The most intoxicating thing was the smell, and the taste was beyond sublime. As I embraced him the still open door allowed cold, snow bearing wind to enter our house. The wind pushed his smells all around me while we greeted each other. It had only been a few months, but I had already grown addicted to his smell. It wasn't until it changed, though, that I realized how much I truly did need it. When it changed, it got better, because it got personal. He smelled exactly the way he always did. There was the ever-present, yet incredibly well suppressed sour stench of really good marijuana. Then there was the really expensive cologne that very nearly succeeded in its attempts to cover up the illegality. He always manages to smell like the most… comfortable things. The scents of campfires, incredibly delicious foods ranging from delicacies to Poptarts, and coffee always lingered about him.

He always tasted like coffee. The smell of it would sometimes go away, but he always tasted like it. Even if he hadn't brewed any in days, the taste was always on his tongue when I touched it with mine. His teeth couldn't be whiter, and even after he brushes his teeth I can still taste the mellow tones of good coffee. The night I truly fell wretchedly in love he tasted like chocolate, pumpkins, and coffee, like an impossibly good dessert. When it mixed with the Bailey's still on my lips from the drink I left next to my seat, I buckled into him. Our kiss deepened for a moment as the freedom of where we were got the better of us. We forgot our surroundings, and I brought my arms down around his lower back to pull him closer to me. That was when I caught it. Right then, the taste hit my tongue.

We hadn't seen each other in weeks, and through it all I missed him every day. It wasn't until I had him back, though, until I smelled him, until I kissed him, and until I discovered something new that I decided I loved him. After all that time apart, through all of that anticipation for our reunion, and due to all of the desperation to experience each other's presence again he gained something new. He tasted like me. He smelled like me.

When we said a temporary goodbye to each other before the winter break, he gave me a bottle of his cologne, and he took one of mine. I wore it every day. I woke up every morning and sprayed it so I could walk around and be reminded of him from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed. At first I thought it was cheesy, but I grew to find so much comfort in the smell. When I smelled him for that first time in weeks, I was flattered to smell the cologne I gave him. That meant he found as much comfort in me as I sought for in him. When I kissed him, though, that was when I knew.

When he kissed me, surrounded by a house of people all ignoring the open door in the midst of winter, everything kind of stopped for a moment. When I tasted hints of myself still lingering on his lips I flew up to the clouds in love. We kissed a bit longer than we normally would have in public, but everyone seemed actually happy to watch. They felt it too, I think. They knew it then. Everyone in the room felt the change. They didn't know what exactly it felt like, they didn't know what it smelled like, and they certainly didn't know what it tasted like, but they saw what it looked like.

They saw the smiles on our faces as I pulled apart from him and his burning blue eyes met my brown. I kissed him again, and time started itself back up. Everyone started talking again, a few came over to greet the newcomer, and I held his hand the whole time. It was official, we were together in love, and everyone was happy for us, but none could be as happy as we were. No one else understood exactly how hypnotic his smile was to me. I spent the rest of the night getting intoxicated off the smells of my cologne on him, and his cologne on me.