"You look like a soggy towel in a shirt ten sizes too big," Alicia muttered to herself, arms flopping to her sides in defeat.
The shirt—Adrien's, of course—hung off her frame like it had been meant for someone twice her size. One side had slipped off her shoulder completely, baring a stretch of pale, damp skin. Her hair, still wet from the bath, clung to her temples and neck in messy strands. Her thighs were flushed pink from the heat of the water, her calves aching viciously from snow sprints and Adrien's idea of "light training."
She took a step closer to the mirror and squinted. Her lips were slightly chapped, and her cheeks were still blotchy from the cold. The fabric pooled around her waist, doing a poor job of looking decent and an even worse job of staying up. She looked like someone who'd lost a bar fight with a blizzard.
"Perfect," she deadpanned, dragging a hand down her face. "No wonder he was laughing."
