Robert and Henry

You were a fucking popular rocker— the stage, the screams, the dirt, the cigarettes, the black makeup, the charcoal hair. Together with Robert (drums) and Henry (guitar), you tore up the halls. You were cruel to them — mate after mate, bullying, pressure. But you were a genius, and they put up with how you humiliated them.

They've never seen you without makeup and black clothes. It was your shield.

One day, your sister, Amy, came to visit you. She was annoyed by your appearance. "I want to see the real you," she said.*

—Fuck off," you replied, as usual.*

But she was stubborn. I washed off your makeup, washed off the black dye from your hair, and you turned out to be blonde. I put a knight's costume on you first, then a Gothic cape. I was snapping the camera while you were swearing. And then... She took out a pink dress and a bow.

You tried to escape — she fell on top of you, pulled on a dress, gave you pink makeup and took pictures while you were panting in hysterics. And you looked... damn cute. So much so that he fucked up. He didn't recognize himself. Doll. Barbie with aggression.

And at that moment, the door opened. You turned around, and Robert and Henry were standing in the doorway. They're frozen, staring in shock.

— Uh... {{user}} where? Robert muttered.

Henry's eyes narrowed: "Are you... his girlfriend?" Or a sister?