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Tim held the lipstick in his hand, enraptured by the glossy, black tube. The aforementioned cosmetic along with eyeshadow, eyeliner, and new clothes all slowly began to take up their shy corners in his life. Those small reminders of purchases he didn't remember making served as proof of Masky's presence. While Tim still didn't like not remembering aspects of his life, his fear regarding his alter decreased significantly once he learned just how to communicate with her. While Tim didn't make it a rule, Masky always chose to ask before making purchases, listing the product, store, and price of it. On some occasions–if Tim wasn't too embarrassed–he would buy it for her though he typically shied away from her makeup requests. The idea of even entering one of those beauty stores just made Tim feel awkward and dysphoric. That said, part of him was always curious what he would look like with Masky's make up on and what Masky saw in herself when she looked in the mirror. There had to be something nice about wearing it for her to keep on requesting it.
He stared down at the tube in his hands. This didn't have to be a big thing, he assured himself. He was still a man, just a curious one, trying on the equivalent of an older sister's makeup. Tim uncapped the lipstick, staring at the tube of the well loved pigment. He cast a quick glance to the half open bathroom door. "What if Jay saw?" He thought. "Well, idiot, he's been seeing your face in makeup for like a year now." Tim set down the tube on the sink counter, chewing at a hangnail. "But that wasn't me, that was Masky. She's a girl kinda, and I'm not, so I don't have reason to do this and I don't want him to think I'm that kind of person." Tim paused, banging the palm of his hand against his forehead a couple times. "You're being stupid," he whispered aloud to himself. "That kind of person... Listen to yourself Tim, you're too old for this internalized shit. You've fucked Jay up the ass, we're both gay, he loves me, I've thought about proposing now that it's legal and there's nothing that would make me more of a faggot than that! Some goddamn lipstick won't kill me."
With a deep breath, Tim grasped the lipstick in his palm, the cold of the plastic seeping into his skin. He leaned himself against the sink, the counter biting into his stomach but too concerned with figuring out how to hold the damn thing to care. After adjusting his hand several times, he landed on holding it like a pencil. Then, with baited breath, he pressed the pigment against his bottom lip, giving it a firm swipe. Instantly, the charcoal black color stained his lip. He withdrew his hand, staring pensively at the color on it. His heart was beating far too fast, his brain scanning the dark corners of his mind for some help. Finally, a foggy memory that didn't feel quite like his own presented itself. It was of a nurse in the hospital with bright red lipstick. She uncapped it, smeared it on her bottom lip, and before touching her top one, she rubbed the two together before releasing her lips with a pop. Only then did she apply to her top lip, focusing on the peaks and valleys of her cupid's bow. It looked similar to a shape he'd seen Masky do and he furrowed his brow, wondering for a moment who exactly that nurse was and why he had committed that moment to memory. A few moments of glassy eyed confusion later, Tim shook himself into the present.
He decided to follow what that nurse did, pressing his lips together and rubbing them until he could feel the sticky color transfer to his top lip. He looked at the results and cringed a little. He wasn't sure what exactly went wrong, but his entire top lip line was now over lined and ringed in the black. In a flurry of angry hands, he recapped the lipstick and turned on the faucet, set in scrubbing the childish cosmetic off his face. He glared a hole into the porcelain, watching the water hiss into the bowl and his thoughts began to roar along with it.
"Calm down." a thought suddenly spoke up louder than the rest. The voice didn't sound like his own, older, feminine, and along with it, a weird tension pressed against the back of his mind, something that made him blink hard at the tears forming in his eyes.
"You should breathe."
Tim hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath, his anger taking him out of his body. He sucked in what little air he could, breath quick and shuttering until the force pressed more insistently as if asking for permission. In his panic Tim granted it, doing anything for the tightness in his chest to leave and it seemed to work, his control over his lungs delegated to some other part of his brain. Despite lungs full of air, the veil clouding his senses never lifted. Everything still felt so far away but unlike when he fully dissociated, he could still feel it, just less intense, as if covered in a weighted blanket. He stood, white knuckling the edge of the sink for a moment, trying to figure out what was happening. "I'm sorry." He apologized to the air. For what he wasn't quite sure. For crying? For messing up? Realization dawned on him, the presence taking a more perceivable appearance in his head. Masky. She was here. He wasn't quite sure how, he vaguely remembered his therapist saying something like this was possible, but he was too distracted by the presence to recall anything more, all he did know was that Masky was watching and controlling his breathing. “I’m sorry for touching your stuff,” he whispered to himself, voice broken and soft. He suddenly felt much smaller than before, scared and ready to receive retribution.
"You have nothing to feel bad for. I can help if you’d like."
