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Jensen loves the smell of freshly washed hair.
Yes, he knows it’s odd; he doesn’t care. The others have learned to just roll with it by now. The adults are used to Jensen coming up behind them, wrapping his arms around their waist, and burying his nose in their hair. And the little ones just love it when he kisses them on the head, all easy affection and smiles.
Jensen loves scent and texture because for him it is memory.
Vicki has bouncy brown curls that coil through his fingers like playful serpents. She smells like wildflowers and rolling meadows, like the outdoors on a new spring day, and Jensen remembers the way the sun shown off the back of her head like a fiery crown the first time he kissed her. She is passion and growth, and a quiet urgency that cannot be denied; her roots run incredibly deep.
Misha has wild hair that sticks up at every angle unless it is painstakingly styled into place. Misha makes an effort to keep it tamed; Jensen makes it a point to muss up the spicy, woodsy smelling tresses. Seeing Misha’s hair sticking out all over his head reminds him of the way Misha looks when he first awakens in the morning: sleepy, still tired, but somehow still having the appearance of frenetic energy. But Misha always, always smiles when he looks at him, always so happy to just be there.
Dani has sleek, changeable gossamer. Sometimes it is red, sometimes it is brown, but always it is fine as silk and fragrant as sage and citrus. It suits her because she is wise, sweet, but tart when she chooses to be. She is poised, unruffled, even in the face of tremendous change. It makes him think of the second Christmas they spent together as a married couple, with baking pies and roasting hams, and a very serious talk about what they were going to do about their mutual attraction to another couple. It makes him think of understanding and expanding love.
The little ones smell like baby, which is a unique scent unto itself: sweet, light, golden. The children remind him that laughter is so important; that it’s ok to cry when something is wrong because it helps those who love you to meet your needs; and that silliness, stories, and songs are a preferable form of communication. And most importantly, when all else fails, eat a cookie. Jensen knows the time he has with his children — as children — will be fleeting, and he knows he needs to cherish every second of their innocence.
Flowers and sage, cedar and baby powder, all remind him to to be aware of his family, of the memories he is making with his family, to hold them all close in body and spirit.
And Jensen is grateful.