Love Blossom
habituate
The smell of sugar and fresh bread fills his nose every Saturday morning. Instead of watching cartoons like children or sleeping in like most people, he finds himself at a bakery, buying pastries and cupcakes and buns.
At first, she takes him on a journey to a few places and they experiment. Some make it too hard, some have the bread too fluffy, or maybe the filling isn't quite even in all places or maybe the cream has a little (a whole lot) too much sugar.
Soon enough, they find themselves answering the return call of one special place.
Smiles spread like a gust of wind over their faces when they see the fresh bakes goods in front of them. Hums of delight fill the air as they sit down at the table in the front, their claimed table for this one time in the week. They relax into their chairs as though they were sitting on marshmallows before they grab for their treats. Her fingers twitch at the prospect of more sugar and butter crème, while his fingers busily wipe the remains from her nose, complaining about having to babysit a child while licking the crème from his finger for himself.
So, if anyone wants to find them on Saturdays before noon—well, there's only one place to look.
His classical music mocking stops when he notices her eyes shine as she talks about it.
While he enters the kitchen on a hunt for food, the soft melody of a flute meets his ears. Body relaxing and mind focusing less on his hunger and more on the music, he slows his movements down and listens to her practice.
He enters the grand auditorium alone. The seats are filled with people chatting to those around them, voice upon voices. His forehead swells with irritation and he wants to walk right out of the room. It's only when everyone become muted as the command of the conductor prompts her to start the piece with her solo does his attention pique.
The hushed sound turn into a flurry of passion and despite repeatedly hearing it recently, he is spellbound before the others join to mold a true storm. A wave of excitement sweeps through and he doesn't even notice his skin rising in bumps in response, his eyes too occupied being trained on her.
The bright light makes her glow while she performs and he makes sure to watch.
Soft, constant breathing patterns fill the air, but as the sun wades through curtains to kiss at their faces, she sucks in a deep breath and her eyes flutter open to peer at the ceiling. Her eyelids weight heavy as she relaxes back into her pillow, moving a little closer to the body beside her and wrapping a loose arm around him.
When the haziness of sleep slowly evaporates, she presses her lips to his closed eyes and arises with a sigh to start her day. A cold shower always jolts her awake, but so does a very warm one—it all depends on her split-second decision as she grips the knob.
As she finishes making her bag ready for class, she walks by the bed and climbs onto it, sitting on top of her legs as she leans over him. She patiently waits before a hand is thrust out to wave her away, but at that, she only leans in closer. Open, glaring eyes is her signal that she can finally back off with a soft smile.
She wakes up an hour early and he wakes up an hour late, which is two hours earlier than his usual.
Warm mugs are shoved in awaiting hands, hazy eyes greedily staring at the pleasant concoction as their noses give a tease as to what's to come.
They send half smiles to each other from above their mugs—across the kitchen or the table with slumped shoulders, from beside each other on the couch or balcony while their shoulders brush, or while sitting in bed as the other smiles knowingly from the doorway.
If the day starts and ends with a cup of tea, then they suppose what happens in between isn't entirely important.
A/N: It's all in the title.