Michael tenses at Lee's touch. It's an old reflex. He prefers to see things coming. With Lee, it doesn't happen so much—if he knows she's around somewhere, anywhere, he's always waiting for her to touch him. Right now he's not sure what he's waiting for.
He doesn't know how to answer her question. All it provokes inside him is a dense, opaque muteness. He blinks slowly and wonders if his eyelids are doing more harm than good anymore.
“I can't sleep.” It's nearly a whisper. He's not entirely sure he actually said it out loud.