Work Text:
Fuuta was sitting in his room, rotting away his time on Twitter, as usual. It was dark outside, but not nearly as late as Fuuta usually stayed up. He still had plenty of time to procrastinate before he would need to start writing that assignment for tomorrow.
There was a loud noise from the bathroom. Fuuta groaned. He hated sharing an apartment with another person, but rent was way too expensive in this city. He and his roommate, Emi, often bickered, but most of the time they could avoid and ignore each other whenever they wanted. Emi went to medical school, which meant that she usually came home late (not that Fuuta was ever asleep when she did) and mostly kept to her room and her super thick books on anatomy and stuff. Fuuta didn’t get any of that shit. The only thing he needed for learning was his laptop.
He opened the programming software to type in a few lines of code and pretend he was working, when another loud noise came from the bathroom. “Hey, what the hell are you doing in there?” Fuuta shouted, but Emi didn’t answer. Swear to God, she never took off her headphones.
Fuuta got up, grabbed his empty Cheetos bowl and stomped up to the bathroom. “What are you doing? I can’t work while you’re so loud!” He said as he threw the door open.
Emi was dressed unusually. Most days, Fuuta just saw her how she looked after coming home, tired and in comfy, crumpled clothes (He was almost never awake when she left. Too early for a programmer.). But now, his roommate was wearing a nice black dress with a loose mesh shirt over it. Her eyes were framed in sharp black eyeliner, but all her bottles and sticks of makeup were still spread out across the whole bathroom.
“I can’t find it.”
“Find what?” Fuuta looked around the chaotic explosion of the bathroom. “No wonder, look around you! It’s a total mess!”
“No, but I checked everywhere.” Emi leaned down to look under the sink. Sure, whatever makeup she’s looking for will be right next to the window cleaner, Fuuta thought. “I used it not that long ago. It couldn’t have disappeared!” She put her hand into her dense curly hair, a bit frazzled from all the leaning down and standing up.
“What is it?”
“My lipstick!”
Fuuta froze. He remembered being in the bathroom, but in his memories it seemed like a different place altogether. Emi wasn’t home. He didn’t turn on the lights, but he could recall where the makeup bag was, tossed to the back of the cabinet, and at its bottom he found the lipstick. It all seemed like a dream now, something he remembered from a movie that his dreaming mind had spat out back at him. But it was real. It had to be, because he daily felt the tug of it in his gut, and the lipstick was clearly gone and he knew exactly where it was.
Emi must have noticed how his breathing had stopped because she cocked her head at him. “What is it?”
Fuuta stumbled over a reply. “I- do-” This seemingly only made Emi even more suspicious.
“Fuuta, what’s wrong?” She walked up to him and tried to put a hand on his forehead.
He instantly shoved her arm away. “Fuck off, I’m not sick!”
“You’re all red.”
“N-no I’m not!” Shit. No. Bad move, Fuuta realised as he saw Emi’s expression change. He shouldn't have denied it, he should have just gone to his room and–
Emi’s mouth pulled into a playful smile. She squinted at him. “Did you take my lipstick, Fuuta?”
“Absolutely NOT!” Fuuta could feel his face burning.
“You did, you totally did!” Emi giggled. “Do you like it?”
Fuuta couldn’t take it anymore. He ran out, slamming the bathroom door so hard the handle cracked and then ran to his room and locked it. He hurried to where he had stuffed the lipstick in his closet after thoroughly washing it off his face. It was still there, the little black tube he had craved so hard and that was now painful for him to look at. He ran to the window, wrenched it open and held the lipstick out, the sudden cold catching his breath in his chest and cooling the tears forming in his eyes. He looked down at the nighttime street, at the people, and he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let even a single person a single glance of his face as he held onto the lipstick bottle.
There was a knock on the door. Fuuta let out something between a sigh and a sob. “Leave me alone!” He was very aware of the crack in his voice.
“Fuuta…”
“I said go AWAY!” He screamed, his voice echoing to the buildings across the street and back.
There was silence for a few seconds. Fuuta stood frozen, swaying slightly in the cold wind.
“...I need my lipstick, Fuuta.” Emi said quietly. “I don’t have an extra.”
Fuuta contemplated letting her in just so that she could watch him hurl it out the window. Instead, he walked slowly to the door, hoping that the dim, colored lighting of his room would hide his teary eyes.
When he opened the door, Emi was standing there, her mocking smile replaced with a much softer one. “Thanks.” She said as he silently placed the lipstick in her hand. She didn’t move from the door, instead looking at the small tube in her hands. “You know, I think this shade would look very nice on you.”
Fuuta looked away. He really wanted to slam another door in Emi’s face, but he didn’t.
“I’m just saying it probably goes well with your hair color.” Emi opened the lipstick and angled it against Fuuta’s head. He didn’t dare to admit that the very same thought had occurred to him.
“Well, I gotta go.” In a few quick streaks, Emi applied the lipstick to her face. “Next time you want this, just ask me.” She smiled. “I would love to see it on you.”
Fuuta nodded silently, barely noticeably. The deep pit of shame in his gut had plateaued into… relief? Acceptance? He didn’t know, but when Emi left and he was again alone in the house, he took a couple more Monster drinks from the fridge (separated clearly from Emi’s Red Bull stash), determined to wait up for her, whenever she would be back. And what then? Fuuta didn’t know, he just had a good feeling about it.