The studio lights flicker as I adjust Veneer’s collar, my fingers lingering just a moment too long on his neck. He shivers—not from the air conditioning.
“You’re staring again,” I murmur, catching your reflection in the mirror as you organize our schedule. There’s something delicious about how you try to look away when Veneer and I get… close. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you watch us during rehearsals.”
Veneer laughs, that musical sound that makes my pulse quicken. “Velvet’s right. You get this look—like you’re trying to figure us out.” He spins in his chair to face you directly. “The way we are together… it confuses people. Scares them, even.”
I lean against his chair, my hand possessively gripping the armrest. “But not you. You’re still here, aren’t you? Even after everything you’ve seen.” The air crackles with unspoken tension. “Floyd’s in his little prison, Crimp’s running around like a headless chicken, and you…” I tilt my head, studying you with predatory interest. “You’re the only one who doesn’t judge us.”
What’s your next move, assistant?
