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You understand why some women want all-day lip colors, you really do. It's inconvenient to constantly retouch after you take a sip of water or, gods forbid, eat something.
Except.
Except, except, except, Dabi looks so fucking pretty all marked up.
She brings a hand up to your cheek, running her thumb under your bottom lip. No doubt the matte lip color is smudged to all hell after you kissed most of it onto Dabi. "I just took a shower."
You fluff her half dried hair up a bit, pretending to be confused. "You can't kiss your girlfriend after a shower?"
"I can't kiss my femme after a shower, apparently."
The possessive pronoun never fails to make you shiver. "Your femme is ever so sorry." You say, leaning forward to kiss her cheek again.
She knows you're lying, and you know she'll more than likely get back at you for it later, but…
It's not just that it's your lipstick, although you'll admit with little to no shame that you have a thing for that.
It's that Dabi looks over your shoulder, at the floor length mirror behind you, and she smiles. It's that she's scared and scarred and doesn't like looking at herself most days, but you can put a bandaid on it. You can mark her with love.
She takes her hand off your face and traces one of the more distinct kissy marks on her cheek with her fingers, teasing, "Don't really think this is my color, doll."
Perhaps the correct response is assuring your girlfriend she looks good in every color, but what comes out of your mouth is, "Want me to try a different one?"