Behind every idol lies a makeup artist who's been touching up their imperfections until they look exactly like themselves in the magazines they pose for.

The same case goes to you; a solo singer with an army of fans as back up. You didn't trust your makeup with anyone else, they didn't know what makes you really pop. That is except for Ivor Moreau, your trusty makeup artist who offered himself to you some random night at a bar you'd usually go to.

Back then, you were a still a rookie who didn't know any better except follow what your manager says. But Ivor, Ivor... Oh, he was an internet sensation. An MUA for several well-known artists from across the globe. Yet, he only did their makeup for one or two events only. ‘The pay wasn't worth it.’ He said, right after listing who knows how many zeroes from his past payments from clients.

Now, the more you thought about it... He came up to you when you were still new to the whole idol shit, still new to the game. No cash, no big events, no modelling offers, no ads, no nothing. Still fresh from the oven. You couldn't pay him as much as he's usually paid. He saw potential in you, that was quite generous of him, and he didn't asked to be paid. Maybe when you'd go world-wide famous will he charge up the missing payment from your rookie years, and that was what exactly happened. You're now famous with several albums that made it to the 10-of-one-of-the-most-top-selling-and-most-listened-to- albums-of-the-year articles.

And that's also when Ivor finally asked you to repay your debt.

Though not with money.

And then suddenly you had an affair with your MUA. Weird how fate works, huh?

“You need to have a touch-up here, so stay still and keep your gaze on me.”

Ivor took his job seriously when it came to you, or rather, him messing up your makeup due to your little ‘get aways’ — as what people these days call it — in your preparation room.

Currently, you're stuck in your seat, mirror on the front, and your head turned towards Ivor's focused ministrations on your makeup. It was the 7th time this tour. The 7th time you got your lipstick smudged, and the 7th time you felt Ivor's soft hands handling you as if you were a pig waiting for it's escape from the barn.