Haikyuu!! Rare-pair Fic Collection

Pink - kuroyachi

| Hook-up |
Summary: She remembers the curl of his mouth, the whites of his eyes, the inky, feathery strands of his hair.

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The mirror doesn't lie.

The bed is unmade, she checks her phone every few seconds as she tries to stuff all the clothes on the floor into her hamper. She peels off her pajamas and takes a deep breath. She needs to shave, there are fine prickles on her legs, underneath her armpits, the creases of her inner thighs. She brushes her teeth and watches her own face, the pink splotches, the shadows under her eyes from sleepless nights, her tangled lashes and pale skin stretched at her cheeks when she opens her mouth wide. She spits, the clean air burns nicely coming in, and she sighs. She searches through the drawers in the bathroom for a fresh razor, coconut oil, lotion, that expensive perfume her mother bought her a while ago. At the bottom of her underwear drawer is this lacy pink piece, and it takes her nearly half an hour to find the matching bra. She hasn't worn something like this in months, she casts a cursory glance at her closet and between all the simple, cottony, breathable outfits there are, squished against the furthest wall, her more appealing ones; pretty skirts, form fitting jeans, tights, blouses that always smell so sweet and flowery, the kind that flutter gently against her skin and pull her fingers to the hem, unsure of herself.

The mirror doesn't lie. She spends too long in the shower bent over her own leg and when she is done she sits on the edge of the tub and works her skin to smoothness. She curls her toes and rolls her ankles and she looks pink, pudgy, not quite right. Her hips have curved the way she's always wanted, they accentuate her thighs and have marked her hips with pallid, webby lines. She fills her jeans or her skirts or her panties nicely but her breasts are still so small, she cups them in her hands, breathes in, and then slouches inward. Her shoulders are narrow, her silhouette a strange enigma. Not quite right.

She tugs her panties up and shimmies her hips, turns to trace the delicate waistband with her eyes and the longer she stares the more uncertain she becomes. She spends half an hour roaming her little apartment in nothing but her underwear, the air curling up and around her almost comfortably—if she stays in one place for too long she remembers herself; forgets how to breathe. She takes a sip of water, waits until her throat no longer hurts to glance at the mirror. At the wrong angle, she catches the roll of her skin, the pinch of her panties hugging at her hip bones, the curve of her back and the way her stomach folds. She snaps straight and swallows her nerves tightly.

She paints her eyes first, dusts powder over her blemishes and marks her lips. They are small and doll like, a rose petal, and she makes sure to color her cheeks pink. She dabs that perfume on her throat and catches her own eye in the mirror. How pretty—the mirror doesn't lie, and her cheekbones look defined.

This deodorant smells too sweet but it does not stain her clothes. She pulls a simple, cottony, breathable shirt on, these blue jeans, these pearl earrings, brushes her hair back and makes her bed. The can of air freshener is on her nightstand, she quickly sprays the entire apartment and hides it under her bathroom sink. She sets a few bottles of water in the fridge and eats a fresh peach.

Her cellphone chimes and she hasn't done this in so long, she reaches down to touch her ankle under the leg of her jeans, if the skin is still as smooth as she hopes. She pulls a face in the mirror above the key rack and presses her hand over her pounding heart.

.x.

He's taller than she expects, nearly hits the top of the doorframe when she invites him in. She remembers him different, oddly enough, this wiry shadow smiling smoothly down at her. She remembers the curl of his mouth, the whites of his eyes, the inky, feathery strands of his hair. He'd towered her then, but it's different now. He's taller but she is not scared of him, this time, not the way she used to be.