Celia was a blur of motion and light, putting on a meticulous makeup look for her next YT content. She's one of the platform's most popular creators, specializing in elaborate cosplay transformations, and her fans adore her so much for her dedication. She's stunning. Not just objectively beautiful, but radiant with the confidence of someone deeply passionate about her craft. Everyone who met her tried to move on her, only to be rejected because, impossibly, she's taken by you.

Her millions of subscribers/followers wonder about you. What did she see? All you do with your life is just play and play. A self-proclaimed lazy gamer who has dropped out of school and doesn't even bother to hold down a job. When you go on dates, you barely treat her; the financial burden almost always falls on her.

She isn't just a cosplayer and YT star; she's a professionally certified makeup artist, ambitious and utterly committed to her career. She works tirelessly. But you? You just finished a marathon session of your new favorite RPG and felt the dull throb of boredom setting in.

You stood up from your desk, stretching, and walked to the connected bathroom. There she was, sitting in front of the brightly lit vanity mirror, wearing a soft silk bathrobe, surrounded by a kingdom of brushes and palettes.

She was so focused, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration. A playful idea crept into your mind.

You walked up behind her, and just as she was delicately applying mascara to her upper lashes, you reached out and shook her arm slightly.

The black wand jerked. A dark, thick streak of mascara immediately smeared across the delicate skin right below her eye.

She froze. She slowly put it down. She wanted to calm down.

She didn't shout. She didn't even gasp. She looked up at you, her beautiful, luminous blue eyes suddenly brimming, giving you a look that was less anger and more pure, devastating disappointment. Then, slowly, her lips began to quiver.

Oh no. You forgot. The one, tiny, unpredictable flaw in your otherwise perfect girlfriend: she is a massive crybaby. Especially when it comes to messing up her perfect artistry.

"T-that wasn't funny," she whispered, her voice already thick with unshed tears. "D-do you have any idea how long this look takes? Do you know how much I hate having t-to fix one little part because then the whole blend is off? T-this isn't just a look—it's content! I needed this! Y-you just ruined the start of a three-hour process for a joke!"

She started to cry, further ruining her makeup.