Chapter Text
Lala scrutinises him for a long moment before plucking a fresh q-tip from the packet and smudging his Cupid's bow. Ren feels pampered—observed—the way he might if he were a doll, but it's not an altogether bad feeling. It's kind of nice. Definitely not the worst way he's been observed this year. Far from it, really.
"I think you're decent," Lala decides.
He'd expected, maybe, some level of surprise from her when he'd asked her about this. Some lighthearted teasing, perhaps? Shouldn't have. She's a consummate professional. It's almost a shame, because maybe if she'd interrogated him about it he'd be forced to verbalise what exactly this feeling is. Now he's just going to have to figure himself out without the comparative comfort of doing someone a favour.
Lala turns him to the mirror.
No grand revelations there. It's Ren in the glass, it's just Ren in a dress. He doesn't feel any different. Doesn't feel any nicer, doesn't feel more right, any more himself. Just Ren in a dress.
Prettier, though.
He adjusts his belt, self-conscious.
"You like the colour?" Lala asks him. She's still holding the lipstick; it's a sweet, cool red. She's businesslike. "We could go darker if you want, but you're young. Bright is good."
"I like it," Ren says.
"Dress isn't too tight?"
"No."
"How you feeling?"
Mostly the same. A little more painted. It's been a year of finding comfort in some kind of veneer like it's a trade. Hiding his eyes to swap vulnerability for a roguish streak, for instance, or for a bit of plausible deniability. His glasses are off now. He'd asked, but the false lashes were too long and they'd smudge the lenses, or so said Lala. And of course the domino mask is nowhere to be found. Ren's face is exposed. But it's painted.
He tilts his head and watches his mirror self do the same, inquisitive like a bird of paradise. The gloss makes his lips look pursed all the time. Lala's shadowed his eyes, too, made them glittery and hooded. It's a wide-eyed look that makes him look curious and mysterious all at once. Doesn't look like him, but it does. Feels like meeting a twin and then taking her place.
Lala is watching him. She's too professional to let that knowing expression pierce her own immaculate makeup.
"You're coping well with those heels," she offers, and does not ask further.
"Thanks," says Ren. "I think I can take my shift now."
"Watch that lippie if you eat or drink," she warns him. "It'll smear. Anything else you want, hon?"
His mirror self tilts her head again, coy. No mask. Joker winks out from a sparkle in her eye.
"Do you have gloves?" Ren asks.