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Tetora peers into the mirror, and the reflection doesn’t quite look like her. The tired euphoria of a tense and thrumming body post-lift is familiar. But somehow the sight is off, as if the mirror is broken into shards that form some peculiar work of cubism that Arashi would know more about. Or maybe it’s just that pieces of Tetora don’t fit together.
She wards off the doom spiral with a deep breath and combs her fingers through her short, frizzy hair. The sweat on her fingertips and the reminder of her muse typically grounds her. But Tetora can’t help but notice the red streaks have faded, and it inexplicably feels like a betrayal. At least her eyes are right. Carrots according to Midori, oranges according to Shinobu, basketballs according to Chiaki—a pathetic attempt to humor her, but it made Tetora laugh anyway.
Arashi says they’re like sunsets. Tetora presses her forehead against the cold glass to temper her growing flush. Her hot breath stains the mirror in a cloudy sheen, but the gym is about to close, and she’s the sole occupant, so Tetora is allowed to briefly mope. She wipes off the fog with the hem of her shirt. Clearly, they're tiger eyes, incandescently fierce even in her fatigue. Tetora manages a smirk, which falls when she notices her eyeliner is horribly smudged. She forgot to remove it before her workout because of course she did. Of course, it was ridiculous to try and embody someone else when all she has are bright eyes that rely on others to fill in the blanks.
There’s nothing muscles can’t solve, but some days Tetora is just too sore. Too tired. She needs a shower and to sleep several weeks in the span of six hours.
Tetora shuts the door a little too hard, but Arashi acknowledges her presence with a mere glance before returning to her laptop. She’s wearing headphones and has an open notebook beside her on the backless sofa—must be a new demo.
“Make sure to wash your face after your shower,” is all she says, vaguely ominous, as Tetora slinks into the bathroom.
Tetora steps into the steam without turning on the lights. A shred of late dusk sun casts bluish shadow against her silhouette. She gazes down at her feet as she rinses the suds out of her hair. Her hips flare too much and her shoulders are too broad, but condemning features she finds so perfect on others would be hypocritical, right? Tetora supposes she’s a hypocrite. But she also supposes her body is for combat and performance, strength that doesn’t necessitate traditional beauty, and that slightly eases the ache in her heart.
Tetora opens the door, dawning her pajamas and tiger slippers, and nearly karate chops Arashi in the face. They both shriek, but Arashi instinctively twists to the side to avoid an attack that never comes.
Tetora hunches over with her palms against her knees in exasperation and relief, “Didn’t know you’d be creepin' right outside the door.”
Arashi’s alarm dissipates in an instant, and she speaks indignantly, “I wasn’t creeping.” But it’s a defense that’s swiftly brushed aside in favor of coercion. She waves Tetora off, “Sit.”
Tetora only blinks in the bathroom doorway. Arashi flits back and forth across the dorm, gathering frosted bottles of niacinamide and other things Tetora only has secondhand knowledge of.
“The floor, your bed,” she supplies, still in motion. “Wherever you’ll be most comfortable– just sit somewhere, okay, Tetora-kun?”
The preciously tailored honorific never fails to give Tetora pause, no matter how many times she hears it. She wordlessly settles onto her bed.
Arashi fits a fluffy headband behind Tetora’s ears. After she determines all of Tetora’s stray hairs are tucked aside, she boops the tip of her nose. Tetora feels like the wind has been knocked out of her lungs from the gentle touch, but she manages to feign composure.
“HiMERU-san?” Tetora’s gaze sweeps the distinctly quiet evening of the warmly lit dorm.
Arashi unscrews the lid of a sleek plastic container. Inside is a translucent gel that emanates a strong medicinal scent.
“Kazehaya-senpai,” She grins conspiratorially. The smile softens when she continues, “Thought you’d like a hydrating mask unless you’re feeling adventurous– then I can break out the activated charcoal.”
