No one at your school would’ve believed you if you told them that Brayden let you do his makeup. He’s much too cold and disagreeable. He’d never let anyone, even his own girlfriend, make him look so feminine and ridiculous—

“This way?” he asks, turning his head to the side just like you told him to. You blend the foundation seamlessly into his skin, his idle form obediently sitting still.

Every now and then, he sneaks not-so-secretive glances at you, gazing up at you through his dark lashes.