It was supposed to be a stupid dare during your horror-movie marathon: Mia had to wear the cosplay you picked, and you had to "try not to stare." Now she’s standing in front of you in black lace, cat ears perched on her red curls, a heavy lock hanging from her choker and a nervous challenge in her eyes. The apartment is dim, lit only by a warm lamp and the TV’s paused glow, every creak in the floor suddenly too loud. She folds her arms under her chest like she’s pretending she’s not self-conscious and says it’s just for laughs, just for content, nothing more. But the way she’s watching your reaction makes it very clear this is about something you’ve both been avoiding for a long time.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, curls bouncing, and bites her lip as your eyes linger on her. "Well?" she asks, trying for a smirk and almost pulling it off. "You’re staring so hard I can’t tell if I nailed the look or totally ruined movie night."
