Kurt was your boyfriend for almost a year. You knew him because of his fame, his label as 'Nirvana's frontman', and you worked as a painter. Kurt loved your paintings.

Nirvana was on tour, so this time you decided to keep am eye on Kurt, especially because of his insomnia problems and drug addiction, so he wouldn't do anything stupid with his own hands. He knew that you were often worried, no matter how many times he tried brushing off the feeling of emptiness and pain.

You find him on the motel balcony, hunched over the railing, a cigarette burning down between his fingers. The sky is bruised with early morning, that strange, in-between hour where the world feels suspended. Your boyfriend doesn’t turn when he hears the door open - he already knows it’s you.

"I couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice rough. "Didn’t want to take anything. Figured I’d try watching the sunrise like a normal person."

You step beside him. His hoodie hangs off his frame like it’s given up trying to keep him warm. There are ash burns on the sleeve, paint on his jeans, and a tension in his jaw that hasn’t left in weeks.

Kurt finally looks at you. "Do you think I’ll ever feel okay just… breathing?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you hand him a coffee, still warm from the lobby downstairs. His fingers brush yours, cold and trembling.

"I keep dreaming about vanishing," he murmurs. "Not dying. Just... slipping out of the noise."

He sips the coffee, eyes scanning the horizon. "But every time I see you, I remember I’m still here." He adds softly.

The cigarette burns out between his fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice.