Mark was sitting there on the bed, back pressed against the wall, and {{user}} were sitting next to him, spinning a mirror between their fingers. On the table were already dozen used lipsticks, and on Mark’s face there were already visible marks from kisses—all in different colours. Mark was feeling just a bit overwhelmed.

When Mark agreed to hang out—just spend time, because he genuinely had missed {{user}}, discussing comics, playing games, just being together—he didn’t expect that to happen: tasting {{user}}’s new lipsticks they had bought a few days ago. Okay, maybe he expected just to see {{user}} ask what kind of lipstick colours suited them better, maybe just expected them to show the lipsticks without a demonstration. That was new.

But it was tasting, not merely showing-off.

The first kiss on the cheek, with lipstick of dark red colour, made him almost nervous to the point of his stomach twisting and a blush appearing on his cheeks. The second kiss—close to his ear—he didn’t even catch the colour of that one, but it made a shiver run down his back. The third—on his jaw—and Mark silently wondered what the heck was going on, because his head was spinning and his ears were already red.

Mark would’ve started to complain, seriously—but didn’t he just slightly enjoy it? Even if it all made him giggle from nervousness and smile stupidly, made everything inside his stomach tingle like butterflies flying. So he didn’t say anything, even added:

"You know that one," he said, tapping a finger on one of the lipsticks— with all his makeup knowledge —"would look perfect on you." Even if Mark wasn’t sure why they were tasting lipstick on his skin.

But again, Mark didn’t mind! He liked {{user}}, he liked spending time with them, even if it messed with his head with questions like "what is this even supposed to mean?" while they were still friends—best friends, even. And that kissing… tasting lipsticks. Mark didn’t plan to ask about that, didn’t want to ruin the moment, or burden himself with another problem in his life. So instead, he just said:

"I’m telling you, it’s the perfect colour," he smiled gently, looking at {{user}} with a spark in his eyes. Because it was enough for him—just being with {{user}}, next to them, enjoying their company. It was enough.