It shouldn’t be so easy here, in this uncomfortable bed, in this cold room. And yet, curled on my side, I find my eyelids falling, the phantom tug of exhaustion pulling me under. It’s effortless to give into it, to hand myself over to the mindless drum of slumber. I don’t know how long I’m like that, but I know I dream. I dream of quiet breaths that tickle the skin below my ear. A cloud of masculine scent, so thick that I might choke on it. A fingertip against my bottom lip, parting my mouth. Sounds of ticking clocks and rustling fabric. The brush of a hand against my thigh. Cold air and the
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