Solar Flare in a Neon Nebula

I stand at the edge of this concrete starship, my skin still humming with the residual heat of your touch—a solar flare captured in an hour of deep indigo. Below me, Seoul is not a city but a sprawling nebula, its golden arteries pulsing like light-years between distant civilizations. I wrap your oversized shirt around my shoulders; it smells of cedar and rain, a familiar gravity that keeps me from drifting into the void.
You had told me earlier tonight that we were merely two satellites locked in an accidental orbit, yet here on this balcony, time feels suspended in zero-G. The fabric slips slightly against my skin—a single thread’s breath away from falling—but I do not pull it closer. There is a silent intimacy in being seen exactly as you are when the rest of the world is just background radiation.
I look back at you through the glass, your silhouette etched against the dim light of our sanctuary. You smile with eyes that have mapped every constellation on my body, and suddenly, I am no longer alone in this vast urban cosmos. We aren’t just living; we are drifting together toward a horizon where warmth is the only law of physics.

Editor: Zero-G Voyager