I promise it will be worth it. For Maya.

You half-expect her to start dolling you up then and there, but instead she shoos you off to the showers instead. While, you notice much to your nerves, frowning at your closet. She wasn't expecting you to, like, dress up, right? Because you're pretty sure all of your clothing fits into either "class clothes" or "Outdoorsy clothes", neither of which were really "Luigi's Jubilee" clothes. You weren't looking forward to the conversation you were going to have when she realized that.

But you make your way to the communal showers all the same, and try to put the dread out of your mind all the same you wash up - as well as the sound of someone using the showers as a hookup spot. Again. It hadn't been a thing last semester, but it had been happening more and more in recent weeks... For reasons which you should be trying to deal with now, instead of going on a fucking date. Why the hell was Maya getting so worked up about this? It was your love life at stake here, while she was the one you needed to get out from under the thumb of a succubus! You're tempted to call this Ms. Devlin's influence, but... Well, Maya had always been excited about trying to find you someone. And Maya had always gotten excited about the idea of slathering you up with makeup, not that you'd ever let her.

So this probably wasn't a demonic thing. Just your best friend being a stupid, stupid idiot. Which you mean affectionately, of course.

So you do your best to let your irritation at Maya and the couple of women going at it wash away as you embrace the gentle sting of hot water, rubbing Great Value brand shampoo through your hair, and enjoying the sandpapery feel of Uncle Ben's soap against your skin. Maybe it was old-man soap, but you appreciated the way the bars lasted forever, and how you never had to second guess whether you'd washed somewhere. You'd tried some of Maya's soaps before, but frankly, you weren't into needing those weird poofy things to wash with liquid soaps - that just seemed unsanitary to you.

You look over your body just in case, but you're thankfully bare everywhere it matters still; you'd started waxing pretty much everything when you took up swimming, as a sports thing, and at Maya's approval... You'd pretty much kept it up as a fashion thing ever since. It helped that, unlike makeup, waxing was "just" a waste of money and a bit of pain every now and then - not the daily waste of time that Maya was obsessed with. It also helped that it lead to Maya rubbing your legs a few times, and... Well, you were kind of an idiot yourself sometimes.

But there was only so long you could put this off. You'd been in the shower for a good ten minutes already, and frankly, you weren't interested in the entertainment your neighbors seemed to be providing. You might not like what was waiting for you in your room, but you were going to have to face it anyways.

With heroic resolve, you turned the water off.

---

Sweet Jesus Christ, no. Just... No. If you were going to die, you wanted to do so standing up, staring your foe in the eyes. Or at least, have, like, slipped during a dangerous part of the Alps or something. Or maybe gotten hit by a car while you were staring at your phone!

Pretty much anything, though, would be dying because you tripped over your own clothing like some kind of idiot!

"I said no, Maya!" You glare at Maya, as fiercely as you can while clingingly protectively to your towel, "Just look through my closet again. There has to be something else that meets with your approval."

Because you'd become a full-fledged demon summoner before you'd let her stuff you into that trip-fest she called a dress. She'd tried to trick you into once before, too - when she'd "forgotten" to mention that she'd scheduled an entire Summer Vacation for the two of you, and that some of it would require dressing up.

Which, hell, had sounded fun enough - except that her idea of "dressing up" was to stuff you into a clingy dress that barely let you take half a step forward without the dress grabbing your leg and holding you in place. And, bluntly? You weren't used to your clothing actively sabotaging you. You were used to being careful with how you walked, sure - there were plenty of places where just charging forward blindly would get you killed. But that was because hiking could be dangerous - not because your body itself would betray you. When you moved, you wanted to move. Your body was always your most reliable tool, and this dress stripped that tool from you.

"I have," Maya scolds you, glaring back, "Three times. Taylor, if I didn't know whose closet it was, I'd have thought I was looking at a man's! Elizabeth likes women, so you're going to dress like a woman for this!"

What the fuck, Maya.

"I already am!" You raise your voice, actually getting pissed off, "I am a woman; I am dressing in what are officially sold as woman's clothes; by any standard but yours, I am plainly dressing as a woman! Just because I prefer to wear something comfortable instead of that trip-fest, it doesn't make me any less a woman! Hells, Elizabeth was certainly happy enough to make out with me yesterday - I don't think showing up in clothing that I like to wear will change that any!"

