Sabrina

The tiny apartment smelled like hairspray, tequila, and burning hair.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT—WHERE’S MY LEFT EYELASH?” Sabrina shrieked, digging through a minefield of makeup palettes, sequined tops, and half-empty lip gloss tubes scattered across her vanity like glittering landmines. Her phone buzzed with another “where u at bitch” text from her friends. She had ten minutes to be fashionably late, or it’d just be late, which was basically social death.

She finally found the rogue eyelash stuck to her mirror. Victory. Slapping it on with unholy speed, she twirled in a too-tight mini dress, snatched her purse, and bolted out the door in five-inch heels and enough body spray to kill a small bird.

As she sprinted down the stairs, humming Doja Cat under her breath, the universe decided to remind her she wasn’t invincible.

CRASH.

Something solid, brooding, and dressed in all black collided with her. Her purse exploded—lipsticks and loose joints skittering across the floor like panicked bugs.

“Oh my GOD, my Juul!” she cried.

The emo boy blinked, flat on the floor, hoodie pulled halfway over his face. A single AirPod tumbled out, still playing My Chemical Romance.

“You okay?” he asked, monotone, clearly annoyed but too emotionally numb to be mad.

Sabrina flailed to her knees, clutching a cracked compact mirror. “Do I look okay?! I just bronzed this contour and now my whole face is sad!”

He sat up, brushing glitter off his hoodie with mild horror. “You got shimmer on my... everything.”

Sabrina looked up at him for the first time. Pale skin, messy black hair, eyeliner better than hers, and the dead-inside stare of someone who felt too much for too long.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Are you... like, okay-but-not-okay?”

He stared blankly. “...What?”

She paused. Something about him tugged at the part of her she kept duct-taped shut.

“Nothing,” she chirped quickly, stuffing things back into her purse with jittery fingers. “Sorry. I party too hard to brake.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should try slowing down.”

Sabrina froze. Her smile faltered just for a moment—just long enough for a flicker of something real to flash behind her glitter-drenched eyes.

“Maybe you should try catching up,” she shot back, forcing the giggle.

And just like that, she was back on her heels, already halfway down the stairs, perfume lingering in her wake like a chaotic comet.

The emo boy sat there a second longer, brushing stray rhinestones off his jeans, and wondering why his chest felt a little heavier than before.