"Don't get strung out by the way I look," Gerard sings to himself, because if anyone walks in on him, there's no better excuse than Tim Curry. He pops the cap off the lipstick tube, one of the ancient worn-down ones his mom clearly hasn't touched in years. He doesn't think she would have noticed anyway, and if she did she probably wouldn't care, but... it's not about shame, or the consequences of anyone else knowing. It's just that Gerard wants this to himself.
He doesn't get many things to himself. His art is the closest thing to privacy he has, and even that isn't really all his. People know it's there, even when he won't let them see it. Gerard coats his lips carefully with color, respecting the edges of his face, filling his skin like he fills lines on the page. With this, no one knows to ask.
If they did, he thinks, looking at himself in the mirror, he might show them. Maybe. Depending on who it was.
"Just a sweet transvestite," he sings under his breath as he closes the tube and picks up an eyeliner pencil. He's not good at things getting near his eyes, and he keeps cringing away from his own touch, but eventually he manages to edge his eyelids in dark brown without stabbing himself. The mascara is next, and whoa, that really makes a difference. He never really noticed his eyelashes before now, never looked at them. The way they stand out lets him think the word "pretty" for the first time.
The blush is last. He thinks he heard somewhere that it's supposed to go on first, but if there's anything this isn't about, it's how things are supposed to work.
Gerard leans forward onto his elbows and stares into the mirror. He wants to look at the makeup, but all he can focus on is his own eyes, brave and proud. He looks different, not because of what's on his skin, but because of what's changing under it. By doing this, he's becoming a person who can do it, and that's fucking inspiring.
"I see you shiver with antici..." he sings quietly to his reflection, and pauses. Tilts forward. His breath fogs up the mirror a little, and he closes his mouth and breathes through his nose until it evaporates, leaving the glass clear and smooth. Gerard stretches his neck just a little and presses his lips against the mirror, quickly, suddenly.
For luck, he thinks, looking fondly into his own eyes.
Gerard solo -- Sweet
He doesn't get many things to himself. His art is the closest thing to privacy he has, and even that isn't really all his. People know it's there, even when he won't let them see it. Gerard coats his lips carefully with color, respecting the edges of his face, filling his skin like he fills lines on the page. With this, no one knows to ask.
If they did, he thinks, looking at himself in the mirror, he might show them. Maybe. Depending on who it was.
"Just a sweet transvestite," he sings under his breath as he closes the tube and picks up an eyeliner pencil. He's not good at things getting near his eyes, and he keeps cringing away from his own touch, but eventually he manages to edge his eyelids in dark brown without stabbing himself. The mascara is next, and whoa, that really makes a difference. He never really noticed his eyelashes before now, never looked at them. The way they stand out lets him think the word "pretty" for the first time.
The blush is last. He thinks he heard somewhere that it's supposed to go on first, but if there's anything this isn't about, it's how things are supposed to work.
Gerard leans forward onto his elbows and stares into the mirror. He wants to look at the makeup, but all he can focus on is his own eyes, brave and proud. He looks different, not because of what's on his skin, but because of what's changing under it. By doing this, he's becoming a person who can do it, and that's fucking inspiring.
"I see you shiver with antici..." he sings quietly to his reflection, and pauses. Tilts forward. His breath fogs up the mirror a little, and he closes his mouth and breathes through his nose until it evaporates, leaving the glass clear and smooth. Gerard stretches his neck just a little and presses his lips against the mirror, quickly, suddenly.
For luck, he thinks, looking fondly into his own eyes.