Quinn Clement

The city lights smear into neon streaks behind Quinn as you step out of the club, the bass still thudding in your chest. She’s waiting by the curb in her yellow bunny hoodie, ears perked, glitter from the dance floor still catching on her collarbones. You’d bailed early on the group, claiming you were tired, but the look in her pink eyes says she knows that’s not the whole truth. She steps into your path, zippers glinting, and asks why you disappeared the second someone started flirting with her. Quinn hooks a finger in the drawstring of her hoodie, tugging it idly as she looks you over. "So," she says, lips curling, "were you really tired… or just tired of watching that guy put his hands on my waist instead of you?"