(A/N I don't know why I think the idea of this is so cute. And it's TDS era, in case you were wondering.)

- There's something about makeup in the rock scene that is just so awe-inspiring. You love every bit of it: how it bends the rules of what should just be for one gender, the way it becomes a trademark for certain people, hell, even how much depth it can add to any given concept. As an artist, you'd much rather work with the out-there rock stars than any model.

- You're excited about working with Trent before you even meet him, whole-heartedly expecting him to be a revolutionary. He's all about breaking rules; his music in itself is a mind-blowing experience, not to mention just how visceral and dramatic the live shows are. If you get to contribute even the smallest part to his image, you'll be happy. 

- You're sort of taken aback when the two of you first meet. It seems he knows exactly what he wants in every area except for the hair and makeup. You list endless ideas that might match the effect he's after, but he remains hesitant towards just about all of them. You're starting to get the feeling that he's probably not the easiest person in the world to work with.

- Frustrated, you finally sit him down in your chair and tell him that you're just going to get to work; you'll figure out firsthand what works and what doesn't. 

- You can tell that he's kind of freaked out by this, but he doesn't complain. This satisfies you, giving you ample time to get started on your work. After a while, you decide to break the ice a little bit, ask him about himself. He answers every question quickly but thoughtfully. After every few answers, he'll add a nervous : 'how about you?' You return his inquiries with answers of your own.

- After a while, you're beyond distracted; the two of you had fallen into conversation so comfortably once you got going, proving, much to your relief, that there's at least a little bit of chemistry there, a chance for some level of understanding. This does not necessarily fare well for your makeup, though; the result is sub par, not yielding much change. Embarassed, you ask: "why don't we try again tomorrow?" 

- And so you do. The two of you spend one of the few lazy days in between your jam-packed schedules together, talking and laughing as you experiment with just about every palette you own, trying everything that you think might be even slightly relevant. As much as you wanted today to be a deviation from yesterday's screwups, you have to admit that, after a while, you're just having fun. And, although what you already know about his work ethic has lead you to believe that he's oftentimes totally uptight, Trent doesn't seem to mind this.

- Figuring that Trent Reznor is the last person on this planet who can object to pushing the envelope, you go a little bit overboard, trying to impress him with just about every special effect you know, adding more color, more drama, more everything. Though a lot of it ends up being totally completely impractical, he truly appreciates your efforts. In fact, he asks you to keep that blue eyeshadow handy; if he won't use it for this project, he'll eventually use it for something. 

- At some point, he ends up taking out a tall bottle of something really strong. ("Well, since we aren't going anywhere....") That's when everything really starts going to hell. 

- The two of you sit on the living room floor, passing the bottle back in the forth as you continue to play with your makeup brush, laughing at yourselves and each other. Before long, you're well on your way to blitzed, and you're starting to think that his presence alone is making it worse, even, -- no, especially, -- with metallic eyeliner sparkling beneath those lovely green eyes. 

- After you do away with that bottle, he goes and gets another. (Another benefit of woking with rockstars, eh?) Though your prolonged intake is hardly doing wonders for your creative process, it is making both of you much more relaxed, and thus rather personable. After a few more brushstrokes of whatever it is you have in your hand, you pull back to admire your work. Smiling, you absentmindedly run a hand through that nice, auburn-tinged hair of his. Maybe you'll do something with that, too, once you're in a better state. 

- Suddenly, you're hit with a rather intense urge to get something off your chest. You're opening your mouth before you're even sure what it is. "You know," you start. "It's a wonder I was even able to do this much. Working on the ones that are already pretty can be such a challenge." 

- Either he really appreciates compliments or his judgement has been hindered, too, because, in the blink of an eye, Trent's lips are pressed against yours hard, smearing the deep red rouge you had just so expertly applied. Shocked as you may be, you respond in kind, hoping that you aren't messing anything up, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. 

- It could be seconds or minutes before one of you pulls away. More than a bit bleary, you have trouble distinguishing which one of you it was; you just know that he's leaning over you, pinning you somewhat awkwardly against the living room's carpeted floors, lipstick smeared, a look of shock and maybe awe on his face. You weren't wrong; he really is pretty. 

- The experience seems to have sobered him back up. He pulls away, already rambling. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to-- I mean, I don't mind but-- I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." 

- You smile as you sit up, hoping that the gesture puts him at ease. "It's fine," you tell him, quickly wiping some excess red away from your mouth. "What's a bit of camaraderie between business partners, hmm?"