The rooftop was quiet. The faint hum of the city below was the only sound surrounding the place. The world felt distant and unimportant compared to the universe formed by two, up here, far away from everyone. The air was cool and soft carrying the delicate whisper of winter’s last touch. Above them the sky adorned itself with countless tiny, twinkling stars, stretching endlessly into the night.
They sat close, their knees almost touching. The ambiance was silent but not empty. It was filled with stolen glances, quiet breaths, and the soft thrill between them. They spoke in whispers, as if a louder voice might shatter the delicate beauty of the moment.
“I could stay like this forever” one of them murmured. Their fingertips doodled gently and absentmindedly on each other’s wrists.
“Would you?” the other asked. They tilted their heads slightly, and a smile of both amusement and longing played on their curved lips.
Their conversation slowed, and she raised her hand slightly, letting the dim rooftop light reveal a faint scar along the delicate curve of her palm. “See this?” she said softly. “I fell down the stairs and got this. I hate it.” She brushed her fingers over it absentmindedly, as if trying to erase something that was already a part of her.
He caught her hand before she could pull away. His thumb swept gently over the scar, warm and steady. “You hate it?’ he asked, his voice carried something deeper, a weight of unspoken words. She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he leaned in, bringing her hand close, and pressed his lips softly against the mark. His slow, deliberate skin lingered against her skin, as if he could pour warmth into the cold memories she had tied to it. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the quiet fire in his touch.
“I love every cut”, he whispered upon her skin, his lips brushing upon the scar again, his breath warm and teasing. “Every wound, every freckle you don’t like. I want to love them all.” His lips wandered the tender path along the inside of her wrist, slow and reverent, until they found the delicate curve where her pulse quickened beneath his touch.
She exhaled shakily, her fingers curled slightly around his. "Make them yours?" her voice barely above a whisper. He looked up then, eyes dark with something unspoken, something deep and unshakable. "Yes," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her wrist, his lips were soft yet purposeful. "Every single one of them."
The space between them shrank, the quiet intimacy thick with the weight of something too profound to name. His fingers ran up her arm, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the path to her soul. When his hand finally cupped her face, his thumb brushing gently over the soft curve of her cheek, she felt the warmth of his touch deep into her skin, branding her in a way no scar ever could.
Their breaths mingled, he tilted his head, their noses brushing, the barest touch of lips—so close, yet still not enough. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unguarded, filled with an emotion so raw it made her chest tighten.
"You know what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice low, rough with restraint. His thumb traced over her lower lip, the way an artist would outline the final, perfect stroke of a masterpiece. "You undo me, piece by piece."
She let out a shaky breath, her lips parting just slightly beneath his touch. "Then let yourself fall apart," she whispered.
That was all it took.
He kissed her, not a fleeting touch, not a whisper of affection, but something deep, something that felt like surrender. Their lips met, slow and deliberate at first, like a silent confession, then deeper, fiercer, as though the world had tilted off its axis and this was the only thing keeping them grounded.
His hands slid into her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled her impossibly closer. The warmth of his body, the press of his lips on hers, everything burned, a slow, consuming fire. The kiss was relentless, like a storm rising in waves, each movement more desperate, more necessary than the last.
Somewhere, the song began to play. Not from a speaker, not from the world beyond the rooftop, but as if the universe itself had orchestrated this moment just for them. "Your lips, my lips, apocalypse..."
She melted into him, her fingers gripping his shirt, anchoring herself while the rest of the world faded away. He kissed her like he was memorizing her, like he needed to taste every breath, every sigh, every shiver that ran through her body. And when they finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, the music still echoed in the space between them—soft, haunting, infinite.
He let out a breathless chuckle, his lips brushing against hers again, teasing. "The universe approves," he murmured.
She smiled against his lips, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Then let it witness the end of the world."
And with that, she kissed him again, deeper and slower, as if time itself had stopped just to let them stay in this moment a little longer.
"Got the music in you, baby, tell me why"
And the universe continued playing.
They sat close, their knees almost touching. The ambiance was silent but not empty. It was filled with stolen glances, quiet breaths, and the soft thrill between them. They spoke in whispers, as if a louder voice might shatter the delicate beauty of the moment.
“I could stay like this forever” one of them murmured. Their fingertips doodled gently and absentmindedly on each other’s wrists.
“Would you?” the other asked. They tilted their heads slightly, and a smile of both amusement and longing played on their curved lips.
Their conversation slowed, and she raised her hand slightly, letting the dim rooftop light reveal a faint scar along the delicate curve of her palm. “See this?” she said softly. “I fell down the stairs and got this. I hate it.” She brushed her fingers over it absentmindedly, as if trying to erase something that was already a part of her.
He caught her hand before she could pull away. His thumb swept gently over the scar, warm and steady. “You hate it?’ he asked, his voice carried something deeper, a weight of unspoken words. She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he leaned in, bringing her hand close, and pressed his lips softly against the mark. His slow, deliberate skin lingered against her skin, as if he could pour warmth into the cold memories she had tied to it. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the quiet fire in his touch.
“I love every cut”, he whispered upon her skin, his lips brushing upon the scar again, his breath warm and teasing. “Every wound, every freckle you don’t like. I want to love them all.” His lips wandered the tender path along the inside of her wrist, slow and reverent, until they found the delicate curve where her pulse quickened beneath his touch.
She exhaled shakily, her fingers curled slightly around his. "Make them yours?" her voice barely above a whisper. He looked up then, eyes dark with something unspoken, something deep and unshakable. "Yes," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her wrist, his lips were soft yet purposeful. "Every single one of them."
The space between them shrank, the quiet intimacy thick with the weight of something too profound to name. His fingers ran up her arm, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the path to her soul. When his hand finally cupped her face, his thumb brushing gently over the soft curve of her cheek, she felt the warmth of his touch deep into her skin, branding her in a way no scar ever could.
Their breaths mingled, he tilted his head, their noses brushing, the barest touch of lips—so close, yet still not enough. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unguarded, filled with an emotion so raw it made her chest tighten.
"You know what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice low, rough with restraint. His thumb traced over her lower lip, the way an artist would outline the final, perfect stroke of a masterpiece. "You undo me, piece by piece."
She let out a shaky breath, her lips parting just slightly beneath his touch. "Then let yourself fall apart," she whispered.
That was all it took.
He kissed her, not a fleeting touch, not a whisper of affection, but something deep, something that felt like surrender. Their lips met, slow and deliberate at first, like a silent confession, then deeper, fiercer, as though the world had tilted off its axis and this was the only thing keeping them grounded.
His hands slid into her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled her impossibly closer. The warmth of his body, the press of his lips on hers, everything burned, a slow, consuming fire. The kiss was relentless, like a storm rising in waves, each movement more desperate, more necessary than the last.
Somewhere, the song began to play. Not from a speaker, not from the world beyond the rooftop, but as if the universe itself had orchestrated this moment just for them. "Your lips, my lips, apocalypse..."
She melted into him, her fingers gripping his shirt, anchoring herself while the rest of the world faded away. He kissed her like he was memorizing her, like he needed to taste every breath, every sigh, every shiver that ran through her body. And when they finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, the music still echoed in the space between them—soft, haunting, infinite.
He let out a breathless chuckle, his lips brushing against hers again, teasing. "The universe approves," he murmured.
She smiled against his lips, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Then let it witness the end of the world."
And with that, she kissed him again, deeper and slower, as if time itself had stopped just to let them stay in this moment a little longer.
"Got the music in you, baby, tell me why"
And the universe continued playing.
I am so glad u connected. Hope the next one keeps u hooked too. 
