His golf clothes—those were the closest thing he had to decent, decent enough for your parents. At least, that’s what he had decided. Despite your gentle reassurances that, no, Easter wasn’t a formal event, just a time of worship and family, Murderface felt he needed to look decent, especially because this was his first time meeting your parents. He lisped out a “doessch this look okay?” as he attempted to clean up, even trimming his mustache just a tad. you did your best to reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and smudging your black lipstick on his pale skin. Hand in hand, you stood on your parents’ door step, looking at him before you knocked.