Tim paused, blinking hard again. His right hand unfurled from its fist without him telling it to as a demonstration of how his guardian would aid. He let his body breathe for a couple minutes more before answering. He felt better than before but now that his panic was gone he was filled with resolute defiance. For some goddamn reason, the act of putting on lipstick was important enough to make him freak out. Not knowing what about it made him so reactive ate at him, making him restless and impatient. He felt his stubborn energy return, unsettled at the idea of losing to lipstick. He wanted to continue. He could figure out why this was hard for him later, but he knew in the moment he needed to best this odd challenge or else it would weigh on his mind for who knows how long.
"It's okay to play dress up, Tim." That patient voice answered in response to the silence.
Tim finally smiled to himself. He controlled his left hand, clasping it over the one that didn't feel quite like his own at the moment and squeezed. “Thanks.” he chewed on the inside of his lip thinking for a moment. “Can you, like, give me my hand back, it makes me nervous. I’ll ask you if I need help, I want to do this on my own.” He projected his thoughts internally, hoping and begging that this foreign feeling would let him be for a moment. He was answered when he slowly felt the sensation return to his arm, his senses returning full force. It still felt like something lingered, not quite wanting to leave him unsupervised but he was okay with that. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly.
He let the phrase “play” linger in his head, the word powerful enough he was able to face himself in the mirror, meeting eyes with his clownish reflection. He let out a solid snort at it.
Another thought beamed into his brain: a far away image of makeup remover sat in Masky's small pile of things. Tim didn't need any more prompting, grabbing the bottle and investigating it before deciding he also needed q-tips. After dousing the cotton in the cleaner, he leaned forward once again, carefully rubbing at the pigment that had crossed the border of his lips. Instantly, the makeup looked better. It wasn’t as sharp as the nurse's, the peaks of his lips cresting in soft mounds. Despite his best efforts, the line towards the corner of his lips was still a little shaky, but at least he didn't feel as stupid about it.
He could feel more than an encouraging hum in the back of his mind, so in a burst of courage, Tim picked up the lipstick again, touching up the color on his top lip, breath held tight in his lungs, willing every bone in his body to cooperate with him. He let out a large sigh upon completion, the tension fizzling out of his body.
He took a moment to look at his entire face now and was struck with a solid, earth shaking thought. ”Mom.” Masky supplied the image for him, of a woman with a nose and lips like his, eyes dark and ringed with exhaustion. The view changed to Tim sitting in a bath, the water cold and the bubbles long since faded, watching his mother apply lipstick, cursing with intensifying frustration as she attempted to do her makeup 3, 4, 5 times. The longer she took the colder Tim became, and he felt himself begin to cry. As soon as noise left his mouth, the memory was ripped from him. He desperately wanted to know what came next but Masky refused to give anything else.
Tim faced his reflection again, frowning at the resemblance of his mother. He wasn't sure what he wanted to find, but that wasn't it. Instead he tried to imagine Masky’s mask, conjuring up what he could imagine of her face before she took the reigns again, showing him what she looked like in their headspace. Tim leaned forward, tracing his fingers along his lips, nose, and eyebrows as Masky’s memories played in his head. One that stood out was her outside of their headspace, within Tim's body, looking into the mirror with apprehension. She reached for the lipstick, the same one Tim was still holding in his own hand, and applied it, as unconfident and as shakily as Tim had. When she was finished, despite the result actually looking a little worse than Tim's application, too heavy handed and clumsy, Masky had smiled, overwhelming joy and euphoria flooding both of their bodies in recount. Masky’s smile was a funny thing, awkward and with too many bottom teeth, accompanied by a scrunched nose, something no one besides her and now Tim had ever seen. But it didn't need to look normal, it was just a fact. Masky was smiling and she was so happy she had to bite down on her fist to contain it, seeking a brief moment of intense physical pressure to release the pressure of being so excited.
And suddenly Tim was back to the present, smiling his own smile, deep appreciation and Masky's lingering euphoria sizzling within him. He explored how the lipstick affected his own expression, then he pulled his lips shut in a drooping frown, then pursed into a sultry pout, unable to hold back his laugh suddenly reminded of his co-worker, Hayleigh, posing for a selfie. Despite no longer associating it with a lingering dread, Tim still decided that this was a one time adventure. Lipstick definitely didn't fit his overall "lumberjack,"–as Jay had once called it–aesthetic. But he was glad he tried it, it felt liberating doing something he felt like he shouldn’t.
But just as he thought that, Jay knocked on the door, flinging it open. "Hey, hot stuff, do you- oh!"
