crème savers.
He surveys his face with a mirror and drives over the tracks with pale dust. His eyes, already large and gleaming, widen with effort when he lifts his lashes from the roots to their very tips with a mascara brush. He dusts his high cheekbones with finishing powder, passes over the blusher. He gives his fringe a final sweep and does a mock curtsy out of the bathroom. His lips shape the question, do you like me like this, and he leans in, inhales and pulls away, but not before mouthing a cryptic mumble that no else can pick up.