You know you shouldn't get angry at her, but she'd managed to hit a sore spot of yours. Maybe you're a bit butch, but frankly, you'd always been perfectly secure in your femininity; you liked what you liked, and if anyone had an issue with that, they could fuck all the way off. Anyone willing to judge you on those terms wasn't someone whose judgment you cared about.

Except... While Maya was a bit of a nerd, she was also a Grade A Girly-Girl. And damn, but did she make it work well. And she'd always tried her futile best to get you into it too.

And while you know she didn't mean it the way you took it... You'd always, privately, wondered if maybe she thought a little bit less of you for never taking the same kind of care with your appearance. Because you knew that through her eyes of Fashion Wisdom, she had all kinds of fantastical ideas of how perfect "you" "could" look. You didn't care one whit about what that imaginary woman "could" look like... But you also knew that Maya had been obsessed with her for as long as you'd known her. And if Maya cared that much about how that fake "you" "could" look... Maybe she did judge you more than you thought. Or than she thought, for that matter.

"But you want her to admire your breasts, don't you?" Maya replies, after a moment of silence and a deep breath, "To give her a little thrill as you walk in front of her, turning around and catching her gaze on your backside? To taste the anticipation as she unwraps you? You want to be comfortable, and normally, I'd respect that. But tonight, you want to be thrilling. It's like... Wearing a professional swimsuit. Those things look extremely uncomfortable, but swimmers wear them to reduce water friction or whatever, letting them swim better. Wearing this dress - it's your professional gear for turning Elizabeth on, and getting her in the mood for the post-date fun. She'd like you anyway, obviously, just like a professional swimmer is still fast without their suit - but this will just give her that extra little push to worship you."

She just... Didn't get it. To her, yes, clothing was a tool, a way of bringing her inner image out into the world - of shaping how she saw herself and how the world saw her. She'd certainly lectured you enough in the past that you couldn't help but understand her perspective by this point.

But that wasn't what clothing was to you. To you, it was just... A tool. Clothing was supposed to be practical; you judged your clothes by how well they breathed and how sturdy they were, of how warm it kept you and how well it stretched. Sometimes, you might like to get a picture of a band on your T-shirts to show your support, but even that was more about hoping they'd get a couple of extra dollars to keep on performing than anything else.

Yeah, you wanted Elizabeth to like you. But you wanted her to like you for you - not for some fake ideal that you'd only ever present as a front. Dressing up like this once and then never again... It'd feel like lying to her, promising something that you had no intention of following through on.

"I get it, sure," You sigh, shaking your head at having argued this for the hundredth time, "But it just isn't me. I like being the punk-rock girl who can go headbanging, and think about jumping into the mosh pit one day. I like the idea of being able to wander off on a hike if I see an interesting trail, or to fix my bike if it breaks down without having to worry about a stupid skirt getting in way. I like... Being practical, my clothes serving me instead of me serving my clothes."

You don't know if you got your core point across to her any better than you had in the past, but you hope that slotting it into her own explanation like that helped; that if clothing was a tool, you had certain expectations of your tools. You wanted a durable tool that you could use in many different situations, not a specialized tool that would break if handled improperly.

"And that doesn't have to be you," She answered, shaking her head in return, "Nobody's asking you to give up who you are, and become some kind of Stepford wife after this. Just that for one night - and, hey, maybe special occasions if she loves it enough - you give her a truly memorable sight, something that sticks in her mind for every lonely night after this. Tomorrow, you can go back to being practical Taylor, hunting down bear trails and wrestling your prey into submission - but for tonight, you're Sexy Taylor, envy of every woman. What do you say? The Taylor I know never gives up on learning a useful skill, right?"

...Fuck it, this was never going to end if neither of you ever budged, was it? And if there was ever a time for you to budge, dressing up for your first date might as well be it. Maybe at least this way... Seeing that the results of her labor just didn't match whatever fantasy image she'd built up of you would help break her of this obsession.

You give her a resigned smile. You couldn't call this a win for her, not really. But after years of this argument... You were at least willing to give in, just this once. Just so the matter could finally be settled.

If for no other reason than because with how strong she was coming on this time... You half-suspected you might actually hurt your friendship with her if you refused firmly enough to make her stop.

"There aren't any bear trails for hundreds of miles, city girl," You sigh, "It's unfair putting it like that, you know? But what the hell. You win. Just this once, I'll wear the damned dress."

"Awesome!" She shouts, pumping her fists as her eyes gleam with manic energy, "Especially since I already spent 350 dollars securing this wig for you."

