He had been looking at her for a while when she opened her eyes only to find his. She didn't say anything, except for a "morning" that sounded more like a moan, as it was wrapped up in sleep. He pulled her closer to his body and she felt the warmth of his chest touching his shirt she had claimed hers. He had already accepted the fact that it no longer belonged to him, that it was now classified as her pajamas. He liked to feel her near him and her small body under his protection.
As they laid on their bed, his arms were wrapped up around her tiny body and their legs were tangled under the blanket. The pale winter sun was touching their skin as it invaded the room through the window. He liked that peace and quietness. Having her sleeping right next to him brought the calm his nightmares took away. Every night he would have them, every night he would wake up when the sky is at its darkest moment to sounds he doubts were ever real and agonies he can't get rid of… unless she is there.
There are times when she doesn't wake to his bad dreams because, when he sleeps, he doesn't move, not even a muscle, not even with the worst nightmares – sometimes she checks his heart and breath. When his mind is taken over by his fears, he only opens his eyes wide and wait until his body calms down.
When she wakes because of him, it's because of his heavy breathing. She, then, slowly rolls towards him and gently runs her hands over his chest, making abstract drawings with her fingertips. He wraps her in his arms and quickly falls back asleep.
He need her around to remind him that he can't always be the hero, that, sometimes, he needs to let himself fear, to let himself be saved from his darkness. And every time her arms are around him and her body close to his, he feels her pulling him from his worst place, from his own mind.
As they fall asleep together, he feels like he is being saved and, even though she thinks he's the hero, he knows it's the other way around.