It wasn’t a romantic setting.
We were crouched together in the alleyway behind McGregor’s pub
where smells of substandard alcohol and cigarette smoke stained the air
and the muffled song of drunks could be heard from inside, seeming to leak through the walls.
Only, those weren't things I noticed that night.
Instead, I noticed the smell of his cologne,
a smell I recognised only from chilly days on the beach.
Like sea salt blown through cold wind,
and I noticed the sound of his steadfast breaths:
hot and sharp, but reliable; comforting.
As I buried myself in the radiating folds of his shirt
he whispered that I was his world
and so, one day, he would give me the whole world in return.
I just shook my head
because I didn't want it.
Just him, always him.