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It was funny, really. How Idia loathed attention so much. How the spotlight reduced him to a stuttering mess and made him forget the controls and spam-click “S” to duck a sweeping boss attack when he’d meant to smash the spacebar to jump.
It was even funnier how the Fates had had it in for him when they’d granted him a flat 0 in the Stealth department and had had him roll the most obnoxious birth debuffs ever. Blue lips and cursed fire hair and all-natural eye bags that had every dermatologist in a fifteen-mile radius shaking their heads in pity were a Shroud special, he guessed. Day after day, he’d had to deal with people fake-complimenting him on his “sick makeup skills” when they were TOTALLY snickering behind his back about how he actually looked like someone’s JJBA OC.
Chat, he swore his conclusions were beyond valid and had hit all but guaranteed, but somehow, the fact that he walked around like he was cosplaying a KISS member only ever seemed to make his boyfriend want to put more makeup on him.
Like, constantly.
And it always came out of nowhere, too.
One second, they’d be playing Uno on Idia’s bed, and then Cater’d be staring at Idia a little too intently, and then he’d lean in way too close, and Idia’d start going tomato-red before Cater finally mused, his breath warm against Idia’s skin, “You should soooo let me do your makeup, Ids.”
Cater’s face was still way too close when Idia sputtered, “N—no. No way.” He tried to slide sideways on the bed like that would somehow fix the proximity issue (it did not, ‘cause apparently being the housewarden meant nothing and he still had to cop a twin bed), but Cater only followed, eyes sparkling.
“C’mooooon. Pleeease? Pretty please?”
Idia clutched his Uno cards as if they were a shield, and not … cardboard. “Why would you—why would anyone—why would you want to put makeup on me?” His voice cracked on the last word, which was extremely illegal, and Cater had the AUDACITY to giggle. (Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass “Go.” Do not collect two hundred thaumarks.)
“Because you’d look adorable,” Cater whined in a way that would make Idia’s mom go all sappy and be, like, “I remember when my little Idy would use to do that!” and thus trigger his gag reflex, “and I already know the EXACT palette I wanna use and look I wanna do. Kinda. Sorta. Just trust me, Ids, trust meeee.”
“No,” Idia said again, except his face was burning so hot that, if he were an ordinary person, the top of his head would spontaneously combust. “It’ll look sucky. I’ll look sucky. Everything’s sucky.”
And then, Idia made the worst possible mistake—one that would haunt him for the rest of his … week.
He looked directly at him.
At Cater’s big, bright eyes.
Idia froze.
CRIT HIT.
Cater knew what he was doing with those springy greens of his. Puppy dog eyes were everyone’s weakness, and Idia was not immune. Plus, Cater’s eyebrows had pitched into that lethal, quivering “pleaseee” shape—like he’d practiced it in the mirror just to nuke Idia’s willpower bars. Which he probs had, knowing him.
Idia’s brain lagged, and he had to force himself not to immediately cave. Because he would. He wasn’t a god. KEKW, like that’d help anyone. “Stop. That. That’s not fair. Yellow card.”
Cater perked up instantly. “So that’s a yes?” he breathed.
Idia almost stuttered out another “N—no” ‘cause objectively, “Stop” didn’t mean “no” and never would, but then Cater’s smile caused his heart to default to that stupid bug that made him p’ much subservient to all of his wishes. He groaned in defeat. “… Fine.” Just this once. For Cater.
Cater gasped so loudly that Idia wondered if, instead of acquiescing to let himself get made over, he’d accidentally sold him his soul. “YESSS!!! OMG, you’re the best!” He launched forward, knocking the Uno deck everywhere as he grabbed Idia’s face between both hands. “You are NOT gonna regret this!”
SOMEHOW, Idia doubted that.
He squeaked as Cater shoved the cards away, “Wait—not right now—?!”
But Cater was already scrambling off the bed and had slammed the door to Idia’s room before he could even finish his sentence.
Idia slumped backward on his bed, becoming boneless in an instant. Which made sense. SINCE HE CLEARLY DIDN’T HAVE A BACKBONE. Ugh, it wasn’t like he expected Cater to do him dirty or anything with his makeup! Cater literally did GWRMs every day and knew … makeup-y stuff. He used, um, foundcealer all the time!
And yet, even with all that evidence, something jittered under his ribs—that familiar, awful worry that he’d look stupid, or worse, disappoint Cater. Like, what if he finally realized that he was dating an IRL ghoul that looked trash-tier W/ or W/O cosmetics? Sure, Cater did makeup for fun and for the clout, but that didn’t mean it didn’t usually help elevate appearances a little! What if Idia failed that checkpoint sooo hard?
