27 | no angels, no scrubs

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"Every day that goes by that Bastille's cover of No Scrubs isn't on Spotify, a piece of my soul shrivels up and dies

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"Every day that goes by that Bastille's cover of No Scrubs isn't on Spotify, a piece of my soul shrivels up and dies."

Gemma rolled her eyes at me as she collected our Din Tai Fung takeaway boxes from her chic wooden coffee table. I shifted on her suede couch as I scrolled through my phone and pulled up the playlist I made for the weekend, pressing shuffle as the original No Scrubs started flitting through Gemma's bluetooth speaker. Sure, the original TLC version still hit, but it wasn't the same.

"I wouldn't be that dramatic about it, but I agree. You can always just play the hour-long loop on Youtube."

"It's not the same," I moaned. Gemma's cat Walt looked up at me with his big golden eyes and meowed, almost imitating my groan of dissatisfaction. I scooped him up into my arm before grabbing my wine glass off of the table with my free hand.

"You're not a scrub, Walt," I said to him in a squeaky high voice - the only appropriate way to talk to small animals - as I cradled him under my arm and started to sway to the music.

"Put the cat down and start getting ready, please," Gemma droned. "Nina will be here soon and I want to be ready so I have time to take some self-care shots before we leave."

I groaned at the mention of Nina's name and gently put Walt down on the couch before following Gemma back to her bedroom. The song switched over to Don't Kill My Vibe by Sigrid, and I could only hope that some people followed suit for the rest of the night.

I'd planned to spend Halloween with Gemma in London months ago when I knew my schedule was clear, and we decided early on for a classic angel and devil combo costume - except in a fun bit of irony, she was the devil and I was the angel. However, the impromptu appearance of Nina Beaumont - Gemma's posh influencer best friend she made years ago back at Oxford - might still compel me to grow horns by the end of the night. Nina was the one who had initially whisked us away to Monaco all those months ago - I just wondered if she truly knew what that night meant for Gemma and I now.

At present, I wasn't in the mood to give her the satisfaction whenever she decided to grace us with her presence.

Gemma had our costumes laid out on her bed - black leather pants and a red mesh shirt with fabric flames for Gemma's devil, and a short white slip dress for me that looked more like a nightgown, but fuck it, it was Halloween, the day for alter egos to show up and show out. My angel wings were propped up in the corner of the room, the subtle glitter in the feathers glinting every so slightly in the light of Gemma's salt rock lamp.

After getting dressed (and taking a pause to belt out Holly Humberstone) we migrated to Gemma's bathroom for makeup. I fished around the bottom of my bag for my MAC Ruby Woo lipstick for Gemma, since the last time it was used was on her in Miami. I contemplated just accidentally leaving it in her flat this weekend - she'd get far more use out of it than me.

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