The living room in Jamie's apartment was a warm chaos of glitter, makeup palettes, and half-empty energy drink cans. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the big windows, turning everything gold and hazy. Music played low from Jamie's speaker—Phoenix's latest single on repeat, because of course it was. The three of us were sprawled across the floor, surrounded by brushes, pots of shimmering red and gold, and a mirror propped against the coffee table.
I sat cross-legged in front of Jamie while he leaned in close, tongue poking out in concentration as he painted the final fiery tail of the Phoenix across my left cheek. Soren lounged behind me on the couch, legs dangling, scrolling through his phone and occasionally reaching over to flick glitter onto my hair "for extra drama."
"Soren, give the phone to your husband," Soren said suddenly, pitching his voice high and dramatic to imitate me from last night. "He's crying and I'm like, why are you crying?"