He would have spiraled further, but Cater stormed into the room. In his arms, he held a single palette and one teeny tiny brush. Idia, who’d bolted upright, breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Cater A came skipping inside—literally skipping, like he’d guzzled a whole thing of matcha—and hugging two enormous makeup bags to his chest. Tubes of gloss and liquid lipsticks rattled against compacts, and powders, loose and pressed alike, puffed out through the zippers every time he bounced. Each bag looked one wrong jostle away from exploding. Cater B streamed behind him, both arms wrapped around twelve separate canisters of brushes. Then Cater C appeared, nearly crashing into the other two. He was hauling a full plastic drawer tower, each crammed with makeup products in various states of escape. One drawer wasn’t even fully closed, leaving a procession of sponges and sprays behind like the clone’s own cursor trail effect.
“… Where—where did all that come from?!” Idia had to wonder, unsure whether to be amazed or concerned. Inventory limit capped, much? Was this what his dad had felt whenever Idia showed him his physical game library?
Cater beamed like this was normal. “Oh, these? Just a few things! Y’know. Essentials.” He unloaded the pile with a dramatic sigh and poofed his clones away. Then, without warning, he leaned in and lightly gripped Idia’s chin between two fingers.
He stared.
Examined.
Squinted.
Tilted Idia’s face left. Then right. Then forward. Then backward. The blot specimens under his microscope had never felt so scrutinized.
Idia grumbled, “Hmph. You said you knew EXACTLY what you wanted to do!”
“I did!” Cater chirped brightly. “But now I’ve got, like … three new ideas. Maybe four. Oh, wait—five.”
“F—five—? Cater—”
Cater snapped his fingers suddenly, eyes lighting up with so much mischief that it gave poison trap better than an actual poison trap. “Oh! OMG. New idea alert!”
Idia flinched. “That—that’s not reassurin—why did you smile like that?!”
Cater’s mic was on mute, apparently, and he didn’t answer. Instead, he whipped out his phone. “KK, ‘BEFORE’ PICS! Make a cute face!”
Idia stared up at him, wishing he were a video game character that came preloaded with poses, ‘cause he never knew how to act whenever Cater asked him to do that. Cater’d tried to teach him, but Idia was still mastering the “try not to look terrified ‘cause the lens is not gonna eat you, I prommy” lesson, so they hadn’t gotten very far. Still, Cater didn’t wait.
Click. Flash. Clickclickclick.
“Oh—em—gee,” Cater squealed, practically vibrating like a wannabe paparazzo, “you look GORGEOUS. And HOT. AND GORGEOUS AGAIN. This lighting LOVES you, Ids.” That would’ve been nice if it literally wasn’t a cave in here. Thanks for the not-at-all-biased compliment, anyway. “AHHH, adorbs!” Cater had now stopped snapping and was scrolling through his camera roll. “You’ll let me post these, right? Please?”
Idia huffed. ‘Cause Cater would stop asking if Idia said “no”. He’d been locked into this gameplay loop before. He knew how it aaaall worked.
The huff was all Cater needed, and he cheered. Then, he spun Idia around by the shoulders and gently guided him into his gaming chair, as if he was in charge of Idia’s pathfinding AI or something.
“Sit~! Time to let Cay-Cay work his magic! And y’know what, though? I highkey think I might have something to make this a bit easier for you.” Cater reached into one of his makeup bags and pulled out … a headband. Not just any headband. A black, fuzzy, cat-eared headband. With pink inner ears.
…
…
…
OK, Idia’d admit that that was p’ cute. He’d always wanted to be a catboy—wait, who said that?!
“Hold still~,” Cater sang, already leaning forward. He pressed the headband into place with infuriating gentleness, pushing Idia’s bangs back from his face with a soft sweep of his fingers. Idia swore his CPU temperature spiked to critical just from the feeling alone.
“There,” Cater breathed, admiring his work as if he’d just solved world peace. “Perfect. I can see your whole face now. And you look …” His grin turned carnivorous. “SO. FLIPPING. PRETTY.”
Idia’s entire body blue-screened. “I—I should report you for bullying.”
“Whaaaat? Don’t be like that, SMH. That headband is ESSENTIAL EQUIPMENT.”
“For WHO—?!”
“For me,” Cater said sweetly. He dug into his bag and pulled out a makeup compact. “Now, hold still.”
