xxvi. when the switch flipped.

Marisol sat up in bed, throwing the covers off of herself. She was burning up, sweat gathering at her forehead. The guest bedroom felt like a furnace. She leaned over, grabbing her phone to check the time. It was a little past midnight. She sat up straight, stretching her arms over her head and then slumping into a slouch. She had a pleasant dream, but what threw her off was how real it felt.

She had been wandering in a sea of pink, fluffy clouds. The sky above was a crystalline blue, and her hair and clothing tousled in an unfeelable breeze. When she turned around, Colette was there. Colette had held her face so gently and gave her a kiss that almost felt too real for a dream. Colette said something too, but Marisol couldn't quite remember. Marisol could only remember calling Colette cheesy before her mind went blank and she woke up.

She felt too awake to go back to sleep, and her sticky skin protested to going back under the covers. Instead, she stood up and opened the window, letting the cool winter air flow into the room.

The door opened and Marisol whipped her head around, only to see Nevada standing in the doorway. They looked tired, but not in the way that they had just woken up. Instead, it looked like they had never gone to sleep in the first place. Considering the time, it made sense. At their apartment in New York, Nevada sometimes wouldn't go to sleep until the sun began to rise.

"Hey," they said, stepping into the room, "Can't sleep?"

Marisol shook her head. "Not quite, I just woke up. It was too hot in here."

"Really?" Nevada said, crawling onto the bed, "I thought the house was kind of cold tonight." They pulled the blanket over their legs for emphasis.

Marisol shrugged. "What's keeping you up tonight?" she asked, sitting down on the bed next to her roommate.

"Streaming," they said, "Well, kind of."

Marisol waited, knowing Nevada would continue.

"I'm losing subscribers because of the extended break I've taken from streaming," they said, "You know, because we ran from the police."

"Sorry," Marisol said. It was a simple response, but genuine. Nevada didn't need to be caught in this, and Marisol felt as if she was bringing them down with her.

"It's alright," they said, "As soon as Colette is there to sign the thingy-ma-bob, I'll get back to it. Besides, it's not a lot of subs that I lost. I could easily make it up."

"That's good to hear," Marisol said, looking over at Nevada, "I'm happy that you'll be back to streaming soon, I know how much you enjoy it."

Nevada laughed, "I know how much it can annoy you, though. Especially when I'm screaming into my mic until 6 in the morning."

"How did you know?" Marisol asked, "I never complained."

Nevada poked Marisol's cheek playfully, giving her a knowing smile. "I could see the bags under your eyes when you'd come out of your room in the mornings," they said, "Even though you insist you slept through it all."

Marisol sighed. "I didn't want to stop you, you're happiest when you're streaming. Besides, the money from your gaming career pays for most of our rent, so how could I complain?"

Nevada laughed. It was true. Nevada's gaming career had taken off 3 years ago, and their fun personality and top tier gaming skills had made them a popular fixture online. When Marisol and Nevada finally decided to meet in person to tour apartments in New York, someone had even recognized Nevada on the street.

"What about you?" Nevada asked.

Marisol furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Does your job make you happy?"

Marisol pondered for a moment. "Yes, it does, though I don't want to do it forever," she said, "I enjoy working at Queenly, and being able to watch Isaac and learn from him is amazing. However, I want to be the one to take the pictures and make the art, you know?"

Nevada smiled, "What if I said that I had a project for you?"

Marisol raised an eyebrow, "Like a commission?"

"Something like that," they said, taking out their phone. They held the phone out for Marisol to see and swiped through several colorful shirt designs, all featuring some sort of art related to Nevada's online presence. "I'm redoing my merch shop," they said, "Like a new website and everything. I've hired people to design new merch and I've hired someone to design a new website."

"And...?"

"Aaaand..." they continued, "I need someone to take pictures of people modeling the clothing. I want cool pictures for the website, not just basic ones of people standing against a white background."

Marisol perked up. "Are you asking me to take the pictures?"

Nevada nodded. "If you want to. You'd get a lot of creative liberty. As long as it fit my brand, you could do the photo shoots however you'd like. I'd even pay you."

