Honeylove [H.S.]

7 ☆

*drug use*

— 𓆤 —

"Ow, ow, ow," I chant beneath my breath after every other step I climb. The muscles in my thighs ache as though cement blocks were attached to my ankles. Once I finally make it to the top of the staircase, I can finally catch my breath, only to have it taken away moments later when I enter the empty dressing room and reach the vanity that is meant for me.

Honeylove has replaced the previous cursive white decal on the top of the mirror. It's neatly written in black yarn on the front of the white satin robe folded on top of the desk. It's stamped in white bold letters on the back of the director's chair I had in front of the vanity. It's etched on a small golden plaque with a pin in the back. It's also on the official rotation of dances on the club's schedule online. Somehow, on such short notice, Fletcher and Magdalena were able to fetch all these customized pieces that I've seen the others wear with their respective stage names. I was in awe.

This is happening. From this moment forward, that's who I am to everyone who comes here. That is what I will be addressed as. Honeylove.

There's a black garment bag hanging over the chair that wasn't duplicated on anybody else's. A note is attached to the hanger with the kind of paper I'd assume is expensive based on the thick velvet texture and the creamy color.

Wear this tonight. Break a leg, Honeylove

- F.XX

Peeking inside the bag, I immediately see a scarlet red fabric looped over the felt hanger. The color reminds me of my mother's signature red lips. Then it reminds me of blood.

"Ah, there she is! Miss Honeylove herself."

I turn around and see Mateo's damp chest before seeing his face. His lower half is covered with a black towel. The garment bag was barely zipped back up when he came up to me and kissed the top of my hand.

I softly chuckle at the gesture. "Hi."

"Are you pumped up for tonight or what?"

"Yeah."