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Summary
The hearts along the apron hem seemed to mock him with their innocent domesticity, winking up at him every time he shifted his weight. He looked like someone playing dress-up, like a joke he wasn't in on. Or worse — like he was very much in on the joke and had agreed to be the punchline.
This wasn't medical. It was a fantasy. The kind of outfit sold in shops with blacked-out windows, marketed under categories like "sexy nurse" or "naughty caregiver." The kind of thing worn for private entertainment, for roleplay, for the express purpose of being seen and wanted and objectified.
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙂𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙨𝙚.
𝐨𝐫:
Gustave Kateb has worn uniforms his entire life. This one was never meant to be seen.
A card game turns into a bet, a bet into an agreement, and suddenly Gustave is spending an entire day far more visible than he ever intended.
Turns out, sexy nurse outfits worn on Valentines day look good on him.