Author's Note: See Pink1 for warnings, disclaimers, rating, etc.
//Finally, acceptance//
He had finally moved out of the house. It was only a little apartment in Ottery St. Catchpole, but it was his. He still couldn't do whatever he wanted because of his damn brothers, but he wasn't under the watchful eye of his mother 24 hours a day.
Even though he still hid his secret life from his real life, he was having fun. He went to work during the week and partied on the weekends. He was a bit reckless occasionally, but not enough to cause him problems.
<He was happy today. It depended on his mood as to how much makeup he put on. He was putting on enough to make himself feel good, but he wasn't in party mode. He mixed some coppers and browns on his eyelids to make a pretty blend of colors.>
He occasionally got together with Harry to go see Quidditch matches and he'd meet Hermione for lunch once in awhile. He was no longer so angry at everybody and everything. He wasn't so angry with his family. He was finally okay with himself.
<He pressed the powder on his face, not too hard, because he was a redhead and redheads had freckles. That's the way it was.>
He and the first boy still loved each other on occasion, but they were starting to drifting apart. They were busy with other people, different things. They weren't ending badly, just ending like friends sometimes do.
The first boy had finally gotten him to realize that everyone has problems and no one is happy all the time, or even most of the time. Being content and comfortable with yourself could be enough. He had stopped being confused. He had stopped being such a miserable person.
<He looked at his blush. He knew he really didn't need it. The first boy had told him a long time ago his cheeks were nice without it, but he decided to swirl some on, just for fun.>
The first boy had helped him understand himself. He knew now that there was nothing wrong with him. The pretty things were just something he liked and it was a part of him. He knew now it did not make him a bad person.
He had accepted himself. He began thinking like he had when he was boy, young and curious. Now he just enjoyed himself and life.
<He pulled the prickly mascara brush from the tube and it popped. He stopped for a moment. He looked up at the mirror and grinned. He compulsively pushed the brush in and out, many times, just to hear the pop. Finally he raised the brush to his eyelashes, one set, then the other, covering those eyelashes until they were dark. He smirked to himself.>
Someday he knew he would get to the point where he could live this way in his real life and it would be okay. He knew that day was getting closer. There were days he almost said something or would wear his makeup, just to see their reaction. But he wasn't going to be brash about something so important. The first person he would tell, he knew, would be *him*.
<He pulled out his old favorite. A tube of plum lipstick. After he turned the tube, watching the lipstick rise up, he pressed it to his lips. He smiled at himself before he turned from the mirror and bounced away.>
The first boy had helped him stop hating himself. Even if he never saw the first boy again, he would always be grateful for all he taught him.
As he got older, the more confident he became, the more content he became. He had even gotten to the point that if *he* never loved him like he wanted, he would live with it.
<He was humming to himself as he walked down the street. He felt happy and confident. He flipped his hair back out of his face. He smiled and nodded at people as they walked by. Then he stopped...>
He saw *him*. He had just been minding his own business, heading to the first boy's house, when he saw *him*. He was wearing low cut jeans, a black t-shirt, his favorite big black boots...and his makeup. He touch his face.
He stopped and stood on the sidewalk, not knowing what to do. He thought of running. He started to panic. He wasn't ready to blend his secret life and his real life quite yet. He'd been really happy, but he'd been careless and now he had finally been caught.
//He's beautiful//
The voyeur had been following him, like in the past, but he didn't say that. He just stopped *him*. Finally. It had been twelve long years, since he had wanted to say something, but he still didn't say anything. He just stood there watching. *His* eyes got wide and a pinker blush than what was already on those cheeks, shone through.
The voyeur caught an arm, as *he* quickly turned and started to run away. He reached up to *him* and kissed those pretty plum-colored lips. When he pulled away, *his* mouth gaped in shock. Then *he* smiled. Then *he* kissed him back.
//He's beautiful//