What he’s apologizing for, I can’t recall, and his eyes are so sad that I don’t want to remember. I’m sorry, he’s whispering, his voice echoing inside my mind. I tilt my head back, my mouth parted, my hair rippling behind me, and turn my eyes toward the glass ceiling and the constellations up above. Then Hideo’s lips touch my collarbone, and my disorientation evaporates into warmth. Beyond the bedroom sprawls the landscape of a never-ending city, the lights a mirror of the stars above, continuing until it disappears into the cloud cover at the horizon. If I stare down at the floor, I can see through it to the dozens and dozens of levels beneath us, ceiling–floor, ceiling–floor, until they vanish to a point somewhere far below, stretching deep into the earth.Įven though the soft rays of dawn are streaking in, chasing away the dim blue of night to illuminate our skin with a buttery glow, an impossible blanket of stars can still be seen clearly against the sky, coating it in a film of gold-and-white glitter. I know it’s a dream because we are in a white bed at the top of a skyscraper I’ve never seen before, in a room made entirely of glass.
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