Seemed like the world became smaller, trapping the city in a tiny dome of glass. An appartment filled by the neighbours' cooking scents, ashtrays laying askew around the lonely couch. The tv hums silently as the images flash by without a sound.

The girl brings her thin bangs behind her ears as she sniffs rails off the boy's milky stomach. He is watching the mute screen as she moves to and fro. Pausing back, a sigh. She contemplates his beauty with a tiny smile, feeling as if they were on top of the world.

The boy shivers as he pulls down his shirt, holding a cigarette between fingers turned slightly blue. His stare is vague and distant, his soul dispersed elsewhere. The girl goes to make tea, wishing he wouldn't stay so silent. Withdrawn, afraid of affection.

Slipping by, her hand spills burning liquid on the boy's sleeve. He quietly bites down on his lower lip, to help block out the rapid pain. She reaches out but he softly pushes her away, urging a quiet look into both of their panicked eyes.

The girl wears a hurt expression before falling back on her heels. She feels cold all of a sudden, rushing waves of excitement dying into a cold, bleak emotion. He stares at the grey walls, drenched in pain at the world but remaining pure, like a modern Little Prince.

He thinks of how his skin is marked under the dark clothing. Tan and purple circles, yellow bubbles of hate. They help him see the disgusting, ugly side of his nature and the price to pay is that dull, lingering ache. Nauseating inflictions.

She doesn't speak, listening to him breathe uneasily as she rolls yet another joint. His heartbeats accelerate in paranoia, making his arms violently throb. They shared everything but that Last Secret everyone keeps for themselves. He feels sickly warm now.

The girl finally smiles and comes to the couch, surreptitiously curling around the boy. Smoke tickles his skin, he lightly sighs and the world starts turning again. Never the right Time to mention it. Always a better Time to be had.