Concealer
As soon as he could squeeze through the roaring crowd in the hangar, Ethos hurried into the nearest bathroom, face averted. He had no need for the usual facilities, but he could feel the sweat running down his neck and dripping into his eyes like liquid malice.
He hastily splashed water on his face, ducked down with eyes squeezed shut to endure an oven-door blast from the hand dryer, then reached into his flight suit for the tiny compact that he had tucked into an inner pocket. It was a long way back to his quarters from the hangar, and he couldn't let Phobos (or anyone else) see him barefaced again. Not after Phobos had gone to all the trouble to give him the makeup and show him how to use it when he first arrived. It sure was nice of Phobos to help him out! He hadn't realized that his skin was so sun-damaged, or that people here would judge him for it. Nobody at home even noticed things like that unless you got a bad sunburn.
Hopefully no one had really looked at him in the post-battle chaos. He was probably safe; people didn't pay him much attention anyway.
Ethos didn't have any moisturizer, primer, or concealer with him, so just the foundation would have to do for the moment. He carefully patted it on until his skin looked like it was starting to even out. Mostly. As long as nobody got within five or ten feet of him. But that probably wouldn't happen, as long as he made sure to take the lift alone. He took a deep breath, and opened the door to the hallway.
"Deimos!" he yelped. The sleek dark figure stepped out of the shadows and stood much too close, staring up at him with those beautiful pale eyes with perfect thick black lashes and perfectly shaped brows and perfectly smooth ivory skin. This was the worst. It wasn't Phobos but Deimos was Phobos' fighter and he would probably tell Phobos about how he'd seen Ethos sweating like a horse with his foundation all lumpy and uneven.
But maybe he wouldn't? Don't catastrophize, Ethos reminded himself. Deimos had never seemed especially warm or friendly, but he'd never been mean, either. He barely even talked. But what did he want now?
"Um, sorry I got startled," he babbled. "I just didn't know you were there. Did, um...did you need something?"
Deimos lifted a hand to touch Ethos' cheek, but stopped short at his involuntary flinch. His eyes looked...sad?
"Sorry, I just got--I--um..."
"I miss your freckles," Deimos blurted out, and winced at the sound of his own rough and uncertain voice.