I sing the body electric,

The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,

They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,

And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

- Walt Whitman

She's sixteen and he's eighteen when they kiss for the first time and when Roy thinks about it, he cannot, for his dear life, remember who made the first move. It doesn't even feel like a conscious act – in his memory, it is imprinted rather like a natural phenomenon, like something that happened to them. A sunset, or an earthquake, a force beyond their control which catches them at dawn, in raspberry bushes behind the house. It's not a surprise to either of them – it's been a long time coming. Still, she gasps against his lips, goes still for a heartbeat before kissing him back. He cups her face with both of his hands as delicately as he can and she wraps her arms around his neck, and they are swaying on their feet as if they were dancing. The basket falls from her hands to the ground, fruits spilling on the grass. The thorns of the bushes leave the exposed skin of their legs bleeding and littered with shallow cuts, and none of them even notice. She tastes like raspberries and smells like smoke and sweat, and, although this is not his very first kiss, it is the one that sets him on flames that never really die out.

Riza is as lovely and as young as that dawn. He gets drunk on her, learns her by heart with a diligence matching only his passion for fire alchemy. But she is not an alchemical formula; she is not a circle, or a book, or even a whole library of them. He can never get to the last page or figure her out completely. She is a woman emerging from the shell of a little, shy girl he met so many years ago, shedding her past self like an old skin. She blooms in front of his very eyes and the more he looks at her, the harder he finds it to tear his gaze away and focus his attention on his studies. He wonders if the Teacher knows. He wonders if he cares enough to notice.

He wonders why he is not scared of her father finding out. Why, all he can feel, is this lightness in his bones, as if he was turning into a bird to soar up in the skies.

There's a dark birthmark right in the place where one of her hip bones stick out most and he traces it with his mouth, making her giggle.

"Did you always have this?" he asks, replacing his tongue with his index finger, outlining the contour the mark. It kinda looks like a strawberry, if he were to assign it a particular shape.

"I think so? I've never really paid attention to it." comes her answer, as she idly combs through his disheveled hair with her fingers. She's gentle; her nails barely scratch his scalp.

It's getting lighter and lighter with every passing minute. The sun will come out soon and they will have to abandon this bed and those sheets; Riza will probably drop them into a river with the rest of dirty laundry, replace the smell of the two of them with the harsh one of the cheap soap. And he somehow silently grieves at this, at all of it. For now, he has his head nested on her stomach and she gasps softly as he caresses the inside of her upper tight. For now, they're both shivering a bit, covered in drying sweat.

For now, it's simple and there are no more questions for which they wouldn't have answers, but when the sun comes out, it will all change.

He raises his head up to look at her. Her half-lidded eyes and pink cheeks and the very last remains of baby fat making her face roundish.

My love, my lovely, milk and honey.

" Kiss me." He asks her, his voice as soft as he can make it and oh, she does.

It's four or maybe five; the hours flow seamlessly, blend into one another. Roy thinks that Berthold should come back from East City soon, it's been a while since he had left. But for now he cannot make himself care about anything, as he lays flat on the purple sofa in the living room, Riza napping with her head on his chest. It's one of the rare rainy days that he could probably count on the fingers of one hand and they're alone. He cups the back of her head gently, feels her heartbeat fluttering against his skin like a hummingbirds'. She's smiling in her slumber and he wonders if she dreams about something nice.

( if she's dreaming about him)

And then she gasps quietly and goes stiff and then limp again; opens her eyes slowly, lazily propping her chin on his chest to look at him.

" Well, hello." He says, lowering his hand from her head to caress the nape of her neck. " Did you sleep well?"

"Not bad." Comes her answer, more mumbled than said and still laced with sleep. " Why didn't you nap? I thought you were sleepy.'

That's true; he was. That was the whole reason why they laid down like that.

She blinks lazily, once, twice. Her breath smells of pomegranates they had for lunch; she still has some scarlet juice left in the corners of her mouth.

He looks up at the ceiling; there are a few darker spots here and there, undoubtedly left by the winter humidity.

" I dunno. Couldn't fall asleep."

" You want a lullaby? Or maybe a bedtime story?"

Roy chuckles. Riza eyes him expectantly; she turned her head so that her chin is no longer digging in his flesh. Instead, she pressed her cheek to his chest, her ear pressed to his sternum.

Our heartbeats should be a lullaby well enough, he thinks, pushing her hair off her face and tugging it behind her other ear.

" You want to sing to me, Riz? I thought you claimed that you cannot."

She blushes, up to the roots of her hair.

" Don't be like that?"

" Like what?" he smiles. " Don't ruffle your feathers. "

"I'm just asking. I don't know anything about singing, but I can read to you… if you want."

She sits up abruptly, throwing her legs above his to put her feet on the floor. Her hair falls down, obscuring her face from his view as she looks out of the window. She's a lovely vision like that, focused and ashamed, listening to the sound of rain outside.

Why is she shying away? He wishes he could reach out and touch her and read all of her thoughts, understand her emotions.

His finger trails from her exposed knee up her tight and she shivers under his touch.

" Riza. "

"Hmmm?" she's still tilted away from him, even though his hand is almost on her hip now.

" Riza. Read to me."

" Can't hear you, the rain's too loud" There's a little bit of humor in her voice and he realizes she's playing with him just because she can and she knows he will fall for it.

Oh, this girl.

He sits down. She refuses to look at him even, with her eyes glued to the window.

" Ri-za."

With a huff of annoyance mixed in equal measure with amusement, he leans down to replace his hand with his mouth; her nudges her legs apart with his head, lips pressing to the spot on her inner tight that she really likes.

" Don't ignore me." He whispers against her skin, his warm breath making her gasp.

" Oh, I wouldn't dare to- ah!"

He bits her delicately, his teeth leaving her fair skin reddened.

" Please, please read to me, miss Hawkeye."

He feels her hand carding through his hair, caressing him.

" Your wish is my command, mister Mustang." She says, breathlessly.

She reads him E.E. Cummings and he falls asleep lulled by her soft voice ( his bird may not sing but oh, it doesn't mean she doesn't sound heavenly) and the tip-tap of raindrops and he dreams in grey and gold, dreams in poetry.

( and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart

I carry it in my heart)

Years, decades, centuries later,in a different lifetime these are his greatest riches, the things he cherishes most, above everything he possesses and anything he might possibly possess. Those memories that seem so incredibly distant sometimes, as if they belonged to someone else as if he wasn't the one to witness and collect them.

The sound of her gasps and moans and giggle, when they were both so young and innocent. The imprint of his teeth on the smooth skin of her breast. The image of her listening to the rain. The knowledge that, under her tattoos and scars and military uniform, she carries a dark outline of a strawberry on her hip. The sound of her voice proclaiming her love for him with the words she never took back.

The last remains of the girl that he used to hold and cherish, and love freely, and who now exists in his memory only.

Author's Note: let just please all collectively ignore the issues of the presence of cummings in Amestris please