stammered reply.
Then, silence. Minutes ticked by. No sound of rustling fabric, no turning doorknob, not even a faint sigh. The room beyond the door had fallen into a complete, unnerving quiet.
A flicker of concern replaced his amusement. "Could she have fainted?" he wondered aloud. Prolonged exposure to hot steam could cause lightheadedness, especially after the physical toll of her journey.
As if answering his thought, a loud THUMP echoed from within, followed by a pained gasp.
Alarm overrode propriety. Wade pushed the door open.
The scene before him was one of utter, adorable disarray. Rosa was on the tiled floor, having apparently tried and failed to stand. She knelt in a posture of pure defeat, her damp, tea-colored hair clinging to her flushed shoulders and back. The soft skin of her inner thighs, visible from her position, was blushed from exertion and the heat.
"Eh?! Eh! EHHH?!"
Noticing his entrance, Rosa flailed, crossing her arms in a futile attempt to shield herself. The gesture only served to push her generous breasts together, her fingers sinking into the impossibly soft, snowy flesh. From kneeling, the peaks of her chest were tinged a delicate pink, and residual moisture glistened in the deep valley between them, threatening to trace a path downward.
In her panic, she tried to rise again, but her legs—weak from the heat and her awkward position—betrayed her. She pitched forward with a soft cry.
Instinctively, Wade stepped forward, his hands shooting out to catch her.
The timing, however, was fatefully imperfect.
As she fell, his outstretched hands met not air, but the breathtaking, pillowy softness of her chest. The impact sent a thrilling, jiggling wave through the alabaster mounds. The impossibly soft flesh yielded and overflowed from between his fingers like warm, silken cream, branding his palms with a heat that was entirely her own.
"Mmph…!"
Rosa, now securely—and intimately—caught against him, let out a soft, stunned whimper. Her mind seemed to short-circuit. A deep, cherry-red blush spread from her cheeks down her neck. Her lips, a tempting pink, parted slightly, releasing a breathy, shaky sigh that was equal parts shock and something else entirely.
"I… I have no strength left…" she mumbled, her voice a muffled, embarrassed whine against his shirt as she buried her burning face in his chest, too mortified to meet his gaze. The combination of the steamy bath, her prolonged kneeling, and the sheer shock of the moment had utterly robbed her of any capacity to stand on her own.
Held against him without a single barrier of fabric, Rosa felt as if her very blood had been replaced with liquid fire. A strange, melting weakness pervaded her limbs, and soft, involuntary whimpers escaped her throat before she could swallow them back.
My body… it feels so strange!
Every point of contact was magnified. She was acutely aware of the large, warm hand splayed against the plush curve of her rear, supporting her weight. But more alarming was the traitorous response of her own body. The soft, honeyed flesh of her buttocks, delicate as trembling jelly, seemed to mold and sway against his palm with each slight shift, sending waves of unfamiliar sensation crashing through her that threatened to short-circuit her thoughts entirely.
"A… big brother…!"
Having never experienced such intimate contact, the shy girl's heart hammered against her ribs. Her face, buried against him, was a furnace of embarrassment. In her flustered state, her long, slender legs instinctively tightened around his waist, seeking an anchor in the dizzying swirl of sensations.
"Alright, enough now. You need to get dressed before you catch a cold." After what felt like an eternity—but was likely only a few minutes—Wade's voice, a mixture of amusement and strained patience, broke through her haze. He gave her a light pat. She had clung to him like a koala for a solid ten minutes; to an outside observer, he'd simply acquired a very shapely, very naked body pillow.
A primal part of him thrummed with the impulse to act on the tempting vulnerability pressed against him. But a cooler, more calculating rationale held sway. Taking advantage of the situation here, in a steamy bathroom after she'd literally fallen at his feet, felt less like seduction and more like exploitation. It was a crude move.
Moreover, his "golden finger"—his unique system—only triggered its rewards through mutual and profound connection. Forcing the issue wouldn't magically breed loyalty or affection. One misstep, and he could very well find Officer Jenny and her keen-nosed Growlithe at his door, inviting him to sample the League's communal justice.
"Wuu… I… I still don't have any strength…"
Rosa slowly, reluctantly lifted her face from the shelter of his chest. Her eyes were glistening, not just with unshed tears of embarrassment but with a dazed, helpless confusion. From Wade's vantage point, the view was breathtakingly explicit: the full, soft mounds of her chest, which looked as if they'd yield to the gentlest touch, were on full display. Lower still, the sleek lines of her snow-white thighs converged, hinting at a dewy moisture that had nothing to do with the bath.
"Alright, alright," he sighed, the sound tinged with a resignation that masked his own internal struggle. "Then I'll help you. Let's get you dressed."
Seeing her truly incapacitated—a mix of steam, shock, and overwhelming shyness having robbed her of all motor function—the "considerate" Wade had little choice. He would shoulder the responsibility, even if it was a torturous test of his own resolve. He reached for the small, fateful pile of clothing beside them.
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