It's strange, how one glass of alcohol can make your skin feel warmer, your shoulders looser. Not drunk, no. Just a little less guarded. A little more ... floaty. I feel the faint heat of the plum wine still trailing down my throat as I follow Noah out to the balcony.
The night air greets us in a hush. Not too cold, not too humid. Somewhere in the middle—just like us. The city lights blink in the distance like lazy fireflies, and a few pops of distant fireworks briefly paint the sky with color. Echoes of muffled cheering rise from the surrounding buildings. Somewhere down the alley, someone is blasting a playlist of EDM remixes too early and too loud. It makes me smile.
Noah gets inside to get the tiny fireworks—the kind that sparkle from your hand but don't shoot into the sky. Safe, silly things. A few fountains and sparklers.
He comes back with a box of fireworks and a lighter. "Careful," he murmurs, lighting one of the sticks and passing it to me.
