The fingers in his hair are back, and this time coaxing him towards sleep. He rubs his eyes; he can't sleep now, here; they're on the floor in a room that someone else is probably going to want to use at some point.
And whatever was between them is going. Not disappearing, not at all, but fading and becoming less potent. And that's fine.
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And whatever was between them is going. Not disappearing, not at all, but fading and becoming less potent. And that's fine.
"We should maybe go soon," he says quietly.