The week with Maria had been a grueling education in the difference between "loved property" and "used property." While Ash treated Lace like a lucky charm, Maria treated him like a disposable rag. He was stiff, salt-caked, and emotionally hollow by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around.
The sound of Ash’s key in the lock was the most beautiful vibration Lace had felt in seven days.
Ash dropped her bass bag with a heavy thud, looking exhausted and smelling of road-stop coffee. "Maria! I’m back! Give him over, I’ve got a midterm tomorrow and I’m not doing it without my lucky pair."
Maria sauntered out of her bedroom, holding Lace between two fingers like he was something she’d found under the couch. He was rumpled, his lavender color looking duller, and his music-note branding was pulsing a faint, sickly yellow.
"Here," Maria said, tossing the garment onto the kitchen table. "He’s a bit of a whiner, Ash. I asked him if he liked the gym, and he pulsed 'no' for three hours straight. Honestly, he’s lucky he’s cute, because his attitude is trash."
The Inspection
Ash picked Lace up. She immediately frowned, feeling the grit of dried sweat in his fibers. "Jesus, Maria, did you even wash him? He’s stiff as a board."
"I was busy," Maria shrugged. "Besides, he’s underwear. That’s what he’s for, right?"
Ash looked down at the lavender panties. She felt a strange surge of protectiveness—the kind of feeling one has for a favorite instrument that’s been mistreated. She pulled out her phone and checked the TFRM logs.
> Log Summary: User 'Maria'
> * Total Wear Time: 114 Hours
> * Activity Level: Extreme (Gym/Running)
> * Communication: 412 'No' pulses, 12 'Yes' pulses.
> * Integrity: 82% (Stress at seams)
>
>
"Lace?" Ash whispered, her voice a low vibration. "You still in there?"
Lace pulsed once. It was a weak, shuddering vibration. It wasn't the "yes" of a lucky charm; it was the "yes" of a survivor.
The Restoration
Ash walked Maria out and immediately took Lace to the bathroom. She didn't just throw him in the sink; she ran a warm bath for herself, stripping off her touring clothes.
"I'm sorry, dude," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the tub. "I didn't think she'd be that much of a bitch. Let's get you cleaned up."
She submerged him in the warm, sudsy water. To Lace, it felt like his soul was being put back together. The warmth seeped into his cramped fibers, dissolving the salt and the "Maria" of it all. As Ash scrubbed him gently with her thumbs, she toggled the communication lock.
[COMMUNICATION LOCK: DISABLED]
[SENSORY FEED: SYNCED]
"Can you talk yet?" she asked.
Lace didn't have a voice, but with the lock off, he could pulse with nuance. He sent a long, rhythmic wave of relief through her palms—a vibration that felt like a deep, shuddering sigh.
"Yeah, I felt that," Ash said, her voice softening. She climbed into the tub, pulling the lavender fabric onto her thigh as she soaked. "She really put you through it, didn't she?"
Lace pulsed a sharp, jagged No—not to her question, but as a protest to the memory. Then, he pulsed a slow, rhythmic Yes as he clung to her skin.
The Branding Deepens
As the water cleared the grime away, Ash noticed something. The music notes weren't just on his "surface" anymore. They had begun to migrate. The lavender cotton now had a shimmering, almost iridescent quality, and the lace trim was thicker, looking less like fabric and more like a biological growth.
"Lace... look at your tag," Ash whispered, lifting the scrap of fabric at his back.
The Sharpie she had used to write her name was gone. In its place, the fibers themselves had woven the words "PROPERTY OF ASH" into the structural integrity of the care tag. It wasn't ink anymore; it was DNA.
"The Professor wasn't kidding about the 'Durable' transition," Ash said, her heart echoing the rhythmic pulsing of the panties. "You’re not just Michael in a suit anymore. You’re becoming a permanent object."
Lace pulsed a single, steady Yes.
For the first time, there was no fear in the pulse. After a week with Maria, being "Ash’s property" didn't feel like a loss of freedom. it felt like a homecoming. He didn't want to be Michael Lacey, the struggling student. He wanted to be the lucky lavender pair that got to soak in this tub every night.
Ash pulled him up, kissing the delicate bow on his front. "Good. Because I'm never lending you out again. You're staying right where you belong."
