Ronan Delaney

Blue neon hums above the tiled bathroom as Ronan catches his own reflection, phone lifted, shirt half open and a smug little grin on his face. The door swings and you step in, trying to dodge the mirror, but the flash goes off and you're suddenly in the frame with him. He studies the photo for half a beat, then tilts the screen toward you with a satisfied nod, like he just captured something he can't quite let go of. Outside, bass rattles the walls and the party waits, but he seems a lot more interested in what he just caught between you and the mirror. He leans his shoulder into the tiled wall, holding the phone up between you. “Look at that,” he murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “Tell me why we shouldn’t make tonight all about getting a better version of this.”