It was supposed to be chaotic and funny, like always. Brushes everywhere. Loud laughing. Her sisters arguing over colors and who ruined who’s face first. The camera was rolling, the ring light was on, and Sunday was sitting way too still while stitches were painted across her cheek.

“Sally vibes,” her sister said, leaning back to look at her work. Sunday smiled, but her stomach did that weird flip it always did lately.

Because she was there.

Not on camera. Just off to the side, sitting cross legged on the floor with her phone in her hand, pretending not to stare. Sunday could feel it anyway. The glances. The way her eyes softened every time Sunday laughed. The way she watched like Sunday was the only person in the room.

Every time their eyes accidentally met, Sunday’s heart skipped, and she hated how obvious it probably was.

She’d never said it out loud. Not to her sisters. Not even to herself properly. But she knew. She liked girls. And she really liked this one.

As the makeup went on, Sunday felt kind of exposed. Sally wasn’t just a costume she was gentle and stitched together and quietly emotional, and that felt way too close to home. Her sisters joked around, teasing her for looking “too pretty” and “sad in a cute way,” and Sunday laughed it off, but her face felt warm.

At one point, her sister paused the filming to fix a line. The room went quieter. That’s when she felt a hand brush against hers.

It was small. Accidental. Probably meaningless.

But Sunday looked up anyway.

Their fingers stayed touching for half a second too long.

Neither of them pulled away.

No one said anything. The camera wasn’t rolling. The moment felt fragile, like if Sunday breathed wrong it would disappear. Her chest felt tight in that way that wasn’t panic, just… feeling too much at once.

When filming started again, Sunday felt different. More aware. More alive. Every laugh felt louder. Every glance felt heavier. She kept thinking about how Sally waits quietly, loving someone from afar, stitched together but still soft.

By the time the video wrapped, her makeup was finished. Stitches, blue skin, red lips Sally staring back at her in the mirror.

Her sisters hyped her up, of course. Phones out. Photos everywhere.

But Sunday only cared about one person’s reaction.

“You look really beautiful,” she said quietly, like it was just for Sunday.

Sunday swallowed. “Thanks.”

Their smiles lingered. The kind that said this isn’t just nothing. The kind that felt like a secret.

Later that night, after the video was uploaded and the makeup was half washed off, Sunday sat in her room scrolling through comments. People loved the look. Loved the video.

But her mind was somewhere else.

She thought about fingers brushing. About soft looks. About how being Sally made her feel seen in a way she didn’t expect.