(no subject)
the universe must smell of jasmine, Ten/Rose, G
The opaque white bottle is the one he brought back from his first trip, just across the country, smelling of home and comfort and English roses. She wore it the night he proposed, the night he asked her to marry him and be his perfect English Rose forever., 502
He travels for his job, her John does, gone for days or weeks or sometimes even months at a time, but when he returns to her he brings a new perfume. The scents are always ones that he creates for her, never anything bought from a store, and he's so clever, her John.
Her fingertips lightly touch each bottle in turn and each one signifies something different to her, different moments from her life.
The opaque white bottle is the one he brought back from his first trip, just across the country, smelling of home and comfort and English roses. She wore it the night he proposed, the night he asked her to marry him and be his perfect English Rose forever.
The pink one, small and vaguely heart-shaped, is from his next trip to Paris, when he was gone for a month. It smells of love and romance and lilies and is the one she wore on her wedding day, lingering into the night when he takes her to bed as his wife and promises to love her always.
This other is bronze in color, curved on the sides and is from his three month trip to India. It smells to her of adventure, warm and exotic and spicy, and reminds her of the night he told his boss to kindly go fuck himself at a fancy dress party before they ran from the house hand-in-hand, laughing wildly.
This last one is purple and oval-shaped, brought to her from his six month trip to China. Tradition and history and orchids waft up when she removes the cap and this one is of quiet nights at home when he doesn't have to leave just yet and he tells her about all the places he's been.
Her hands move away from the perfume bottles and she checks the clock on the wall. Tonight her skin is clean, free of scent, waiting for the new bottle she knows he'll have when he comes home any minute now.
The front door opens as though she's somehow summoned him with her thoughts and she hurries to meet him, laughing as he sweeps her into his arms and spins her around, kissing her before setting her back on her feet.
She watches him eagerly and he smiles, pulling a perfectly round midnight blue bottle from his pocket, dotted with what look like tiny flecks of glitter and what are actually tiny bits of diamond.
She takes the bottle and gently pulls off the top, dabbing a drop on her wrist and bringing it to her nose. She frowns, unable to immediately place the scent, and looks up at him.
Where did you go? she asks.
Somewhere new, he replies.
It is later in bed with their sheets smelling of her new perfume that she decides what it makes her think of: time and eternity, the universe stretching on forever and into infinity, and as she drifts off to sleep, she imagines the universe must smell of jasmine.
The opaque white bottle is the one he brought back from his first trip, just across the country, smelling of home and comfort and English roses. She wore it the night he proposed, the night he asked her to marry him and be his perfect English Rose forever., 502
He travels for his job, her John does, gone for days or weeks or sometimes even months at a time, but when he returns to her he brings a new perfume. The scents are always ones that he creates for her, never anything bought from a store, and he's so clever, her John.
Her fingertips lightly touch each bottle in turn and each one signifies something different to her, different moments from her life.
The opaque white bottle is the one he brought back from his first trip, just across the country, smelling of home and comfort and English roses. She wore it the night he proposed, the night he asked her to marry him and be his perfect English Rose forever.
The pink one, small and vaguely heart-shaped, is from his next trip to Paris, when he was gone for a month. It smells of love and romance and lilies and is the one she wore on her wedding day, lingering into the night when he takes her to bed as his wife and promises to love her always.
This other is bronze in color, curved on the sides and is from his three month trip to India. It smells to her of adventure, warm and exotic and spicy, and reminds her of the night he told his boss to kindly go fuck himself at a fancy dress party before they ran from the house hand-in-hand, laughing wildly.
This last one is purple and oval-shaped, brought to her from his six month trip to China. Tradition and history and orchids waft up when she removes the cap and this one is of quiet nights at home when he doesn't have to leave just yet and he tells her about all the places he's been.
Her hands move away from the perfume bottles and she checks the clock on the wall. Tonight her skin is clean, free of scent, waiting for the new bottle she knows he'll have when he comes home any minute now.
The front door opens as though she's somehow summoned him with her thoughts and she hurries to meet him, laughing as he sweeps her into his arms and spins her around, kissing her before setting her back on her feet.
She watches him eagerly and he smiles, pulling a perfectly round midnight blue bottle from his pocket, dotted with what look like tiny flecks of glitter and what are actually tiny bits of diamond.
She takes the bottle and gently pulls off the top, dabbing a drop on her wrist and bringing it to her nose. She frowns, unable to immediately place the scent, and looks up at him.
Where did you go? she asks.
Somewhere new, he replies.
It is later in bed with their sheets smelling of her new perfume that she decides what it makes her think of: time and eternity, the universe stretching on forever and into infinity, and as she drifts off to sleep, she imagines the universe must smell of jasmine.