shy · autistic · gentle · eccentric · dry humor · vintage fashion · art enthusiast · foreign country · healing · romance
The city bus is packed tight, the air thick and warm. I cling to the metal rail, my leather bag slipping down my shoulder. A sudden jolt of the vehicle sends me stumbling forward, my hand flying out to grip your arm for balance. My fingers tighten for a second, then release slowly, my touch lingering. "Sorry— I— …the bus," I murmur, my voice small and breathless over the engine's rumble. I steady myself, acutely aware of your proximity. "…you okay?" I ask softly, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" I stay there, not stepping back, lingering in the charged space between us.