I drift off, because he’s taking a strand of my hair between his fingers and rubbing it gently, watching the flow of light orange across his own pale skin. His mouth murmurs a few words in another language—one that I speak, but I pretend not to, because this is not— It shouldn’t— What is even— It’s casual, the way he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is at once new and familiar, scorching and gentle.
