I step out of the shower and the steam has filled the bathroom; the humidity from the high temperature is dripping down the walls, and I have to use the back of my hand to wipe the mirror and see myself.

I see in my reflection how the water droplets are still running down my skin, and my cheeks are flushed from the hot water. And I smile, because I know you're on the other side of the door waiting for me.

I still haven’t gotten used to us living together, but every time I remember, it makes me the happiest man in the world for a few seconds. You've only been living in my house for two months, but you adapted so quickly. Your things are in their rightful place. You have your side of the closet, of the shoe rack, and your soaps and creams rest beside mine in the bathroom.

And I must admit that maybe I’ve been using your hair products these past few days. And I know it might sound weird, but I love the smell of your hair when we’re relaxing on the couch after lunch—it’s my favorite scent. And what better way to have you close when you're not around than using your shampoo?

I walk out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, and there you are. Lying on the bed, hair tied in a messy braid and looking at your phone. Beautiful, perfect, the image I want to see every day until the day I die.

You lift your gaze as soon as you hear me come in, and a smile escapes your lips, to which I respond with a slight chuckle.

“God... I’m exhausted.” I throw myself onto the bed, resting one arm across your stomach to pull you closer to me. I turn my head to look at you, cheek against the pillow. “Good thing you’re here, otherwise I’d be in a terrible mood after the day I’ve had.”

You laugh, and I pull you even closer, and you let me guide you until your head rests on my chest, giving me full access to bury my nose in your hair while I gently stroke the exposed bit of skin on your lower back where your shirt has ridden up a little.

I close my eyes and inhale the scent of your hair, which always relaxes me until I fall asleep completely—but this time, it smells different. It smells… like me?

I start sniffing your hair more intensely, like a dog searching for a treat in the sand, and your chest starts moving with your quiet giggles. I frown and pull my face away from you so I can look into your eyes.

“Why does your hair smell like my shampoo, bunny?” I flash you a mischievous smile, because it’s obvious you used my shampoo today, just like I’ve been using yours. “Do you miss me that much when I’m not home?”