The lipstick was set upon her desk with a clap. It was bright red and came in a pretty golden tube. The expensive shit. The good shit.

Poupon's lips hung for a moment, with her light pink flesh torn to bits with craters covered by loose scabs. They pressed together in a conflict, just like her eye brows rung themselves out.

"You're not a dick." Her attention once again gravitated to the handsome thing placed before her. Her hands were shy, like they weren't meant to touch it. Doing so would leave a destitute smudge against something so beautiful. "I'm not sure if I can accept this."

"Shut up, Poupon."

The blood exploded into her face, cheeks turning right into lamps.

Viral crossed his arms, the fabric of that fine suit crinkling a bit. "Take it."

"Thank you, Sir." A thumb and index finger carefully took the lipstick, and placed it beneath curious eyes. "This is nice." Then, she was back to staring down Viral, who stared her down back.

"I picked it out myself. Well, sort of. I had to ask the woman working in the make-up department a few awkward questions."

"You went outside all by yourself? I'm proud."

Poupon removed the shell and that little red tip came peeking out from behind its collar. It truly was a rich and prideful color. Like the pigmentation of hot blood. There was a certain shine there too. Shimmer with an attitude and the dye of emotion. It wasn't cheap, and the beast man stood there, watching as Poupon inspected his work. Viral probably hovered before that wall of lipstick, interrupting every last tube until he found the one that screamed Poupon.

He did a damn good job.

"Thank you, Sir. This is beautiful. I'll feel bad wearing it, because it's so special…" The words were a bit mangled and dumbstruck, coming out of a mouth that really didn't know what to say. Her heart was red against her cheeks. Redder than the rogue she put on that morning and redder than the lipstick in her hand.

The broadcast from her ribcage screamed inside her ears.

"Please wear it."

Then, in a mere fragment of a second, there was a new sort of feeling splayed upon Viral's face. It wasn't his anger. Or his boredom. Or the sorrow that came and went. What was there was something like how Poupon was at that moment. The blush and the plea and the sugar caught between her lashes.

It tore her fucking heart out.

"Of course. I'd be honored."

"Thank you."

Then Viral lingered there a moment as Poupon stowed away the little golden tube in her pants pocket, trying to come up with something to say. But the sentences came like knots into his throat, sticking like a gag before the vomit.

"What do you want to do next, Poupon?"

"Next?" Pure confusion.

"I need to get the fuck out of this house."

"Well…" Her fingers tried to pinch her lips, but stopped and folded to her lap. "Have you been to the movies in a while?" Her mouth twisted into joy. "Or, you could get your first tattoo, if you're for something more dangerous. I'm not sure, Sir. You can do whatever the hell you want, so why not do whatever the hell you want?"

"I don't know what the hell I want. I want whatever the hell you want. So pick something."

Poupon nodded her head and narrowed her eyes, casting a pointed finger to her boss. "Then I want to go to the movies. Because I don't know if you're ready to steal shopping carts or do donuts in that sports car of yours. But don't worry. By the time I'm done with you, you're going to have tattoos up and down your arms and bright red hair."

Saws poked into a smile. "Good. But until then, we'll go to the movies. Get to work, and come see me when your shift ends."

So the hours peeled slowly from the clock. Minute by minute and second by second, falling from the day like a tree dropping leaves. Each and every one could be counted out. Sorted by different memories and feeling and kicks to the stomach.

Viral tended to keep and eye on her, watching as she left her office for a cigarette break. Watching as she took her pink polka-dotted lunchbox outside. Watching as she removed and put back on that beaten ass coat thirty different times. Watching as she took a moment to put on that brand new lipstick, which popped like a punch in the mouth. Watching as she came in the evening with her pile of paper and blush bunching up onto her cheeks-thick like pancake batter-and waited politely for him to speak.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes sir."

"Let's go then."

So there they went, traveling through corridors riddled with empty rooms and sad photographs and stale carpet. They came to the garage, with all of those cars. Again, Poupon's eye caught each and every one of the, until she was dragged into the passenger's seat and forced to be so small again.

This time though, Poupon appeared a little less helpless. A little more comfortable, as though it occurred to her that she wasn't an enormous pain. It set Viral at ease, because she was at ease. So he began to speak.

"I'm thinking of calling Simon."

The information sat between her ears a moment, digesting. "Well, sir. I think you should. You two are friends, aren't you?"

"Yes. You could call us that."

Poupon smoothed out her coat, finger tapping out thoughts on a big black button, just about ready to fall from worn threads. "Maybe next he should come to the movies with us. Or maybe you two should go to the movies. Something along those lines. You know."

"Do you want to meet him?"

"Of course I do. It would be an honor to meet Simon the Digger." A sweet little gap as Poupon sucked in happy red lips. "But you're my favorite. That's why I'm not freaking out."

"How can I be your favorite? I'm not anyone's favorite."

"Nonsense."

Street lights passed either of them through the windows while quiet filled the car.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why are you my favorite?" She was picking her nails again. "It's simple. You're so interesting. Everything that's happened to you…I don't know. You're just my favorite; I guess I can't explain. I mean-Why does anyone like anything?" Then Poupon threw a foot directly into her middle.

She almost began tearing at her lips, but stopped.

"Poupon , you have to stop worrying so much."

"I can't help it. I always feel like I'm saying something completely fucking stupid. But then again, you haven't thrown me out of your car yet."

Viral gave half his attention to the road and the other half to the chick curling up in the next seat. And the quiet tore a chasm between them, like a tyrant building up a wall. Hell, Viral almost began picking at his lips.

"It was stupidity that made the humans great, you know. So if anything, you should be proud of your stupidity-which isn't really stupidity in your case. You just need to stop being so damn shy." Gold flicked over to that face framed by red hair. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack, if you keep it up."

"You're the only one so shy around, Sir."

"I know."

The road hummed beneath them, accompanied by the sea of energy from active buildings and cars and street lights. Poupon squeaked against the leather seat as she adjusted herself, bones popping.

"Where do you live, Poupon?"

"Are you taking me home?"

"No. I'm just curious."

The worried hurt faded out of her expression like a towel rung dry. "Well, I actually live near the park with the Kamina statue inside it…There's a cluster of small apartments around there."

"That's a far walk from where I live."

"It's not so bad. Sometimes I take the bus."

"There's snow on the ground." Viral found his forehead to be frowning, a big ugly crease in a once pristine piece of paper.

"Well…" Poupon's forehead frowned too. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Stop being sorry. It's not your fault. I'm concerned about your health. Between the heart attacks and strep throat, you're at a pretty big risk."

Laughter. "Well thanks, Dad. But I think I'll be alright." Poupon gave her counterpart a bit of her sugar, with so much sweetness displayed so blatantly. "You're nice, Viral. Really."

"Thank you, Poupon."

They came to movies, not long after that, picking a film and choosing seats and occasionally chattering in between previews. And when it actually started-some kind of action comedy-either caught their eyes switching from the screen to one another. Sometimes, in that dim lighting their gazes met only to look immediately away. Poupon's cheeks held their typical rose, like saccharine lights glowing straight neon. And she really did look beautiful in the theater. Her mad red lips shined-and those porcelain doll eyelashes looked all the more delicate.

Were they really fake?

Viral didn't end up paying much attention to the film. And neither did Poupon.