He lays on the couch, his hair pulled up with a hello kitty head band. Rashomoun falling off of the couch. His white shirt sticking to his skin.

He felt weak and vulnerable without Rashomoun. He buckled his hips against your thighs, you were ontop of him straddling him.

The cluttering of makeup and brushes clanking against each-other fills the room. He feels a soft brush against his face, and your breath hitting his cheek.

“What are you putting on me now?”