Which was the problem. For every single night since our first night, over the past few weeks, I’d stay awake after he’d fallen asleep. I’d stay awake and watch him sleep, watch him dream; sometimes listen to his soft snoring, and other nights listen to the conversations he’d have with himself. But I would be awake. I would sync our breaths to rise and fall. I would trace the constellations over his shoulders, and watch the stars shoot across his chest. I would run my lips across his biceps, link our fingers together, and relish in his thick arms slung across my belly. But as the night darkened
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