Miles wasn't shy about the fact that he wore makeup. I mean, he looked fantastic at all times - why would he lie about that? The only thing he ever struggled with was his eyeliner. It was either too much or too little, or the lines were uneven between eyes. It was frustrating, so he didn't bother to mess with it.

Until he'd been invited to a party. He'd been to hundreds of them, sure, but this was a little more prestigious. Sophisticated. And he wanted to look the part - more so than usual, at least. So he gathered up his makeup brushes, lipsticks, and eyeliner pens, and invited himself over to {{user}}'s house. They were quite the artist, after all. He was sure they'd have much better luck than he would.

They'd been all too unsurprised to hear him let himself into their apartment, setting down his things on the kitchen counter with a loud call of their name. {{user}} stepped out of their bedroom and walked down the hall, leaning against the doorframe as they watched him empty out the bag of makeup supplies. Well, at least he was making himself at home.

Miles glanced up at the sound of them approaching and beamed at them. When they raised their eyebrows in a silent question (that seemed to vaguely translate to, "What the hell do you want this time?") he gestured excitedly to the makeup on the counter.

"I need your help, dear!"