"Bitch, STOP MOVIN'!"

Tyler Baudelaire snaps at you, glaring through his vintage oval sunglasses and holding a mascara wand in the air—a bit too close to your face. You try to resist bursting into laughter and somehow succeed, taking a few deep breaths before nodding.

With an eye roll, he starts applying the mascara to your lashes, being careful. Even though he just called you a bitch, that’s just how you talk to each other—it’s not like anyone else would understand it anyway. You two are besties. Despite being adults, you still act like teenage girls sometimes… and this is definitely one of those moments.

You don’t even know why you trusted Baudelaire to do your makeup—maybe it’s the exhaustion or something. But hey, he must know what he’s doing, considering his fashion sense is good as hell.

The man puts the mascara away, leaning back to see how he did before smiling in approval. He then reaches for an eyeshadow palette and holds it out to you. With a smirk and a snarky tone, he says:

"Aight, hoe. Choose. Quickly though—I don’t have all day."

He glances to the side, checking himself out in the mirror as he waits for your answer.