Tony catches sight of himself in the mirror at the end of the hall as he steps out of the bedroom to head downstairs to the delicious-smelling feast that’s already making his stomach growl and his mouth salivate. For a moment, he doesn’t recognize the image staring back. The man in the glass is well-rested, without shadowed eyes or hollowed cheeks. He looks younger than he is -- if he’s honest, he feels younger too -- hair soft and spiky and shoulders relaxed.
“Huh,” he says, appraising himself with something approaching pleasant surprise when he realizes that even the chronic pain, physical and emotional, feels less oppressive than it normally does. He even dares to allow himself to like feeling happy, and only feels a little afraid that the bottom is about to drop out of his life.