Internet dating and a surprise facial

The morning came slowly.

Paru woke with the stiffness of sleep still clinging to her, the sunlight drawing soft lines across her bedroom wall. For a moment, she lay still, blinking at the ceiling, disoriented. Then she remembered — the park, the cum, the photo, the comments.

But she didn’t feel broken. Just… dulled. Like something inside had taken a deep breath and was still holding it.

She got up.

She turned on the shower and let the steam fill the bathroom. The cum had dried into her scalp like glue; it took effort to work it out — shampoo, rinse, repeat. Her hair came back to life slowly, the strands softening under warm water and patience.

She did her skincare, applied her makeup carefully. Not to hide, but to restore. Liner, a soft peach lipstick. Gold earrings.

She looked in the mirror and tilted her head. Still her.

Still Paru.

Later, she and Erin were out again — a small café near the university, one with mismatched furniture and plants hanging from the ceiling. They sat at a window table with oat milk lattes and the faint hum of jazz in the background.

It felt like a fresh start. Almost.

“So,” Erin said, tapping her spoon against her cup, “we never finished our conversation yesterday.”

Paru raised an eyebrow. “About how you’d cover me daily out of love?”

Erin snorted. “No, the other romantic topic — Tinder.”

Paru rolled her eyes. “I don’t know…”

“Come on. The comments under that photo were feral. Half of them were creepy, yeah, but some of them were… I mean, weirdly flattering.”

“‘Better with it dripping down her chin’ is not a compliment,” Paru said dryly, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

“But it means you got their attention,” Erin said. “And maybe, just maybe, there are a few decent guys buried under that slime pile.”

Paru sipped her coffee. “You think we should make accounts?”

“I’m thinking we both do, double profile night,” Erin said, grinning. “Two girls. One apartment. One mission: romantic survival in a legally cum covered society.”

Paru laughed, but then her smile faltered slightly. “You know they’ll want more pics like that. Covered. That’s the new aesthetic now, isn’t it?”

Erin hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “Honestly? Probably. Guys’ll fetishise anything. They’ll tell themselves it’s playful, or hot, or deserved. I say… if you're gonna be judged for it, might as well be in control of it.”

Paru looked down at her phone. The group selfie was still getting likes.

A comment had popped up just five minutes ago:
“Can’t stop thinking about her with more.”

She shook her head, sighed — and smiled, just a little.

“You know what?” she said. “Let’s make the damn account.”

Erin gasped. “YES.”

“But no cum pics,” Paru added quickly.

Erin raised her hand like she was swearing an oath. “No cum pics… unless you start getting weirdly rich off them. In which case, I want ten percent as your manager.”

They both laughed, and for a moment the day felt lighter. The world hadn’t changed — not really. The law was still real. The comments still came.

But Paru had gotten up.

She’d washed her face. She was still beautiful. Still in control.

And maybe, just maybe, she was done flinching.

The morning air was crisp, the kind of cool that whispered of autumn but still carried a bit of summer’s warmth. Paru and Erin dressed with care but without fuss — jeans, light sweaters, sunglasses tucked into their hair. Paru wore a soft cream jumper with gold buttons on the cuffs and a subtle nude lipstick. Her hair, freshly washed and dried, flowed down her back in gentle waves.

They stopped at their favourite café — the one with flaky pastries stacked like treasure behind the glass. Paru chose an almond croissant; Erin, a pain au chocolat. The coffee was strong and hot in their hands as they strolled along the river, the water glinting silver in the morning light.

It felt like a normal day. A good day. They talked about the exhibit Erin had been dying to see — abstract landscapes in dark reds and bruised purples. Afterwards, they browsed the gallery shop, tried on silly sunglasses, and bought postcards they didn’t plan to send.

By the time they reached the park again, they were full of sugar, caffeine, and that light-headed joy that only comes from not thinking too hard about the world.

They sat on a bench under a sycamore tree, people-watching, talking lazily about everything and nothing.

“I mean, if we’re making a Tinder profile,” Erin said, scrolling through her phone, “we need something attention-grabbing. What’s your best angle? Thinking cum-side or non-cum-side?”

Paru rolled her eyes. “No cum photos. We agreed.”

“We said that yesterday. Today you’re a free woman.”

And then—

Splat

Paru didn’t even hear it coming.

She only felt it — a sudden, hot, wet impact directly between her eyebrows. It hit with precision, the cum immediately pooling in both eyes, blinding her. She heard groans and wet and the faint outline of a man in front of her.

She gasped, hands shooting up instinctively. The goo slid thick and warm over her eyelids, across her nose, and down both cheeks.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, shaking her head, trying to blink it away. But the cum clung — stringy, opaque, like clear syrup mixed with shame.

Erin was already on her feet. “Are you kidding me?! Again?!”

Paru groaned, her hands out in front of her as she tried to locate her bag. “I can’t see. It’s in my eyes—”. Paru heard the laughter from a man.

Erin pressed tissues into her hands, muttering curses under her breath. “This is insane. It’s like you’ve got a target painted on your forehead.”

Paru wiped at her eyes, which were now watery and red. She was breathing heavily, part shock, part fury, part disbelief. “Third time. This is the third time.”

Erin looked at her, paused — then gave a little crooked smile.

“I mean… not to be selfish, but as long as I’m standing next to you, I feel invincible. Like, I’m wearing a Paru Shield™.”

Paru let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“But you’re still the hottest. And this—” Erin stepped back and lifted her phone, “—is the perfect photo for Tinder.”

Paru blinked at her through wet lashes. “Don’t you dare.”

Erin snapped the photo.

“Too late. Caption: ‘Brains, beauty, and blind from cum. Swipe right before the next splatter.’”

Paru groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “I hate this place.”

“No you don’t,” Erin said gently, nudging her. “You hate what’s happening. But you? You’re doing something pretty amazing.”

Paru looked up at her. “What’s that?”

“You’re still you. Even with cum in your eyes.”

That gave Paru pause.

She breathed in slowly, then let it out — sticky, stinging, but steady. She wiped the last of the cum from her cheeks and laughed, bitter and warm all at once.

“Fine,” she said. “Use the photo. If I’m going to be their fantasy, I might as well own it.”

Erin beamed. “That’s my girl.”

And somewhere behind the sting and the absurdity, Paru felt something solid.

Not comfort, not safety — but resilience.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.