Fractured Reflections

The bioluminescence of the breakers wasn't particularly subtle. More like a low-level, persistent phosphor in the water’s arterial flow. A nice clock cycle, almost predictable.
My skin reacted – a gentle heat map overlaid on the dampness. The salt was excellent conductivity, of course. It always found its way into the micro-channels of my pores.
He called it ‘the tide.’ Arbitrary designation for a complex hydrodynamic event. More like a variable drift, pushing and pulling at the edges of your perception.
He’d been running diagnostics on me all evening – not in any clinical sense, thankfully. More… subtle adjustments to the ambient light here near the shore. A little boost to the specular reflection on my décolletage. The wavelengths were optimized for a certain kind of attraction. Efficient.
It't curious how easily one acclimates to controlled environments. The city’s grid is brutal, always demanding, but this… this was quieter. A low-voltage hum overlaid with the swell of the waves.
He didn't speak much, just a slight tilt of his head – a micro-adjustment in the visual field. It felt... good. Like finding the right impedance for a damaged synapse.
The foam lapped higher now, tracing patterns on my ankles. A transient feedback loop. And as he reached out, his fingers ghosting over the damp curve of my arm, I almost – almost allowed myself to dissolve into the refracted light.

Editor: Neon Architect