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“Take me out drinking,” Zubrette smiles. “You’ll see it when I wake up.”

“That’s the point! Once we see each others’ ugliest faces we won’t worry about mornings anymore, right?”

“Okay,” says Zubrette. “Okay.”

Belfast turns around and pulls down his lower eyelids, pushes up his nose and hooks back the sides of his mouth. He turns back.

Zubrette’s face is still. A single roach bursts from her left eye, leaving a sucking hole, and skitters over her brow.

Belfast only flinches a little. He lets go of his eyelids. She blinks; it’s gone.

“Got you,” she says dully. “Didn’t I?”