He had looked so peaceful when he slept. A tendril of hair had escaped, drifted down onto his forehead and Mabel had wished she had the strength to brush it away. But when he startled awake, she could see the lines of stress in his handsome face. And as he came closer, she reached up a hand to his. It felt warm and properly comforting, and she felt that warmth throughout her extremities. She found herself smiling at him. At his question she looked inward and strangely found that she was feeling better; she still felt weak, and she didn’t think she could last more than 10 seconds on her own two feet without the world turning on its side and her falling over, but when she squeezed his hand, she didn’t feel shaky. “I’m alright,” she said truthfully, furrowing her brow as something hit her. “How are you here? Didn’t Mrs. Smith kick you out?” She wasn’t supposed to have men in her flat, especially unchaperoned.

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