Rhea grinned to herself. "I'll set it," she said casually, like she was just fixing eyeliner.
Ling hummed, eyes half-closed, trusting. "Just don't poke my eye. I like both of them."
Rhea dipped her finger again, but this time it wasn't blending—it was dragging. A slow, exaggerated smear from the corner of Ling's mouth upward. Then the other side. Dark. Uneven. Cruel.
Ling felt the movement. "Why are you smiling?" she asked suspiciously. "Your hand feels… evil."
Rhea bit her lip to stop laughing. "Stop moving. It's called art."
She added more—thick black around the eyes, heavy, messy circles. A sharp line down the bridge of the nose. Red dragged wider than lips should ever go.
Ling sat still. She always did when Rhea touched her like this. Calm. Oblivious. Vulnerable.
"Done?" Ling asked softly.
"No," Rhea said quickly. "Don't look. I didn't say you can look."
Ling frowned. "Rhea."
"I said don't," Rhea warned, playful but firm. "You promised."
Ling sighed and leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes fully now. "Fine. But if you ruin my face, I'll ruin your life."
Rhea swallowed.
The joke makeup had already gone too far, but she didn't think—she just acted.
She took Ling's chin, tilting her face side to side, admiring the chaos.
"Why are you holding my face like that?" Ling asked. "You're creeping me out."
"Trust me," Rhea said lightly. "You'll love it."
Ling laughed weakly. "I doubt that."
Rhea stepped back and grabbed her phone, snapping a picture. The screen showed it clearly now—a full joker smile, distorted and haunting.
Ling heard the click. "You took a photo?"
"Yeah," Rhea said. "For later."
Ling's smile faded just a little. "Later for what?"
Rhea waved her hand. "Nothing. Just—wait. Don't move. Don't see. Not till I say."
Ling nodded, but her fingers curled slightly into the sheets. "Rhea… I don't like not knowing."
Rhea finally noticed. "Hey, it's fine. It's just makeup."
Ling swallowed. "I know. I'm just—don't make it scary."
Rhea froze. "Scary?"
Ling laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. "You know. Like… weird stuff. I hate weird stuff."
Rhea's chest tightened, but she still smiled. "It's not scary. I promise."
Ling trusted her. She always did.
"Can I open my eyes now?" Ling asked again, quieter.
Rhea hesitated. Just one more second. Just the reveal.
"Okay," Rhea said. "You can look."
Ling opened her eyes and turned toward the mirror.
The smile vanished instantly.
Her breath caught—sharp, shallow. Her body stiffened like it had forgotten how to move.
The face staring back wasn't playful.
It wasn't funny.
It was wrong.
Too familiar.
Too close.
Ling staggered back a step, bumping into the bed. "No—"
Her hands flew up, covering her mouth, then her eyes. "No, no, no…"
Rhea's laughter died immediately. "Ling? Hey—hey, it's just makeup—"
Ling backed away further, chest heaving. "Why—why would you—" Her voice broke. "Take it off. Take it off."
Rhea rushed to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—Ling, look at me—"
"Don't touch me," Ling whispered, panic flooding her voice. "Please. Just—don't."
"No—no—no—no—" Her voice fractured, thin and breathless.
Rhea stepped forward instinctively. "Ling—"
"DON'T."
Ling shoved her away, not violently, but desperately, like a trapped animal. "Don't touch me."
She stumbled back until the edge of the bed hit her knees, then slid down, curling forward. Both hands tangled in her hair now, pulling, shaking. Her shoulders trembled as tears spilled without warning, fast and uncontrollable.
"I told you not to let me see," Ling whispered, voice breaking apart. "I told you I don't like… not knowing."
Rhea froze. Her chest felt tight, useless. "Ling, I—I didn't mean—"
Ling rocked slightly, eyes squeezed shut. "It's not funny," she said, crying harder now. "It's not a joke. It's not—" She swallowed sharply, breath hitching. "I can't get it out of my head."
She pressed her forehead to her knees, fingers clutching her scalp like she was trying to pull herself back into the present. Tears dripped onto her arms.
Rhea dropped to the floor a few steps away, not touching her, not daring to. "I'm here," she said softly. "I won't come closer. I swear. Just—please breathe."
Ling shook her head, a short, broken motion. "You don't understand," she cried. "When I see it, my body doesn't listen anymore. I know it's makeup. I know it's you. But my head—my head lies to me."
Her breathing went uneven, sharp inhales, shallow exhales.
Rhea's voice trembled. "Tell me what you need. I'll do it. Or I'll leave the room. I'll do anything."
Ling hugged herself tighter, arms crossing over her chest, fingers still tangled in her hair. "I need it gone," she whispered. "I need to not see it. I need… time."
Rhea nodded quickly, even though Ling wasn't looking. "Okay. I'll clean it. You won't see anything. I promise."
She stood slowly, deliberately, narrating every movement so Ling wouldn't panic more. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll get water. I won't come close unless you say so."
Ling didn't respond, just cried quietly now, tears slipping down her nose, breath still shaky.
Rhea returned with a towel soaked in warm water and held it up where Ling could see without lifting her head. "I have it," she said gently. "I can put it on the floor. You can wipe your hands first. Or I can—only if you say yes."
A long pause.
Then, barely audible: "Put it… there."
Rhea placed the towel on the bed, stepped back again.
Ling reached out with trembling hands, wiped her fingers, then slowly—so slowly—touched her own cheek, testing. She flinched once, then wiped again, harder this time. The black and red smeared onto the towel.
Her sobs softened into broken breaths.
Rhea sat down against the wall, keeping distance. "I'm sorry," she said, voice thick. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."
Ling didn't look at her. She wiped her face again, then pressed the towel over her eyes, holding it there as if blocking the world.
"I don't tell people," she said quietly. "Because they think it's silly. Or dramatic. Or funny."
Rhea shook her head, tears finally spilling. "It's not. I was wrong. Completely wrong."
Ling's shoulders sagged a little, exhaustion seeping in after the panic. She stayed curled up, arms around herself, breathing slowly now—still fragile, but steadier.
After a long silence, she spoke again, voice raw.
"Just… don't ever do that again."
Rhea answered immediately. "Never. Not to you. Not to anyone. Never."
Ling didn't reply. She just held the towel to her face, tears soaking into it, while Rhea stayed exactly where she was—close enough to be there, far enough not to hurt her again.