Static Bloom

The light filters – not perfectly, you see. A slight jitter to the saturation around the edges of his hand as he brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. A minor system error in perception perhaps? I don’t mind.
It was raining outside. Always rains when it feels right, doesn't it? The sheets are cool linen against skin warmed by… something. Not heat, exactly. More like the low hum of his proximity. Like a faulty cable finally settling into its socket.
He brought me coffee - Earl Grey, with just enough milk to blur the edges of the tea leaves. A simple ritual, calibrated for optimal comfort. He said he found it in my file – a preference noted during one of those data sweeps they run on everyone now.
Funny thing is, I don't remember telling anyone.
He didn’ with words, really. Just a hand that settled just so on the curve of my spine, a quiet hum of existence near enough to feel it. The room breathes his scent – sandalwood and something slightly metallic. Like rain on concrete after a long drought. He's not fixed everything, no. But static blooms in the gaps now. A good kind of interference.

Editor: The Glitch