What the fuck, Maya. Where the hell did she get 350 dollars to blow on a wig, and why the fuck would she blow 350 dollars on a wig?

Especially since... This was far from the first time that the two of you had fought over fashion. Had she had that much blind faith that this would be the time you said yes, that she'd waste this much money on it?

You feel that old insecurity creeping back again, that she'd quietly looked down on you in her heart of hearts, seeing you as this silly girl that just refused to grow up until you'd met the right woman.

"Wait, hold up..." You say instead, trying to brush off the feeling, "I just agreed to the dress. You didn't say anything about wigs."

"You agreed to dressing up earlier, and now we were arguing over the dress," She smugly replies, "Your pixie cut is fine normally, but it doesn't go with the only outfit you have for your date. So the correct solution here - a wig."

What the fuck kind of logic is that! You want to shout, but manage to restrain yourself with great effort. This was just how... Maya was, sometimes. You knew that from long ago, and loved her all the same. You just... Had to accept her eccentricities and foibles along with her good points.

No matter how hard she made it at times.

"Fuck it," You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, "Just... Make this quick."

"Language," She sadistically scolds, "And I'm afraid this is still going to take over an hour."

What the fuck did you get yourself in to.

---

Maya forcefully sat you down in a chair, and spent several minutes enforcing "correct posture" on you before she began. Apparently, it was very important that you look straight forward and not fidget, or something.

"Okay, so we're going to do this the basic way, since you haven't worn a wig before," She says.

...What, and she had? You'd spent half your life staring at Maya; she'd used extensions a few times, but you knew perfectly well that she didn't wear wigs.

"It's not like you're some kind of wigmaster either..." You reply.

"Hey, shush, wearing a wig for a school play totally counts," She brushes you off, as she rubs something into your scalp, "Besides, it really is pretty easy, and we don't have time for extensions instead."

...The fuck? You were in elementary school back then! That totally doesn't count!

"Since you have short hair, this shouldn't be too uncomfortable," She says, "The wig cap should fit pretty snugly, but it won't be pulling at your natural hair any."

You feel something tight slide over your head, as Maya does something to your hair. It feels... Weird, for a moment, but then it just kind of fades into the tactile background.

"...I don't like the feel of this," You say, "I'm used to my hair feeling free. This kind of thing is why I gave up on competitive swimming."

Honestly, it's a fair amount more comfortable than your swimming cap was; it's tight, but the material doesn't feel as unpleasant on you. That said, you're still feeling rather miffed, and aren't about to give more ground than you need to.

"Don't think of it that way," Maya scolds, "For tonight, your hair is long and black. That discomfort is just because you've recently grown it long, and aren't used to it yet."

...No, absolutely not. You'll go along with this makeover for peace of mind, but you refuse to engage in this insane roleplay. You might not be a once-wore-a-costume-as-a-kid wig expert, but you're pretty damned sure that you can wear a wig while being aware of that fact.

Whatever, though. If it makes Maya happy, you'll keep your complaints to yourself.

She keeps working in silence for a bit after that, as you desperately wish you could fidget. You feel the occasional poke and prod on your head, but... Honestly, after the initial adjustments, you half-wonder if she's just poking your head from time to time as a practical joke. You know she takes these things seriously, so she's doing something, but... That something is all but invisible to you. It's mildly disconcerting, and you'd feel dangerously **** if it were anyone else doing this.

"Okay, shake," She orders after a few minutes.

"What am I, a dog now?" You reply with a twinge of annoyance as you comply.

You feel your hair - no, the wig's hair - fly to and fro for a moment, but... It all stays in place, which is what you assume she must be checking. The wig doesn't go flying, or even sit lopsided on your head. And, somehow... It didn't even hurt to do that? You're at a loss as to how she fastened it to begin with, but it didn't feel like anything was yanking on your head.

...Hells, maybe that "Your hair tonight is long and black" nonsense was alluding to some kind of spell or something. You're at a bit of a loss as to how this whole wig thing could work otherwise.

"Excellent!" Maya exclaimed in excitement, clapping her hands together, "Your hair should stay in place through pretty much anything now. Just remember to take it off before you get, ah, physical with Elizabeth. Rebecca was pretty insistent on getting her wig back clean and unharmed."

...You decide not to mention that you have no fucking clue as to how to do that. You can figure that out later, right? Worst comes to worst, you could always just pay if it came to that. It wasn't exactly chump change to a broke college student, but it was possible, and you'd rather not delve into the dark sorcery of fake hair while Maya was like this.

"So we're through, then?" You ask, praying that was the end of it.

"Just let me brush it out first," She answered, shaking her head, "This was all to make your hair look nice, after all. It has the right cut, but we still need to ensure it has the right style."

...The fuck was there to style? Wasn't the entire idea here that your hair was supposed to be "long and black"?

Still, she brushes out your hair, and it is uncanny. It's not quite the same as having your own hair brushed, but... It's distressingly close, down to feeling your own natural hair tugged at times, somehow. This was just a wig, right? She didn't, like, sorcerously graft someone else's hair onto you... Right?

"How does it feel?" Maya asks, "Any pinching or discomfort? We can redistribute the pins if so. You'll only be wearing this for a couple of hours, but we want it to look and feel as natural as possible."

...Pins? This was all really done with simple pins? That... Honestly doesn't seem possible.

"...No, it's fine," You say, shaking your head and startling at the feel of your hair shifting around you, "It's weird. This hair does feel natural on me. I don't like the way my scalp feels like it isn't getting enough air, but... The wig itself feels pretty okay."

A fact that's rather creepy to you at the moment, but... Well, honestly, you'd get used to this, and if the occasion for a wig came up again in the future, you probably wouldn't feel too opposed to it. It would still take a bit of getting used to, but wearing this wasn't nearly as obnoxious as you'd have guessed.

You can't imagine why you'd end up wearing a wig in the future, admittedly, and you've no intention of sitting through this annoyingly long process without an actual reason, but if it did happen? Well, maybe you wouldn't be complaining the entire time.

"It looks great on you, too," Maya says, resting her chin on your shoulder as she makes your heart flutter, "You never did grow your hair out back then, but I always thought it would look great on you. It frames your face so perfectly, making you look like some kind of action babe."

...That was just plain unfair.

"Action babe?" You reply, hoping to deflect from your flustered state, "Come on, it'd be ridiculously impractical in a real fight. It'd get in your eyes all the time, and be trivial for an enemy to grab."

And honestly, it was just too much of an annoyance to bother with. You actually agreed with Maya that your hair would probably look better if it was a bit longer, but you didn't want to waste the time on it - or deal with the minor headaches that longer hair brought to an active lifestyle.

"Maybe, but it looks totally stylish on you," Maya smiled at you, "And you can't deny, long hair trailing behind you makes for quite the impression when you're sprinting."

...Okay, that was both completely true, and completely misleading. Running on a track was totally different from hiking down a narrow trail! And long hair on a sweaty day was just icky!

But... Okay, yeah, if you only took the most stylish moments... Well, you wouldn't deny that you appreciated the view from time to time. But you liked it on other people, okay?

"...Yeah, I can see it," You say, instead of creeping out Maya with your real thoughts, "I'd rather have the function over the form, but... So long as I can take it off again, I guess I don't hate this."

...And in fairness, that wasn't a complete lie. Because while you couldn't imagine doing this again, you'd enjoy experimenting with long hair for the night. Maybe you'd like it a bit shorter, something more shoulder-length... But since it wasn't going to interfere with your life the way it would if you couldn't take it off after the night was over, you were going to enjoy the change of pace.

Hell, maybe you'd even change into your proper clothes for a bit and take a quick video of yourself sprinting while wearing the wig, so you could send it to Maya as a joke.

You move to stand, only for Maya's iron grip to **** you back into your seat.

"Hey now, hey now..." Maya hisses at you, "You haven't forgotten your actual makeup, have you? We've just got the big stuff done."

"...Oh, right," You reply.

Well, whatever. You were almost done right? You reach towards your desk to grab your lipstick. You almost never used it, but you did still own some.

"...Um, Taylor?" Maya asked with horror from your side, "Just what were you planning on using tonight?"

"Eh?" You reply, suddenly feeling in danger, "Just a bit of lipstick. Why?"

Maya places her hand over yours, as she looks at you with crushing disappointment.

"Taylor..." She sighs, "We need to talk. About makeup."

She... She hadn't meant to do a full makeover tonight... Had she?

This was only supposed to be the dress and a touchup, right?

You did not sign up for this!

---

"Is this really necessary?" You ask again, cursing the somewhat begging whine that had entered your voice.

You stare at the seemingly endless array of products now sitting on your desk - containers in all kinds of strange shapes and sizes, most of which looked confusingly similar to one another. You knew Maya was a makeup freak, but why the hell did she have all of this? This must have been thousands of dollars worth of makeup, all just... Sitting here. She wasn't that much of a spendthrift, and she'd offhandedly mentioned once that the two of you had different enough complexions that what worked for her wouldn't work for you.

