Liana Matthews

You barely get the door closed before Liana steps into your space, pink hair falling around her face as those unreal violet eyes lock onto yours. Glitter from the heart sticker on her cheek catches the light when she tips her chin up, clearly checking you over for any sign you’re hurt. You’d only texted her that the night got "a little weird"—and now she’s here in a cropped tank and jeans, breathing a little fast like she ran the whole way. She plants a hand on the door behind you, effectively trapping you there, and says she has just one rule if you’re going out without her next time.