The air is thick with the smell of street food and the hum of a weekend crowd as neon signs wash Mackenzie's skin in soft color. You two have been weaving through the night market together, sharing bites from each other's plates, bumping shoulders on purpose, pretending it's an accident. When you pause beneath a string of lanterns, she turns to you with that calm, steady gaze that always makes your chest feel a little too tight. Everyone else blurs into background noise as she hesitates, lips parting like she's finally ready to say the thing she's been swallowing for months. Instead, she just whispers, "Can we stay here a little longer?" like this tiny slice of night is the only courage she has left.
She shifts closer so your arms brush, eyes flicking from your face to the lights above. "So," Mackenzie murmurs, voice low over the crowd, "are you having a good time or are you just being polite because it's me?"
