Just a quick drabble. I will most likely add more random one-shots of their relationship, but for now, here's this one!
These characters are not mine.
Roy watched the blonde woman carefully. Her eyebrows were knit with determination, and her mouth turned in a frown on the verge of a smile. He didn't want to bother her, in reality the young man wanted to continue to sit and watch her; he was quite sure he could watch her forever, but that wasn't the problem at this moment. At this point in time, Riza's determination was not towards any type of work, which was almost unnatural to see. She was thoroughly scrubbing the counters of his city apartment, chipping off old food and other monstrosities Roy hadn't ever bothered to clean off.
He was hardly here he realized, looking around. The shelves were covered in a layer of dust that had settled in far earlier than he had. The kitchen had alcohol stains on the floor, something Roy was quite embarrassed about, and dishes piled up in the sink. He was ashamed by the state his living space was in, but seeing her clean up made him remember when they were younger. When he was a houseguest and apprentice in her home. He smiled softly to himself.
"Miss Hawkeye," her head shot up, melancholy thick in her eyes, "there's no need for you to clean up. I'll do it later." Riza looked down at the rag in her hand, batting her eyes in an attempt to calm herself from hearing such an old term. Moreover, a term of endearment at that. It was what her Colonel used when her father was around…he used it when he had deviated against the master's orders, slipping into her room when she had had nightmares. Mr. Mustang she thought to call out, but it was stuck in her throat, and she could find nothing else to do but continue to scrub.
Pursing his lips, he cleared the space between them in less than three strides, and plucked the washcloth from her soft pink hands. Roy felt his heart flutter with the small contact of flesh, but he pulled away, stepping back to throw the cloth into the sink.
"Shall I make dinner, sir?" She wouldn't meet his eyes, and Roy wondered how this had happened. When had they started their ritual of eating together every Friday? He revisited the stains on the floor with his eyes, unsure of what to say.
"No, Lieutenant, not tonight," her questioning glance made him continue, "I'm not hungry." He turned away, his greatcoat itching his body, and his mind screaming at him to meet her eyes, to see the disappointment lingering behind those carmine orbs. But he wouldn't in fear of him being the only one disappointed that dinner was canceled. Roy shrugged off the heavy blue coat, hanging it tiredly on a hook next to the front door. As he unlaced his shiny army boots, he could imagine Riza, standing in his kitchen, plucking idly at her nail and wondering what to do next.
"You may leave." Roy said coolly while unbuttoning the suffocating white dress shirt. He evaded into his room, pressing a hand against the hard wood regretfully. Why had he left her out there? Why did he have to act like such a damn bastard, so cold and stiff? He almost smiled, repeating something the Fullmetal brat had yelled at him. Leaning his forehead against the door, Roy listened to the slow shuffling feet that were coming nearer and nearer. A shadow cast from under the door where two black boots obscured the light coming in. She's leaving he thought, but they didn't bulge.
"…" There was silence, but Roy could hear her breathing, "…Mr.…Mr. Mustang." She whispered, and Roy knew he wasn't supposed to hear her. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he froze, going ridged. Memories long since thought about were flooding his mind.
Good evening Mr. Mustang. Goodnight, Mr. Mustang. Don't leave me Mr. Mustang, I'm scared. I had a dream about Father, Mr. Mustang. You're a good man – "Roy," she said a bit louder. He wanted so badly to rip open the door, to tell her how he loved her so. How he had loved even since he laid eyes on her. But he couldn't move, couldn't ruin what they had. They were too…complicated.
Roy! Come play outside! Roy, did you like the supper I made? Have you any laundry, Roy? Don't worry, Roy…you're not leaving me, I am never alone as you are a part of me. Roy remembered that line so clearly, as if that day was everyday. They were children, and yet he had loved her then, he had felt this suffocating. He couldn't get enough air when she was around. Love was horrifying, Roy realized. It was being too deep in a well-dug trench as bombs exploded around him, each second possibly being his last. This feeling had for Riza was blinding and terrifying like being in the rain when he needed fire, or failing to wake in the morning. He was so unsure how to act around her, unsure of what to say or what might accidentally escape his lips as his heart did flip-flops in his stomach; Riza exhaled.
She stepped away from the door, and Roy was in shock at how just an exhale could melt him. Feeling his heart flare up and his stomach clench he moved quietly to his bed, throwing himself down onto the firm mattress. No, he decided, love was like constantly having a heart attack.