Work Text:
His right eye Harry can do just fine.
Lowering his lid until his vision starts to blur around the edges, he starts the black curve at his tear duct and draws it out, letting it widen as he does. He has to adjust his wrist when he gets to the outer corner, then Harry presses the side of the pen into the delicate skin there. His breath held, he arcs it upwards, instinctively knowing when to let it narrow into a sharp tip.
A perfect wing.
His left eye is a different story.
It doesn’t matter how he tries to mimic the technique that gets him a single, flawless cat eye or which hand he uses to try and draw it. Attempting to match his eyeliner always ends with Harry slumped, frustrated, onto his vanity, a half a packet of used makeup wipes streaked with black under his elbows.
Gemma had suggested that he dip into beauty YouTube, but the tutorials only frustrated him more. He doesn’t need anyone chirping instructions to him from the glow of their ring light; he knows what he needs to do, just not how to get his fingers on board with the plan.
Harry sighs as he wipes one more subpar effort from his eyelid. He turns his head back and forth in the mirror, wishing he could just copy and paste his singular success. But he’s spent for the night, and there’s not much left to do but put the finishing touches, just so he can remind himself why he’s putting himself through this. Harry picks up a silver tube of mascara and unscrews the top, then applies it to the eyelashes of his right eye with quick, sure strokes.
There.
When he started experimenting with makeup, it was just little touches. Some tinted eye serum here, a sheer lip stain there. But Harry wants to be bolder, is bold. It had only recently occurred to him that he could actually try on the trends that used to fascinate him from his sister’s fashion magazines, and he’s determined to do just that. The first time he stepped out of his apartment building in a creamy, full-coverage lipstick, a feather could have knocked him over. Makeup makes him feel powerful and worthy of notice.
Well, most of it. The classic cat eye is his white whale — a source of equal fascination and frustration. He supposes that it dates back to the weekends he spent watching movies from the ‘50s with his mom. It wasn’t the fresh-faced heroines’ look but their rivals’ that fascinated him. They weren’t dabbing on blush and foundation to try to convince anyone that they were more naturally beautiful than they were. Those women wanted you to know that they had painted their faces, because why wouldn’t you, if you could? With their winged-out liner, they were sultry and cool, sophisticated and take-no-shit. Since then, the shape has stuck in his head as the most timeless example of what makeup can do.
He doesn’t expect to find help when he sinks into the throw pillows on his bed and pulls up a beauty message board on his phone. But amid the product reviews and hacks, Harry spots some information that could be an answer to his prayers.
In case anybody didn’t know, sephora does a free makeup application thing if you spend $50 or more. upvote to save a life.
He doesn’t have to work tomorrow; he has other errands to run anyway. Harry can’t think of a better reward for doing them than having his makeup professionally done for the first time.
Already a little thrilled at the thought of it, he tilts his face up to the mirror one last time, admiring the way the kohl line around his eye brings his whole face into sharper focus. Then he pulls another fresh wipe from the pack and drags it across the sensitive skin, erasing his work.
***
It’s a mild day, but the Sephora store is still a few degrees cooler than it is outside, protecting every bronzer, perfume, and tiny tub of $150 moisturizer from the perils of heat and humidity.
Harry’s been here before to browse and buy, and it’s less crowded than it is on any given weekday. But a poster on the message board had said that some people book their makeover ahead of time, meaning that the sales people could be busier than they seem. His plan is to ask the first employee he sees and then arrange to come back later if they can’t take him now. So he scans the store, eyes peeled for anyone wearing black.
Bingo. Halfway back towards the register, stocking product.
Harry begins to make his way towards him and even turns into the aisle where the man is working, but his feet stop moving of their own accord when he gets a better look at him.
Those cheekbones can’t be all contour. No artist is that talented.
He’s in serious danger of staring, so Harry decides to be urgently interested in the brand in front of him. Highlighter isn’t really his thing, except right now, when he can pretend to be testing out different iridescent shades on his hand while he figures out what to do about the perfectly sculpted face four feet away from him.
Leave? He should definitely leave, and come back another day when he can be helped by literally anyone else.
“Something I can help you find?”
Harry looks up into blue eyes and accidentally digs his nail into the clamshell pink highlighter sample in his hand, sending shiny dust sprinkling onto the floor.
“Shit. Sorry.”
A soft, genuinely amused laugh. “Probably time to replace that one anyway. Don’t worry, it’s not like you’re touching anything you’re not supposed to.”
Harry clears his throat. A customer service smile shouldn’t be affecting him like this.
“We just got some new Milk stick highlighters in, if you’re interested. Goes on smooth, a little less messy.”
“Oh.” Harry puts the compact back in its place abruptly. “No, that’s okay.”
Like any good sales associate would, the guy gets the message that Harry wants to browse on his own.
“Okay!” He smiles again, not taking it personally. “Well, I’ll be around if you need anything. Take a basket while you shop?”
He holds the handle of a black nylon shopping basket out to him, and Harry takes the opportunity to read his nametag.
Louis.
Suddenly, letting Louis walk away from him seems like a very bad idea.
