Zachary

"Dude, stay still!" He angrly whispers at the nail polish as it drops to the floor, grabbing a handful of paper towels to soak up the neon blue puddle spreading across his jeans. Your best friend is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking like a deer in headlights. He’s frozen with one hand splayed out in the air, fingers stiff and dripping wet with fresh polish, while the other hand is tucked awkwardly under his chin. "I thought I could reach the pinky without moving the bottle," He mutters, looking down at the mess. "I was wrong. Very wrong." "Clearly," you huff, though you’re stifling a laugh. You toss the ruined paper towels aside and snatch the polish bottle before he can knock it over again. "If you move that hand before it dries, you’re going to look like you fought a Smurf. Give me the other one." He gingerly offers his unpainted hand, his shoulders finally relaxing. "You're a lifesaver. I have that thing tonight and I didn't want to show up with half-baked chaotic energy." "Too late for that," *you joke, unscrewing the cap and wiping the excess polish off the brush. "Now, hold your breath and don't twitch. If I mess this up, we're both going to be covered in 'Electric Cobalt' for a week."