If Terezi knew his thoughts, she probably would agree: She does like him better without the paint. His face smells cleaner without it. Softer. And the paint marks him as part of his cult, which... She can't say she hates it so much anymore. But she wouldn't go about saying that she likes it, either.

But what matters most in this moment isn't her own feelings. It's his, and as soon as his breath catches, as soon as he closes his eyes and she feels him lean into her touch, she knows that she made the right choice here.

She paints silently for what seems like a while. It's turned from a gesture to an almost challenge. She has no skill for face-painting, but it's not too much different from painting anything else, and his response to the paint only makes her want to do it right. So she's slow and careful and focused...

And after a while, she finally speaks up: "Your hair hasn't been this short in a while. I'm sorry I can't do anything about that. I remember you telling me that you hated it like this... It made you look too young."

There's a distinct pause, and even her movements slow a bit as she remembers that particular conversation so long ago. "I remember... I got mad at you for this stuff, too. Your faith. I...didn't have the best opinion of it back then. My only exposure to it was nothing short of a tragedy. It hurt... a lot."

"But you..." She puts on the last touches, then drops her hand back down, taking the paint container from his hands. "It was different for you. It...wasn't as vicious and terrible as I had imagined. The celebration thing you had... I have to admit, that was fun. But I never would have known that without you. And... I don't want that to be the last time we get to do that. Okay?"