They have both always been 'dreamers'.
She feels that is the perfect word to describe them, for it sounds childish. She knows that her dreams belong strictly in the realm of sleep, and when she catches herself longing for something she knows she will never have –their hands brush, just for a moment, for once he isn't wearing gloves and it is skin that touches – she turns away; acknowledging its existence would give it a place in her heart that means she still believes in it – she pulls away sharply and their eyes meet for a second, just a split second, and his gaze is searching, searching for something as though he can find the answers in her face, in her own brown eyes – and the moment passes.
He knows his dreams are naïve. He knows it, hasn't he always know it? and yet he still believes, they are what get him through each day because without that possibility of something to look forward to, to care about, to dream of – their hands brush, just for a moment, and for once he isn't wearing gloves and it is skin that touches – what is there to keep fighting for? She must see something in them, for it is the reason that she is still there – he means to take her fingers in his own, but before the thought is fully realized she pulls away, their eyes meet for a second, just a split second and her gaze is distant, as though she sees something in his face that he does not – and the moment passes.
They both prefer their dreams to reality, but she believes that that is not where they belong.