Proceed With Caution

by stellar.indigo

Ryou has picked up the pieces of his fragile mental health after a difficult break up. He lives in a new city, has a job that he decently likes, and has met someone that may truly make a difference in his life. Everything seems to be looking up. A healthy lifestyle may be what Ryou needs, but is it what he wants? (Slice of Life) (OC)

Authors Note:

This is a short drabble that I wrote while in the middle of a self-hate fueled depression. I wanted my feelings to bleed through into the writing. I may be inclined to continue this story if there is interest. Please leave me a review or send me a PM if you do not like to appear public.

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Chapter 1

I'm wearing his jacket tonight. It's a bit oversized, but I like it that way. There's a subtle hint of cologne around the neckline and cuffs. It's pleasant and makes me feel warm inside.

I bring the cuffs to my face and sniff, inhaling the faint floral notes. The smell feels so familiar to me.

Bakura.

I quickly drop my hands back to the steering wheel and force the thought from my mind. It wouldn't do me any good to dwell on waves of emotion welling up from a whiff of men's cologne. Surely it's a popular scent and anyone could wear it. Of course it is.

And this isn't Bakura's jacket. It's Johan's. I turn left at the intersection. He deserves better than that. That man works so hard to support himself and his young son. We may have only been together for a couple of weeks, but I feel like this could actually work out in my favor for once.

I take a right towards my destination: home. It's been a long day and I'm exhausted, emotionally and physically. I park the car and it takes me a few moments to gather myself before getting out of the vehicle. The smell lingers in the air and I revel in the familiarity. Guilt finally propels me into leaving the warmth of the car. I walk quickly toward my home, trying to shield my face from the bitter wind. The cologne hit me in a wave and I ran the rest of the way towards my front door.

Tears welled in my eyes and I knew it was not from the cold. I threw my keys onto the counter and made a beeline to the laundry room where I promptly removed the offending garment and threw it in the washer.

Later that evening I removed the jacket, unwashed, from the washer. I hesitated on starting the cycle, and I'm secretly glad I did. I can't stop thinking about him now and I need to smell it again. At this point I'm telling myself it has nothing to do with him. But I know that is not true. I want to think about him.

I return the jacket to my shameful body, and curl up into a ball on top of my bed. I fall asleep with the scent of my ex-lover in my nostrils.