01:15 Roma, Italia

You watch the line of light slowly scan his face. His face is tilted upwards, and his lips are slightly pouted even when he’s sleeping. You step inside and shut the door, removing both shoes by stepping on the heel, even though the walk home left the back of your foot bloody. There’s patches of blood on the socks you strip off. The room is completely dark. The maroon wallpaper glows quietly from behind the bedframe. There’s two faux oil paintings hung on either side of the bed, on his side the edge of a forest is shown overlooking the sea, and on yours, a ship is docking. One suitcase is open with clothes and perfume spilling out onto a wooden fold out desk that has never been used. The walls around them are both covered in books that no one has ever read, and you were surprised to find them not blank. Well, it wasn’t you that found them not blank. There's a soldier upstairs and she cracked open the world Atlas the second we found ourselves stuck in the room with her. Like the rest of us, she's the byproduct of a military operation that's been carried out for centuries. She may have completed her service but you know soldiers like her are never truly off duty. You yourself are still feeling out where the battlefield begins or ends, but maybe it doesn’t. She had pulled out the World Atlas, a book too large to be placed on any available table, slamming it onto the floor. She talks out loud to the room with the assumption that if she makes herself loud enough, large enough, we won’t have space to question the words coming out of her mouth. Very in line with her training. “Look, Haifa!” She points to a map labelled with you can guess where. You wonder who is she talking to? Is she trying to bring you into a camaraderie your bloodline is guilty of? Is she trying to create a faux connection between her station and his home? Or is she just reminding all of us of what she considers victory? That she can say these words to the room and you must keep your hands by your side rather than ripping out her tongue. You can’t move your arms but you can move your eyes. We quickly lock eyes and he fake smiles and raises an eyebrow. We laugh and laugh. It hurts less to release the pain in the short exhales that transfer the ache from your heart to your stomach. You know and he knows it's a tactic of war.

01:28 Roma, Italia

You duck into the bathroom with saloon style doors. You pee and wash your face. You brush your teeth, pull up your pants, and silently tumble into bed with him. There is a line of pillows separating us. You wear a flowy boxer to hide your lack of a bulge and refuse to sleep in jeans. He wears boxer briefs, and refuses to be seen in them. We agreed to turn the light off and crawl into a separated bed. He blushed when he told you that all interesting people have lived two lives - knowing we both had. You laugh. “I’m an angel” His smile is gone. “You are” You wonder if the wall of pillows was because he was afraid we would accidentally touch in our sleep. You wonder if it’s a line of defense against you. You reach your arm over the pillow barrier and hug it tight, pushing one leg towards the center of the bed. Are you acting on your training?