for you page × chensung

four

[ to be frank, I know nothing about makeup, and this will be a shitshow. ]

Chenle's eyes terrified him. They were a beautiful mahogany brown, swimming with flecks of gold, just like his brothers. Both siblings had a carefree gleam that hinted at a life of purity and regality. But Chenle's housed something abstruser, more intimate, as he gazed over Jisung's stringless sweatpants and pink t-shirt. He looked interested in Jisung. Domestically interested. Jisung wasn't a fan of 'domestic interest'. He preferred the thrills of skin on skin and tongues scraping teeth, but Chenle's eyes spoke of midnight baking and sharing clothes.

Jisung opened his front door, and Chenle walked through the threshold, waving his glittery makeup bag. Jisung wasn't familiar with the technicalities of makeup. Sure, he had his collection of sticky fruit-flavored lip gloss, but that was the extent of his knowledge. Chenle placed the bag on the living room table and set up his tripod in front of the TV. The camera was expensive, unquestionably, and Jisung climbed over the back off the couch to avoid touching it. It would take him years of Saturday dance class to pay off that thing. The camera beeped, and Chenle sat by Jisung's side, still looking at him with his 'domesticated' eyes.

"Hello, my darlings!" Chenle greeted the camera peppily. "Today, I brought a guest with me. This is Jisung. Say hi, Sungie!" Chenle nudged him, and Jisung awkwardly grimaced at the camera.

"Hi, I'm Jisung. I'm a dancer and choreographer at SM studio." Jisung cringed. He sounded like he was going through puberty all over again, with weird pauses and uncomfortable stuttering. "Uh, some of you may know me? My username is jisung_park on TikTok."

Chenle giggled, sweet and flirty, and leaned further into Jisung's side. Maybe Chenle wasn't domesticated after all, not with the fingers drawing shapeless patterns on Jisung's thigh. Chenle pulled away with a cheeky grin and began explaining his makeup look to the camera. Jisung zoned out after cut-crease, whatever that was, and fiddled with his phone. It wasn't on, but it provided security for him, a reason to avoid the camera's stare.

"Alright, Jisungie." Chenle lifted his head gently, egg-shaped sponge in his hand. It was covered in foundation (that's what it's called, right?), and Chenle introduced the brand to the camera before dabbing it on Jisung's forehead. He shivered at the cold liquid against his hot skin, and from Chenle hands brushing his hair into an apple bun. "Tell me about yourself," he prompted, dabbing across Jisung's cheekbones. It was a bit violent, but Chenle's hand on the back of his neck kept him from slamming against the couch.

"Well, I'm eighteen. I started my freshman year of college two months ago as a dance major, and I teach your brother's class on Saturdays to help pay for rent."

Chenle hummed and replaced his egg for a fan brush. He showed the product to the camera and dipped the brush in an almond-colored powder. "Why? Do your parents not pay rent? Also, just a heads up, if you say anything personal, I'll cut it out, but if I'm talking to the camera, I can't." Chenle paused to blow the excess powder off the brush. "I want to know you, Jisung."

The brush danced across his jawline, and Jisung flinched at the ticklish sensation. Chenle rolled his eyes fondly and pulled him back, closer than before. Chenle had a small cluster of freckles on the tip of his nose, and his lips were coated in a sparkly gloss that smelled like cherries.

"I don't have parents," Jisung admitted. "Jaemin and I were foster kids that outlived the system. My parents gave me up when I was thirteen, and I don't remember much before then. I spent years hating them, but I'm older now, and it doesn't hurt so much."

Chenle chose a deep blue color for his lids, and Jisung closed his eyes.

"I don't hide my past anymore, neither does Jaemin, but his still hurts him. His parents gave him up when he was a baby, before he could even speak to them, grow to love them. He was passed around foster homes, but he never stuck. That's the main reason he's such a perfectionist. He thinks his parents thought he wouldn't do anything with his life. He calls it coping, but I call it overcompensating. I don't understand people pleasers, especially the ones who try for people who won't even call them on their birthdays."

A pause, Chenle wiped the fallout beneath his eye and explained the eyebrow pencil he was using.

"My parents saved me, putting me in the system. They were broke, and they thought I'd have a better chance at life if I had different parents. I met Jaemin at his 17th foster home and my first. Obviously, that didn't go too well. The woman was a bitch. She had seven foster kids because she loved the paychecks, not the kids. Jaemin turned eighteen in August and adopted me in January. Honestly, I'm not sure if it was even legal, but the adoption counselor loved me. I was sixteen when we moved here with Jeno, and that's been it ever since." Jisung shrugged, knocking Chenle's hand off his face. The older huffed, and Jisung grinned apologetically.

"If Jaemin strives for perfection, what's your vice?" Chenle asked, swirling the brush in shiny silver powder.

What was his vice? Sex, maybe, but he didn't have enough sex to consider it a habit. He hadn't smoked a day in his life, alcohol tasted okay for twenty minutes before he was throwing up on Jaemin's bed, and cigarettes smelled awful.

"You're going to think I'm the biggest douche you've ever met," Jisung chuckled. Chenle shook his head and tilted Jisung's chin towards the ceiling. "It's love," Jisung confessed. Chenle raised an eyebrow and nearly stabbed Jisung in the eye with his mascara brush. "I make people fall in love with me. It's a power thing, I guess. If someone loves me, and I don't love them, I can't be hurt."

Chenle rubbed lipgloss across Jisung's lips and put his supplies away silently. He showcased Jisung's makeup, said his goodbyes, and packed up his camera. Jisung led him to the door and leaned against the doorframe, tasting the cherry on his lips.

Chenle froze in the walkway and placed his hand on Jisung's bicep, squeezing tenderly. "Jisung, it's okay that it hurts. Don't think otherwise, okay?" Chenle kissed his parted lips softly. "Text me when you're ready to dance. I'll be waiting." Then he was gone, and Jisung was left with more questions than answers.