Static Bloom

The rain smelled like regret and asphalt. It always did when he was near, a low thrum vibrating against my ribs – not unpleasant, just… insistent.

It started subtly, a spike in cortisol the first time I saw him across the coffee shop. A phantom warmth spreading through my chest, mimicking his smile. My pulse rate climbed exponentially as he asked about my work, that slight tilt of his head an electric current against my skin.

Now, standing here on this rooftop, overlooking the city’s fractured glow, it's a full-blown system overload. My pupils are dilated, reflecting the neon like tiny, frantic mirrors.
He just handed me a steaming mug—hot chocolate with extra marshmallows – and the simple gesture sent a wave of something dangerously sweet through my veins.

My fingers trace the rim, slick with condensation. He doesn't say anything, just watches me. And I’m acutely aware of every breath he takes, the subtle shift in his weight.
It’s terrifying and… exquisite. Like a glitch in my programming, this insistent pull towards him. A vulnerability I haven’t felt since I was sixteen, staring at boys through rain-streaked windows.

My heart hammers against my ribs—a frantic drumbeat trying to keep pace with the rising tide of warmth.
He leans closer, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Only the sensation remains: this undeniable, pulsing static bloom within me.