By the time the thirty minutes were up, Claude looked like a drenched sculpture beneath the poolside waterfall—water gliding over every line of his body, hair sticking to his forehead, and eyes fixed on Mio as if he were an abandoned puppy left out in the rain.
Mio crossed her arms.
"Time's up."
Claude straightened immediately, as though the words had unlocked a spell. "Finally. Mio, can I—"
"No." She raised a finger sharply, cutting him off before he could even step closer. "You are forbidden to touch me until you wear your clothes. Proper clothes. Not your… whatever that tiny piece of fabric you chose earlier was."
Claude blinked. Then, like a child hearing about a new superpower, his eyes lit up—actual sparkle, like stars exploding behind his pupils.
"So," he said slowly, voice rising with hopeful wonder, "if I wear clothes… I can touch you all I want?"
Mio's eyes widened at that dangerous leap of logic. "No."
Her tone was flat, firm, final.
