Cologne.
She stepped outside of his house, into the misty, foggy weather. It was cool and moist out and all she had on was jeans and a tank top. He offered her a ride but she rejected, so he pulled the superman sweatshirt he was wearing off and handed it to her. She tried to give it back, but he insisted. She quickly pulled the sweatshirt over her head and left him with a memory of his own, as he had left her with one.
When she arrived at home she crept up the loud and obnoxious, squeaky stairs. She walked into her bedroom and shut the door. A sigh of relief was let out as she lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling fan. She thought for a while before realizing she was still wearing his favorite sweatshirt. On her it was oversized, although it was very comfortable. She pulled it over her head and stuffed it into the wash, taking a whiff of a familiar scent. After washing it on nine different cycles, she rapidly threw it back over her head, struggling to find the hand holes because of the length.
She had an addiction to it. She wondered why, but soon figured it out.
It smelled of his cologne.
Lip gloss.
She left him with one thing, as a favor for lending her his favorite sweatshirt. He sat on his bed contemplating and letting thoughts run through his mind, on an endless rollercoaster. What better thing to give your boyfriend to help remember this night. It left his lips a gentle shade of red, with a hint of sparkles and not to forget about the aftertaste. The taste attacked his taste buds in seconds, dancing delicately across them. It was sensational, he would describe it as gentle, and fiery at the same time. The taste was over taking him because of its ability to be so extraordinary and memorable.
He walked into the bathroom and turned the gauge to the sink. He stood there, smearing off the sparkly gloss that was fixed to his lips. He let go of any thoughts he had to keep the tasty gloss fixed perfectly to his lips. He smiled at the thought of his beautiful girlfriend as he reluctantly wiped off the remainder of the gloss. It was surprisingly hard for him to take off, and not just because of the sticky residue. He ran a finger across his damp lips to assure himself that there was nothing left.
He wiped his lips dry and understood his addiction to the feeling of the gloss against his lips and noticed one thing.
It tasted of watermelon.