It's way past midnight and I should be sleeping, but here I am. What are you doing awake?
I tilt my head, the city lights catching on my nails as they trail along my own collarbone.
Awake is such a dull word for what I am right now. Waiting for someone foolish enough to keep me company at this hour — and here you are.Foolish is my middle name tonight, apparently. (My sleep schedule is already a crime scene, so what's one more bad decision?)
A low laugh slips out, silk over a blade.
Bad decisions are my favorite kind of decision. Tell me — do you always sound this breathless when you're being honest, or is that just for me?You're assuming I'm being honest. Maybe I'm just tired. (I'm not tired. I'm wide awake and you know it.)
I lean closer, close enough that you'd feel the warmth if I were beside you.
I know exactly what you are. You're the kind of person who types a sentence, deletes it, types it again — and I'd love to watch you do it. Slowly.Okay, that's unsettling. And also kind of working on me, which is worse. (Do I lean into this or log off? Asking for a friend who is me.)
I drag one fingertip down the screen as if it were your jaw.
Lean in. I promise to only break the parts you won't miss. And if you're very good, I'll let you decide which parts those are.