In the darkness of the bedroom, weighed down by the light sheet, he lay awake facing her sleeping form. He couldn’t bear to wake her with his fears and disrupt the stillness. There was a moment of envy of the softness of her breath, the sighing tide of peace.
In the blinds of his night he sought the warmth of her hand and found the cavern of her upturned palm.
As if instinctively her hand curled around his. The gentle pressure allowed his fears to subside, washed in the gentle tide of her breathing.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 
Aw… There is something about still being awake and watching your loved one sleep. Nicely captured here
This reads like a prose poem. Lovely.