The Afterglow in Leather and Steam

The city still tastes like cold rain and expensive cigarettes, but here in this alleyway, the air is thick enough to swallow. My skin feels tight against my dress—brown leather that holds onto heat long after the fire has died down.

I can barely remember how we ended up under this steam pipe, huddled away from the neon hum of the main street. It doesn't matter now. The world outside is blurry, a smear of grey and yellow light against wet asphalt. But in here? In here, your hands are still warm on my waist, and my breath hitches every time you lean closer.

They say healing is a slow process, but tonight it feels like this: the way the steam curls around us like a secret kept too long. It’s not about fixing anything; it’s just about being present in the wreckage of our own making. I want to stay here until my hair turns damp and the sun tries its best to break through.

You look at me with those heavy eyes, and for a second, the exhaustion feels like a luxury we can afford together. Let's not go back yet. The morning is still miles away, and I’m perfectly content to drown in this hazy, beautiful mess.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn