I'm so lucky that I get to see him like this, completely relaxed and half-snuggled into his pillow. Nobody else knows the Spock who's lying next to me, his face angelic in repose. It is a privilege to be allowed to stroke his hair as I do now, feather-soft and fine around my fingers.
I love him.
I wriggle back under the covers and let his sleepy embrace swallow me whole. My cheek is pressed against his; our breathing synchronizes. We fit together so well as if crafted that way, pieces of a puzzle-box that contains our hearts.