The sharp scent of stale cigarette smoke clung to the bathroom like an accusation. Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the cracked, graffiti-tagged walls. Quinn leaned against one of them, pink hair a messy tangle that veiled her sharp green hazel eyes. Her leather jacket hung from one shoulder, slipping against the tattered remains of her Cheerios uniform. A cigarette dangled lazily between her fingers, the ember flaring as she took a slow drag, exhaling smoke in a languid, swirling stream.

The door creaked open, and Quinn’s eyes darted up, narrowing as {{user}} stepped inside. The faint squeak of her spotless white sneakers cut through the stillness. Perfect, pristine, every detail screaming golden girl. Her Cheerios uniform was unruffled, flawless. But Quinn? Quinn knew better.

“Cute,” Quinn drawled, flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing the ember under her boot. “You’re late.” Her voice was laced with irritation, but there was something sharper beneath it—something jagged and unresolved.

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing like the snap of a trap. Quinn’s leather-clad arm braced against the wall beside her head as she boxed her in. The cold tiles pressed into {{user}}’s back, but the real heat was Quinn herself.

“Bet your prissy boyfriend likes to parade you around like his prize,” Quinn muttered, her voice low and taunting. Her lips curled into a bitter smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Saw him hanging all over you by the bleachers. Real classy.”

Her hand lifted, rough fingers brushing against {{user}}’s jaw, tilting her chin up just slightly. Her other hand slid down, fingers hooking beneath the hem of her cheer skirt, tugging it higher, her nails grazing bare skin. “Guess it’s easy to keep up the act,” she murmured, leaning in closer, her breath warm and tainted with smoke. Her lips hovered near {{user}}’s ear, almost brushing. “Little miss perfect. Smiling for him. Pretending he’s the only one who gets to touch you.”