“It’s, um, eyeliner I need, actually. The liquid kind, like a pen?”
“I’ll show you my favorite,” Louis says, dropping the basket back in its dispenser.
He brushes past Harry, leading him into an aisle across the store. It’s not enough time to admire him from behind, but Harry manages, taking in the nip of his waist and the line of his shoulders as discreetly as he can.
“This one is double-sided, so you can do a thin line or a thicker one,” he continues, picking up a sample and showing it to Harry. “The marker tips don’t fray, and it dries really quickly. Once you have it on, I mean. The tube itself won’t dry out unless you forget to put the cap back on.”
Harry knows other guys who wear makeup, it’s not like he doesn’t have anyone to talk about it with. But hearing someone who looks like Louis speak so knowledgeably about it is a thoroughly overwhelming experience.
“That’s...is it good for doing a cat eye?”
“Excuse my French, but this thing wings like a motherfucker. D’you want me to show you?”
If this boy touches Harry’s face, he might die. But is that any reason to avoid it?
“That’s why I came in today, actually. I’ve been practicing at home, but I just can’t seem to get both eyes to match.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day, because I am an expert at cat eyes.” Louis pumps his eyebrows. “I’m Louis, by the way.”
Not the pronunciation Harry had been expecting. The chorus in his head adjusts.
“Harry,” he says, taking the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Louis.”
“Have you ever had your makeup done by someone else before?” Louis asks as he leads him to the large, rectangular mirror in the middle of the store.
“No, not yet. I’m pretty new to the whole thing, actually.”
Louis bids him to sit on one of the black leather stools. “It’s been nice to see more guys in here lately who are shopping for themselves. Not that I mind helping anyone pick out a gift for their girlfriend, but it’s a lot more fun the other way. Now–” He claps his hands together, looking genuinely excited to have Harry at his workstation. “–anything else we want to try today besides the eye? No pressure, but if you say you want the whole nine, you’ll make my day.”
He’s raising his eyebrows at Harry again, and Harry supposes he’d go to the grocery store in peacock feather eyelashes if Louis were applying them.
“Sure,” he says, matching Louis’ smile. “Why not?”
“Music to my ears, Harry. Do you mind if I just…” Louis leans into his space and takes Harry’s chin gently between his finger and thumb. It has the effect of parting Harry’s lips, and he’s relieved when a sigh doesn’t come out.
If Louis notices his breath hitch, he doesn’t show it. His eyes rove over Harry’s face, taking note of his coloring.
Just as quickly, his touch is gone.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
With Louis collecting the products he wants to use on him, Harry turns his head toward the mirror and pushes out an exhale. Louis won’t need to go heavy on the rouge – Harry’s already flushed.
He manages to pop a mint into his mouth before the sales associate returns.
“Just about ready.” Louis digs into his apron and pulls out various tubes and compacts, depositing them on the table. Next is a fabric brush organizer that he rolls out along the edge. Then he reaches around the other side of the mirror and drags over another stool, setting it right in front of Harry. When he sits down, their knees touch.
“I’m gonna start with a primer,” he says, dabbing a few beige dots onto the side of his hand. “It keeps the rest of your makeup in place.”
Louis uses a stubby foundation brush to smooth the primer all over Harry’s face. “People also use it to even out their skin tone, but you don’t really need that.”
“No?”
“Have you seen yourself?” Louis laughs.
Harry’s eyes flutter open, but Louis has already tilted his head away to find the next product he wants.
“Seeing as you’ve got incredible skin,” he continues, frustratingly opaque, “I’d go with a lighter weight foundation. Some of the heavier ones don’t play nice with facial hair either.”
Louis samples two similar shades of Fenty foundation on his hand and then holds it up to Harry’s face to compare. Harry doesn’t mean to stare at him (does he?), but there’s not much else to look at. Plus, when Louis concentrates, his eyes narrow and the tip of his tongue peeks out through cherry-glossed lips. So Harry really doesn’t think he can be held responsible.
“How long have you been doing this?” he asks as Louis blends. (He was right; the foundation feels like nothing against his skin.)
“Working at Sephora?”
“Yeah. Well, yes and no. How long have you been doing makeup?”
“‘Bout three or four years? One of my best friends, she’s a makeup artist – like for celebrities and videos. She started giving me tips whenever we hung out and I just fell in love with it. Learned some from her, some on my own, some from seminars and stuff. And obviously working here helps. Whenever we get a new line, someone from the brand will come in and teach us the best techniques for using it.” Louis dabs his finger into a pot and then pats it lightly under Harry’s eye. “If you don’t mind me asking, what about you?”
“Maybe a year?” Harry says after a few seconds of pondering. “One day, I just woke up and thought, ‘Why not?’, you know?” Louis nods solemnly. “I’d always been interested. I dunno, it just seemed like fun. There were endless possibilities and I wasn’t allowing myself to explore any of them.”
“It’s just another way to be creative.” Louis picks up a compact and snicks it open, showing Harry its contents. “I was thinking a dusty rose cream blush. To bring out your eyes.”
