Inconvenient
Roy is already reaching for her hair when he realizes what he's doing, and then it's too late to stop, as his fingers twine through the long blonde tresses and Riza's looking back at him, bemused.
"Sir?" she says, but she doesn't shake him off, just watching.
She's holding a bag of vegetables against her hip, next in line at this stand of apples, all waiting red and polished. The apples match the shade of her lips, and her mouth curves into a smirk while he watches. She stands with military precision, ankles close, but more weight on her left than her right, to counter-balance the bag. He has her coat draped over his arm—he left his in the car, at her suggestion, because the walk through the market would warm him. And she was right, of course, as always.
Oh no, he thinks, and, this was never part of the plan.
"It's so long," he sputters, and the final few strands drop from his loose hand. She shakes out the curtain of her hair, shimmering gold in the sunlight. "I didn't notice."
"Until now?" she says. "Yeah, I guess I haven't let it down in a while."
"You should. More."
He blushes and hates himself for it, rubbing at the back of his neck. Eye contact is a mistake—he looks away.
"It looks good," he concludes. "You look—good."
"I don't know," Riza laughs. "I'd hate to be a distraction."
"Yeah," he sighs, slumping a little, as she turns back to the line. "Wouldn't want that."
