Her lipstick was
lethal.
Matt had always been a
fan of A’s lips since he had encountered her in that warehouse – they were the first thing that caught his
attention. Contrary to due belief, it wasn’t her green eyes which caught his
gaze when he saw her again. It wasn’t even the coldness of her stare or how the
leather clung to her body in the middle of the freezing night.
His eyes caught her
lips when she walked into the warehouse, removing the helmet which covered her
face. Black hair swung down and rolled down her shoulders. Her eyes looked
tired and only highlighted her irritated features. Matt knew make up, and in
seeing her, he knew that she had only begun to remove the traces of it ten or
fifteen minutes before she arrived.
The only thing that had
remained was her lipstick.
It wasn’t exactly nude or
plum or anything like that. Not even reddest of red. The color of her lips that
night reminded him of strawberries or any other berries.
(Matt wondered nights
later how it felt to kiss those lips.)
Her upper lip was a bit
thinner than her lower, which was definitely on the fuller side. The way they
were pressed together on that night told him something –
She was tired.
People watching and
studying gave Matt an advantage.
Time passed after they
met. Two weeks after, they met officially. A couple of months later, he had
started to show interest. On the seventh or eighth month of knowing each other,
he took her out. And everything followed suit after. He saw more than her lipstick
and make up when their relationship took a turn for the deeper. He saw her
exhausted eyes and her pale face, messy hair and uncharacteristically long
nails.
A prided her looks.
Matt knew that well – she spent an amazing amount of time in the bathroom
before they went out. He tried telling her that he liked her natural, but the
Englishwoman insisted that she felt better with the makeup than without. Not wanting
to argue any further, he let her. When she came out of the bathroom with plump
red lips, his protests fell silent and she happily took his hand.
But when things at work
were horrible or when she wasn’t having a good night (or day), the makeup fell
away and he found her bare-faced with her hair up and wearing the comfiest
clothes she could manage.
The pinkish-red hue he
adored was there no longer, and he saw instead a pair of pale lips with the
bottom chapped slightly.
* * * * *
He remembered staring.
A noticed his stare and looked at him.
“What’re you looking
at?” she asked. Her fingers stopped moving over the keys of her laptop and she
narrowed her brows at him. Matt cringed. He shouldn’t have shared. “Matt?”
“Just you, sweetheart.”
A rolled her eyes and shook her head, eyes flickering back to the screen. “Just
you. And your lips.”
She paused yet again.
He saw her pink tongue poke out slightly and run over the bottom lip. Her eyes
cast away and she seemed to sink a little further in her seat. “Oh. Horrible,
aren’t they? I have this habit of picking my lips when I’m stressed or worried,”
she muttered. He blinked. “So they’re…rough. Really rough.”
“Is that why you cover
them up with lipstick?” A grimaced.
“Lipstick, lip gloss,
lip balm…I use lip balm so they won’t dry out and then top it with lip stick or
gloss,” she explained. “Depending on the occasion. I usually just use balm for
work but when there’s something happening, I like them to stand out more.” She smiled
as she said this and leaned against the couch, closing her laptop and looking
up at him. Her lips, this time, had curved into a smile. “Why’d you ask?”
“I was curious,” he
admitted. Matt came closer and sat next to her on the couch, arm reaching out
and wrapping around her. A willingly moved into his warm hold and her tilted
her head so that she was looking at him. The woman’s cheeks flushed. “Why you
really like all the cover up. Not that it’s bad or anything.”
“They hide
imperfections.” A bit her lip – Matt frowned – “Look. I know you like me
natural and all that shit. But I like presenting myself nicely in front of the
rest of the world.” She leaned into him and he watched as she fiddled with her
hair, “Two sides of me, really. The one I show and the one that a select few
get to see.” She looked up at him with a slightly amused smile, “You’re part of
the few.”
“I’m glad I’m part of
it.” He laced their fingers together and pressed his forehead against hers. It
felt strangely right – both of them stripped of their usual gear (guns and
whatnot), cuddling and being what a normal
couple would be. “I like my A like this. Hair up, chapped lips and whatnot.”
“Your A?” she teased, and he blushed. His ears were flaming down to
his cheeks and she laughed softly, kissing the side of his lips. Matt spat out
flustered words and stammers until she tugged at his collar, pulling him even
closer until their lips nearly touched.
“It’s okay,” she
whispered. “I’m yours.”
Those words mixed with
their lips made it all the better. Matt found himself kissing her and kissing
her was a dream. He tried feeling for the roughness for her lips and the jagged
pieces of skin she swore were there – but as they melded into one another, he
found that they weren’t.
Too insignificant to
even be noticed when something greater was wrapped in his arms.
* * * * *
Red stood for lipstick
matched with mischievous grins. It stood for days wherein he’d rush to
Matsumoto’s office with the man would point and laugh because of a prominent
mark on his collar – only then would he look in the mirror and see the mark of
pouty red lips staining his crisp white top. Matt would scoff and turn red,
then would proceed to tease Matsumoto about having no mark at all.
The Japanese would
wisecrack that he had a business to run instead of fooling around. (But Matt
knew that Kenichi was happy for him and A.)
Red stood for the
nights where A would wrap her arms around him from behind and trail kisses from
his neck to his jaw. It stood for the teasing smirk on her face and how her
lipstick would leave marks on his skin. It stood for the marks left on her hips
and his back.
Red stood for her
smudged lipstick when everything seemed like too much.
Red stood for the blood
which flowed down his arm when he stumbled home and hissed get the first aid kit please I need to patch myself up while A stood
there in horror, half of the makeup wiped away and half remaining.
Red stood for her lips
against his and arms clinging to him.
Red stood for passion.
Red stood for love.
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