Chapter Text
“The make-up artist had an emergency. Gone for the day. She left some stuff… but… what the hell is all this stuff? Pah!” Kim watches the director throw down a small bag. “Let me ask one of the women-”
“I’m aware what eyeliner is,” Kim responds coolly. After all, he’s the one that asked for the touch up. “It’s not here.”
The director, clearly frustrated, folds his arms. “For God’s sake. You look fine.”
“My eyeliner is smudged.”
“What should we do then?”
“We should shut down production.”
“Really?!”
Kim stares at him. “No.” He turns around and points to the store across the street. “I’m going to get some.”
“I can send someone else.”
Kim tries to look passive, even though he’s irritated by the director’s assumptions. “I could use a break.” Before the director can say anything else, Kim removes his earpiece. “Be back in 30.” He starts down the street, ignoring the sound of his name.
Thank God. He prefers doing his own make-up. Having people poke at his face all day made him nervous: reminded him of how his father would fuss over his sons being perfect clones of each other. Not a hair out of place. Not a blemish in sight.
Granted, his father’s paranoia led to Kim’s flawless skin, but for it, a heavy price was paid.
He enjoys going into beauty stores on his own too. He bought his own cosmetics when he was just starting out, so he knows his way around a kit: probably why the artist left her bag. Truthfully, sometimes, he’d smudge something on purpose just to get a break. Or steal concealer to go buy another. Even without shopping, walking around a store gave him a moment of peace.
It’s better than sitting around.
He walks towards a shop called Flesh & Skin Studio, a little bell chiming as he opens the door, and doesn’t mind that he’s the only customer: means no sunglasses indoors. But he knows even alone, he looks out of place, wearing a leather jacket in hot weather. Layering only looks cool in music videos, not in reality. He wipes the sweat from his brow and glances at the wall on his right. Not what he’s looking for, but he stops to admire the items anyways because 30 minutes means an hour if he wants it to.
Someone steps out from the back, and, to Kim’s surprise, it’s another guy, but he looks much too young to be working at a beauty supply. “Welcome to Flesh and Skin! How can I help you?”
Must be new, Kim thinks to himself. The guy, maybe a high schooler, sounds stiff as hell. He stands there, hands to his side, fake smile plastered on his face. His uniform looks barely broken in, and his hair has that perfectly out of place look.
He’s nothing like the men Kim’s dated before, but goddamn, is he cute.
“Just looking for some eyeliner. And cleansing stuff.”
“We have some generic cleansing items here.”
“Thanks.” Kim follows him. “You’re very thorough. Walking me to the items.”
Porchay shyly looks at the products. “I’ve only been here three weeks, so I’m still getting the hang of things.”
“Oh? Are you interested in becoming a make-up artist…” Kim leans in slightly to read his nametag. “Porchay?”
“Oh, no. I want to become a musician. I’m here part time, helping customers try out items. I’m still in school. I play guitar.”
Kim looks at him, amused at Porchay’s rambling. “Guitar?”
“And I sing.” When Porchay looks back up at Kim, Kim regrets smiling so much because he looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Talking your ear off.”
“No, not at all.” Kim fishes his phone out of his pocket. Tapping on the screen, he asks, “Do you happen to have this?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Kim watches Porchay scan the wall carefully. He finds the blotting papers rather quickly. “Do you want to test them out or have you used them before?”
“Never used them,” Kim lies. “Heard they’re good.”
“They are. We have a chair and vanity for customers if you want to fix your eyeliner.”
At least someone knows what the fuck they’re talking about. Kim settles into the leather chair and brings the mirror closer to his face. He notices Porchay keeping a distance but keeping an eye on him. Maybe he thinks he’ll run out the door with the products. Or maybe he recognizes him from one of the smaller magazine spreads Kim’s done.
So Kim takes off his jacket and stretches his arms before he gets to work on his face because maybe Porchay will keep his eyes fixed on him, because it’s the kind of quiet, shy attention Kim likes. He dabs around his hairline with blotting paper before he pops open a fresh pen, inky and black, and redoes his eyeliner. In flashes of the mirror, he sees Porchay staring at him.
When he finishes, he beckons Porchay over. “Are they even? I can’t tell.”
Porchay leans in close. Kim can't help it; he breathes in. Sandalwood. Must’ve sampled something. Chanel?
“It’s uneven.”
“May you?”
Porchay frowns, but even that looks quite charming to Kim. “Are you sure?
“You’re new, yes? Consider it practice?”
Kim watches Porchay take a disposable applicator in one hand and Kim’s chin in another. “Keep your eyes open.”
Gladly. By doing so, Kim can see the silver necklace around Porchay’s tanned neck, the dark lashes that embroider each of his eyes, the pink of his mouth. Kim swallows.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Let me know when to close my eyes.” I have no intention of closing them any sooner.
“Sorry. I need to move your hair.”
“Of course.”
Smooth, soft fingers skirt against his face. Kim brings his face closer to Porchay’s hands.
Are you holding your breath too?
When Porchay pulls away, Kim is greeted by a smile and a pink face. “There.”
“How do I look?”
“Very cute.” Porchay closes the pen. “And you have soft skin.” Kim laughs, and, clearly embarrassed, Porchay apologizes. “I’ll ring you up?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
At the register, Porchay puts everything into a small bag while Kim taps his credit card against the reader. “Do you have a guitar teacher?”
“Not yet.”
“I can teach you.” Kim says, nonchalantly. “I’ve been playing for a while. And I’ve taught students before.”
“Wow! Really? I’d love that!” Porchay’s eyes glimmer.
Kim smiles softly, hoping he doesn't look too interested. “Let me give you my number.” He types his number into the phone. “And if you don’t need a teacher, you can call anyways.” He looks right at Porchay. “Maybe for a date?”
The guy looks floored, his face getting redder. “Uh, yeah-”
A woman with a huge box comes out of the back room. “Porchay, did you tell him to take the survey?” She looks over to Kim with a smile. When he smiles back, she looks startled.
“Oh! Almost forgot.” With a stutter, he circles something on the paper receipt. “If you liked my service today, you can submit a survey.”
“I’ll do that.” Kim tries to ignore the sales lady, who is now burning holes into him. Oh fuck-
“Eh? Aren’t you that singer who won GQ’s popular vote?” She hurriedly puts the box down, her voice climbing octaves. “WIK?!”
Kim flashes one last grin at Porchay while giving his phone back. “So, call me? And thanks for the help.” He brushes against Porchay’s hand before turning around.
He’s out the door when he hears a scream: “WIK gave you his phone number?!”