It's in moments like these she is grateful to catch glimpses of his calm- peaceful manner. The lines of stress are absent from his forehead, and the purplish crescents have faded slightly. His skin is still pale, but as the sun returns from its downfall, rising up making way through the curtains of the room, the colour is flourishing back in, laminating his face with a painted shade of white. He's almost so perfect, to be real, and she finds herself blinking slowly, hoping that the image of him in bed won't fade away amongst the rest of the things in her life. His presence is an anchor to her anxiety- steadying her balance.