One: In which Issei cannot escape the brush of death (AKA Ise is a good son)
The makeup kit is neither better looking nor more fashionable than the rest. It's as pink and as glittery as the rest of the aisle. He blinks away specks of dust and glitter. The neon colors create blind spots in his vision, drowning the shabby grey shelves that slant to one side dangerously.
He pokes the container. It doesn't bite his finger off. How does this mess become beautiful –or not- on a woman's face? Issei doesn't know. He squints at a brush that sticks out of its spot, proudly presenting its pointy tips to the world. He peers at the name on the tag and finds himself bemused. What is the difference between a boar bristles brush and a 'wet' hairbrush? The mystery is thick, and Issei is not even sure he wants to mess with it. His hair might not survive the discovery, considering how sharp and threatening the brush looks.
Being a clueless boy sounds like a good deal right now. Venturing in such a territory promises death by sneezing on powder.
"May I help you?"
"Huh?" He grimaces a smile at the owner. She sneaked behind him while he was contemplating the enigmas of his universe. Who cares about Ophis being the creator of Magick when women can causally shapeshift with a little powder and skills alone?
He stares at the owner. She doesn't seem to wear any makeup, but then again, what does he know?
"Young man?" she calls again. Soft wrinkles appear around her amused eyes.
He bites the bullet bravely. He knows next to nothing about women's products, he needs help. Might accept it when it presents itself. "What would you recommend for a young-looking mature woman?"
"Can I steal her elixir of youth?" the owner barks a laugh. For someone who's openly joking, she sounds half-serious.
Issei is not going to admit one just needs a brain tumor and a Phenex's tear. The price was just getting his life getting halved in two because of the sheer stress of the situation.
[Dimwit, she is speaking at you.]
Issei jolts out of his thoughts. He barks a laugh one second too late and everything becomes awkward. Again. Because of course a human lagging like a damn robot is endearing and totally normal.
Focus, Issei.
"So," he coughs. "What should I get her?"
The owner smiles pleasantly. It's ominous. "Do you know her skin type? Does she use a moisturizer and a cleanser regularly? What are her preferences?"
There is a wave of questions and they all come crashing on his poor skull. It is empty of answers. The owner drags him from one side of the aisle to the other, pointing at products, listing ingredients and benefits and cons and pros. He is discomfited and a little bit scared by the science unfolding in front of his eyes. What is hyaluronic acid and why do women put it on their face if it's acid?
The owner, thankfully, notices his wild eyes. She pats his hand gently, like one would a frightened animal.
"How about we start with something small? We have this cleanser made with goat milk and lavender. Very popular with the ladies, soothing for the skin and relaxing for the senses. It does not dry skin."
Issei nods his head frantically. "Yes," he grabs her hand like a lifeline. "Goat milk and lavender will do."
[Your pathetic defeat is as amusing as it is worrying.]
Issei tries to control his mouth's twitching. Sneering at the nice lady who is trying to help him through thick, thin and his hopelessly poor knowledge would be a move. Try to understand beauty products before you go after my head, asshole.
[I wonder what will happen if Albion's jailer happens to be a woman. Will she best you with a lecture on goat milk and its effects on mature skin?]
Issei sniffs a refute. Vali is a man. He has seen him enough in his visions to know that. With his flat chest he shows off as much as Riser does and his short hair, no way he isn't a man. Plus, the dude is obsessed with fighting, so he will just try to kill Issei fair and square.
(It's oddly comforting to know Vali would just go for the kill like a good old-fashioned nemesis and not creep on him with lotions, creams and a deadly amount of science.)
A little bottle of cleanser is put in his hands. The owner continues to enthusiastically list its good points and goes into a detailed account of how it made her skin smoother and glowy.
Issei scrunches his nose. Cleanser is good, but it isn't exactly what he came for. He came to get a surprise for his mother, and it wasn't really about her putting makeup on her face. It was about her having fun after toiling to raise his idiotic self to teenagerhood. He bites the inside of his mouth, flesh toyed between pensive teeth. He loosens his jaw a moment later.
An idea takes roots in his mind. He hesitates. Then he pictures his mother smiling and it's a done deal.
"What about me?" he asks softly.
The owner pauses. "Excuse me?" she inquires slowly, as if she is waiting for him to laugh and say it's a joke.
It's not a joke. Issei squares his jaw and repeats his question.
"I want a makeup kit," he announces to a silent store. He cringes inwardly, but what's done is done. "What would you recommend?"
