Drip
Drip
Drip
He shuffled in the bed. A calculated shuffle; just wiggly enough and just noisy enough to wake his sleeping partner.
βAre you awake?β he whispered.
βNo,β came the muffled reply, deep beneath the winter-thick duvet.
βThe tap is doing it again,β he said quietly.
βThe what is doing what? Shut up. Go to sleep.β
βThe dripping thing. The tap. The…β he paused, grasping in the night for the foreign word native to this land.
β…faucet!β he exclaimed.
Silence followed.
It was dark. There was no way he could see it, but boy could he feel βthe lookβ.
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