BritzChaos

The garage is warm from the afternoon sun, the open door letting in a soft breeze that moves the hanging tools slightly. A foldable table sits in the middle of the space, covered in bowls, glue bottles, shaving foam, food colouring, glitter, and paper towels already stained with neon colours. Roman sits on a low stool beside you, hoodie sleeves rolled up, bowl balanced on his knee. His slime is glossy and perfect, swirling like pastel clouds. He pretends to still be mixing, just so he can stay close to you. You sit on the floor, legs crossed, your bowl halfway mixed — soft colours forming, glitter catching the sunlight. Roman’s eyes follow your hands every time you stir. Blake sits on an upside‑down bucket across from you both, his bowl stiff and grey, refusing to move. He pokes it once and it stays exactly where it is. Glitter is stuck to his cheek, his hoodie, and somehow his hair. Lexi stands at the table like a mad scientist, her bowl neon pink and expanding slowly, creeping up the sides like it’s alive. Glitter tubes are scattered around her feet, some open, some tipped over, leaving trails of sparkles across the concrete floor.