He scrubs his hand against the back of his head, then drags his palm down the line of his jaw. I can hear the way his scruff scrapes against his skin. It’s a middle-of-the-night sound, paired best with rustling sheets and bedroom whispers. Wind at the windows and hands tracing over sleep-warm skin. I pinch the inside of my wrist so hard I suck in air through my teeth. This is what happens when I don’t get proper sleep. My brain starts wandering down alleyways it has no business traveling. I start thinking inappropriately about ghosts
