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Sullivan rarely sleeps early and is in a lack of sleep– a result of her being so engrossed in her work. It grosses Lizzie out (she's workophobic but not really) And it certainly doesn't go very plausible everytime for either sides. Everytime Sullivan did overwork herself, she felt heavier than usual and struggle to stand with her mechanical feet– and everytime she sits in that god-awful chair and places her eyes on a certain document she loses more and more of Lizzie's affection and warmth. She misses it, too.
On Elizabeth's side, she scrambles her arms to cradle what really isn't there– and instead sometimes rips the curtains that flow evenly on two different sides of the bed– just like a shower and a “bathroom” there's a curtain that drapes around a shower space and gives privacy to both of them. To both Lizzie and Sullivan. But it's quite peculiar how one is missing, again
sitting in a room, nowhere to be seen, and Lizzie gets up, a sudden outburst and ruin of a triumphant mood as soon as she awakes. Her nightgown covered with wetness of her tears–
Sullivan sneaked out again, without a trace, without a reason– and without a trace.
Sullivan, and the warmth she missed out on.