Midnight

For the better part of the past week, Midnight has spent about an hour each evening downstairs in the bathroom – after rummaging through our bedroom closet to fetch the mysterious package Starla had sent her. It's amusing to see her this secretive about something, but I'm no closer to finding out exactly what it is she's toying with.

The before and after each evening is exactly the same, as far as I can see. Considering the mirror in our room is much better than the one in the bathroom, I'm inclined to believe that it really isn't clothing she's fiddling with. Makeup has crossed my mind, but... well, how would that work with fur?

I've been kind and allowed her privacy; the thought has crossed my mind to sneak down the stairs and try to eavesdrop for any sort of clue, but I've beaten back that urge for Midnight's sake. But how long should I let this charade play out? How long does she plan on this routine?

Well, the routine shifted this morning – Midnight insisted I take a shower this morning, even though I normally do. In addition, I really don't need to, since I actually showered last night after work. But I figured screw it, I'll play along with her suspicious shenanigans.

Unfortunately, one shower and breakfast sandwich later, Midnight still has herself shut up in my room. While it may not be a big deal on any normal day to be a bit late getting out into the yard for work, we have a lot of parts pulling ahead of us. As a result, I find myself at my bedroom door, giving it a light knock.

I'm expecting to get barked at for interrupting her, but so be it. We need to get moving.

"What?" Judging by the sound of her voice, Midnight's stress levels are heightened by either my presence or whatever she's doing... which as I sort of expected, is just on the other side of the door, where the mirror is located.

"How much longer do you plan on playing with your hair this morning?" I wisecrack.

"...are you shitting me?" The comment is terse and incredulous, a sort of response I hadn't quite anticipated. After all, while it's never a particularly drastic change, Midnight's hairstyling from time to time is a common occurrence; taking exception to it now is...

Oh. Is that what this is? Is she stepping up her game in hairstyling? I find it hard to believe, but then again, Midnight is full of surprises.

The box wasn't that heavy, but I'm... not well-versed in anything with hair beyond a comb. What all Starla may have provided her is a mystery – that is, if I'm even barking up the right tree.

"Uh, you fiddling with your hair is no secret, Mid. You've been doing that for a few months now – what's wrong with that joke?" I ask, trying to play off my comment and my possible inadvertent discovery.

"Oh – nothing. I thought you said something else. That's on me, my bad," Midnight scrambles to recover from her outburst.

...alright, maybe it's time to nudge this along further.

"What did you think I said?"

"Uh... I don't really know. Something not good. Hard to tell with you sometimes."

"You sound kinda paranoid – wanna talk about it?" I tease her, leaning against the door.

"I'm fine – can you just go downstairs and fiddle with the Chrysler for now? I'm almost done," she replies, almost pleading for me to leave.

"Almost done with what?" I press onward.

"Stuff?"

"And things?" I add.

"...you're not gonna let this go now, are you?" she laments in defeat.

"No, not after a week and delaying a busy day ahead of us," I remind her. "You've had your fun and I've left it alone till now – I think it's time to pay up."

"Eugh. I hate you."

"I know you do. That's what makes our relationship work so well."

I'm gifted with a short hum of amusement from the other side of the door for that comment, but then everything goes quiet. It feels like this may be the start of a standoff, depending on how stubborn Midnight wants to be – but I silently hold my ground.

I hear a few clicks and taps near the door as Midnight apparently fiddles with... whatever she has going right now. After a minute or two of this, everything falls still once again. "You... can you promise me something?" Midnight asks.

"Sort of depends on what I'm promising. I'm not perfect nor all-powerful, but I can do my best."

"No laughing or comments?" It seems like an innocent enough proposal, but clearly whatever Midnight is trying to do has her feeling far more vulnerable than normal. Assuming I am right about the hair thing... which now that I think of it, I haven't seen a change in her hair.

Maybe I'm wrong? Or maybe this is the first real attempt at styling with proper tools, and it hasn't gone well...

At the end of it all, the what or why doesn't matter. What does matter is this is serious for her – and by extension, it is for me, too. "You have my word Mid... but what if I have a positive comment?"

"Just... no. No comments at all, please," she mumbles. "I will maul the shot out of you if you break your promise."

"I won't say anything or do anything until given the say so. I promise," I reaffirm.

