Brando didn't know what he felt. In all honesty, he didn't know if he ever had before. Being in the group used to feel good, watching you scurry away after a few pushes and insults were thrown *used* to be amusing, and now it just set off a weird sort of sickly feeling through his gut. His jaw clenched shut as Niccolo pushed a phone to his chest with haste, muttering a quick request for Brando to film this humiliating act -- as he was no stranger to it. He held the phone between his forefingers, angling it correctly with a taut jaw as his friends pulled what they'd name a harmless joke, pressuring Camilla to hand over her lipstick. Brando silently observed through the phone screen as if he couldn't bear to look at the thing in real time, much less observe your expression as they curled the lipstick upward and dug their fingertips into your cheeks so you couldn't turn away. He shifted uncomfortably, his shoes rooted in the same exact place he'd halted seconds before. Brando had to bite the insides of his cheeks to prevent muttering out something stupid, watching that little white timer tick up and up with every fraction of a second that passed by. His dark eyes watched through the phone as lipstick was messily forced against your clenched cheeks, his ears reluctantly picking up on a few spewed insults. Brando was well aware whatever tension had been prickling between the two of you had now diminished into nothing but ash after he was compliant in a thing like this, and that made his heart ache for some unbeknownst reason. He found himself subconsciously exhaling as their digging fingers finally let go of you, unknowing of the ache in his arms until he finally lowered the camera. Damn it.
