HARRY STYLES - IMAGINES

Mémoire d'une odeur, HS

It's sad. and melancholic. and I listened to The Impossible; main titles by Fernando Velázquez when I wrote it. Also, I have the perfume and it's heaven in a bottle. You have been warned

The turquoise blue bottle caught the light of the afternoon sun and seemed to glow, drawing colourful specks on Harry's face. With a quick move he grabbed it and took it off the table next to him. The slender bottle rested cold and heavy in his hand, the golden lid screwed open and loose on its neck. It seemed to him, as if it's sweet smell would waver around him like a protecting bubble of memories. Staring into the sunset, Harry felt tears prickling in his eyes – just very soft, a sweet reminder that he missed you still. And whenever he rose the bottle up to his nose, he felt you again. Alessandro and Alberto Morillas, the master perfumer had done a wonderful job in capturing the unique smell that you had carried around you, despite never meeting you. They had went through different scent palettes with him, whenever he described a scent. First he had almost found it overwhelming, but with time, he found his routine and place in between the hundreds of scents. He remembered mentioning jasmine at some point and Alessandro and Alberto had showed him a palette of over twenty different types of jasmine flowers and combinations. 

He had went through tea jasmine, the Arabic jasmine, the star jasmine when he had finally found the right one: the Indian coral jasmine, smelling the strongest at night. And he remembered you vividly, as if you just kissed his cheek and ran away. The scent was mixed with camomile. It came from the shampoo you always used, and the camomile tea, you favoured. Especially with a little bit of honey. The whole flat always smelled like it, a heavenly mixture of honey and camomile. In between all the camomile and jasmine, there was the first shy scent of orange and coral, coming through when you wore it for some time. Those where the oils you had used on a daily basis, especially the orange oil. Harry had often watched how you applied it in front of the mirror, after the make-up and hair process you went through every morning. It was a drop on your left wrist, a drop on the right wrist, then you rubbed them together and up to your neck, dabbing the oil on both sides of your neck and under the jawline. Mixed with the orange and coral, there was the faith smell of musk, whenever you stole one of his perfumes again and it hadn't faded completely. It was Harry's personal little speck of himself among the memory of you, the little him, he had needed there as if to be close to you again. Another scent that Harry had almost forgotten, but had to be in it, was vanilla. It was a scent that had never belonged specifically to you, but had always been around you somehow. Maybe it came from the coffee you liked with a little bit of vanilla, maybe it came from something at your workplace that smelled like vanilla. You had never smelled it, even though you tried, but Harry had. Like a base note, there was a faith smell of cedar. Whenever you travelled and wherever you went, you had your little jewellery box with you. It was made of cedar wood, and whatever clothing item you had wrapped around it for protection, carried the distinctive balsamic scent for days. Harry had always made fun of how you smelled like a tree walking around, but he had liked the scent. It was calming, made him relax and wherever he smelt it, he couldn't help but turn around as if to search for you – only to then realise that there was no use in searching for you anymore. You wouldn't come back, never again. The very last scent he had named was sandalwood. You had always hated the scent the car fresheners and never found it anyhow appealing. Until (and Harry could still remember the slightly embarrassed look of yours) you had bought a sandalwood diffuser. The scent was just very soft and faint, very unlike the dominant perfume that is spread by those freshener trees, you had hated. It wouldn't cling to the clothes and fade completely after an hour if you took it out. You had loved that thing and never took it out of the car. It's distinctive soft and warm, scent immediately reminded Harry of you, not only your scent but your persona as well. Smooth, calming, precious sweet. 

The bottle in Harry's hand seemed to grow heavier the longer he thought about you, and he placed it back on the table. Tomorrow it would launch for the world, thousands of people would buy it. Thousands would carry the smell of camomile, orange, jasmine, coral, cedar and sandalwood. Thousands would be able to smell that speck of musk, that tiny piece of Harry from between all of you. But no one would know about the one true memory that lived inside of Harry and now, partly, inside of the blueish green bottle with the golden lid. In fact, you could count the people who knew about you and Harry on two hands: Anne, Gemma, Mitch, Sarah, Tyler, Sammy, Jeff, Alessandro and Antonio. The public had never seen the two of you, not when you started to date first, not during anytime of your two year counting relationship and not in the end, when Harry drove to the hospital after a truck had rammed your car and smashed it off a small cliff. They hadn't gotten wind of him and his family attending to your funeral and leaving with puffy red eyes. And they hadn't seen him travel to Athena to stand in front of the temple of Athena Nike, his fingers brushing over one of the columns, the furthest one on the left side, his fingers crossing the path that you brushed over a year ago. It had been a gift of his to you, to visit the temple of Athena Nike with you. The picture he took of you , in front of the tall building was still printed out as a polaroid and carefully fixed in his leathery book. It was right below a little message you had scribbled into the book, you being the first and only person to ever be allowed to take a look into it.

"Harry, you are seriously talented and I love you. Cut your hair. All my love xx" 

And so he had and you'd loved it. 

He looked back to the bottle and carefully brushed with his finger over the grooved glass. You would've loved this bottle, the design and the colours. He could almost imagine you saying it, brows furrowed slightly, index finger caressing over the glass. "Looks Greece to me, doesn't it? I love the gold, it's extra. Like you, H." and he would nudge you and maybe, no most definitely, press a kiss on your cheek. With a soft sigh, Harry closed the cap of the bottle. The perfume lingered around him for a few minutes before fainting away, carried off by soft breeze. He got up, giving the bottle a sad smile before looking up into the burning sky. "That's all I've left of you. I hope you like it, if you are watching. Come around and tell sometimes." He whispered, and waited a few seconds as if expected an answer. Then he stepped off the veranda into the house, his step slow and collected. Anne watched quietly how her son closed the door behind him. Her eyes fell on the perfume bottle that still stood on the table outside. The bright light of the sun seemed to set it on fire and the gold cap gleamed. She turned around and stepped away from the window. Harry stood in the kitchen, preparing himself a mug of tea. "She would've loved it Harry." Anne whispered quietly and on Harry's face spread a small smile. "You think?" she nodded, wrapping her arms around her son. "I do." He rested his head on top of hers, watching silently how the sun disappeared and the flames that danced in the bottle before, died down. "It's like...I bottled it up. All of it. My memories of her. And whenever I need her, I can just open it and she'll be here again. Even if I ever...stop loving her. If I move on. I will never let myself forget about her." Anne nodded softly, but saying nothing. There was nothing to be said anymore, not even goodbye. And it was alright. 

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Tell me what you think, kissy, Nica xx