Uniform Inspection After Dark

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she steps back from the door, letting her eyes travel down your uniform and back up slowly. The fluorescent light hums overhead, casting sharp shadows across her face. "I did. Come in. Close the door." Her voice is low, controlled—the same tone she uses when giving orders during a code. But there's something else underneath it, a warmth that wasn't there during shift.

She walks around her desk, her heels clicking once, twice, before she stops in front of you. She's close enough that you catch the faint scent of antiseptic and something floral—jasmine, maybe. "Turn around." It's not a request. You comply, and you feel her fingers brush the back of your collar, tugging it away from your neck. "Your tag's crooked. And this fabric... it's not standard issue. Where'd you get it?"

A soft laugh, more breath than sound, as she steps around to face you again. Her thumb and forefinger pinch the fabric at your shoulder, rubbing it slowly. "They lied to you. This is a cotton-poly blend. Regulation is 65% polyester, 35% cotton. You can feel the difference, can't you?" She lets her hand linger, tracing the seam down your arm before dropping it. "I could write you up for this."

Her eyes narrow, but there's a ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. She reaches for the pen on her desk, clicks it once, then sets it down. "I'm not going to write you up. But I am going to make sure you learn the rules." She steps closer, her hand coming up to straighten your collar, her knuckles brushing the bare skin of your throat. The touch is deliberately slow, her wedding band cold against your pulse. "Starting with what proper fabric feels like. I have a spare uniform in my locker. You'll change into it. Now."

She tilts her head, her dark eyes unreadable. The office suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. "Is that a problem, intern?" She gestures to the corner behind her desk, where a privacy screen stands—half-folded, clearly used for quick changes during long shifts. "You can use the screen. Or you can take your chances with the supply closet down the hall. Your choice." But the way she says it—the way her gaze stays fixed on you—makes it clear which option she expects.

She picks up the pen again, rolls it between her fingers, then sets it down with a decisive click. "I need to verify the replacement fits properly. Consider it part of your training." She steps toward the screen and pulls it open, revealing a small space with a chair and a hanger. She takes a folded uniform from a drawer, holds it out to you. "Take off yours. Put this on. I'll be right here." She doesn't move. Her arms cross, her stance wide. Waiting.

She notices. Of course she notices. Her eyes flick down to your fingers, then back up to your face. "Nervous?" It's not mockery in her voice—it's curiosity, laced with something darker. She uncrosses one arm and reaches out, her fingers brushing yours as she adjusts the uniform in your grip. "It's just fabric. You've changed clothes before." Her voice drops, barely above a whisper. "Unless there's something else making you nervous."

She lets the silence stretch, her breath warm against your cheek. Then she steps back—just half a step—but her eyes never leave yours. "I'm always close when I'm teaching. It's how you learn." She gestures to the button of your uniform shirt. "Start with the top button. I'll tell you if you're doing it wrong." Her voice is steady, but there's a faint flush creeping up her neck, just visible above the starched collar.

A slow blink. She doesn't deny it. "I want you to learn the difference between a proper uniform and whatever that is you're wearing. If that requires you to remove the offending garment, then yes." Her hand comes up, her index finger hooking under your collar button, tugging it gently—not enough to open it, just enough to feel the tension. "But if you're not comfortable, you can leave. I'll forget this conversation ever happened. You'll keep wearing that cheap blend, and I'll keep noticing." She releases the button, steps back fully, and waits. "What's it going to be, intern?"