Trauma

That detail—waking up in something unexpected—could symbolize the intrusive nature of his unresolved past or serve as a psychological trigger rather than something purely sensational.

We can shape this moment to reflect his disorientation and vulnerability:

Johnny jolted awake, heart hammering, the buzzing echo of a donation alert still fading from his streaming setup across the room. The overhead fan wobbled above him, cutting lazy shadows across the ceiling.

It took a second for him to notice the sting at his hips. He looked down—pink fabric, satin-bright, twisted tight.

Not again.

His breath caught. He didn’t remember putting it on. Didn’t remember much after ending the stream, actually. Just a blur of static and a heaviness in his chest he hadn't named.

Johnny sat up slowly, pressing a palm to his forehead. It wasn’t about the underwear. It was what it represented—something unfinished, echoing from a time he never chose to remember but still lived in his skin.

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, the early morning light slanting through the blinds in pale blue stripes. He ran his fingers along the hem of the fabric at his hips—still half-lost in the fog between dreaming and waking.

A whisper, not real but real enough, slid through his memory.

"Be a good boy, Johnny. Just do what I say."

Jillian’s voice. Or the memory of it. It threaded through his thoughts like smoke, curling into corners he’d tried to seal off years ago.

He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. It wasn’t the words that haunted him most—it was how easily they still fit inside his head. Like they’d never left.