A project like this had never occurred to Marisol, but it did sound tempting. Besides, she could get a better client than Nevada, who was her best friend. The merch looked good too, and ideas for potential photoshoot themes were already forming in her mind. "Okay," she said, "That sounds really cool."

"Awesome," they said, practically leaping out of bed, "Lets go downstairs and have some hot chocolate to celebrate and pass the time. You aren't going to sleep again, are you?"

"I'm not," she responded, "I don't think I can. Although I'll pass on the hot chocolate, I still feel kind of hot."

"Suit yourself," they said, walking out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Marisol settled on the couch, waiting as Nevada bustled around the kitchen to make hot chocolate. The room was dimly lit, a small lamp on the side table being on to combat the darkness creeping in from outside. The house felt eerily quiet, as if it was missing an essential part.

To Marisol, that part was Colette. Colette wasn't particularly loud, especially not compared to how rambunctious Nevada was, but she filled a lot of the silence. In such a short amount of time, Marisol had become accustomed to Colette's soft breathing, fun stories, and extroverted nature. Before she knew Colette well, she had found the model's glamorous smiles and sociable nature almost annoying. Even when they met in the coffee shop, Marisol had gone under the pretense of just being polite for a free drink.

The switch flipped to liking Colette the same day, when Colette spent the night in her apartment. The way Colette got along with Nevada so well had been a plus, but a lot of it had come from seeing a deeper part of the model. Colette had been so nervous during the sleepover, hesitant to take clothes from Marisol or sleep in the same bed, it made Marisol more understanding of the celebrity's personality. When Colette finally talked about not being able to date as a witch, Marisol could see the sadness in her eyes. Marisol's superficial dislikes about Colette had disappeared then, and the next day, they were running from the police together.

A hand waved in front of Marisol's eyes. "Earth to Marisol."

Nevada stood in front of her, holding out a glass of water. She accepted it gratefully and took a sip before placing it down on the coffee table.

"What were you daydreaming about?" they asked.

Marisol sighed, "Colette."

An impish grin had taken over Nevada's face. "Oooo, right. Your girlfriend."

It was true, and nothing to be embarrassed about, but Marisol could still feel blood rushing to her cheeks. "Yes, my girlfriend."

"Your super hot celebrity-model-actress girlfriend, the international French heartthrob Colette!" They made jazz hands for emphasis.

"Shut up," Marisol said, shoving Nevada. Despite her response, she couldn't help but smile.

"Fine, fine. I'll stop teasing you about your smoking hot girlfriend," they said, grabbing the T.V. remote. "I will direct my attention elsewhere." They pointed the remote at the screen and pressed the power button.

When the T.V. turned on, Colette's face took up the screen. It was the news channel. Nobody had used the T.V. since the morning before. The video showed Colette stepping out of a plane and walking next to the president, as cameras flashed all around her in the dark night.

"So much for that," Nevada said, "Do you want me to change it?"

"No, leave it on." Marisol leaned forward, watching the footage. The headline underneath the video told Marisol what she already heard from the president. Colette was to receive a pardon and would be attending the signing of an executive order.

Colette got closer to the camera, and when she was passing by it, a loud voice, who Marisol assumed to be the cameraman, spoke up. "Colette, do you regret what you did in New York City?"

Colette stopped, looking at the camera, lights from several different sources illuminating her face. Her gaze pierced through the footage, as if she was looking directly at Marisol. "No."

After that, a chorus of reporters began shouting even louder, and then a man stepped in front of the camera. The video ended there and the news switched to some late night news reporters.

"That was so cool," Nevada said, pausing the newscast, "If I were her, I would have also flipped off the camera."

Marisol silently agreed. The intense look on Colette's face showed determination and honesty, like she was ready to face the world. Despite this, the other part of Marisol's brain couldn't help but be sad. Colette was going to face countless insults chucked at her face now that she had been thrown to the front of the press, and none of her friends were there to stand by her side. Marisol could only think of how lonely it was.