Hank already feels ridiculous. The suit encasing his body is a bright red three-piece affair that would make Tony jealous. There’s approximately thirty billion pounds of hair gel weighing down his scalp, and yet the cowlick at the back of his head refuses to get the fucking memo. He’s pretty sure the shoes cost more than his entire salary, the wristwatch more than all the equipment in his lab—and Jan’s still pulling out eye makeup like his life depends on it.
“Is this really necessary?” he asks, glancing warily at the palette she’s opening.
“We’re going to a presidential gala, Hank!” Jan exclaims. He watches her brow furrow as she examines the colors in front of her, and then her trademark look of aha as she finds one. “You know, to meet the president?”
“The president’s a war criminal, Jan.”
She rolls her eyes; not the first time he’s said it, certainly won’t be the last. “Okay, then at least dress up for me,” she says. “I never get to see you in anything besides your lab coat and your Ant-Man costume.”
“I never need to be in anything else,” Hank states, but he knows it’s a losing battle. Always has been, and probably always will be.
Jan just goes, “Exactly,” and brings up a brush tinted with gold. “Now close your eyes.”
Hank sighs and does. He almost feels like he’s going to be inoculated; he nearly flinches when the brush touches his skin. “I still don’t think this is necessary,” he says.
“Trust me, it is.”
“People are gonna stare at me, Jan.”
“They’re gonna stare at you because you’re pretty,” Jan says. “Like, you have really beautiful eyes, Hank. You should show them off more often.”
His eyes snap open. He wants to say something about that. Like—how can he show them off when they’re already in the middle of his face? But anything even remotely clever gets stuck in his throat.
What does she mean by pretty?
“I,” he says, a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Jan says, grinning. She cocks a hip to the side, her other hand coming up to rest on it. “Now are you gonna let me finish or not? The longer we’re here, the longer you have to deal with this.”
“I… yeah. Yeah.”
He shuts his eyes again, this time without complaint. And this time, he expects the strange sensation of something brushing against his eyelid. But he can’t stop the blush on his face or that single word from cycling through his mind—pretty . Pretty. Him— pretty? He feels his blush deepen as Jan gently tilts his head, her touch like sudden electricity; he hears her chuckle.
“See?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Pretty.”
The rest of it goes by in silence. She eventually finishes the eyeshadow and switches to eyeliner, and then goes from eyeliner to what looks like a container of silver rhinestones of varying sizes. He raises his eyebrows, but at this point he’s wise enough to not question it.
“Almost done,” she says. She starts attaching the rhinestones at the corner of his left eye, starting with the smallest ones. “Just a final touch.”
“Mm-hm. I’m trusting you on this.”
“Fine, then! Just for that, I’m doing your lipstick, too.”
Hank gawks at her. “ Jan—”
“Kidding! I’m kidding.” She sticks on a final rhinestone and steps back, clasping her hands together as she admires her handiwork. Admires him . It makes his head swim a little.
“… Well?” he asks.
Jan beams at him. “Take a look for yourself,” she replies, and turns his chair to face the vanity mirror.
He does. And does. And does. He stares at his own reflection, entranced. He’d honestly thought this would look completely unhinged—but no. The gold spiking around his eyes makes the brown of his irises pop. The eyeliner ringing his eyes, thinner at the bottom, frames them beautifully. And the rhinestones—they flare out from the corner of his eye, like the glitter in the eyeshadow coalescing into a solid shimmer.
It’s… pretty.
“Jan,” he says breathlessly. “I’m…”
He sees her smile reflect in the mirror; it disappears when she dips her mouth toward the top of his head, planting a kiss in that mess of hair gel.
“Speechless, for once,” she says, resting her chin on his head. She meets his eyes in the reflection. “I think you’re ready.”
He thinks so, too.