Harold had exactly three hours to complete his initiation task, and he'd already wasted forty minutes of it standing outside Kappa Delta holding a box of Russell Stover chocolates like an idiot.

The plan, as Chad from Omega Sig had explained it—with the breezy confidence of someone who would never face consequences—was simple: sneak in, grab a pair of panties off the sisters' hall, bring back proof. A "panty raid," tradition since the seventies, hashtag wholesome, no girls allowed beyond the property line so technically they couldn't complain.

The problem started when Harold tripped over a garden hose, sailed through an open window, and landed in the middle of the KD chapter room during their emergency costume meeting.

The second problem started when the Tomlin twins walked in.

They were legend on campus. Not "hot twins" legend—"untouchable" legend. Nobody had ever gotten a date with either Harper or Hayden Tomlin. They'd turned down the quarterback. They'd turned down the guy whose dad owned the arena downtown. The general theory was that they were waiting for something, though nobody knew what.

Hayden looked down at Harold, sprawled across their meeting room floor still clutching his box of chocolates.

"Drop-in," she said.

"He jumped through the window with candy," Harper said, delighted. "That's the most romantic thing that's happened on this campus in a decade."

"It's chocolate with a lid," Harold managed.

"He's a thief with thoughtful energy," Harper insisted. "Someone get him out of those wet clothes before the whole—" she gestured vaguely at his mud-caked polo, "—situation drips on our Costume Committee inventory."

This is how Harold came to be sitting in the KD chapter room fifteen minutes later, wearing borrowed clothes that very much belonged in the Costume Committee inventory: a pleated skirt, a cardigan with pearl buttons, and — and this is where his night truly left the rails — a pair of satin bloomers from the Victorian-era display, because Harper insisted his jeans were "structurally pessimistic."

"You look so put together," Hayden said, taking photos for the chapter scrapbook.

"I look like a museum exhibit."

"A cute museum exhibit."

And that's when it happened. Harper sat down across from him, pushed her hair behind her ear, and said the sentence that would be carved into his tombstone:

"Friday. Both of us. You, us, dinner. We've been waiting all semester for someone interesting. Are you in or out?"

"Both—" Harold's voice cracked into a register that matched his outfit. "Both of you?"

"We coordinate. It's a twin thing. Wear this."

He wore it back to the frat house. Of course he wore it back. He was a man of his word, even now.

________________________________________

The chapter room went silent when he walked in. Twelve seniors, three juniors, one guy named Beef who was legally just called Beef, all frozen mid-beer.

Chad recovered first, his face cycling through several emotions before settling on horror. "Johnson. Johnson. What—why are you dressed like this?! You were supposed to bring back a pair of panties!"

"I did," Harold said, adjusting his cardigan. "I'm wearing them."

The silence got quieter somehow. Somewhere, a ping pong ball rolled to a stop.

"Wait," said Beef slowly, staring. "Are those... from the Victorian display?"

"They're historically accurate and surprisingly breathable."

Chad's eye twitched. "You—you crossed an officer of this fraternity's sacred line of—"

"Could we hurry this up?" Harold checked a phone that did not have a time on it because he was performing for his life. "I have a date with the Tomlin twins, and they don't really want to wait."

Every single jaw in the room dropped in unison, like a choreographed move. The Tomlin twins. The guys had a running tally on the whiteboard. Highest streak: zero.

"With—wait, no one has gotten a date with them! Ever!" Chad's voice went shrill. "How did you—wearing that—that—" He just pointed at him, hand trembling, unable to land on any specific element of the ensemble. The skirt? The pearls? The bloomers situation, which everyone was now realizing the implications of?

Harold examined his nails, which honestly completed the look. "Yeah, they found the clothes. And I really want mine back. Besides, these shoes are killing me."

"You're keeping the shoes?"

"He's keeping the shoes," Beef whispered, awed. "The legend keeps the shoes."

Chad stared at him for a long moment—at his pledge, standing in the fluorescent light in a skirt and pearls, holding the phone number of the two most wanted women on campus and possibly in the tri-county area. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Just—just leave," he said, with the exhausted sigh of a man watching his entire power structure collapse. "Initiation's done. You passed. I don't even know what we were testing anymore. Leave."

Harold smiled, gathered his skirt like a duchess boarding a carriage, and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Chad?" He paused at the threshold. "Those are vintage bloomers. If I don't return them by Monday, the Costume Committee finds you."

Another AI Experiment. The last one? Yeah, still not happy with how it cane out. It was flat. Hope this turns out better. Used Lumo 2.0 Max, Proton's new AI. Not sure, it seems fun, but I think it needs to apologize to Bru. I think it has been reading his stuff. This could end poorly.