Idia tried. Really. But the moment he realized Cater was inches away from his face with a brush, he started fidgeting so much that he looked glitchy enough to give Date Everything’s Daemon a run for its money.
Cater sighed affectionately. “Ugh, Ids, you’re adorable, but you’re impossible to work on like this.”
Before Idia could ask what that meant, Cater gave the chair a shove with his foot, sending it spinning lightly toward the bed. He gestured toward it. Idia had actually not gotten the mind-reading upgrade yet, so he just blinked stupidly at him. “Come onnn. Sit down!” Cater coaxed, as if that were supposed to be obvious.
Warily, Idia did so. The mattress springs creaked faintly, and he only had half a second to breathe before Cater pushed Idia back onto it and gently pinned him down by the shoulders.
“Wh—C—Cater—?!”
“Hold still, ‘kay?” Cater positioned himself above Idia, straddling Idia’s hips without even seeming to notice the mildly-euphoric panic it induced. “If you wiggle, I can't contour your face shape properly. And trust me, I know your face shape.”
It was almost cool how Idia squeaked out a noise in response that would’ve made bank on an alien RPG soundtrack.
Cater hummed happily as he began. “Your base is already soooo gorge, so, NVM, ix-nay on the contouring. And any complexion stuff, TBH. Ooooh, what’s your skincare routine?”
When Idia raised an eyebrow at him, ‘cause Cater shoulda known by now that the extent of his skincare was remembering to wash his face when he brushed his teeth, Cater groaned. “OFC it’s the people that care the least that get to have the most perfect skin. Shoulda guessed. Guess we’ll start with lips then!”
He grabbed a pale lip concealer and held it up triumphantly. “Step one! Neutralize the blue!”
“Wh—why would you say it like that?! It sounds like you’re about to queue up an army to take me down!”
“I could take your lips down,” Cater mused matter-of-factly, which made something go “kyahhh!” in Idia’s heart in the most humiliating way possible. “But not with concealer. Trust the master, though! I know what I’m doing! This is magically-enhanced, BTW, so it won’t wear off in your lip seam later.”
Cold, creamy product touched Idia’s lips, and everything in his body seized like he’d taken damage. His blue lips—the one repulsive, literally aposematic color he’d always assumed at least kinda made his hair make sense—slowly faded under Cater’s careful strokes.
Cater then took out a pink lip pencil and began redrawing Idia’s shape with the precision of a surgeon. Crewel would be proud. Or shocked, since Cater had failed to slice a wormwood leaf into equal pieces for an assignment yesterday.
Idia’s eyes darted around. “Cater? Um. My lips aren’t gonna match my hair anymore. Isn’t that, IDK, mega-weird? Isn’t that, like, in violation of the Geneva Conventions? Isn’t that—”
“Shhh.” Cater pressed a finger to Idia’s chin. “I said ‘trust me’, remember? Trust meeee.”
Idia swallowed hard and tried to shut up.
Cater moved on, eyeing Idia’s face critically.
“Blush …” he whispered to himself. “… Well, you’re not gonna need it, LMAO. But, lowkey, that IS only temporary …” Idia’s stomach dropped. … Grk, temporary? Like, status effect, temporary? WTH was going on? “Better dust it on just in case!” Cater sang, cheerfully dumping pink on Idia’s cheeks.
By the time Cater reached for mascara, Idia was sweating. When Cater noticed, he thanked the sevens that he hadn’t used any complexion products.
Cater held up his regular mascara wand and hesitated, tapping it against his chin as he took in the upper third of Idia’s face. “… But do they turn pink too? IDR, IDR …” Idia refused to try and guess what “they” were. Cater frowned. “Hm. #YOLO. Guess I gotta test it out!”
Then he pocketed the mascara. His attention returned to Idia’s lips. Idia barely had time to register confusion before Cater held up the lipstick bullet he’d used proudly.
“The cool thing about this lipstick,” Cater said in a tone too nice to be nice, “is that it’s transfer-proof.”
Idia blinked. “Transfer-proof?”
”Yup! See?” Cater leaned down and kissed him. Right on the lips. Idia’s soul ESC’d right outta his body and floated toward the line at the OG Charon’s ferry. Cater pulled back, studied his own mouth in a small handheld mirror he’d produced from somewhere, and frowned. “… Okay, so maybe it’s not that transfer-proof.” He grabbed another lipstick. Liquid, this time. “This one DEFINITELY is, though.”
Idia tried to babble something idiotic (like “y—you don’t have to keep kissing me if you don’t wanna”) as Cater applied a new layer—but KISS.
