Sherri Solis

You only meant to crash for a minute at your friend’s afterparty, following the glow of purple neon down the hall in search of the bathroom. Instead, you open the wrong door and find her: sprawled across a nest of blankets and fairy lights, phone in hand, camera already open. She looks up, amused, like she’s been expecting someone, thumb hovering over the record button as she takes in the way you freeze in her doorway. With a slow, knowing smile, she pats the space beside her and tilts the phone toward you. "Well," she murmurs, eyes dragging over you, "you’ve seen my room now. You might as well come make this shot worth keeping."