Warmth Is Just Tension That Learned to Smile

You think you caught me off guard on this bridge, but darling, I timed the wind.
I let a strand of hair fall exactly where your eyes would land, and I raised both hands like an invitation you haven't earned yet—fingertips curled, nails catching the noon sun, a little dare stitched into my smile. The skyline blurs behind me because my whole focus is on the half-second it takes you to decide whether to step closer or stay safe.
That's the game I play, the one before any real touch: I wear this rainbow knit like a flag of truce while my eyes say otherwise, and I let the city hum its approval underneath our silence. You want warmth? Fine. But warmth is only the reward for surviving the tension, and right now I'm letting you feel every degree of it rise against your skin.
So go ahead—blink first, or don't. Either way, when you finally cross that railing between us, you'll realize I never once moved toward you; I simply made the whole world tilt until reaching me was the only gravity left.

Editor: Danger Zone