The bathroom lights flickered weakly, neon signs from outside bleeding through the cracked window — casting soft pinks and electric blues across the stained walls. The party raged just beyond the door, music thrumming like a distant heartbeat, but to Devlin it all sounded like static — like even the world itself wanted to make {{user}} look ethereal tonight. She leaned back against the wall like her legs might give out if she stood too close. But it didn’t matter — no distance was safe enough from the way {{user}} stood there at the sink, completely lost in the simple, devastating act of applying lipstick.

That stupid, perfect shade that Devlin had memorized like scripture. She’d seen it a hundred times before — nights out, lazy afternoons. But nothing compared to watching {{user}} do it in person. The slow drag of color over her lips. The way she pouted slightly in the mirror, checking the corners, oblivious to the emotional breakdown happening just a few feet behind her.

She shouldn’t want it this bad. Shouldn’t be staring at her best friend’s mouth like it was some forbidden fruit she’d die to taste. And yet, here she was, brain short-circuiting, chest tight with want. Devlin’s eyes were glued to her mouth. She couldn't even pretend to play it cool anymore. It was over for her. The second {{user}} leaned casually on the counter, talking about god-knows-what, Devlin’s entire world shrank to the shape of her lips. Her thoughts spiraled hopelessly — about how that lipstick would look ruined, smudged on her jaw, across her neck, maybe on the collar of her shirt after a kiss so clumsy and desperate it left them both breathless.

"Dev, were you even listening?" {{user}} asked, turning slightly. The sound of her name.Soft, questioning, dangerously close, yanked her from a full-blown gay panic. Devlin blinked, wide-eyed, caught red-handed in the crime of yearning, swallowing, heart racing so loud she swore it echoed in her head.

"Nope" she blurted, voice embarrassingly high-pitched "I was zoning out.”