"Yes, yes it is," Maya sighs at you, "If Elizabeth is a decent girlfriend, she won't be spending all of her time staring at your tits and ass. The majority of her time is going to be spent talking to your face, and you want that face to be flawless. But since you haven't sold your soul for skincare, we have some flaws to smooth away."

...No, wait, you could totally do that, couldn't you? Vanity was a form of Pride, and you knew how to summon a minor Pride demon; a trophy seized from one weaker than you. Bullying, essentially. It was a close contender for Envy in which demon you should summon, but you'd passed it over for being a generally riskier category.

Selling your soul to get out of this would be a bit much, but if you were to join a sports team, you could offer a regular tribute of Sin in return for a boon of appearance...

"I like my face, though," You say to fill the space, as you retreat into escapist fantasizing, "I don't want to look like a trollop."

"And I don't want you to look like one either," Maya chides, "Believe it or not, I like the way your face looks, and have for years. But Elizabeth is going to get pretty close to your face, so we have to aim for perfection here. We're just going to accentuate your natural features."

...Aaand, fuck, she just dragged you back down to Earth with that line about how she'd liked your face for years. You knew she didn't mean it like that, but... It just kept making you feel mushy inside.

Fuck, you really needed this date... Having someone who actually reciprocated your affection would do wonders for your mental health. And your friendship, probably.

Maya doesn't let you sulk for long, though, before correcting your posture once more.

"First..." Maya lectures, "Primer. This is probably the single most important thing we'll be putting on you today, the foundation for all of the rest of our work."

"...Um, isn't that the actual foundation?" You can't stop yourself from snarking, "I mean, it's kind of in the name."

You pretty much immediately kick yourself for having given her an opening to lecture, however. Because of course Maya was going to take this opportunity to "teach you about makeup".

"A total pretender," She scoffed, "The primer does two key things - first, it helps protect your skin from the rest of the cosmetics so that you're not cleaning up makeup for days. Second, it smooths out your pores and fine lines so that the rest of your makeup goes on smoothly - and helps fix it in place so that it stays on smoothly. Your makeup probably won't survive a sufficiently intensive makeout session, but at least you'll keep some dignity."

"...Maya, you're starting to sound like some kind of weird evangelist," You roll your eyes, "You know this is why I keep avoiding the topic of makeup with you, right?"

And you meant it. On the off chance that you ever did need proper makeup someday - like maybe a terrorist was threatening to blow up the Empire State Building unless she saw you making a serious effort to apply your makeup - you still probably wouldn't ask Maya for advice. Because she kept making all of these weirdly forceful statements, and going off on weird tangents.

She was a total nerd, including when it came to makeup - and nerds loved their weird hobby horses. Maya knew what she was doing, as evidenced by the fact she was gorgeous when she wanted to be - but you had your doubts as to whether listening to her would necessarily make anyone else gorgeous.

"But now, I finally get to see you done up properly," Maya flatly ignored your words, a strange gleam in her eye as she looked down on you, "For you, I had always meant to give you a nice moisturizing primer, since you're so often out in the sun - but since you're on an important date tonight, I chose a silicone-based primer instead, which don't moisturize as well for obvious reasons. Silicone primers are better for giving you smooth, silky skin for the rest of your makeup to work with, however."

But only half of her words actually reached you, if that - because while she was speaking, her fingers brushed over your face with her soft, gentle fingers. She was putting on makeup, right? Because it was... A strangely intimate experience.

It wasn't like that for most women, right? This was... Just because it was her.

And fuck, that proud little smile she was giving you as she stared at your face wasn't making things any easier for you!

"If we were being lazy, we could almost end things here," Maya boasted, "That's how magical primer is."

You... Well and truly doubt that. The cosmetics industry wouldn't be anywhere near so profitable if a bit of primer went that far. You know better than to open that box in front of Maya, however.

"Maya," You sigh instead, "If I didn't love you, I would kill you where you stand, you know."

"You'll be changing your tune once you see yourself in the mirror after I'm done," Maya said with absolute confidence, picking up another container, "But next, we'll be applying actual foundation you're so proud of."

What, seriously? That was just a joke! She wasn't actually going to hang that over you, was she?

"I'm not proud of it," You frown, "I just thought the name meant it was a, well, foundation."

Hinthint? Hinthint? Obvious wordplay alert!

"Well, it's not entirely wrong..." Maya spat out through gritted teeth, "Foundation does act as a base for many things. Primarily, its job is to make your skin look even and smooth; it won't do too much for you on its own, but it's necessary for later stages to work well."

Oh. Fuck. You gave her another opportunity to lecture.

...And it was probably just another of Maya's biased explanations speaking, but she really didn't make it sound like this was worth your time.

"If it doesn't do much, can't we just skip it?" You let slip out, "I really don't see why I need more than lipstick."

"Now, you have pretty good skin, so we'll be going with a sheer liquid foundation," Maya goes on, thankfully completely ignoring your indiscretion, "You're in luck, since I identified the correct shade of foundation for you long ago. We'd be in serious trouble if we had to work that out now."

...You wish, oh how you wish, you didn't know how she knew your shade. But you'd ended enough sleepovers with an odd splotch on you to know the answer to that question.

Heedless of your quiet prayers for ignorance, however, Maya drew a brush with a weird rounded head, and started painting away at your face with soft, gentle strokes. Was this how a canvas felt, you wondered? A hapless, innocent victim of forces far beyond their comprehension?

...You swore never to take another art class again, not that that was really a thing after middle school.

Eventually, though, the brushing finally came to an end - even the little smudging around the edges of your face that seemed to drag on for far too long

"God, that takes forever," You say, and for once, Maya has the decency to give an embarrassed wince.

"It wasn't as long as it felt, I promise..." Maya said defensively, "But yeah, it's annoying. A makeup sponge is supposed to be both faster and better, but I learned with a brush, so..."

"So all of your makeup obsession still left you useless?" You tease her, unable to resist a bit of razzing after sitting through all of this.

"Hey, careful now, you don't want to mess up your makeup by mistake," Maya glowers, giving you a menacing warning.

"But seriously, we want to get your concealer on before anything goes wrong," She said in a cold voice that promised ****, "Consider your face a ticking time bomb until we get the setting powder on it."

You school your face into a neutral expression, figuring it was best to just go along with her demands. You knew she wasn't actually dangerous, but... It was still best not to screw with her when she got like this. It'd be like her bothering you while you were preparing for a hike, probably.

She did something around your eyes as you quietly slipped away in your mind, and it was over surprisingly fast. You weren't sure if this was a fast step, or if you'd succeeded in meditating in the weirdest of places.

"Your eyes were a bit dark," Maya lectured, "Probably a lack of sleep recently, or something along those lines. This concealer brightens you up so that you look more happy and alert. But if we hadn't applied the foundation first, it likely would have stood out in a bad way."

"That was a lot faster," You ask, ignoring her unasked-for explanation in favor of what actually interested you.

"Yeah, a lot of the steps of a proper makeup routine should be pretty fast," Maya nodded, "It's just that they add up to a long time if you're doing everything - like when you prepare for a date."

...Huh, really?

One big reason you'd never really gotten into makeup was the vast amount of time that Maya wasted on it. You just couldn't imagine wasting so much time every day on such a fruitless routine.

If it could be cut down to, say, ten minutes, though... While still making a noticeable difference... Well, you were a lot more open to that. You still brushed your hair, even if it was "just" to look better. Similarly, you weren't averse to giving your face a bit of a touchup, even if you liked it. You just didn't want it to become a big thing.

"Your blush is a bit of another matter, though..." Maya suddenly said, as you realize she finished doing something to your face while you were elsewhere.

"I'm not blushing," You frown as you process her words, "I might not enjoy putting on makeup, but it's annoying, not embarrassing."

"No, I mean, the makeup type," She replied, shaking her head, "Based on your undertone, I think a shimmery peach blush will work well for you... But unlike the foundation, I've never had a discreet opportunity to check."

...Right, you're pretty sure you know what some of those words meant. "Makeup type", "foundation", "discreet opportunity"... Yepyep, words you certainly knew the definition of. 50% was a passing grade in some courses, right?

"...Well, we should probably just skip it, then," You shook your head, "Better to leave it be than do the wrong thing, right?"

All joking aside, though, you got the jist of the issue. Makeup Expert Maya wasn't entirely confident in her color palette, and was worried about making a mistake that would cost the entire application thus far. Except this close to Date Hour, there would be no chance for a do-over. So rather than risk making you look like a clown, it was better to play things safe... Right?

Wrong, apparently! Because your train of thought is completely derailed by the feeling of Maya's fingers brushing into your cheeks, that weird sense of intimacy catching you completely off-guard and leaving your emotions reeling.

