"I've lied for you, and I liked it too."
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Han Jisung was a dancer. He spent countless of hours at his cousin's dance studio, moving his lean body to the bass of whatever song played through the speakers. But when he wasn't wasting his life away, (d...
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𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓?;
Drag me to death, like a lit cigarette. Took my last breath, like the smoke from my lips.
He anxiously chewed at his lower lip, the plump piece of skin becoming swollen and an irritating red. He might have even cut it from from how hard he was biting, drawing the faintest amounts of blood that he could taste on the tip of his tongue. He was soon being scolded by his stylist for the normal action; her claiming that she'll have to add some type of lipstick in order to hide the newly produced wound. And she had; after placing down a brush where the bristles were much smaller, (and being used to add light makeup to his eyelids) she then grabbed a small tube hidden underneath a rectangular palette. Jisung watched as she uncapped the item preferably known as lipstick. He knew what it was considering he doesn't live under a rock, and his best friend also liked to place a few dabs on when they had a night out. It's why he kept silent as he watched her grab yet another (much tinier) makeup brush—which then was used to take only a tiny bit of the salmon-y red lipstick from within the tube. And with gentle pats she smoothed it upon the respected area until no cut could be seen.
The woman takes a step back to observe the work she had done, a lipped smile stretching across her more elderly features. She even began to mumble incoherent words to herself, most having to do with how she had outdone herself this time. Jisung wants to believe that her smile and whispering had to do with her being content with the finishing product. But to be honest, he was a little nervous that she was only playing some cruel hoax on him, and in reality she made him look like some sort of clown. It's why he was quick to jump up from his spot in a cushioned chair and find the nearest mirror. It was big and square, with circular lightbulbs surrounding the border of it blaring their white rays. A desk was connected to the clean mirror, to which Jisung had rested his trembling hands against. He could hear how the few rings he slipped on occasionally tapped at the brown wood, all because he couldn't keep his fingers still. But eventually the faint clashes stopped when he raised his hands to touch at his face.
Now he was never one to put on makeup, actually believing that he didn't need it. Every now and again Felix would coax him into adding even the tiniest bits of eyeshadow, but that was it. Jisung much rather stay natural with the occasional layer of chapstick he found in his jacket pocket. But as his widened brown eyes trailed over his now pampered features, he couldn't help but admire how pretty he truly looked. His stylist had managed to match the colorful powder on his eyes to the blush pink coat he wore. He couldn't find a single break out that may or may not have existed at the time, because he was caked with foundation. And he didn't look the least bit exhausted considering patches of concealer covered any bit of darkness that went along with his eye bags. If anything he might have looked younger; more refreshed. Then there were his lips—the once dry pieces of skin were now covered with a thin layer of red, enhancing what could have looked bruised.
