Chapter Text
Parties.
Mikey hated them.
Especially the fancy ones.
It was just a string of meaningless after meaningless conversation, followed by indirect---often brutal---comparisons of social status and wealth.
The man couldn’t fathom why anyone would bother to willingly follow through with that type of hassle.
“Mikey, Mikey! Hey are you listening? I asked if you wanted me to use mascara or not?”
The teen started, broken out of his thoughts and he glanced at his sister. She called his name without adding big brother, which must of meant he’d been zoned out for a long time. He offered a small smile, scratching the back of his head.
“Wasn't listening. Tell me again?"
She huffed, blonde bang coming loose from the semi-strong breeze.
“Mascara? Yes or no?” her tone was curt, harsh, and Mikey fought hard not to flinch, hating when she used that voice.
“No thanks. No mascara." he waves his hand dismissively. "My lashes are thick enough. And I don't really have the brains to remember not to rub my eyes.”
He’d never tell her, but she sounded just like their late mother when she did that.
Mikey hated parties.
The one that his gang was forcing him to attend was no different.
He sighed, crumpling the golden invitation that he received two weeks ago.
Then laughed, a soft huff.
At least this time, they had the decency to give him time to prepare.
“Onii-chan, unless you want no eyebrows, stop moving!!!”
He sat stock still, all humor drained from his soul.
Like hell he was losing his eyebrows.
Emma leaned forward slightly, pressing a light batch of concealer on his face. Not much, but enough to cover any minor scratches that happen to be scattered across the expanse of skin.
She handed him a small hand-held mirror, allowing him to check for any flaws and he let out a low whistle, impressed. His eyebrows had been plucked free from any unnecessary hairs and were slightly arched, adding definition to his eyes, which were ringed with kohl, thickening his eyelashes even further, but without the runny liquid of mascara.
For once, his hair was down fully---also Emma’s doing---pulled back into a loose bun that left some strands falling into his face on either side. He had to give it to her, Mikey didn’t look anything but masculine, and yet his sis managed to bring out his inner soft side--without taking away his delinquent persona.
“You’re getting good at this Em. I look even better than usual.”
She puffed up, clearly pleased with his feedback and smiled widely at Mikey. "Yeah yeah, I think you mean that this is the best you've ever looked."
He felt his heart melt.
All those nights of recording Draken looking like some ind of clown straight from children's nightmares as a direct result of poorly followed tutorials was totally worth it in the end.
The teen stood up, careful to smooth out any wrinkles that might’ve formed in his tuxedo, before walking to a full-body mirror.
And damn.
He was hot.
Like...spicy.
His tux pants and blazer were a pure white, undershirt a sparkling golden, slight homage to Shinichiro's favorite color. The lapels of said blazer matched the shade of his button up, adding that much needed “touch of color”. His dress shoes were freshly shined, and pointed nicely at the top, just enough to make him look presentable and not like some elf or wicked witch of the west.
Emma was spending the night with a friend from school-- Yuzuha her name. He heard the doorbell ring and went to greet his temporary guests, calling his sister out, and wishing them well as they left. Much to her chagrin, he chose not to wear a bow-tie, opting to instead open the top to buttons of his shirt.
He was going to this party, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
Damn straight he was going to be comfortable the entire, insufferable time.
After making sure the apartment was in order, Mikey walked into his room and grabbed a pair of rarely used car-keys. They belonged to a Matte Black Audi r8.
It was the last gift his brother had ever given him, along with the bike, but Shinichiro was dead before Mikey ever actually got it. The sneaky bastard had saved up for years, then had a family friend hold on to it until he turned 18 this past year.
Needless to say, that day he cried like a baby.
He hadn’t used the car very often, not willing to chance it getting wrecked during a fight but he took good care of it, and even named her Bessy cause hell--why not?
Mikey really did hate parties.
And he hated the idea of having to go all out for something he wasn’t remotely interested in. But well...
If he was going to look sexy, he might as well be sexy all the way.