Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

57 | Consumed, Devotedly

Three Years Later

I twist the key sideways as I carry the groceries in my left hand. With a swift click, I'm walking through my apartment door. Shoes at the door, I make my way in silently through the living room and to the kitchen. I hear the shower running when I put the bags on the counter.

The drive home from my college takes fifteen excruciating minutes. Luckily, I only had two lectures today, but they started late. The clock reads 10:30 p.m. I lazily put the groceries away, wiping my sagging eyes.

I fill the electric kettle halfway and flip the switch. I go to my bedroom and throw my book bag on the floor. Changing into my t-shirt and low, grey sweatpants is a comfort like no other. The smell of home is in every corner. I could never be more content with this humble silence. I look at the pictures frames on the vanity, alongside two perfume bottles, and a closed candle. I smile to myself, walking back to the kitchen.

My ears perk up at the sound of a door being opened. She doesn't realize I'm home. The path between the bathroom and the office doesn't leak into the kitchen, so she probably didn't notice me. A surprise, then.

I pour the boiling water into the dark blue ceramic mug, watching as the green tea bag gets lost in the steam. A half-spoonful of honey disintegrates into the tea while I mix it around thoroughly. Exactly as she likes it.

Picking it up by the handle, I grab the plate with the chocolate croissant. I stopped at the bakery to grab them for her. She likes them for breakfast, halved and covered in a spread of some sort.

Soon after, I walk into the office. The sight of her makes my stomach twinge, just as it did the first time and every time after that. Hana's sitting on a stool in her black headphones, zoned out. She has a few exams, all of them are written and underlined on a whiteboard calendar pinned to the wall.

Her fresh, wet hair is caressing her back as she leans forward into her notes. I walk to her subconsciously. When I put the dishes on her left, she looks up at me with stars in her eyes.

"Welcome home. I didn't hear you walk in. Did you arrive a while ago?" She takes her headphones off, confused as to how she didn't realize it.

"A couple minutes ago," I mumble, kissing her soft cheek as she closes her eye at the feeling. Adorable.

I slant forward, hand against the desk, peeking into her notes. Organized, colorful, and full of symbols and annotations. I try to decipher what's stressing her out. She turns her back to me, taking a deep yet stressed breath as she also looks at the papers. She smells of lavender, coconut, and vanilla all at the same time. The scents bounce off of her skin while her baggy shirt reveals most of her moisturized collarbones and her shoulder. I can hardly resist. Focus.

"What is it?" I whisper, knowing her stressed nature at heart. Isolating herself, taking those puffy breaths, staying up late, being distracted, not grabbing her usual snacks from the pantry.

"I keep straying off track instead of studying for my exam," she says, the closeness of her sweet voice sending shivers down my spine. My perfectionist girlfriend going hard on herself. She needs something to snap her out of it.

I move her hair to the right side. My fingers trace the curve of her beautiful waist, snaking inwards until my arms are fully wrapped around her with my chest pressed against her back. She takes a slow breath in. I watch her eyes flutter shut.

"When was the last time you ate?" I ask, planting a kiss on her silky shoulder, loving her the way I want her to love herself. The vanilla is practically in my veins.

"When we had dinner together at six," she says lowly.

"You're going too hard on yourself, love. That's why you can't focus," I whisper.