You've bought a new lipstick — not just another shade from an endless collection, but the very one. The one that beckoned from the window with its bold name and bold promise: "Durability up to 24 hours." It lies in your handbag, mesmerizingly rustling with brand-new packaging, beckoning you to try out your magic. But how can you really test such a lipstick? How do you know if she can handle everything—the heat of her breath, the thrill of her touch, the intensity of her feelings? The answer came by itself, instant and indisputable: only on him. On Silent.

At first it was just a footprint. A deliberate, almost ceremonial gesture. You put your lips on his cheek, a light, almost weightless touch. And it remained: a bright, perfectly outlined imprint, crystal clear and bold, like a seal on a commemorative envelope. He smiled out of the corner of his mouth, feeling the coolness and silky texture of the new composition. And then the ritual spiraled out of control, turning into a game. Your lips, already slightly blurred by the warmth of his skin, moved lower. Another imprint, no longer so clear, slightly blurred, but this only made it more intimate and real, lay on the line of his cheekbone. Then — on the neck, in that sensitive, secret place near the collarbone, where the pulse beats.

Her breathing quickened, and the lipstick, despite all the advertising slogans about indelibility, began its own mysterious journey. It migrated — no longer from your lips, but from his skin to your fingers when you touched the kiss marks. From your fingers, onto the snow—white collar of his shirt, leaving pinkish blurred traces, similar to watercolor. And now you're not just testing cosmetics anymore. You use it to write an invisible but tangible text on the canvas of his body, to make a map of intimacy, where each fingerprint is a sign, and each blurred trace is a whole story.

At the end of this impromptu but passionate test, your kiss, already hot and wet, landed on the plane of his chest, leaving there a small scarlet spot that looks like a seal or a ripe berry. He looked down, and then into your eyes, and laughed softly. His finger, gentle and precise, ran over your lower lip, erasing the slightest inaccuracy, sweeping away the very possibility of something superfluous. He pulled you closer, mixing his breath with yours, and whispered, and there was a playful, triumphant awkwardness in his whisper.:

— "I'm almost embarrassed by so much lipstick on me," Silenus said, kissing you, and there was no trace of paint in that kiss anymore — just her promise, made and fulfilled not for 24 hours, but for one, but endless moment.