"Perfect!" Maya declared, "This was indeed your color! And just as I thought, a good, light texture works best for you - just a hint of color, without looking unnatural."

But you don't hear a word of it, as you struggle to avoid touching your own cheeks. She was just... Right there.

Fuck, this was getting weird, between your crush and Maya's crazed nerd routine. This was just makeup, right? The kind of thing normal women did pretty often?

"You didn't mention that the process would be so... Intimate," You say, groping for a path to rebalance yourself.

"Ah, no need to worry..." Maya blew you off, "Once you start doing your own makeup, most of it can be done pretty readily by yourself. There's only a couple of types that really benefit from being applied by a partner."

She doesn't give you a chance to regroup, either, before she's doing something to your cheeks again, this time without any kind of explanation! At least it's not weirdly intimate this time, but now... You're once again left feeling like an unfinished painting instead of a person. Ugh.

"Now, contouring doesn't different much from your foundation or concealer in concept," Maya lectures again, "The idea here, however, is primarily to restore the shape of your face after the foundation smoothed it away - but to bring it back in a more perfect form. The idea here is to follow the shadows of your face, and better define them... But, with this, I can also emphasize your best facial features and downplay others. Once you've gotten the hang of it yourself, you can choose to subtly enhance your face, or to radically transform it! Makeup is awesome."

...Wait, what?

"Uh, Maya?" You say, irked, "Did you seriously just say that the purpose of contouring was to undo the damage the foundation did - foundation that didn't do much on its own except act as a base for other makeup? Because I think I told you this before, but I like my face."

Now, you're 90% sure this was just a matter of her explanations sucking, or her bias overriding her common sense, but... Seriously, if she was going to lecture you about The Awesome Powers Of Makeup, she could put the effort in to make sure her explanations were consistent!

""It'll be fine, it'll be fine!" Maya said, brushing you off, "I told you, you'll love it once you see it in practice! Besides, this is the best way to get your blush right."

...You just sigh in response. Seriously, this was practically **** at this point. A bit of explanation would go a long way to keeping you from blowing up at her, even if you were pretty confident she was doing a better job on your face than, like, 95% of non-professionals would.

"Please tell me we're almost done?" You ask, tamping down your irritation.

"We've got your base face down, but..." Maya nodded, plainly hiding something, "We really need to work on your eyes. Elizabeth will spend most of her time staring into them, so we need to get them right."

"We can't just throw some mascara on, and call it done?" You ask, annoyed.

You were going to have your eyes open for the vast majority of this date, so how much could eye makeup possibly matter?

"Of course not," You sigh in exasperation, "It's a bit basic and rather overdone, but I think a smoky eye would work best with your dress. If we give you a strong shade for your lipstick, the two should complement each other very nicely. Of course, normally that would risk making the rest of your face look a bit washed out, considering your fair complexion but... With the work we've done so far, it should all come together very nicely! Isn't makeup wonderful?"

"...Okay, I'll admit, when you describe how it all comes together like that, it does sound pretty cool," You grudgingly acknowledged, "But that's just because you get way too excited about it, okay? It's your infectious enthusiasm, not the makeup."

And you mean it. You're actually kind of pissed that she didn't give a word of explanation as to why this "smoky eye" mattered or why it would be worth the extra effort, but hearing about the bigger plan, about how each of these elements would come together... Yeah, that was the kind of context that had been missing from everything else. It was like hearing about your martial arts forms, how standing in a certain way would allow you to react in dozens of different ways depending on the circumstances. "This will look good" was kind of stupid, but "This works with that to create effect Z" turned it all into a real skill.

Maybe for the first time ever, you got a bit of a glimpse into what had Maya so enthralled.

"Close your eyes for a moment?" Maya asked, wearing a smug grin.

Following her instructions, the next several minutes are a uniquely strange form of hell that leave you cursing the idea that you'd given so much as an inch to makeup. The weird sensations of invisible forms drawing across every millimeter of your eyes, oftentimes going over the same spot several times... It might not hurt, but it's **** all the same, this constant discomfort and your lizard brain insisting that you need to jerk away now. Maybe Maya could put up with this, with her long experience and the fact that she's usually applying her own... But it's not something you ever want to experience again.

"Open your eyes for a moment?" Maya ordered, looking smug.

"That felt super weird," You say, glad to finally have your sight back, "Feeling someone mess with my eyes really made me want to flinch away the entire time. Hell, if it wasn't you, I think I would have."

