Sillage
(n.) the scent that lingers in the air, the trail that left in the water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; a trace of someone’s perfume.
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“Jordan, are you okay?” a voice from one of photo shoot’s crew startled him, he maybe already half asleep on his chair.
“Yeah, sure.” He straightened his seat and clears his throat. “How long it’ll last?” he asked.
“About twenty minutes then you’re free to go.” The men glance to another side before he said. “I think it’s your turn now, are you ready?”
“Yeah, sure.” Before he stood and followed that man, he glanced to the mirror toward him and the reflection which looked back at him is the face full with exhaustion. It’s been a long rough couple of weeks, and all he wanted to do now is go home and sleep.
Crazy long pre-season tour with Liverpool FC added with this commercial photo shoot is like has been drained all of his energy. He even feel some kind of nausea every time he smelled something like airplane, the chair, the furniture, changed hotel room from country to country, smelled perfumes from different person and so many more. And now doing this photo shoot made he missed his own bed a little more.
The smelled of his own home, own blanket and pillow, and of course, her. Thinking of her does put a slight smile on his face. He missed her so much and started to remember her smile, the sound of her laugh, the way she speaks, the way her body move even her annoyed face when he pinched her cheeks. He desperately wanted it to be over so he could go home.
The photo shoot goes well, he did as the best to not doing any single mistake no matter how the smelled around him could give him a little headache during the photo shoot. Homme and femme perfume’s from the brand he worked now, the wardrobe and anything.
It’s really over after twenty minutes as it promised, many of his co-workers asked him if he could dropped by for afternoon tea or couple drink, but he refused them all, he go straight to his vehicle and drive home.
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When he opened the door, home smelled like home, like something he missed for life. He walked in, trying to not make a noise until he found her sitting at the middle room, reading a book.
“Jordan, why don’t you tell me that you’re going home?” surprise look is draw on her face.
He smiled. “Hey, honey, I miss you too.” As he take off his shoes and all of his belonging scattered on the floor, he’s approaching her on the long couch and lie his head down, make her lap as a pillow.
“Are you alright, honey?” she asked as he started to close his eyes.
“Let me be like this for a moment.” He said as he felt comfort and contentment by her side.
She runs her fingers through his hair gently and said. “Poor baby, you must be tired.”
He could smell her scent, it’s not as sharp as any femme or homme perfume he met during tour or photo shoot. It just smelled like gentle flower or maybe chamomile tea? Or it’s just the smell of the body soap she used, it smelled like home. And it could make him drifted off a little faster than he expected.
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I think I just love you Jordan Henderson 😍😂