Strawberry Lemonade

Chapter 1: Sage, and Rose Perfume

The overpowering smell of sage wakes him up, signifying that, once again, he ended up in her bed.

This is not a bad thing, he thinks to himself, blinking back crust in his eyes and scrambling around to grab his phone. It blinks at him, telling him that he didn't bring his charger, and hadn't been sober enough to grab his partners .

She's beautiful, he thinks, turning around to look at her. Her skin is porcelain, glowing in the morning light that creeps through her bright pink curtains. Soft chocolate curls surround her head, and he hums gently as he runs his fingers through them.

She mumbles, she shifts, and cuddles closer to a pink stuffed animal. She drools slightly, her pink lips open in a pout, and the peach palms of her hands sticky with saliva.

Even so, she's pretty.

Even so, he's not sure why he didn't enjoy last night.

Sitting up, he slides out of the fluffy bed, rubbing his hands through his face and grunting softly. His nose itches at the smell of sage, and the headache that starts to form in the front of his head is starting to get painful already. His eyes ache, and he sighs.

There are hickeys up and down his arms, and neck, and he winces as one hurts a little more than the rest. She's very thorough with marking and it always seemed to rile him up, but now it's just an issue he's going to have to deal with later.

He wishes that he could say that she was the one. High school sweethearts, same interests, mothers knew each other.

Yet here he is, feeling unsatisfied with all that she's given him.

It's not her fault, of course it's not. Usually, nights like that left him reeling for days on end, putting pressure on bruises, and letting his fingers softly press on his lips, remembering the taste of cherry lip balm.

Now.

Well, now he itched for more than that.

There was no answer to his plight, though. There were no clouds parting with the reason for living, no deep voice in the back of his head telling him life's answers.

So he just dressed himself in clothes that smelled like alcohol, and made breakfast for his host. She always enjoyed her eggs sunny side up, along with toast and black coffee, and he wasn't the type of person to leave her dissatisfied.

Closing her door, and putting his phone in his pocket, he left the feeling of feeling incomplete at her doorway, and moved on.

-

The bakery was always a safe place. It smelled like fresh baked bread, butter, and sugar, warm when the winter was harsh, and cool in the middle of the Cali heat. The lemonade was the staple, but honestly, to him, the conchas were the best part of his bosses cooking.

Today, his boss is on his day off. She is at home with her family, probably spoon feeding her mother, probably helping her cats bathe, or the neighbors with their garden .

Something warm fluttered in his chest as he threw his hat on the hat rack. The bakery was still empty, and he'd deny the warm feeling of parental love for a coworker. He pushes that thought, and goes to wash his hands, looking up at his list of goods he's going to make.

In an hour, Shoji will show up. His brightness will fill the building, putting on music that he denies he likes, and bouncing around him like a bunny.

For now, it's silent.

It takes a while, but the breads are in the oven, the strawberries cleaned and cut, and the register counted. Yawning, he looks over the clock, seeing that it's almost time for Shoji to come. He smiles, opening a can of energy drink, and sipping as someone throws open the door, and yells.