"Yeah..." Maya nodded, sounding a bit distant, "It's hard to get used to. But it's also a real pain to apply your own eyeliner, so you might have to get used to it."

"I'm telling you, I'm not getting in to makeup," You sigh.

Wasn't it enough that you were finally being her model for once? Did she really have to take these little jabs while she was torturing you?

"Well, let me get your mascara on at least," Maya replied, while giving you a patronizing grin.

You could do your own mascara. You weren't some feral child raised by wolves. Even you knew how mascara worked. But she put it on you anyway, while you privately fumed. It must have shown on your face, because...

"And, well..." Maya begrudgingly allowed, "I guess I'll let you handle your own lipstick."

"Thank you!" You snipe at her, while taking the offered lipstick and using it.

"Is that finally everything?" You demand, wondering what else there could possibly be.

Maya gives you an appraising look as she, presumably, looks for anything else that needs to be touched up. But just as you convince yourself that there would be another round of "corrections"...

"That's it... For now," She says instead, giving you a nod.

And then... She turns you towards the mirror. And you blink in surprise and confusion.

Because the person in the mirror... She can't possibly be you. Her face looks so soft and inviting, and so impossibly perfect. She has your expression, and the structure of her face is the same, but... No, it has to be your much-hotter long-lost-twin, right? Or some kind of magic dragging the "you" of Maya's imagination into reality?

You raise one hand towards your face, before remembering that touching your makeup would fuck it up. The mirror-you does the same, raising her arm and lowering it.

The initial shock wearing off... Damn, you knew that Maya was good with makeup, but not this good. Studying yourself with a critical eye, comparing mirror-you to memory-you, you see at least some of the tricks; your nose was normally a bit harsh, and her makeup smoothed it out a bit. Your skin was slightly sun-damaged, and the foundation smoothed that over. That... Contouring, was it? It worked with the foundation to soften your often severe expressions.

And your dark eyes and red lips... It preserved a bit of an edge to you, making you look like Maya imagined you, instead just becoming her clone.

It still... Wasn't how you pictured you. The woman in the mirror still looked like someone suited to the runway instead of the forest. But looking at the woman in the mirror... You saw how you could look like you. How the tricks that Maya used here could make for a tougher, more defined you, even as it smoothed away your imperfections.

"Is that... Really me?..." You still let slip, even as you work to process the scale of the changes and how they work, "It looks so much like me, but..."

"But perfected," Maya whispers in your ear, as she hugs you from behind, "All of your flaws and imperfections eased away, all of your best traits brought to the forefront. Still my beautiful and strong Taylor, but... Clarified. Emphasized. Your best face shown to the world, at least until you decide for yourself what your best face should look like."

"This is what makeup can do for you," She continues, leaning in even more closely, "This is what makeup could make you every day, if you'd let it."

...In that moment, Maya seemed like more of a succubus than Ms. Devlin ever was, seducing you towards her viewpoint with the boldest tease you'd ever felt from her. And damn it all... But you felt yourself want to give in. To play along, even if she didn't really mean it. To please your best friend, who had always held this as a fond dream. To be able to make yourself look like a badass bitch when you wanted, instead of relying on Maya's imagination. To learn how to cut enough corners to make this all a practical part of your image, instead of eating away hours of your life.

There was just... So much pushing on you now, and the reasons you'd always given to justify "practical Taylor" were so much smaller than you'd realized, all because Maya was ridiculously horrible at seeing things from your perspective. And so now... You feel that little pedestal you'd built for "practical Taylor" start to crumble. It fucking sucked that it had all been built up into this big thing, but that was just the sunk cost fallacy speaking, right? Yeah, you'd be making up a few years of education, and Maya would tease you relentlessly, and you'd probably get a few strange looks from people who knew you... But you knew that you'd made a mistake in ignoring this part of your life, and doubling down on it would only make things worse in the future. It was better to just rip the bandage off now.

Being practical, your image serving you instead of you serving your image... That didn't have to conflict with makeup or dressing nicely. Maya was Maya, and you were you; you didn't have to be her opposite, just as you didn't have to take every time-consuming tip or ridiculous dress she offered. It really was... That easy, and all you'd done was bury your head in the sand because Maya had built it up into this big thing in return.

You give a smile at the you in the mirror, and a gorgeous woman smiles back. It feels a bit strange to you, but for the first time... You really do feel proud of your appearance, and you wonder how you can make it your own.