When the Static Clears, I Am Only Yours

Neon bleeds off my skin as the door clicks shut behind me. The city's static is still humming in my teeth—every subway screech, every notification ping, a thousand collisions I survived today.
Then his hands find my waist. Warmth detonates through the armor. I don't flinch anymore. He pulls the white cuffs from my wrists like he's unwinding a day that tried to strangle me, and the black ears—my ridiculous, glittering shield—come off with a soft thump on the counter. Corset lacing loosens. Breath returns.
His thumb traces the zipper at my chest and I swear time itself stutters—one slow particle in a vacuum of all that chaos. 'You're home,' he says, low, like gravity finally remembering its job. And yes—I am. Not a performer. Not a costume. Just the girl who lets him hold her while the whole high-speed world crashes outside.
His mouth touches my temple. Warmth floods every circuit I thought was dead. I melt into him and for once the only explosion that matters is the quiet one inside my ribs.

Editor: Plasma Spark