Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

And as the summer fades away, nothing gold can stay

Faye stretched lazily against Kurt's side, her nails grazing delicately over his ribs as if trying to stir something within him. The room was saturated with the mingling scents of their sweat, the sheets, and the faint trace of ever lingering smoke. Her breath was soft against his chest, her gaze lifting to catch the muted light reflecting in his eyes. He was quiet, his face slack in that particular way that made him look younger. His thumb and index finger lightly pinching at the skin on her hip, a small, rhythmic movement, absentminded and strangely comforting.

"There's still some left," she said, her words tentative, testing the waters.

His eyes moved to the ceiling, his brows furrowing just a bit. His fingers stilled against her for a moment, then resumed their slow pricking, softer now, almost imperceptible. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, the kind that said more than words ever could. "Go on."

She shifted, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder before sliding off the bed. On her tiptoes, she picked up his crumpled shirt from the floor and pulled it over herself, the hem brushing her thighs as she reached for the stash. When she climbed back onto the mattress, she held it out to him, hesitating just as his hand closed around it. 

"Wait," she said, her voice quieter now, almost shy. "Save us a little for the morning."

Kurt paused, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, a muted chuckle escaping as he shook his head slightly. "Sure."

He shifted upright, reaching for the lighter resting on the nightstand, tugging the baggie open and beginning the process. Faye sat cross-legged beside him, her gaze flitting between his hands and his face. Everytime the same thing, over and over. But when her fingers touched his to take the needle, there was a hesitation in the air that felt new. His eyes flicked briefly to her arm, lingering on the faint constellation of bruises that speckled her skin.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

He looked up at her, his gaze softening. He shook his head, leaning forward to press a kiss to her wrist. "They'll heal."

She felt small. The moment lingered, tender in a way that almost felt out of place. The sharp sting came and went. She exhaled sharply, her head tipping back as her body sank back into the bed. Kurt followed suit, fixing his own dose before falling back beside her. His arm draped over her waist, pulling her close, his cheek resting against her temple.

But the euphoria she expected—the warm, all-consuming rush—never fully came. The high felt muted, washed-out, a pale imitation of what it had been. This feeling had been going on for a while in a continuous crescendo that seemed only to fuel her need to chase something that would never be the same again.

"It doesn't feel the same," she said quietly, the words escaping before she could second-guess them.

"I know," Kurt stirred, his eyes opening halfway to glance at her. "It will never be."

She tilted her head to look up at him, searching his face. "Then why do we keep doing it?"

"Even when it stops working, it's easier than..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, as if the rest of the sentence didn't need to be spoken.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore," she admitted, her words fragile, barely holding together.

Kurt's arm tightened around her, his face buried in her hair. Faye pressed her face against Kurt's chest, her breathing slow, matching the gentle rise and fall. Their earlier conversation faded into the kind of stillness that only exhaustion could bring, settling over them like a too-warm blanket. The pull of sleep inevitable, drug-induced heaviness pinning them to the bed. In the quiet, Faye felt something faintly comfortable—a fleeting sense of safety in his arms—but it was buried under layers of emptiness.