incredibly
theeflowerchild
drabble
Of all things it could have smelled like, her hair smelled like coconut.
And it was a surprise, for some reason—I mean, her hair was pink, of all colors. It was incredibly pastel, incredibly soft, incredibly long, incredibly shiny, incredibly beautiful and incredibly endearing.
Though he'd never, ever admit that.
It was a feature you could see from outer space; she was hard to miss, for lack of a better statement. He didn't mind, though. It suited her—her loud, obnoxious, borderline ridiculous personality was only complimented by pink fucking hair.
Again, he'd never admit it, but he simply adored the skin stretched over her perfect bones.
When she was finally (after so many years of waiting and waiting and waiting) close enough for him to touch, to feel, to smell he couldn't help but note that her damned hair smelled like coconut.
And he was surprised.
He expected strawberries, or watermelon, or even raspberries, something sweet and fruiting, perhaps floral, at least pink, for Christ's sake, but what he got was the sweet smell of a milk-filled fruit (Was it a fruit? He wasn't sure.) and he couldn't get enough of it. He dug his nose into her pink tresses and refused to remove himself. She was like heroine.
Though he'd never admit it.
And she was so imperfect and so unexpected, that when she fell right back into his messed up, disastrous, broken, soiled, sullied, imperfect life…
It was incredible.