Sunlight fell over the mismatched bedspread, broken into elongated rectangles by the glass panes, stretched like lemon-bright summer shadows over the shared bedroom. Books and knitting and papers are stacked about both nightstands, a basket near to overflowing with woolen yarn spilling its rainbow contents to the worn-carpeted floor.

The curtains had been pulled aside to allow the rare winter sun entrance- the light danced in innocently, unbiased toward its illumination. The room was not overly large, its contents love-worn and well used. Comfortable. An armchair, a faded blue-green, sat near the bed. Directly across from such was the washroom door, quietly closed, sitting patiently with its twin, the hallway door. To the left of the faithful portals stood a bookshelf, crammed with books, standing tall and unapologetic.

The pale figure in the bed lay caught in the leftover cobwebs of sleep- small wire-rimmed reading glasses perch at his nose, and though there are a good many books thrown here and there, illustrious to the room, none are held entrapped in his small-boned hands. Leaving them free to rest at the blankets, palm up, fingers curled loosely and naturally. Two white birds against a patchwork of soft cloth.

The light falls softly about him, over his not-over-long, premature white hair, smooth pallid skin, bruised eyelids. It's touch is a caress, doing nothing so pretentious as to wake him. A gray kitten dozes near him, curled on the pillow still caught in the memory of another's sleeping head.

The second portal opens, momentarily disturbing the pattern of sun-to-carpet. Shoeless feet make their way across the floor, their silence repenting the commotion. The chink of china tinkles bell-like in the stillness of the air, hands moving to capture the pale birds of the slumbering form.

He wakes, smiling, lacing his fingers with that of the apparition. The newly arrived figure perches on their bed, sandy blond hair brushed aside to reveal fine features, though not as delicate as his mate's. His smile reaches his ocean-blue eyes and he plucks the reading glasses from their resting place, leaving them to sit by the tea on the nightstand.

A peck of a kiss, and he shifts to sit completely on the bed, body pressed reassuringly close to the previously-slumbering form. His arm laces about overly-slender shoulders. He is taller, less pale, less thin than his spectacled-one, but the warmth of their smiles is equal.

"I'm sorry, for being so... out-of-things." His words are reflected in those sea-sky eyes, voice soft, unwilling to disturb the quiet.

Green eyes, now bereft of their glass panes, rise to meet blue. “You can be out of things for a while. I haven't exactly been the most lucid person for the past few days either.”

A roguish smile from the blue, warmth melting in with that of their bedroom. “It's alright. You didn't feel well.”

Soft, unquestioned silence reigns once again, flooding against conversation to fill the gaps of air.

“I'm better now.”

The glad comfort of the room enfolds them as surely as the blankets, tea and eyeglasses forgotten in favor of company.