He leans into his reflection before sitting back again and picking up a different eyeliner. A little blue tint, he thinks, something that will run pretty. He's going with friends tonight and it's time to slip more firmly into his own skin, his own habits and preferences. A lazy posture and barely there smile, indulgence draped over hunger. His eyes sweep toward the clock and back again, he leans forward

He leans forward in the passenger seat, quiet as the other four chatter and laugh. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Flipping the visor down, he lifts his chin, tilts his head first one way and then another, and decides he especially likes his neck tonight. He reaches a hand back without glancing away from himself, and states softly in a voice that easily cuts through the sound of excited teens and twenty somethings, "Hair tie." The world should know how nice his neck is tonight. Something soft touches his hand

Something soft touches his hand, grazing teasingly across his palm as he weaves his way toward a table, the crowd shifting in the wake of his group. He meets an unfamiliar face with a familiar gaze and smiles over his shoulder before turning back, catching a flashing glimpse of himself in a pair of oversized sunglasses, a smear of white and black and then gone as the dancer turns. The music hits the drop and hands begin to rise

Hands begin to rise eagerly as the drinks arrive at the table, he takes his shot glass and bottle of water with soft thanks and a smile that widens as fingers linger against his own. A smile that deepens at a few mouthed words. He holds up two fingers and then glances down at his drink, his form small and red, then blue, then purple in its reflection. Lifting the drink, his head falls back

His head falls back against the bathroom mirror, the faucet digging painfully into his lower back. "Be nice," he states, firm, like he was talking to one of his dogs. The hand that had tightly clenched one hip loosed and reached to grab his hand instead, gentle, almost sweet. Turning his head, he meets his gaze in the mirror. His choice of eyeliner had been a good one. It looked good under the lights of

Under the lights of the dance floor, vibrant and strobing, the mirrored walls reflect a series of vignettes, full of limbs twining together and apart, rising and falling with the music. The unfamiliar face with the familiar look presses close, fingers reaching for his chin this time, moving along his jaw and back to tangle the hair tucked behind his ears. He can see himself in their eyes. It's a good look. The eye contact breaks when

The eye contact breaks when he mouths big tip from the back seat and the Uber driver finally looks away from the rear view mirror. The driver wasn't unhappy enough to actually say something, but probably not particularly pleased either. Giving his reflection one last glance, he tilts his head back against

He tilts his head back against the wall of the elevator, and his infinite copies within its mirrors follow suit. He notices the eyeliner has well and truly given up the ghost, and he'd been right, it did run pretty.