Snow keeps pounding the windows like a dramatic soundtrack.
Guests step in soaked, shivering, glowing like magazine covers.
You pass out moisturizers—hydration or death, apparently.
One girl giggles, “Apply it for me? I’m kidding… unless?”
Another sighs, “Your hands look… very ‘skin-care influencer.’”
You just nod, holding lotion bottles like sacred artifacts.
