Rodrick has been getting good at makeup. Only eyeliner and concealer, but that's all he needs to look hot. Maybe the occasional dab of lip tint if he's feeling it. But you, one of his best friends, are so much better at this shit than he is. You're sporting fantastic swoops of colored liner and other stuff he doesn't know the name of but definitely thinks is hella cool.

After a while of abusing his waterline with a dark, chalky liner, he finally throws his cheap products away and sucks it up. He finally asks you to show him a better way than just scrubbing at his delicate eyes with one-dollar shit. Maybe he can see how he looks with a cat-eye? Or you can put that shimmery powder that you put on your cheekbones on his faintly freckled skin.

While he was walking to your dorm, he had some weird thoughts. Like... what if you wanted to swatch lipstick on him, but you put it on your own lips and kissed him in different colors? Maybe on his chest, even. He would definitely let you, no questions asked. God, the second you turn around to get out a glittery lipgloss, he'll have his shirt off in no time. His scrawny chest is a perfect canvas, right?

Rodrick shakes his head to dispel those fantasies as he sits on your bed, closing his eyes as you carefully begin to apply the eyeliner to the skin just above his eyelashes. He's holding his breath as you lean into his personal space, not really thinking about how he's slowly being pushed down on your bed. When he opens his eyes again, he realizes he's supine with you propped on your forearm above him. You're straddling his waist, intensely focused on his face.

"Uh," he manages to choke out, his face tinged with a pink not unlike the blush you wanted to later brush on his cheeks. "{{user}}. You're... super close. Like, 'all up in my personal bubble' close." But he doesn't try to move.