Tetora shakes her head with a puff of a laugh. Once she stills and shuts her eyes expectantly, Arashi gathers a dollop of liquid opal on her middle and index finger and liberally applies it to both of Tetora’s cheeks. She spreads out the mask until the entirety of Tetora’s face is coated in an even layer of pearlescence.
Arashi’s warm breath wafts mint and hibiscus against Tetora’s cool skin as she leans in to brush her jawline with her thumb. Tetora’s panicked heartbeat is easily ignored until Arashi says, “I won’t ask.”
She never does. She always waits, which is far more nefarious.
“You can keep your eyes closed. Going to exfoliate your lips now, okay?”
Tetora hums affirmatively, and Arashi’s fingertip drifts along her bottom lip. The gritty sensation is unpleasant, but Arashi’s touch is featherlight.
“I just…” Tetora swallows, “Sometimes feel like, uh, I’m not doin’ it right.”
Arashi’s breath catches in her throat, but she masks it well with an edge of levity in her words, “There’s no wrong way, fumble-stumble.”
She massages the crystalized sweetness into Tetora’s lips, and despite herself, Tetora shivers. It’s not a foreign intimacy, whether Arashi is applying lipstick for her or wiping barbecue sauce from the corner of a dimple. But somehow, tonight, Arashi gliding along the curve of her mouth feels different. It must be the aftershock of sensitivity in lieu of her mild crisis that’s making her delusional.
Arashi removes the excess sugar and dead skin with a cotton pad soaked with micellar water. Now Tetora has no excuse to continue conversation in forgiving darkness, but she answers with her eyes still closed. “I guess. But you’re like, girly and stuff.”
“HiMERU-chan isn’t.”
“Yeah, but–”
“Your Taishou isn’t.”
“Yeah.”
Tetora’s eyes flutter open at quite possibly the worst time. Arashi cradles her chin and generously applies lip balm. But what’s most frightening is her gaze. Her eyes usually elicit some degree of apprehension in their intimidating glow. Glossy like a jelly mask but crystalline like a sugar scrub. The light they cast in this moment is especially disarming. Arashi’s eyes are cold with intense focus but tinged with an undeniable warmth that only blooms when she realizes Tetora is staring.
“What’s the point when I’m gonna wash it off in a sec anyway?” Tetora skims her velvety lip with her thumb.
Arashi hesitates, “Doesn’t it feel nice?”
“Yeah,” The words unfold as a shuddering whisper, “It– it does.”
The air between them feels like honey, and when Tetora takes a long inhale, it clogs her throat. Arashi’s face lingers so close that Tetora can see her reflection in her eyes, and it's in their nebula that Tetora feels most like herself. Tetora angles her neck and slowly leans forward until their mouths meet.
The stickiness of the lip balm complicates the ease of their tempestuous collision, but all Tetora cares about is that the taste of Arashi can be fully savored. That is, until reality sets in, and Tetora breaks the kiss with a start. She manages to bite back a swear, but scrambles off the bed with the grace of a frightened badger while Arashi is at worst a rabbit.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” Arashi assures before Tetora can pluck out any of the words that whirl around the storm of her thoughts, “I don’t even know what it is, but I’ve just… for a while…” Her tender voice fades like a breeze that dies once it floats above the bed between them.
Tetora’s chest heaves, and she reaches up to card her fingers through her hair, but instead they meet soft cotton. The silence is finally shattered when Tetora decides, “I won’t ask.”
When Arashi blushes, Tetora assumes this is one of the rare occasions she’s said the right thing.
“It’s, uh,” Arashi clears her throat, “It’s been ten minutes.”
With that, she ushers Tetora into the bathroom to rinse off her face, but the ghost of Arashi’s lips against hers remains.
She’s still exhausted and knows the cracks will reappear at some unknown point in time. But when she examines the reflection in the mirror and sees Arashi over her shoulder, Tetora’s smile doesn’t waver.