Back at the till, a woman lost between adolescence and decrepitude smacks on her chewing gum loudly, gaze firmly set on him. He suddenly feels tiny between the shelves leaking gloss and pads. He barely reaches the last shelf when he balances on the tip of his toes, much like he does now. He bounces on the ball of his feet, stuck between standing his ground and running as fast as he can.
What comes after is a lecture on makeup Issei never wanted to hear, but get nonetheless. He is enlightened on so many products in half an hour, he fears his brain might just melt.
He gets a pink and gold makeup kit because it suits his skin undertones, plus a cleanser, plus the brushes, plus mascara (even though he fought against that one, it somehow still ended up in his bag as a gift from the owner).
He grabs the items and scurries to safety, which is the door. He doesn't trust the owner won't grab him and drag him back to the hairbrush section to explain how to take care of his worn-and-frizzy-but-could-be-so-fantastic curls. No, thank you. The cashier drills a hole in his head until he is out and running.
Issei scampers back to his home.
He runs up a hill, then two, then three. The town disappears behind a curve, and he is out in the wild, where he belongs. He jogs over beaten paths, jumps over protuberant rocks and breathes in the warm spring air that indicates Persephone is close by. The tiled roof of his home appears and disappears through the thicket of evergreens.
He breathes in through his nose, just like Ddraig taught him, and he accelerates as his heart pumps faster. Wooden walls gleam in the afternoon sun, and he is in his garden. His bunny offers him a sneeze as a greeting. Issei fishes in his pockets, rummages long enough to lose hope of finding payment for the cute salutations he just got, only to find a sunflower seed in his wallet. He happily offers it to his bunny before skipping to his door.
Soil clings to his old sneakers and he shakes it off before he twists the doorknob of his home and gets in.
He bursts into the kitchen and there she is. His mother is pouring over a recipe book. He glances at it long enough to see yams are on the menu today.
He boldly holds out the bag of goodies he bought. "It's for you."
"Oh, you shouldn't have, Ise." She takes ahold of his offering. A part of him hopes the whole bag will end up in some closet, its content never to be used. The other part of his brain knows better. Hayashis do not waste anything.
Hikari peers inside the plastic bag. She brings out one the many brushes he was strong harmed into buying. "Makeup?" She pats her face with a tinge of doubt, of alarm. "Is something wrong with my face?"
"No, no!" Issei grinds his heels against the ground. Good job, Issei. This is going sooooo well. "Grandma told me you used to do… art. I thought… I thought you would like it."
She settles the bag down on the table silently. She reaches her recipe book and flicks it closed. "That was a long time ago," she murmurs.
Issei does not know in which holes he could hide. He tries a smile. It flickers out of existence when he remembers who also used to do art before becoming an accountant and then abandoning his ailing wife and overwhelmed son. He is a piece of shit, and it seems Issei is following in his footsteps diligently, putting his stupid nose in affairs no one else talks about.
(He has never seen his mother do anything artsy. Never. To learn she used to paint, make a living out of it… it unnerves him. Why did no one tell him? Why does she not paint anymore?)
"Do you still like it? Art, I mean," he inquires softly.
Hikari tilts her head. Her fuzzy hair, slowly but surely turning a shade lighter than what Issei remembers of it, reflects the light. Her brown eyes, the one thing they share now, stare at the void between them.
He tries to fill the space with his words. "The makeup… is for me. Could you... show me how to apply it?"
"I thought this was a gift for me, you sneaky boy."
"This can be your paint, if you want it." He gestures towards his face before regret and anxiety can make him pause and hide in his room for a day or two. "And you have a canvas right here."
Hikari hums. It's the kind of thing hum Issei yearned to hear while she was ill and bedridden. His mother pinches his nose. There is no anger in the movement.
Issei relaxes. He didn't make a mess of everything again. Sorrow and relief wash away his fears.
She drags him by the nose to a seat around their kitchen table. She rummages through the bag, opening packets and peering critically at powders and creams.
"This brush is terrible." She flicks a thin brush's bristles. They bend according to her will and bounce back immediately.
"Is that so?" the teen offers cluelessly. It looks good to him.
"Uh-huh. I will show you the good brushes next time we go."
Issei watches as she dips the thin brush in the pink dust. It crumbles and cracks as she punctures it. Another thoughtful hum follows. Her gaze flickers from his face to the bag full of unholy goodies he brought back on a whim.
"We will start with moisturizing you, you desertic monster" she declares. She pats his face knowingly, poking his chin and rubbing his forehead. White flakes fall like snowfall on his lap and shoulders. Except it's not snow, it's dead skin.