With a low groan, the bedroom door eases open with Midnight quickly taking up the gap. From what I see of her hair, nothing is different or amiss, nor does her tail show signs of work as the bedroom door continues to swing open. My eyes happen to dart away from her and instead what lies off to her right side, beyond the doorframe.

That's where my dresser is now located, and while the angle I'm standing at doesn't lend itself to a clear view, I can see some power cords lying on top, a couple of hairbrushes of different styles, and a handle to... something.

"Starla and I did some talking while she stayed with us – some girl talk before you would get up in the morning, as she's an early riser," Midnight explains. "We sort of started discussing what ifs... like if we ever went on a proper double date, and what we would do to prepare for it to... I guess look our best."

"And attire of any sort is out of the question for you.." I say, leaning to my right to get a better view of the other items she has set up...

Yep. That's a curling iron.

"Yeah. I've been experimenting a bit – but with my tail, so it's easier to hide," Midnight mumbles, tracing my line of sight to the curling iron as well. That ends up being her cue to turn sideways while one of her metal tools seizes her tail near its end. It flips over, giving you a view of the canvas that has seen work.

She's done a good job of hiding her work in progress, for one section of the majority blue canvas has been styled into gentle waves that make the light seem to showcase the violet hues in her hair with every crest. Meanwhile, the very tip of her tail with these hairs ends in a bit tighter curl than normal.

Frankly, I'm awestruck by... all of it. The results of her work are beautiful, and the fact that this is something Midnight was driven to experiment with on her own is quite the surprise.

"What?" Midnight asks, anxiety taking hold of her.

"What what?"

"You haven't said anything." That calm face she's been displaying quickly shifts into one of concern and suspicion.

"Right – because aim not supposed to say anything. That was your stipulation," I remind her.

That anxious expression softens – up to a point. "I figured you wouldn't be able to help yourself at some point," she admits, letting her standoffish posture relax the rest of the way. "What do you really think of it?"

"Total honesty? I'm impressed – and I'd really like to see how you would look taking what you're learning and applying it head to tail once you feel comfortable. Also, I'm surprised that you're really taking the date idea this seriously."

While the first half of my response is well-received and earns a relieved, heartfelt grin, my second point manages to turn dark blue fur to indigo as Midnight blushes profusely. It seems some things never change, and that wasn't something she expected me to seize upon.

"Teddy and Starla are working toward being a bit more outgoing – kinda like us. That seems to be Starla's end goal – a sort of proper double date out at a restaurant," Midnight mumbles, averting her eyes from me. "I guess I'd like to be a part of her goals, help to achieve them since she's helped me a lot."

"Ah, so it's for her then? Surprised you'd go this far with the idea if that's the case," I comment, unable to help myself.

"You said sometime we might do a proper date – you were sort of joking, but I could tell it was an idea that you liked. Don't lie," she counters.

"Alright, fair enough. So this was going to be a complete surprise for when that day came, huh?"

"Uh... not really? I guess maybe a little bit. I was more concerned with fucking up and being stuck with horrendous hair. But a surprise for you would have been nice, I guess," she replies, pawing at the floor.

"And I just ruined it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you kinda did."

"Well, damn. Unfortunately, I couldn't wait any longer, and you've been up here for an hour."

Midnight turns her head to look back at our bed – or more specifically, the end table by the bed, where the alarm clock sits. When she turns back to face me, she's gritting her teeth in a slight cringe. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Happens to the best of us. It wouldn't be as big of a deal if we didn't have a pair of parts cars coming in sometime during the afternoon – I still haven't gotten a concrete answer on the times."

"In other words, we might be holding down the counter in the shop for a couple of hours waiting for a flake or two to call or message and say he can't make it with the car," Middie grumbles, reminding me of the incident just two weeks ago from another individual.

"Hopefully not – but I'm not planning on holding the counter down, either. We can box up what we pulled and I can work toward finishing up the Hemi, too. But it would mean a later evening pulling parts out back."

"I know, I just hate that waiting around shit. You know that."

"I do – you've always been short on patience," I tease her, leaning in for a kiss that is quickly accepted. "But that's why you get things done. Come on, let's start the day – you can hide away downstairs this evening and continue your work if you want."

