Her husband shakes his head softly, hand lingering in the open air where Riza's shoulder was. "You didn't wake me," he assures her. Roland knew that sometimes love was more of a choice than a feeling - when asked, he might have said he loved his wife, and in an abstract way, it would be true - but he is truly surprised by how much it hurts to watch her cry. Even after his own traumatic death, Roland didn't have much experience with the disorder, but it seemed to him like some kind of PTSD. That would certainly explain the scar.

"Oh, love," he finds himself saying as he sits himself down next to her, straddling the edge of the bed. He tries one more time to soothe her, careful to avoid her scar as he touches the tips of his fingers onto her back, waiting to see if she might be receptive to a back rub. He could empathize with a dream hitting close to home. "It's okay. It isn't real."