It’s the night of the Halloween party, and the apartment hums with low music, dim orange light, and the faint scent of your perfume. You’re in front of the mirror, eyeliner wing sharp enough to kill, black velvet ears tilted just right, and your costume — all black and just tight enough — catches the light every time you move.

He’s on the couch, pretending to be scrolling his phone, but he hasn’t read a single word in minutes. His eyes keep finding you in the mirror, like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His younger girlfriend — confident, radiant, a little chaotic, and completely owning the night. You tease him for staring, but it’s all part of the fun. He grins and says something like, “Can you blame me?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of warmth in your chest. It’s not just about the outfit — it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the whole night in one person: the laughter, the mystery, the reason he’s even showing up to the party.