“ Exactly ,” Harry answers his earlier comment, thrilled by the fact that Louis actually gets it. The bit about his eyes arrives on a delay, when Louis is already caressing the color into his cheeks with his fingers.
They chat easily as Louis finishes his face. Harry even manages to ask a few questions about what he’s using and why, though he has a more pressing need to know what Louis does when he’s not here and whether or not he’s the only one feeling tiny lightning strikes wherever they make contact.
“What do we think so far?” Louis eventually says, recapping an eyebrow pencil.
Harry meets his own gaze in the mirror and nearly does a double take. It’s him – all him – but enhanced in a dozen tiny ways. His skin is glowing, his jaw and brow line are more defined. It’s as though he had a dead bulb hidden somewhere inside him that Louis just replaced.
“I thought I only looked like this in portrait mode,” he says, turning back to Louis, who cackles.
“Hey, makeup isn’t cheating,” he grins. “ Filters are cheating.”
“Seriously, Louis. It looks amazing. You’re really talented.”
“Don’t throw a parade for me just yet. We’ve still got your cat eye to do.” He takes a deep breath, like they’re about to boldly go. “You ready?”
“You have no idea.”
Eye makeup is more precise work, which requires Louis to lean in even closer. With one eye closed, Harry finds the other drawn to the little curl of hair behind Louis’ ear – a perfectly formed “c.” The next mistake he makes is breathing and thereby getting a hit of his sea salt and sage cologne.
He’s supposed to be paying attention. Though, in his defense, Harry’s never had a teacher this distracting.
“Just doing some neutral shadow so the liner really pops,” Louis murmurs, totally professional. “And this shimmery brown brings out the gold in your eyes.”
It took six months of dating before Michael had noticed that Harry’s eyes weren’t always purely green.
“Oh,” he breathes. “Okay. Good.”
Louis duplicates the procedure on Harry’s right eye, blending three shades of shadow. Then, bidding him to lower his eyelids halfway, he curls Harry’s upper eyelashes and applies two coats of black mascara. Hands steady and confident, he pops off the cap of the liner pen and pushes the tip into a wadded up tissue to bring the pigment to the surface.
“I’ll do the right eye,” he says, staring quite seriously at Harry, “to show you what I think is the easiest way. And then you can do the left.”
Harry panics, his wastebasket of failures fresh in his mind. “But I don’t know if I can–”
“If you mess up, we’ll try again.” Louis gives him a kind smile. “I don’t have any other applications scheduled today, and there are plenty of people out on the floor. You came here to learn, right?”
“I did, yeah.”
Louis cocks his head. “And you trust me?”
Maybe more than he should.
“Yeah, I trust you.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do a cat eye that would make Elizabeth Taylor proud.”
Louis turns Harry’s stool slightly so he can watch in the mirror. Harry closes his right eye as Louis invades his space again, holding him steady by the jaw.
“I’m going to let you in on a little industry secret,” he almost whispers. “You actually do the wing first and then work inward. Stay as still as you can.”
Harry resists the urge to nod.
Starting not quite at the corner, Louis uses the pen to draw a diagonal line outward. He pauses to consider the shape, then traces back over it, making it a little longer and more dramatic. Harry can feel his breath against his face.
“From here, you can make it wider – just follow the shape you already created.”
He draws another line a few millimeters away from the first, bringing them together in a point and then filling in the space between.
“Then all you have to do is fill in the rest of your lash line. Get really close, and then go over it as many times as you need to make the line smooth.” Louis pulls back a bit. “Stay closed a few more seconds...there, you should be good.”
Even Harry’s most successful tries pale in comparison. There’s no way he’ll be able to recreate this.
“Hey, no doubting yourself when you’re in my chair,” Louis says, their eyes meeting through the mirror. “I can see what you’re thinking.” (God, Harry hopes not.) “Don’t give up before you start.”
He hands Harry the eyeliner pen. “Now just lean forward, that’s good. Brace your elbow on the table so you can really direct your hand. And keep your eyes straight ahead, that helps too.”
“I don’t know if I can match yours.”
“Actually, it may be better if...may I?”
Harry isn’t sure what Louis means to do when he holds out his hand, but he agrees to it anyway. Less than a second later, Louis’ fingers close over his so they’re both holding the liner. Harry lets Louis guide his movement, committing both the feeling and the shape they’re making to memory.
“It may look that way to you,” Louis is saying when they’ve drawn the second wing, “but no one’s liner is ever exactly the same on both sides.”
He releases Harry’s tingling hand, letting him finish the lash line himself.
“You’d never notice, because the whole effect is so stunning.”
Louis brushes a pinky brown lipstick onto Harry’s mouth, collecting an errant swipe from the corner with his thumb, and then swivels him again so he’s facing the mirror head on.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulder, acknowledging that he looks like he’s about to cry. “But I think we got pretty fucking close.”
It isn’t until Harry’s home with $200 worth of new makeup and as many free gifts as Louis could get away with giving him that he finds one more: a phone number and a note scrawled on the back of his receipt.
Here’s to going after what we want. – L