Buffy's POV

A knock on the doorframe turns my eyes away from my image in the mirror to the boy standing in the doorway. 

He whistles and says, "Looking good. Since when do you wear makeup?"

I've been trying to choose an outfit for tonight, but I can't pick between my hot pink dress or my emerald green sweater with my black mini skirt. Putting my indecisiveness aside, I chose to do my makeup first. Marty's right to question it, though. I rarely ever wear much makeup except for special occasions. Usually it's just a bit of mascara, but he's caught me in the midst of doing my eyeliner. 

Marty steps into my room and comes over to my vanity. I set down the eyeliner on the table and turn to face him.

"How did you get inside?" I question.

"Your door was unlocked," he answers. "That's unsafe, by the way."

"You walked into my house?"

"Are you mad?" 

I try to give him a glare, but I can't keep my face straight with him smiling at me the way he is. 

"No," I respond. "But why are you here?"

"I was worried about you."

"You were worried about me?" I echo. "Too worried to ring a doorbell?"

"I did," Marty says. 

He tilts his head as if to say 'Come on.' For some reason, I find it really difficult to be mad at him. 

"I just want to know that you're okay," he says. 

I sigh and give in, going over to sit down on the bed where he comes to sit beside me. I shuffle through all the possible starting phrases, finally landing on the most straight forward, to-the-point explanation.

"TJ is my half-brother. We have the same dad."

Marty looks like he's been slapped speechless. "Damn, okay."

I burst into laughter at his response. I should've known better then to expect him to react the same way as Andi or Cyrus. He just isn't like them. 

"How's that going?" Marty asks. 

"Better than you'd think," I reply. "He's staying here while his mom is out of town, and he's actually a decent human being."

"Well, I'm glad it's working out," he says. "And I'm proud of you."

"For what?"

"For giving him the chance to change," Marty says. 

"Are you saying I'm usually stubborn?" I question.

I expect him to defend himself, so I'm shocked into laughter when he says, "Yes."

I give his arm a shove and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"I'm just particular," I argue. "I know what I want. There's nothing wrong with that."

He stands up off the red quilt and steps up to me. 

"Nothing wrong with that," he agrees. 

"So why are we fighting?" I ask.

"I'm not fighting," he says. "You're fighting."

"I am not," I say.

"Of course you're not," he finally says. "My bad."

He grins, knowing nothing's been settled, but I choose to brush it aside, going back over to my vanity to finish drawing on the eyeliner I was doing before he got here. Marty walks around to my side and watches me as I complete the wing of my left eye and put down the eyeliner. That's all I had left to do for makeup, and now I just have to do my hair, but I'll do that once Marty's gone.

I turn to face Marty, ready to continue with our conversation, but it seems like his focus is on me now as his eyes float over my face. Somehow, I can feel them touch me, even with the distance between us, and it makes my skin tingle. 

"You know you don't need that," Marty says.

"I'm allowed to want to look pretty," I tell him.

He lets himself lean against the wall, putting his hands in his pockets. I don't like when he looks at me this way; it's a look that peels down any defence I put up, making me feel vulnerable, which is something I'm not comfortable with. Strangely, he's the only person who does this to me, and I don't know why I can't combat it. 

"Yeah, but," he says softly, "you always look pretty."

Suddenly, I get scared as I feel myself getting locked in to the way his eyes are caught on me. I don't understand how he does this to me, how he makes me lose my focus and only think of him. It takes me a moment before I'm able to take a step back, breaking myself free from the trance. As I do, he turns a little to the side, seeming just as disoriented as me. 

"While you're here," I start, stepping over to my closet to take out the two outfit options I'm torn between, "which one do you like best?"

He ponders over it for a minute, but when he opens his mouth, it's a question instead of an answer. "What is this for?"

For some reason, I feel nervous about answering that. I assume it must be because I know Marty doesn't like Colton. But I never had my stomach twist like this when I told anyone else. 

"I have a date," I say. 

He seems to process that for a moment, shifting his weight from the wall back onto his two feet. It's only when he finally speaks that I realize I've been holding my breath. 

"With who?"

I open my mouth, but the response takes a second to take form. "Colton."

"Oh," he says flatly.

I expected him to be upset or just to fight me on it a little more, but he doesn't. And I'm a little disappointed, but I don't know why. I was just hoping for something more. I think maybe I wanted him to fight me on it.

"That's it?" I ask. 

"Yeah," he replies. "I'm not your mom. I'm not going to tell you what to do. And besides, you already know what I think of him."

I'm silent—speechless. I just can't seem to find a clear sentence to say. I swear I was excited about my date tonight before Marty showed up. But now that he's here, I kind of wish I could just stay here with him instead. 

While I'm in stuck thought, Marty's made his decision, answering the question I forgot I even asked. 

"The green one," he says. "Green always looks good on you."

I glance down at the two clothing hangers in my hands then go to put them back in my closet. I return to Marty, my eyes on the carpet like I'm avoiding a fire. 

"Thanks," I say, flicking my eyes up to his. 

I already know I'm not going to wear the green sweater anymore. It just doesn't feel right wearing what Marty picked out to a date with someone else. I'd rather wear that with him. But that shouldn't matter to me. 

Suddenly, Marty takes a breath and says, "I'll let you finish getting ready, then."

He turns to leave, but as he does, I feel a pull on my lungs, like stretching taffy, and it causes my breath to stutter. 

"Marty," I say abruptly, and he looks back to make eye contact with me again. I'm not sure what I was about to say, but I just felt the need to speak, so I come up with something on the spot. "I'll text you later."

"Yeah," he says, putting a slight smile on his face. "Tell me how the date goes."

He turns back again, this time actually leaving. When Marty's gone, it feels like the room has just lost all of its contents. It feels empty, even though everything else is still here around me. It's like he was the only real thing in the room. 

I think back to what I told him before and feel my stomach flip again. Maybe I don't know what I want.

A/N: Hola. I got confused with an assignment, so I decided to do this instead. Great life choices, I know. Anyway, have a good day. What was the best thing that happened to you today? Also, I'm wearing an iCarly shirt, so that's cool. Did anyone else have a huge crush on Sam when they were a kid? No? Just me? Okay. Love y'all! Good night or day or mid-afternoon or whatever.