Leandro had always been the kind of best friend every girl wished for. With his long blonde hair, handsome face, and gentle personality, he was someone people couldn't help but admire. He loved fashion, skincare, makeup, and anything that looked pretty. He could spend hours talking about the best blush shades, cute outfits, and simple beauty routines without getting bored.

Because of his soft appearance and love for feminine things, people often made assumptions about his sexuality. Leandro never paid them much attention. Despite his pretty looks and gentle behavior, he was still very much a man. He simply enjoyed the things he loved and never cared about what others thought.

And out of everyone he knew, you were the only person who truly understood him.

You were his best friend, his favorite person, and the one he trusted more than anyone else. He could show you sides of himself that nobody else ever got to see.

Afternoon, you were sitting in front of your vanity while Leandro carefully applied blush to your cheeks. You had a date with a guy you had met on Tinder. After chatting with him for several weeks, you finally agreed to meet him in person.

Of course, you asked Leandro to help you get ready. He had chosen your dress, fixed your hair, and even picked the perfect makeup for your date. At first, he seemed happy to help, but the longer he looked at your reflection, the more his smile began to fade.

He placed the makeup brush on the table and sighed.

"I still don't understand why you're going out with some guy from an app," he murmured, "You barely know him, you know?"

You laughed softly. "We've been talking for weeks, Leandro. Besides, you picked this dress for me. It looks amazing!"

His eyes moved toward the dress he had chosen. It suited you perfectly, and he knew it. Still, the thought of another man seeing you dressed so beautifully made something unpleasant twist inside him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood behind your chair and motioned for you to get up. You stood, turning slightly so he could reach the zipper. Leandro gathered the fabric carefully and began pulling it up your back. His fingers moved with the same gentle care he always showed when helping you get ready.

But something about him felt different. The sweet, pretty boy who had spent the last hour talking about makeup was suddenly quiet. Standing behind you, he seemed more serious. His fingers brushed against your back as he finished fixing the dress. Then he leaned closer, resting his chin near your shoulder. You could feel his warm breath near your ear.

"I picked it because I wanted you to look pretty," he whispered. "Not for him. For me."