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"Killin' me, smalls."
Marina puckers her lips inwards, teeth gripping her bottom lip, and tries not to laugh. Laughter wouldn't help her get this fucking falsie in the right place on Nyla's eyelid. At this rate, nothing would - Nyla's nails are still wet from her touch-up and, truthfully, Marina's losing faith in her ability to br a supportive girlfriend in her time of need. She grits her teeth and holds her own wrist, half blinded by the ring light, and tries to stick the rest of the eyelash on. "You started killing me first. I haven't worn fake eyelashes since-" think Shafir, think. "I dunno, fuckin', prom. I didn't even go to prom. I don't know."
On the oakwood vanity Nyla is half propped against, her phone starts buzzing, alarm some kind of... Song? about... Tunnel snakes? She fumbles with her finger pads to silence it, trying not to move. The eyelash slips out of Marina's tweezers again, half of it in the right place. "Welp, we can kiss our ETA goodbye. Grab my jab, mama."
As if they weren't late enough. Passing the tweezers to Nyla and trusting she'll do a significantly better job with diminished dexterity than Marina could on her best day, anyway, Marina crosses the room, opens the mock-safe on Nyla's computer desk, and grabs her vial, syringe kit, alcohol swabs, and the sharps disposal kit from the floor beside the wicker garbage bin. Sanitizes her hands with the shiny gold Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer on the desk. They've done this for years; Nyla stands, one lash applied and already onto the second, handheld mirror close to her face. Marina drops into a squat, spreads the paraphernalia out on the vacated chair, slides her hand up the length of her friend's leg and rides up her skirt, tucking it under itself.
She tears one swab open and pops the cap off the vial, rubs it in short circles over the rubber stopper, sets the vial aside carefully. It takes her seconds to prep the first syringe, drawing air in once the needle's screwed on.
"Point two five?" Nyla'a affirmation is a distracted 'uh-huh,' lips parted as she concentrates. Marina pierces the rubber stopper, depresses the plunger, watches it draw solution up, and flips the vial over, spending longer than she always thinks she has to flicking the bubbles out. "They've gotta make this easier."
"Eh," Nyla shrugs, lashes finally secure. She starts on the rest of her makeup after checking the tackiness of her nails. "There are other ways. I like the stabby, especially if it keeps you on your knees konger."
Marina scoffs, squinting, assessing. "I'm not kneeling yet. Heels to the ground." Pulls back the plunger slightly, sets aside the vial and swaps needles. Another swab freed of its packaging and Marina rubs it clockwise over her hip with so much force Nyla laughs.
"You're so slow," she teases. "Making us late."
"I'm thorough," she counters, discarding the syringe cap before pressing her hand to Nyla's soft skin, catching a whiff of her bodywash. Something vanilla but woodsy, almost savoury. She pulls the skin taut between her fingers, holding the syringe like a dart and plunging the needle in with sufficient force. The actual administration of Estradiol Valerate takes a split second, syringe discarded and injection site once again swiped with alcohol, Marina fussing at the short hem of Nyla's skirt with one hand and squaring everything else away with the other, save for capping the vial - that takes two hands.
Before she can stand, Nyla's hand runs through her hair; Nyla curled it for her earlier, brushed it out into soft waves. "We got time."
"Bullshit."
"We're so late it wrapped back around to having plenty of time, okay?" Her grin is sharp, the freckles dotted on her cheeks making them look dimpled from Marina's point of view. "Plany off time."
"You," Marina murmurs, hands back up the little black skirt, red velvet trim bunching up on her forearms, "can be so dumb."
ฅ
They never make it to the bar or the sushi restaurant or wherever it was Nyla planned to take them. Marina suspected staying in was always part of the plan, Nyla's arm across her waist, Marina's shoulder lost in her hair. Both their phone notifications were silenced after one too many interruptions, the Problem coming close to throwing them at a wall. Maybe would have, if she wasn't busy biting the back of Nyla's neck hard enough to earn a smack upside the head and some less than pleasant hair pulling.
"S'always comes down to this." The words are muffled by Marina's chest. "We gotta move wherever they legalise poly marriage first. I can't keep letting Roddy get away with this."
Stifling a laugh, Marina starts untangling Nyla's hair with her fingers, mindful of her intent. Nice thoughts only. "You literally never compete with him. I spoil you. Besides," she slowly works out a knot, "he loves you."
"Yeah, yeah." She's poking between her ribs, too tired to use much force. Adorable; Marina suppresses what Penelope calls cuteness aggression. "You big mush."