"everything you write is a masterpiece" *proceeds to make makeup application erotic*
Not too erotic yet though, that's for later in the story...
Enjoy :)

The day of our first show on tour was, coincidentally, three months to the day that Seth and I first met.

And by that day, we were inseparable. I received plenty of weird looks from Sami and Roman when I spent a lot of time around Seth, when we'd stand maybe a little too close to each other, when somehow, our things started becoming shared, and half of his makeup had ended up in my suitcase, when I had no idea how it'd ended up there.

Sami had pulled me aside the morning we'd arrived in St. Louis for the first show, after we'd arrived and I woke up on a bench seat curled up against Seth, my face in his neck and his arm around me, and I had no recollection of even falling asleep.

(I found out later that one of them had taken pictures, because when those pictures leaked… oh man, did they cause a shitstorm. You'd think people wouldn't care so much about two guys sleeping together. Literally sleeping, not fucking. But they did.)

We were outside the venue that morning; coincidentally, right out in front, but since it was 11 AM and we weren't that popular yet, no one was lined up, and no one passing by recognized us, so we were able to stand outside and talk. Sami was smoking a cigarette, and god, I wanted one, could've used one because suddenly my nerves were frayed as fuck, but I forced myself not to bum one off him, because I knew how bad they were for your voice, and I'd quit about a year ago, but the craving had never really gone away.

"So," Sami said, after a deep inhale of smoke, holding the cigarette loosely between his fingertips, "you and Seth."

"What about it?"

Sami squinted at me, and I shifted, feeling vaguely uncomfortable under his gaze. As he took another drag, the wind picked up and blew the smoke in my face, and I twitched a little, the urge to pick up my former habit trying to push its way to the forefront of my mind. I tried to push it back, but it was a difficult battle.

"Aren't you straight?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, too quickly. "That has nothing to do with it. We're just friends. You know that."

"Sure aren't acting like just friends," Sami said, chuckling. "I mean, I may be gay, and I don't know about Seth… but you 'n him are being a lot closer than we are. You were practically sleepin' on top of him this morning."

"I don't even remember falling asleep, okay? You're one to talk; you know better than all of us about the shit that can happen when you're asleep."

Sami frowned at me and tapped an ash my way, but the breeze let him down so the ash missed its target entirely, dying out on the ground.

"Cool it, okay? Don't need to get so defensive on me. We're best friends, man. I was just curious. You're doin' it with Seth, cool; you're not, cool. I just think Seth looks pretty interested… and I think you do, too. And I know you. I just wanted to tell you that, y'know, I support you, whatever you're doing, whoever you are."

He took another drag from his cigarette and shook his head, looking down at the worn sidewalk beneath our feet. "God, I hate this sappy shit. I hate you, Ambrose."

That was the Sami I knew, and the slightly-sick feeling I'd had dissipated enough for me to feel better. "I hate you too, Callihan."

He took another drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray by the door, then mock-punched me in the ribs. My manager would come outside ten minutes later, wondering where the hell we'd gone off to, and he'd find us play-tussling, like little kids on the playground. But it felt so good to have things be this easy with Sami again.

It felt good for everything to be back to normal.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready."

"Seth, it's just soundcheck. There won't be anyone in the audience. You don't need to put that on."

Seth frowned and waved some kind of brush I couldn't name at me. "I like to look nice," he simply said.

"I think you look nice without it." Fuck.

He froze for a second, but he regained his composure quickly. "Well, thank you, but I'm gonna wear it anyway. Personal preference rules."

I watched as he started applying something to his eyelashes with something that looked like I would never trust it within half a foot of my eye, but he seemed experienced, not even flinching despite the fact that it looked like he was putting whatever it was in his eye.

I swallowed hard when he picked up what looked like a tube of lipstick and placed it against his lips, pursing them to apply it, and my throat felt dry.

"Can you… uh…"

"Can I what, Dean?" Seth asked patiently, setting down the tube of lipstick and watching me through the mirror.

"Put some on me, too?" What the fuck, self, I asked myself. What the fuck are you doing?

But I didn't take it back.

Seth brightened. "Of course," he said. "What do you want?"

I decided to leave it up to him. "Whatever you think would look good on me," I said. "As much as you want."

"Okay," Seth said quietly, studying me and nodding.

It felt strangely intimate when he went to work, his hands all over my face, tipping my head or sweeping something over my cheekbones, and once he rested his fingertip on my bottom lip and I could almost taste his skin.

A tiny part of me wanted to.

And when he was done, and he showed me his work in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself, but together, we looked pretty fucking amazing.

"Thanks," I said, voice hoarse.

He leaned over me in the chair, smiled at me in the mirror. "Anytime," he responded, and I felt his fingers in my hair.