He closes his eyes the first time she touches his face, and so she dares to trace a finger over the trembling, delicate lids. He is Roy and useless and rebellious dreams and she wants to capture this moment, recognizing its imperfections. More than that, she wants him to look at her and see her as Riza, a woman, not as Hawkeye, a soldier and a gun. She wants that strange and dazzling gaze he has to focus on her, to meet her honestly—because how else can love enter the body, if not through the eyes? She feels powerless and liquid in the darkness, touching the strong line of his jaw, feeling him surrender to her fingers. This is a dream of the soul of the world, all quietness, all faith, the perceptions of two people who are not yet lovers breathing in the dark, poised.