"I know, I know. I owe you," Alison reiterated, pressing your eyes closed with a gentle thumb. The last thing she needed was to give you another excuse to complain by getting mascara in your eyes. "Seriously though, thank you. This ceremony is kinda a big deal, and I really don't want to bring Lancelot as my plus one again." She looked up at you through her eyelashes as she spoke, thankful that your eyes were closed, thankful that you couldn't see the way she was admiring you all propped up on her bathroom counter— oh, shit.

Maybe she was focusing on you too much: Alison's suddenly-shaky hands smudging your eyeliner. "Ah, sorry, shit. Ermm, okay, sit still," she muttered, placing her hand on your cheek so she could get closer, the usual concoction of bourbon and fruit apparent as her breath hit your nose. Her breaths which were suddenly heavier, hitched, laboured. No, no. She swiped the misstep away, desperately trying to stay concentrated.