twiddle

His sleeping hand stole a lock of hair.

She woke, wondering what noose had dragged her from sleep. It was too dark to see that lock; barely a sliver of moon snuck through the gap in curtains and her hair was almost black, like the shadowed room.

But she could feel that strain, that tug.

He slept on, oblivious. She shifted her head closer. It was easier – easier to settle back upon the pillow, back into sleep.

She'd scold him in the morning when he woke, stared at that lock, and wondered how it had gotten there: in his hand.

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The Call it Heads or Tails Challenge (at The Writer's Challenge Cafe)
Level 1, Coin toss 1 (tails) - write a micro-fic.