Last Names | Tyrus/Muffy

Part 14

Buffy's POV

A knock on the doorframe turns my eyes away from my image in the mirror to the boy standing in the doorway. 

He whistles and says, "Looking good. Since when do you wear makeup?"

I've been trying to choose an outfit for tonight, but I can't pick between my hot pink dress or my emerald green sweater with my black mini skirt. Putting my indecisiveness aside, I chose to do my makeup first. Marty's right to question it, though. I rarely ever wear much makeup except for special occasions. Usually it's just a bit of mascara, but he's caught me in the midst of doing my eyeliner. 

Marty steps into my room and comes over to my vanity. I set down the eyeliner on the table and turn to face him.

"How did you get inside?" I question.

"Your door was unlocked," he answers. "That's unsafe, by the way."

"You walked into my house?"

"Are you mad?" 

I try to give him a glare, but I can't keep my face straight with him smiling at me the way he is. 

"No," I respond. "But why are you here?"

"I was worried about you."

"You were worried about me?" I echo. "Too worried to ring a doorbell?"

"I did," Marty says. 

He tilts his head as if to say 'Come on.' For some reason, I find it really difficult to be mad at him. 

"I just want to know that you're okay," he says. 

I sigh and give in, going over to sit down on the bed where he comes to sit beside me. I shuffle through all the possible starting phrases, finally landing on the most straight forward, to-the-point explanation.

"TJ is my half-brother. We have the same dad."

Marty looks like he's been slapped speechless. "Damn, okay."

I burst into laughter at his response. I should've known better then to expect him to react the same way as Andi or Cyrus. He just isn't like them. 

"How's that going?" Marty asks. 

"Better than you'd think," I reply. "He's staying here while his mom is out of town, and he's actually a decent human being."

"Well, I'm glad it's working out," he says. "And I'm proud of you."

"For what?"

"For giving him the chance to change," Marty says. 

"Are you saying I'm usually stubborn?" I question.

I expect him to defend himself, so I'm shocked into laughter when he says, "Yes."

I give his arm a shove and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"I'm just particular," I argue. "I know what I want. There's nothing wrong with that."

He stands up off the red quilt and steps up to me. 

"Nothing wrong with that," he agrees. 

"So why are we fighting?" I ask.

"I'm not fighting," he says. "You're fighting."

"I am not," I say.

"Of course you're not," he finally says. "My bad."

He grins, knowing nothing's been settled, but I choose to brush it aside, going back over to my vanity to finish drawing on the eyeliner I was doing before he got here. Marty walks around to my side and watches me as I complete the wing of my left eye and put down the eyeliner. That's all I had left to do for makeup, and now I just have to do my hair, but I'll do that once Marty's gone.