Chanel Camryn, Daisy Lavoy |work| | RELIABLE ⚡ |
Daisy laughed, the sound breaking halfway through. She pulled Chanel into a hug that smelled like vanilla and salt air.
Chanel looked down at the Polaroid. The image had developed: Daisy, glowing like a memory that hadn’t happened yet. She tucked it into the pocket of her jacket—the one over her heart. chanel camryn, daisy lavoy
“I wouldn’t have done that,” Chanel whispered. But they both knew she would have. Daisy laughed, the sound breaking halfway through
Daisy took a step closer. “I’m not asking permission. I’m asking… will you still send me those stupid voice notes about the texture of paint? Even when I’m gone?” The image had developed: Daisy, glowing like a
Later, they drove until the stars came out. Chanel didn’t mention the other Polaroid in her bag—the one she’d taken last week, of Daisy asleep in the passenger seat, mouth open, mixtape title scrawled on the bottom in sharpie: sad, but make it vibey.
The photo slid out, blank and grey. Chanel waved it gently, waiting for the image to bloom.