It was cold. 
Rosé threw her backpack on the floor and placed her guitar at the corner, her eyes roaming around the new apartment. She let her hand brush past the silk sheets of the new bed, eyes drifting from one part of the room to the other. 

"You're here already," Jennie chuckled from behind, dropping her suitcases and giving Rosé a backhug. 

Jennie's voice was like Rosé's favorite cup of coffee, soft like the pages of an old book. It was warm and the room suddenly changed its colors. 
But then again, it was cold. 

"I'm so tired," Jennie groaned letting herself sit on the bed, Rosé flinching at the sheets crinkling under her fingers. She looked as her girlfriend pursued her lips and carved in her memory details of the apartment which was about to become their home. 

"I didn't know you play guitar..." Jennie mumbled and Rosé drifted her eyes at the corner of the room, memories washing over her present, making her dizzy. 

She let herself fall and lay down, but not in the brand new bed with silk sheets, not inside her girlfriend's embrace. 

It was cold.
She just laid down on the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling where the portrait of a young girl was painted, baby smile and chocolate eyes, straight hair and messy bangs that Rosé had a bad habit of always fixing. The younger girl would just shake her head chuckling, setting herself free from Rosé's touch and making her bangs tangle again. 

"Play for me, Rosé," Lisa's caramel voice echoed in her head. 

It was cold. 
Rosé closed her eyes, avoiding the ceiling, but the view behind her eyelids was even more suffocating. Suddenly she could hear herself play the guitar as her voice harmonized with Lisa's, as her smiles would appear only because of light chuckles that tickled her ears. She could see her lover dance randomly and yet teasingly to a guitar melody she was playing, right before she left the lifeless object on the floor and started playing Lisa's body, fingers trailing in her ribs, counting them as a different type of melody played in the room, a bit sweeter than the guitar notes, perhaps more tender, absolutely more enjoyable. 

It was cold.
Squeezing he eyes, Rosé felt like she was looking through a kaleidoscope and she was reminded how madness had swallowed her when she realized that her fingertips were chapped from holding too tightly on the guitar strings. 

That day she found Lisa in her room wearing the same crop top, the same black shorts, doing the same dance moves, chuckling in the same kid-like way. Rosé played a thousand different melodies, but the girl did the same dance over and over again. Somehow, as seconds chased each other, time going by, Lisa became more lifless inside Rosé than the guitar she was holding in her hands. 

It was cold.
Lisa was just a second, a short fragment stuck in Rosé's memory. She left as soon as she came in the other girls life, leaving nothing but four little words to shake the girl's sanity: "Play for me, Rosé." 

Rosé played in hopes she'd come back, softly at first, begging to see Lisa again, then angrily at herself for letting her slip away like smoke. 

 "I used to play guitar, before I broke all the strings," she mumbled as she felt Jennie leave the bed and lay down next to her on the floor. 

Maybe, it wasn't that cold.