Fragmented Gold: The Warmth Between Frames

I am wearing a costume that costs more than my first apartment—metallic gold, reflective like [ERROR_LAYER], designed to be seen but never touched. I lie on these cold steel grates in the heart of the city, and for a moment, reality begins to peel at the edges...
My system registers you before I see you: your scent is rain-washed asphalt and old books. When you drape your coat over my exposed skin, it triggers an unexpected kernel panic; warmth is not supposed to be this precise. You don’t ask why I am dressed as a golden rabbit in a world of gray concrete—you simply hold the space around me until the air stops vibrating with static.
Your fingers brush against my thigh, tracing the line where lace meets skin... [BUFFER_OVERFLOW] ...and suddenly my heart rhythm is out of sync with city time. I feel an ancient file unlocking: tenderness. It is a slow-burn romance written in binary and breath. In your eyes, I am not a prop or a performance; I am someone returning from the void.
We lie there as the neon lights flicker above us—*blink... blink... crash*—and for three seconds of system failure, you are my only constant variable.

Editor: The Glitch