In the middle of the night, the draft coming through the window becomes unbearably cold. He instinctively turns to his other side, reaching out to touch her, to feel her warmth. It radiates from her bare skin and from her slow, calm breaths. No, it isn't just warmth; it's the comfort of her presence and his gratitude for it that ultimately fill him up again, well enough to go back to sleep without worries.
Roy wakes up, and disappointment settles in his stomach almost immediately; he reaches out to the other side of his bed, far too big for just himself, only to find nothing but empty space and unruffled sheets at his touch. The dream of her had felt far too real to be anything but. He greedily clings onto it, not wanting to lose what little he has of her on such a lonesome night.
It still isn't enough.
He looks at the time only after he has dialed her number; it is nearing two in the morning, and his guilt wrestles with longing as her phone rings. He debates with himself for a long time to put the phone down, well aware that prolonging his decision invalidates the point.
"Hello?"
Her voice is low, perhaps from the heaviness of sleep, but as clear as ever. Roy swallows. "Hello, Colonel Hawkeye. I'm sorry if I woke you."
"No, no. It's no trouble at all, sir. Is everything all right?"
"I—yeah." He trails off in embarrassment. "I woke up, and I couldn't go back to sleep."
"That's not something I can help you with, sir."
The dream emerges in his mind again, vivid as it could ever be. He hesitates briefly. "Well, it might be. Maybe."
A heavy silence follows. Suddenly, it dawns on him why the dream had felt real, why it wasn't unreasonable to wake up with the expectation of her very familiar presence. Riza sighs exasperatedly, and his chest fills with a negative combination of everything he has felt since waking up. He deflates, anticipating her reply. "That was a mistake."
His voice turns small. "I know."
"Führers don't sleep with their subordinates."
"No, I know. I'm sorry. That wasn't wise."
"And we can't afford to make the same mistake again."
"Who knows?" The words are out of his mouth before he is able to think. He exhales, then allows himself to continue. "Someday, we might be able to."
"Then it wouldn't be a mistake when that day comes, would it?"
Roy smirks despite himself. "Where is all this attitude coming from in the middle of the night, Colonel? I hope you're not just humoring me."
Her voice turns a touch more playful, or perhaps he's imagining it; he isn't able to tell, and any difference seems negligible at the moment. "Well, what do you want?"
Briefly, his mind returns to the memory of her, and it plays out further than his dream had. He recalls the touch of her skin and her hair. He recalls how he had woken her up that night as he gently pulled her close, and how she had smiled at him despite her sleepiness, perhaps against her better judgment, even at the time. It fills his chest, far more than it should be able to.
"I…"
But it isn't simple. It's beyond what he should have been allowed to feel, beyond what he is allowed to feel, now more than ever—here, towards which they have built their paths for so long. There is too little room for everything that he truly wants and feels, and so Roy settles for as much as they can afford:
"I want you here."
There is another, longer silence before Riza speaks again; when she does, her voice takes on a slow, deliberate pace. "I'd love to be. But…"
Roy sighs. "I know."
"I hope you're able to get back to sleep. Good night."
The line cuts off abruptly. He returns to his bed, sinking into the side where she had been on that night, smoothing the neat, undisturbed blanket with one hand. The trace of her presence there teases him with as great a comfort as her voice on the phone, just as much as it claws at his insides with want.
The space is warm to his touch despite the emptiness.