Snippet #2380232

Apparently his diversion had done the trick, distracting Hope from the sudden commotion that had long since gone silent in the hallway outside. Her lips turned into a grin and he couldn't help but tense when his eyes caught sight of the mascara tube clutched in her inexperienced hands. Thankfully, Giselle chose that moment to step in, putting a stop to Hope using him to practice her beautician skills. Matthew held in a sigh of relief as Hope reluctantly stopped her impromptu makeover, even if the smug look on her face was more than a little unnerving. He tried for a little smile, more self conscious than usual because he could just feel the lipstick caking the general vicinity of his lips, but, with any luck, she like most children would forget the promise in the morning. Besides, even if Giselle had allowed this little catastrophe to happen, he was quite sure that Hope's mother would disagree with letting the strange maintenance man put make-up on her only child. To be fair, he wouldn't either, but that said more about his self esteem than common sense.

His hands were itching to begin to wipe the red lipstick from his lips, but he held back, instead busying himself by looking anywhere but at Giselle and Piper as Hope and Ms. Torres packed her makeover supplies into the pink, sparkly purse. To be quite honest, he felt a bit trapped, even if he was a guest, in his neighbor's living room. Face painted probably like a clown, his mouth unwilling to open to even try for a conversation because he knew that Piper and Ms. Torres were doing their best to hold in their laughter and any attempt by himself to say anything might break the dam gates withholding a flood of laughter. So, he stayed quiet, fiddling with his fingers and resisting the urge to indulge in the nervous tic of biting his lips.

With Charity's arrival to pick up her daughter, he actually started to pay attention to the world around him again. Everyone was leaving now, the little impromptu get-together coming to an end as Hope was ushered into her mother's waiting arms and Piper prepared to go as well. Speaking of the latter, he finally managed to look her way only to see the young woman pointedly not looking at him, the unmistakable look of withheld laughter on her face. Matthew's gaze immediately went back to the floor, cheeks flushing a rosy red color. Embarrassment, not that was a familiar emotion. Finally, something familiar, even if it was rather upsetting, in this bizarre evening. Honestly, eating with his neighbors, getting a make-over, actually talking to other residents... It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone come to life, as sad as that was. It hadn't been bad, per say, just... strange. Well, at least he was tucked away in the living room and didn't have to deal with Charity because that- that would have raised more than a few questions if she was anything like his own mother had been.

"I'll see you... around." He glanced up again to see that Piper had directed that goodbye to him. Well, at least it didn't look like she wanted to laugh at him anymore for whatever reason. Maybe she had more important things to do, or maybe she'd just decided to take pity on the odd maintenance man huddled in her aunt's living room.

"Yeah, um, tomorrow. At the meeting, I mean," He said, trying for another little smile before looking away quickly, eaves dropping on the little conversation at Giselle's door. Which was when he realized that, yes, Hope was out of the room and wouldn't be coming back. As much as he hated to destroy an artist's masterpiece, well, he hated to be dolled up even more. A second later he was furiously wiping some of the excess lipstick off on the back of his hand, pausing to stare in mild horror at how much accumulated on his skin. And there was still some on his lips, the ineffectual scrubbing leaving behind a red stain not unlike a circus clown. Oh, Lord, had she used the entire tube? Even if she hadn't, it still felt like it. Why couldn't she have used lipgloss instead? He bit his lip out of habit and could taste the left over makeup, the flavor unpleasant and depressingly reminiscent of when he'd kissed his ex-girlfriend on nights when she'd dragged him to the club. Before his grandmother had died. Before... everything.

The apartment was silent then, Piper having taken her leave and Hope having been sent off with her mother for the night leaving Ms. Torres and Matthew as the apartment's sole occupants. Matthew couldn't quite decide if that was more or less awkward, decided on more, and prepared to leave before Giselle came back into the room, an apology and thanks tumbling from her lips together and unable to quite make eye contact for obvious reasons(not that he really liked eye contact, but a lot of people at least tried for it).

"No, no, it's fine. She was just, uh, just being a kid," He said, waving it off. Another apology from Ms. Torres. Huh. Being on the receiving end still felt so foreign to him. "I'll just-" But before he could finish that sentence, he was being whirled away by Ms. Torres, tugged down the hallway and into her master bathroom(the sink had sprung a leak three months ago, he recalled automatically) with a promise to erase the mess from his face. He moved where she indicated and only then did he realize what a close proximity they were in. It had been alright with Hope, just a kid playing dress-up, but with Giselle it was all the more awkward. The bathroom seemed ten times smaller and he flinched when she raised the cotton ball to wipe the eye shadow off of his eye. Still, he took a deep breath(mildly regretting it because the make-up remover wasn't a completely neutral smell), and closed his eyes obediently, leaning his head down so that she would have better access and not have to stretch quite so much.

"It wasn't exactly the worst Friday night either. Really, um, thanks for the dinner," He mumbled in reply, a lame attempt at brightening the mood as she continued her work. And, honestly, it wasn't. He'd had good food, hadn't gone to bed at a depressingly early hour, and had even filled his socialization-with-neighbors quota for the month if not the year. Yes, he'd had Friday nights much worse than this. Much, much worse.

"Again, I'm really sorry, Matthew... It is okay if I call you Matthew right?" The question ultimately caught him off guard and his eyes fluttered open. The question was simple enough, just a little bit of pleasantries, but the last time someone had shown the courtesy to ask had been, well it seemed to have been a long, long time ago. Around here he was "Mr. Granger" or "the maintenance guy" or "that guy" or even just "Hey, you, when are you going to fix my toilet?"

"Of course," He replied before almost instantly toning down his answer. He didn't need to sound so eager for someone to call him by his first name- besides, Ms. Torres was an admittedly beautiful woman. He didn't want his enthusiasm to come off the wrong way. "I mean, uh, yeah, that'd be fine, Ms. Torres. I'd, I'd actually prefer it. Mr. Granger sounds too old..." He clamped his mouth shut automatically, cutting off the rambling.