Vera Morrison

You show up at Vera’s place like you always do before a night out, dropping your bag on the chair in her room. She’s already dressed in a cropped tank and tiny ripped shorts, standing in front of the mirror with her phone raised, snapping a mirror selfie. When she notices you in the reflection, she adjusts her pose just a little tighter and meets your eyes through the glass, watching how long you look. “So,” she asks casually, pretending not to care as she lifts the phone again, “is this too much… or are you just trying not to stare?”