Trowa lay peacefully sleeping, head tucked into the crook of his arm, spanner still in his hand and several small oil stains decorating the only visible corner of his face.

If I had any artistic ability, I'd sketch that for you. As it is, your words are quite lovely enough for me to see Trowa like this clearly. ♥ This is the only moment of respite in the fic, the place where Heero can touch down between the horrors of sleeping and waking life, and I greatly admire how powerfully poignant yet understated you've made it.