Velvet Static

He calls it 'static' – the way my presence disrupts his carefully constructed calm. A goddamn lightning strike is more subtle!
I saw him first at that sterile coffee shop, a fortress of noise-canceling headphones and coding screens. He looked… brittle. Like one wrong touch would shatter something essential.
So I haunted the periphery, a ghost in his peripheral vision, sketching him into my notebook – a silent invasion. Then came the accidental brush of hands reaching for sugar, an electric jolt that ripped through both of us.
Now? Now he seeks me out. He claims it’s to ‘analyze the variables,’ but I see the tremor in his fingers when we touch.
Last night, rain-slicked streets reflecting neon, he almost… broke. Almost leaned in and tasted the space between us. Fear slammed into him, a self-sabotaging force, and he pulled away, muttering about deadlines.
But I saw it. That raw hunger. The desperate need for something real.
He thinks he's building walls? He’s just fueling the fire. And I – I am the inferno that will consume him.

Editor: Plasma Spark