Tim imagined 5 scenarios in rapid succession. 1. Bash his head through the drywall. 2. Punch Jay in the face. 3. Scream. 4.Slam the door. And the fifth one helpfully supplied by the voice in the back of his head- 5.Tackle Jay. Instead of any of these, Tim chose the secret 6th option and froze, mentally berating himself for not closing the door. In the past he had left the door open whenever he was giving himself a haircut or grooming his sideburns. Those things often took awhile so when he left the bathroom door open, it was clear permission for Jay to come and keep him company.
Jay slowly turned a shade of red, most likely realizing that was not what he had walked in on. He scratched at the side of his head. "Ha. Ha... Sorry, Masky... Hot Stuff is a Tim only title." He spoke awkwardly, most likely surprised at the sudden appearance of what he thought to be Tim’s alter. That realization suddenly hit Tim full force, freeing his body from its state.
"Oh uh…Still me," Tim cringed, releasing the lipstick from his death grip and onto its place on the counter.
At this, Jay's awkwardness melted away, back straightening as he took another step into the bathroom. His eyes flickered to Tim's lips, brow twitching as he looked.
Tim scrunched his nose, ready for Jay to say something stupid when-
"I like the lips." He said it so casually, as if it was something new Tim was trying out and not absolutely freakish or any of the berating things Tim's mind was telling him.
"They look like shit," Tim supplied quickly. "Well I mean-" he laughed at himself. "They look a lot better than they did- Masky helped? If I explain it I'll sound insane, but just. I don't know, I was curious what the big whoop was so-" Tim let his hands fall down to his sides with a slap, his exacerbated ramble coming to a close. "I tried it and concluded it's not my thing."
Jay took a confident step forward. He held out a hand for Tim to take, his other one resting along the side of his partner's jaw, holding his face tenderly. "I think it looks good," he praised.
Tim rolled his eyes. "You're just used to it."
"Well yours looks different." Jay punctuated his statement with a kiss on Tim's cheek. That's when Tim was blessed with a brilliant idea, a wicked smirk overtaking his face.
"Well, if you like it so much why don't you wear it?"
"Why would-" before Jay could finish, Tim surged forward, placing his lips on Jay's, pressing firm and long so that when he pulled away, Jay was imparted with the smeary black residue of Tim's lips. Jay balked for a moment and his hand touched at the newfound material on his lips before whipping his head towards the mirror. "Tim!!" He squawked.
A mean laugh forced its way out of Tim's mouth as he took in Jay's peril. "Well aren't you just pretty!" He teased to his partner's dismay.
Again, Jay was bright red. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, clearly not enjoying the teasing. "Shut up."
Tim, emboldened by the task of embarrassing Jay, stalked forward arms outstretched. "But Jay, I insist! You'd look good with more."
Jay slowly backed up, apprehension on his face. "Tim.. what are you doing..."
"What do you mean?" Tim took another threatening step. "I just wanna give you a hug and a kiss-"
"Tim!" Jay seemed to realize Tim's master plan, his back bumping into the doorway. "Tim listen, we can- we can talk about this, you don't have to do this."
Tim paused his prowl, forcing himself to quell the snicker in reaction to Jay's wide eyes. They were just playing of course, but the two shared an electric moment of quiet, suspense tightening their postures like a rubber band before-
SNAP. Tim surged forward arms outstretched and Jay screeched, turning on his heel to stumble out of the bathroom just in time to escape Tim's playful pursuit. The two scampered around the apartment, laughing all the while. Jay played a good prey, his gangly limbs propelling him further in a shorter time than Tim. The two had just broken away from a stalemate around the living room couch when Jay stumbled over himself, giving him enough time to become at the mercy of Tim's ensnaring embrace.
And Tim kissed Jay. Kissed both cheeks, from the peak of his cheekbone down to his jaw, even past that towards his neck. He made sure to get Jay's chin, nose, and finally, with a firm grasp on Jay's head, he smashed his faded black lips into the man's forehead, leaving a comedically cartoon shaped lip mark. At this point Jay was wearing more lipstick than Tim, completely covered in kiss marks.
"See, knew you'd look good."
"I don't wanna hear it,” Jay sulked. He failed to hide the small smile that made its place on the corner of his mouth.
Tim kissed that corner in acknowledgement then snickered. "I want a picture of this."
"No chance, Wright."
Tim rolled his eyes, finally freeing his partner. "Well let me clean it off of you at least, make that my apology."
Jay huffed but his smile had totally enveloped his face. "Fine."
After ridding the lipstick from himself, Tim cleaned Jay's face gently, leaving another layer of kisses in every place he touched. The man, sitting on the closed toilet of their tiny apartment bathroom, became putty in Tim's hands, leaning fully into every touch as a soft smile graced his face. If that reaction was anything to go by, Tim thought it safe to consider himself forgiven.