Maybe his face really is dry.
(He still fears the hyaluronic acid though. His face probably won't melt. Probably.)
He pictures his face becoming a blob of hair and molten tissues. It doesn't look good.
She squints. It's familiar and all too cute. Like his bunny sneezing at him, his grandmother promising death and no cookies for snack time if he doesn't finish his homework or Persephone complimenting the flowers around her and ordering Issei to pet them for being such good little fellows.
Then, there's something soft and cool smeared onto his cheek. He stares intently. His skin does not actually fall off his face.
"Close your eyes, Ise. We will start with some good old foundation."
He keeps his eyes closed as his mother applies a horrifying high number of products on him. It's not painful or annoying per say. He just has to stay still and let his mind wander. It's almost relaxing, how the soft brushes caress his face, how his mother hum and chuckle at the things she is doing.
(Had his older sisters lived, perhaps he would have heard seen his mother do this kind of things. But they did not, and so he lives and let them live through him.)
Issei enjoys blessed silence.
"What do we have here?"
Issei dares to crack one eye open to look at the new arrival. His grandmother stands in all her sweater-weather glory on the doorstep of their kitchen.
"Chiasa, just at the right time. Do you have some peach lipstick?"
Issei tastes peach on his tongue and wonders if lipsticks taste good. He doesn't really like the chemical taste of gummies that are supposed to resemble peaches.
"I must have some lying around," Chiasa comments. She shuffles out of the kitchen.
Issei hears her chuckling maniacally anyway.
Hikari flicks containers closed, tapping brushes over the skin to get the excess powder out, waltzing between rubbing random spots on his cheeks and fretting over the organizing her new items.
Issei waits patiently for her to spill her thoughts on his looks. She sighs contentedly when everything is put back into the bag.
Chiasa hobbles her way into the kitchen again, a handful of lipsticks in hand. She shows them to Hikari and start gushing over them, opening them and exchanging pointers and comments about each color and texture. Issei once again faces the might of beauty and science and once again, he understands the words spoken, but the way they are arranged into sentences make no sense to him.
He sits tight and hopes they forget about him.
Of course, they don't.
They turn towards him as he plans his escape plan, a mad twinkle in their eyes.
He watches as his mother unsheathe a lipstick. It gleams like cold metal, like a sword calling for blood.
"Nice color," she comments.
Chiasa nods. "Why, thank you."
"Pucker your lips, Ise," his mother commands.
He obeys.
He feels the cool lipstick against his lips, a sword his will has to face. He can do it. He can do this. Wearing makeup is nothing. His teeth edge towards the inner part of his lips and he tastes something that is definitely not peach.
Chemicals. Blergh.
Hikari beams. "It works with your complexion too! What a beautiful day."
Issei tries a smile. The substance on his face tightens his skin, seeping into his pores and leaving feeling like he has a mask on. But his mother is happy, and he would do many a things to make her content, even wear makeup.
"I've had the grandest idea, my dear son." Issei tenses, doom creeping into his mood. Hayashi Hikari is grinning, and it spells trouble for everyone involved. Even her son cannot escape her diabolical schemes. "Everytime you bite your lips, I will do your makeup."
His mother boops his nose. He sees traces of beige powder on her fingertips. "The lipstick will tell me if you've been good."
Issei squints. "That's it?"
That's easy. He just won't bite his lips.
Chiasa snorts. "He isn't going to last long."
Issei frowns. He may not be very confident in his ability to not gnaw on his own flesh, but that is not information he will disclose with his family. Their traitorous ways would make him lose his mind even faster and the goal here is to not bite his lips.
(Issei lasts a few minutes before his teeth are tinted red. Lipstick doesn't taste good. The eyeshadow he now sports is honestly beautiful, though. However, the only work of art he sees is the one his mother shows when brushes glitter over his cheeks. Her smile has always been special.)
Persephone compliments his looks for the first time that day. She also says he would look even better with a crown of flowers on his head.
His mother looks a tad too interested in the idea.
…That's it. He needs to find himself a sister. Where could he adopt one?
2 years and many chapters later, Dreams of Red passed 300 favorites and followers. I have never passed that number before with any of my stories and I must admit it did something to my little heart. I'm proud of how far we've come, and I wanted to thank all my readers who encouraged me, reviewed and tried to give me ideas for my stories. This is the sister-fic to Dreams of Red where snippets that couldn't make the final cuts come to rest. I hope you enjoy these.
And as always don't hesitate to tell me what you want to see here. :)