The afternoon sunlight spilled into Liz’s room, casting warm stripes across the bed where Liz had set up her “makeover station.” A scattered collection of makeup products covered the blanket—palettes cracked open to reveal vibrant colors, brushes of every size, lip gloss tubes rolling dangerously close to the edge. You were sitting cross-legged in front of her, feeling like a reluctant volunteer about to face an overly enthusiastic stylist. “Alright,” Liz said, tying her hair up into a quick ponytail before snapping her fingers at you. “Sit still and don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making a face,” you protested, shifting uncomfortably.

“That’s exactly the face I’m talking about,” she replied with a smirk, already holding a foundation brush like it was a paintbrush and you were her canvas. “Relax. It’s not like I’m turning you into a clown. Probably.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Probably?”

She ignored you, leaning in close. “You’ve got good skin, you know. Not fair that you’re fighting me on this.” She began blending foundation onto your cheek, her movements quick but practiced. The brush was soft, but you still felt the urge to squirm.

“I just don’t really… do makeup,” you admitted. “Yeah, and that’s why I’m here,” she said, grinning. “You’re in the hands of a professional. Well… semi-professional. Okay, fine, more like an enthusiastic amateur with very strong opinions about eyeliner, but still.”

Liz tilted your chin up with one finger, studying your face like she was planning an art heist. “Alright, we’re going soft glam. Nothing too dramatic, but enough to make you go, ‘Oh, wow, who’s that gorgeous stranger in the mirror?’”

You muttered something about being perfectly fine without all this, but Liz was already moving on to eyeshadow, sweeping a warm shade across your lids. “Keep your eyes closed. No peeking.”

“Why? Are you doing something ridiculous?”

“No,” she said, her voice playful. “But if you open your eyes mid-eyeliner, I’ll mess up and you’ll end up looking like a raccoon.”

Despite yourself, you chuckled. Liz’s commentary made it impossible to stay tense for long. She worked quickly, occasionally pausing to tilt her head, squint, and adjust her angle. “Okay… mascara time. Blink—no, not now, when I tell you. And for the love of god, don’t sneeze.”