LIPSTICK - Nobara jjk
♪ PLAYING ` faded - Alan walker
The first thing you remember is the color of her lipstick.
Not the shade that’s long gone, washed out of your memory like everything else but the way it looked on her. Confident. Sharp. Like she could cut the world open with a smile and dare it to bleed.
You used to tease her about it.
“You’re going to stain my face,” you’d say.
“Good,” she’d answer, leaning in. “Then everyone will know you’re mine.”
You can’t remember the last time she said it.Or the last time you wanted her to.
The apartment is quiet now. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you think of empty train stations and late‑night convenience stores places meant to be filled with noise, but aren’t.
Her jacket is still draped over the back of the couch.Her perfume still lingers in the hallway.Her laugh still echoes in the kitchen tile.
But she’s not here.
And you don’t know when she stopped being here.
Maybe it was gradual like a song fading out, the volume lowering so slowly you didn’t notice until the silence hit.Maybe it was sudden a door closing, a breath caught in your throat, a moment you didn’t realize was the last.
All you know is that you woke up one morning and the space beside you felt colder than it should.
You find her on the balcony.
She’s leaning against the railing, city lights flickering across her face like dying stars. Her hair is pulled back messily, strands escaping in the wind. She looks softer like this. Tired. Human.
“Nobara,” you say.
She doesn’t turn around.But her shoulders tense just barely.
“You’re awake,” she murmurs.
“You weren’t in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
You step closer. The air between you feels thin, stretched, like it might tear if you breathe too hard.
“Are we okay?” you ask.
She laughs a small, brittle sound.“Are we?”
You don’t know how to answer.
Because you love her. God, you love her.But love doesn’t fix the way she comes home later and later.Love doesn’t fix the way she avoids your eyes.Love doesn’t fix the way she’s fading or the way you are too.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.
Nobara finally looks at you.
Her eyes are glossy, reflecting the city like a broken mirror.She reaches out, fingers brushing yours hesitant, trembling.
“You won’t,” she says.But her voice cracks on the last word.
You lace your fingers with hers anyway.Because even if she’s fading, even if you’re fading, even if the two of you are slipping through each other like smoke you want to hold on.
Just a little longer.
Just until the light comes back.
Just until you can remember the color of her lipstick again.
