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Oscar combs through her hair another time. She had tried a half-up-half-down but her hair wouldn't stay, most of it slipping towards her forehead. So, she gave up. Combed through it a couple of times, hair swooping over her forehead as usual.
She continues through the rest of the process, rubbing creams into her face and applying mascara. Nothing too much, going for a simpler look.
Her phone buzzes again on the vanity.
Logan.
‘Piastri, you better be applying that lipstick right now…’
Oscar sighs.
The lipstick sits on the vanity, new and shiny. It sits distant from the clutter on the surface, Oscar eyeing it between rounds of moisturiser and primer.
She always wore lighter colours, nudes, lighter pinks. Sometimes even brown. But she didn't touch the reds.
They were far too bold for her. Gave the impression of someone uninhibited and spirited. Which she wasn't.
Logan and a couple of others goaded her, basically bullied her into buying it at the mall once, she had been drunk and her inhibitions lowered and she gave in.
She hadn't even tried it until now.
She heard another exaggerated sigh from behind her and she refrained from rolling her eyes too hard.
Before she could chicken out and pick up another gloss, she reached for the lipstick and uncapped it. Leaned forward and started applying meticulously.
She tries to keep her hand steady. If it gets anywhere, they won't have time to correct it.
She is done with the upper lip. Okay. All good so far.
She hears another sigh, this time it was accompanied with mumbled words.
“What'd you say, Carlos?” She calls out, no doubt that he was grumbling about her to himself.
Her boyfriend would always start getting ready at a respectable time, taking care not to get late for any event they had. And somehow, not by any fault of her own, Oscar would delay them.
Again, not her fault.
E̶x̶c̶e̶p̶t̶k̶i̶n̶d̶o̶f̶m̶a̶y̶b̶e̶
And so–because he couldn't give up any opportunity to chastise and gloat–he would be ready to go within a few minutes, looking unfairly good. He would then sit on a sofa on the other side of their bedroom, checking his Richard Mille every few minutes and sighing until Oscar would snap at him, flustered because she was getting rushed.
“Is it really smudge resistant?”
Oscar frowns. She expected a, told you we are getting late. She sees Carlos twist the discarded lipstick box in his hands.
“Says so on the packaging.” Oscar mumbles, mind fully focused on her lower lip.
A final swipe.
She sets the lipstick down with a clack.
Job well done. Not a smudge or an unfilled space. She had to admit that it did make her look good.
“Are you done?” Carlos asks.
“Almost.” There was the blush, the final step.
She hears a shuffle of footsteps behind her.
Carlos grips the chair and spins her around. He crouches in front of her.
“I want to check.” He murmurs softly, blank eyes zeroing in on her painted lips. He has that look, the one where he goes blank but is thinking really hard.
He tilts her face and presses their lips. Carlos stays like that for a moment and Oscar is about to pull away to check the damage when he starts kissing her in earnest. He sucks her upper softly between his lips and she moans. He tastes fresh and minty and her lips tingle slightly from it.
His mouth parts, tongue caressing gently along Oscar's lips and Oscar wants to melt into his warm mouth.
He kisses her again, larger hands cradling her face so gently she might start crying.
Fuck, her mascara.
She can't really bring herself to care about her mascara when Carlos was pressing soft pecks to her mouth.
Carlos pulls back and Oscar almost chases after him, almost.
His eyes are starry, fixed on her probably ruined mouth.
“It didn't smear.” His voice is awed, tender fingertips tracing the edges of her lips.
Oscar turns her head by a fraction to look in the mirror, and while her eyes look glassy and pink blush is starting to form on her cheeks, the lipstick really is intact, the red unmoving.
For an incredulous second, she's silent because he kissed her like she was the most precious thing and she was two seconds away from pushing him onto the carpet and straddling him and saying fuck the party and he was just conducting his own little experiment, excited more about the resistance of silicone-based polymers and not whose lips they were on–
Carlos trails a cheek along her, softly enough to keep her makeup intact, clearly no desire to mess her up.
“Can you put it on again? Later, for after. I want to see how smudge resistant it is.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, undertones gently scratching the back of Oscar's neck. The words breeze over her spine and her breath leaves her in a rush, lungs empty, heart thudding loudly because Carlos wants to–
Fuck. He wants to kiss her, maybe harder, or maybe he wants to see how long it stays on when her lips are wrapped around his–
She blinks hard. The spaghetti strap of her dress slips down her shoulder as she slumps in her chair, trying to even her breathing.
She cannot apply blush right now. The last step. Her face is so pink and flushed, she wouldn't know how much to apply.
Carlos had gotten up a minute ago and went outside the room. Unaffected and calm and not at all looking he was suffering from a heatstroke.
“Hah, 7:15. Told you we will be late, querida.”