"I'm not sure. I think I've gotten the hang of it, so the next time... might be the whole thing. But the cat's out of the bag now – I guess there's no sense in hiding anymore."

"That's up to you – I'm not looking for a reason to pick at you, especially when it's something you're taking a genuine interest in. I'm just curious about what sort of look you're going for."

"I... haven't really decided. I've just been trying to learn how to work with what I got, looked at pics online of different styles – but I'm not set on anything."

I hold the kitchen door open for Midnight to stroll through, following behind her as she trots down the steps. It's so odd thinking of Midnight getting more in touch with her feminine side – but there's nothing wrong with that. More than anything, it's even more evidence she's finding pride in who she is – and that's more important to me than her eventual styling goals.

"Speaking of mystery boxes – what the hell you got there?" Midnight inquires, honing in on the box I've purposely left lying on the counter.

"That? Oh, I've had it for a few days now. Don't worry about it," I reply, attempting to dismiss her with a wave of my hand. But once Midnight reaches the bottom of the steps, she turns her head to leer at me.

"Wow, safety first huh? Didn't fancy a tumble down the steps?"

"The comments from the peanut gallery aren't going to distract me – you're wasting your breath," she retorts. "What's in the box?"

"Hey, fair is fair – I gave you a week of privacy with your little care package from Starla. The least you can do is give me the same leeway, right?"

A groan escapes Midnight's lips as she walks past the package with me in tow. "You did this all on purpose, didn't you?"

"Finding out what you had going on was not the plan, no – but fighting fire with fire regarding that box... yeah, I pulled it out of the shelves this morning, hoping to have a bargaining chip to hang over your head. Like I said, I know you're impatient."

"And even though I told you this morning—"

"Only after you tripped yourself up, a week later," I interrupt with a smirk.

"Ugh. Point taken," she grumbles.

"But anyway – it's paint for the engine. Both silver and the gold for the valve cover accents and the air cleaners. Spray gun is gonna be a few more days."

"Ooh, feeling dangerous enough to buy toys you've never played with before?" Midnight wisecracks. Even though she's trying to play it cool, it's not hard to hear the relief in her voice at my little revelation.

It would have been more fun to carry it on, but eh... I'm gonna have to fiddle with the gun itself as soon as I get it. Considering I need the air compressor for that, it would be hard to hide during my testing phase.

"Paint mixed up and sprayed through a gun is usually more durable than the spray bomb counterpart – so yeah. I guess like you, it's time to experiment. Hopefully, I can get results as good as you."

"I am trying really hard not to cringe right now. That was awful."

"Maybe that's what I was going for."

"Suuure," she sasses, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, what the worry about durability with the paint? You planning on leaving the car outside with the hood open? Driving it through mud bogs?"

"No – heat. Heat and fluids can break down paint and cause it to flake off over time. As I recall, someone really wanted exhaust headers, and even with ceramic coatings on the pipes, there's gonna be a heat increase."

"Yeah – but you bought the headers, not me," she counters, trying to turn the blame on me for... well, there's not really any reason there.

"Hm. Good point," I comment, breaking away from tailing Midnight and heading off toward the counter. "I still have the receipt, maybe I can still take them ba—"

I'm halted in my tracks both figuratively and literally as I feel my shorts get yanked up in the back, the maneuver almost instantly giving me a wedgie that endangers the line between discomfort and pain.

"I don't think you want to finish that thought, do you?" Midnight sings, padding over to my side to bat her eyes at me.

"No, probably not. Bully," I mutter.

"I thought so," she says. The tension from my shorts is released, giving me a chance to readjust myself while Midnight tosses away a scrap of metal, the likely culprit twisted into committing the dirty deed before she starts to walk ahead.

"That wasn't nice," I mumble.

"You don't like nice."

"How would I know? I've never had it."

"Well, I can tell you it's overrated. You wouldn't like it."

"Can I at least try it once?"

"Hm – no," Midnight quickly responds, shaking her head. "I don't have nice on offer, and you can't miss what you've never had anyway. It's better this way."

"Oh – I guess I can go with that. But how about less bullying?"

"Nah."

"Sadist."

With my comment, Midnight twirls around, rears up, and places her forelegs upon my shoulders in what's become a more common maneuver in the past month or so. "That's why you love me," she croons, nuzzling me.