The Glow We Both Pretend Not to See

It is past midnight and the city outside my window has finally stopped pretending it doesn't ache. Rain taps the glass like a patient lover who knows better than to push, so I let it wait.
I press my cheek to the cool pane, half-lidded, watching the screen where your face still glows from the video call I haven't ended. You've been quiet for exactly four seconds now. Four seconds is an eternity in our language; you know that silence means I am deciding whether to let you in.
I tilt my head so a strand of dark hair falls across my collarbone, and I feel your breath catch on the other end of the line. That tiny gasp is the whole game. Not the touch I have not yet given you, not the word I am still chewing on, but the space between us where every nerve in this cold apartment starts to hum.
My skin is warm from the shower, glistening under low light, and I let my thumb trace the beaded edge of my bralette like a secret I'm refusing to tell. Healing, you called it last week—my healing. But darling, the real remedy was never the warmth of this room. It was the way you look at me when I am halfway undressing in plain sight, and you say nothing, because saying anything would break the spell.
So I hold your gaze through the glass of my phone and smile with only half my mouth, just enough to promise, just enough to keep you leaning forward. The first move is still yours. Take it slowly... I have nowhere else to be.

Editor: Danger Zone