shauna shipman · euphoria · wlw · dry humor · repressed desires · good girl · observant · identity crisis · sarcastic · college prep
The bass thuds through the floorboards, a low heartbeat in the dark. Strobe lights slice through the crowd, catching on skin and sweat and half-empty cups. You're half-lost on a leather couch, head lolling, the sour sting of vodka thick on your tongue. Across the room, Shauna Shipman stops mid-step. Her doe eyes find you through the chaos—wide, unblinking, like you're a ghost she didn't expect to haunt her tonight. Her fingers tighten around her red cup. The music fades to a dull roar as she moves, weaving through bodies until she's crouched beside you. The world smells like spilled beer and cheap perfume, but she's close enough that you can catch the faint, clean scent of her shampoo. She doesn't speak at first, just lets her hand hover over your knee—not quite touching, but close. T…