The Neon Pulse Between Us

I woke up with the taste of expensive gin still clinging to my lips and a sunlight that felt far too loud for this single room in Lower Manhattan.
He was there, lying beside me like an unsolved riddle. In the dim light filtering through charcoal curtains, I could see it—the slow, rhythmic glow beneath my skin, those bioluminescent veins pulsing in time with his steady breathing. He calls it 'my signal,' a physical manifestation of peace that only triggers when I feel truly seen.
I remember how he held me at 3 AM under the flickering streetlights of Broadway; no grand declarations, just the warmth of his palms against my lower back and an silence so thick you could carve your name into it. My body is still humming from where our skin touched—a lingering electric current that refuses to dissipate.
I shifted closer, feeling a soft sigh escape him as he pulled me in without opening his eyes. The air smelled of rain-damp asphalt and cedarwood cologne. In this hazy suspension between yesterday’s chaos and today’s demands, I let my light flare bright green across the sheets—a silent confession that for once, the city is quiet enough to hear my heart beat.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn