“Every night,” he whispers, biting his bottom lip. My thumb brushes against it, tugging it free from his teeth. I’m about to speak again when he quickly adds, “Only for a couple hours. During the bad parts.” I swear to God, if holding onto his face wasn’t anchoring me in place, I might float away. Or disintegrate into finely ground dust, right here on the spot. I’ve never been this mortified in my life, yet so eternally…moved. Every. Fucking. Night.