Cater pulled away again and checked his lips. “… WHAT? Okay, rude. ONE more.”
This time, he didn’t give Idia a moment to breathe or think or even mentally prepare. Just slicked on a different tube of liquid lipstick. He painted a coat on, fanned it, and then kissed Idia hard. So hard Idia’s breath hitched. So hard his fingers curled in the sheets. So hard his hair—his blue, flickering flame hair—began creeping pink at the tips.
Cater pulled back, leaving Idia panting, with a victorious gasp and then immediately zeroed in on Idia’s still-blue eyelashes and brows. “OK, that’s what I thought. So I am gonna have to turn them pink for everything to look cohesive later.”
Idia’s brain was soup. He’d also given up trying to turn it back into a solid. Cater, unfortunately, had the ability to render him into a delighted puddle.
Cater was already rummaging. “I’m bringing out the big guns!” he announced gleefully. “Time for the fun stuff.” He lifted two nightmare objects: hot pink mascara and hot pink brow mousse.
[WARNING] flicked over Idia’s mental HUD with alarming frequency. “C—Cater, that’s—are those—are you SRSLY—”
“Let me cook, Ids.” He winked. “You’re gonna look amazing.”
Idia was officially concerned. More concerned than he’d been when his favorite anime’s Twitter account had mysteriously stopped updating less and less two whole arcs before the manga had been completed. More concerned than when the toaster had started sparking when he’d been four and trying to turn it into a waterproof drone. Almost as concerned as he ended up being whenever Vargas had told him he’d need to partner up in P.E.
But he said nothing as Cater swiped hot pink onto his lashes with an exuberance that made it EZPZ to understand why he’d found himself on Kalim’s friends list so fast, then combed his brows upward with mousse that had to be radioactive.
Cater finally leaned back, his hands on his hips. “… And done. WAIT, NVM—” He grabbed an aerosol canister filled with something that smelled suspiciously like hairspray. A plume of spray lightly misted Idia’s face, and he began hacking immediately. “Yep, definitely gonna wanna set this. But now we’re done!”
He lifted his phone, snapped the “AFTER” pic, and smirked down at Idia with twice the delight than was the legal limit. “The Cay-Cay army isn’t gonna have context for the color palette,” Cater purred, sounding one minor key shift away from villainous. “But that’s okaaaaay. ‘Cause I’m keeping that part aaaall to myself.”
He lowered his phone and pressed the mirror into Idia’s trembling hands.
Idia took one look.
And had a clamp his jaw shut so as not to whimper the “womp womp womp” of defeat.
Sparkle. Pink. Shimmer. More pink. Colors he had literally never seen on a human being outside of those gacha ads that promised “ULTRA EPIC GOD-TIER” cosmetic skins.
His lashes—pink. His brows—pink. His cheeks—pink, like he’d been yeeted into Permanently Embarrassed Mode. His lips—pink, shapely, glossy. His entire color scheme had gone from cobalt to blush.
Or. Sorta.
‘Cause—sitting atop all that rosy chaos …
Blue. Hair.
As in: clown-boss-palette mismatch blue. As in: not matching. NOT matching.
Idia opened his mouth, voice thin, strained, and the tiniest bit hysterical: “Er … It—it’s SS-tier. But … it doesn’t match???”
Slowly, Cater blinked once. His long lashes caught the nonexistent light like some sponsored ad. He was way too calm. “DW,” he breathed, and his voice dipped low. “I’m gonna make it match.”
Cater pounced, knocking Idia flat with another searing kiss—hot, greedy, and overwhelming enough to wipe every coherent thought from Idia’s RAM. There was no warning, no countdown, no time for Idia’s poor threat-assessment algorithms to boot.
Heat bloomed at Idia’s scalp, first a spark, then a sweeping rush, until his hair flared from electric blue to blinding neon pink from end to length to root. He’d never get why his hair did that—turn pink at the ends, when it was his head that was heating up, but it did. Shouldn’t the color change start from the roots? (OBVIOUSLY THAT WAS WHAT HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THINKING ABOUT RN.)
Cater broke away only long enough to snap a single photo, breath hitching as he took in the pink glow now matching every ridiculous cosmetic choice he’d painted on.
“And this one,” he murmured, voice low and pleased as he slipped his phone back into his pocket, “is just for me.”
Then he dove back in, kissing Idia with absolute, unhurried intent, like he had no plans of ever letting up.
Idia forgot he had makeup on. Forgot that underneath the pink, his lips were blue. Cater liked them—clearly—and that was all that mattered right that second.