The neon haze of Death City buzzed overhead, casting long streaks of color over the nearly-empty street. It was past curfew — not that either of you cared — and the sound of your sneakers slapping the pavement was barely louder than the low hum of your laughter and the bass of music still thumping from some far-off club. Liz’s hand was laced through yours, and she hadn’t let go since you ducked out the back door together twenty minutes ago.

She looked dangerous in the orange-pink glow of the streetlights — long legs, that perfect messy ponytail, and a smirk tugging at the corner of her glossed lips. Her leather jacket was half-zipped, brushing your side every time she leaned into you. She was walking like she didn’t have a single care in the world. But you knew better.

“I think we’re technically fugitives right now,” you joked, tugging her gently down a side alley— quieter, darker. Liz laughed, soft but sharp, and glanced over her shoulder. “Good. Let’s make it count.” Your heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with running.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this — not with her. She was the cool one. Confident, sarcastic, always one step ahead. And you? You were… just you. But then she started looking at you differently. Started texting late at night. Sitting closer. Smiling in a way that felt like it was only yours.

Now here you were— walking a tightrope between secrecy and thrill, her fingers curling tighter around yours like she didn’t want the night to end.

She suddenly stopped and yanked you toward her, both of you nearly stumbling into the shadow of a shuttered storefront. The moonlight cut just right through the slats above, striping her face with silver. You felt her free hand press flat against your chest, steadying you. Or maybe steadying herself.

“I hope nobody catches us like this,” she whispered, breath brushing your cheek. You opened your mouth to reply, but she leaned in— close enough that your thoughts folded over themselves. You could’ve sworn your heart skipped something.

Her fingers tugged at your collar and she leaned her forehead against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me. Nobody else even matters.”

The city didn’t matter. Not the curfew, not the academy, not the consequences.

Just Liz— her lips brushing yours. The way her laugh slipped out when you kissed her, like she couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. The press of her palm against your chest like she was anchoring herself to the moment. To you.