Work Text:
Maya always applies lipstick before kissing Ulala.
It's funny, Ulala thinks. Back in high school the only makeup Maya ever wore was concealer to cover up pimples, or the rare pink eye shadow. Now she has a whole routine - let Ulala wake her up after the alarm goes off five or six times, wash her face, brush her teeth, swipe on some brown eye shadow, apply her drug store mascara, rub on that shimmering pink-tinted highlighter, and finish it off with the same plum lipstick.
Ulala supposes she'd be a hypocrite to criticize that, though she never would in the first place. In high school she wore the tackiest mile-long winged eyeliner, the thickest mascara, and purple lipstick so dark it was nearly black. Most days now, it's just eyeliner, or mascara, or nothing at all. She'd found the brightest red lipstick she'd owned, saved it just for work days or dinner dates.
Makeup or not, Maya's always gorgeous. Ulala's known that since they were 16 and trying out some classmates cigarettes in the stairwell at the back of the school, giggling and coughing and nearly getting stuck hiding in the janitor's closet when they heard a teachers voice coming down the stairs.
But this felt like a religious experience, something new and sacred; watching her girlfriend fish out that violet lipstick, wearing a t-shirt she'd borrowed from Katsuya a month ago and had never returned.
Observing the way the sunset's golden light shone in Maya's dark hair, how it kissed the contours of her cheekbones and jawline, Ulala felt like a priestess worshiping at a shrine, the cheesy horror movie they'd been watching entirely forgotten. How her younger self would sing to know this was her future.
And they kissed, soft and sweet, badly faked screams and the sound of a chainsaw playing distantly.
The setting sun through the window marked the end of another day in a life Ulala had never thought she'd be lucky enough to live.