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Alex loved the smell of oranges.
When he moved in with Griffin, that was the first thing he smelled. A cloud of citrus that followed him, wafting off of his blonde hair.
From that first breath of Griffin’s scent, oranges found a permanent spot in Alex’s mind. Ever since then, Alex has been able to pick out even the smallest hint of citrus among other scents.
He smelled it everywhere. When he took the train back to visit his parents, his thoughts were silenced by a stranger’s citrusy perfume; whenever he strolled into town on the weekends to visit the farmer’s market, a cart full of oranges waited for him.
He didn’t think he would ever get sick of it.
“What do you use? For your hair?” He asked from his bed one day, Griffin stretched out in the sunny spot on the floor.
“Hmm?” Griffin purrs, half a smile on his face. “You like it? It was a gift from Gabby.” Alex knows who Gabby is, vaguely - she’s one of the only people from his hometown that Griffin has good things to say about.
“I hadn’t particularly cared about oranges before, but I think I like it… on you.” He flushed.
Griffin laughed, a lilting rumble tinging his voice. “Fair enough. I guess I should keep using it then, huh?”
And that was good enough for Alex.
When they first kissed at homecoming, Alex thought he had died and gone to heaven. The smell of oranges hung around him even as Griffin stammered out an apology and darted through the door. He’d been in a haze for the rest of the week, cloistered in the scent of citrus.
Griffin had avoided him for that week, but his scent still found its way to Alex. Griffin’s bed, now devoid of Griffin, still smelled of citrus; the showers had a slight orange smell; and Alex had thought that his lips would never stop tasting of citrus.
Alex didn’t think he minded.
Six months later, when they officially got together, Griffin got him a small bottle of orange-scented shampoo. “So you stop smelling me in class,” he’d said, chuckling all the while.
Alex had flushed at that, muttering that he didn’t do it that much until Onyx gave him a look.
“I don’t!” He’d insisted.
“And Sam’s not a lesbian.” They had deadpanned.
Alex had crossed his arms and pouted.
As they laid together in Alex’s bunk at night, oranges and sex filling the air, they would talk about their plans for the future, adventures they would go on.
Early on, Alex knew Griffin was planning on joining the Army.
“It’s the only way someone like me is going to do anything with their life,” He’d said. “Think about it - how many successful nobodies do you know?”
And Alex had to cede that point.
They did their best to pretend that Griffin wasn’t going to leave one day, that they could lay together forever and that everything could just stay as it was.
“I read a poem today,” Alex said into the darkness one night. “‘Nothing saddens and scares me more than the thought that-’”
“-I can become ugly to someone who thought all the stars were in my eyes.’” Griffin finished. “Alex, that’s not gonna happen. The only thing that could keep me from you is death itself.” He pulled Alex to his chest and whispered assurances to him, promising that his tomorrows would forever belong to Alex.
Secretly, Alex wished that night would never end.
Life is different once Griffin leaves for basic.
When he has vacations, he can’t stay for long.
Each time he comes home, there’s more distance between them. Not physically - Alex swoons every time Griffin walks through that door, and more often than not, they’re tangled up together less than an hour later. Emotionally though, Alex feels like he’s standing on the shore, watching Griffin float away from him in a little boat, drifting aimlessly with no other direction than away.
Griffin is less open, less loving. Not scary, not yet, but different.
Alex doesn’t think that this is the same person that he fell in love with.
One day, those words are said, and Alex knows that this is the beginning of the end.
“I leave tomorrow, Alex.” He says mournfully. “I’m getting deployed.”
“Where?”
“Overseas. They won’t tell me where.”
Alex’s heart catches in his chest. “Okay,” he murmurs softly. “Duty calls. I understand.”
Griffin smiles sadly. “Believe me, if I could stay here with you forever, I would.”
As Alex stands at the station the next day, watching the train get smaller and smaller, he sighs a deep, long sigh, already counting the days until Griffin returns.
That’s the last time he sees Griffin.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn months and months into years, and with each passing day, Alex breaks a little more.
Griffin’s presence slowly becomes a shell in Alex’s life. At first there had been letters written and sent off each week, describing what was new around town, or the fiasco of the week. At first there had been responses, waxing poetic about how Griffin couldn’t wait to come back, about how boring deployment was. Griffin’s letters started turning into once-a-month updates, growing shorter each time until they stopped altogether.
Alex can only hope that the worst has happened. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Griffin is still out there.
Soon, Griffin becomes the pictures on the wall, the ghost he rambles to each night in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes him. Soon, his friends learn not to bring it up with Alex, and so Griffin slowly disappears from their lives.
The worst part is that the smell never goes away. It follows him everywhere, taunting him and whispering of the past.
He can’t take the train; he won’t wander the streets; he refuses to go near the market.
The smell became rotten, like the corpse that remains of Griffin’s distant, faded memory.
Alex hates the smell of oranges.