Fridays
This is how it goes.
After work he'll drive her home, because she's just too tired to walk today, and she'll offer that if he comes inside and stays for a while, she could make him a cup of tea if he doesn't need to be anywhere immediately. This is almost always code for please say yes, because I don't want to spend another evening alone in an empty apartment. He'll say something along the lines of "I've got time, I suppose." This is almost always code for I know how you feel and I'd love to stay.
He sits on the couch and watches her through the doorway to the kitchen, smiling as she very nearly burns her finger on the scalding-hot teakettle. He can't see her as a motherly type, white apron wrapped around her waist, and for good reason: when he asks for something to eat with his Earl Grey, she defrosts yet another casserole, which will taste faintly of cardboard and more strongly of cabbage, but he's accustomed to it. Riza is no gourmet; years of war rations have seemingly dulled her taste buds to a point where almost anything tastes good, even the instant dinners she buys in bulk.
They sit awkwardly on opposite sides of the table, the only sounds cars rattling by on the cobblestone street three floors below and the occasional sip of water. After they're done eating she'll leave the plates in the kitchen and sit back across from him, lean back, and say: "You can leave now if you want, sir." Roy always pauses as if he's thinking about it, and she believes him, but he never says yes. There's always some excuse. The shower at my place is broken, can I use yours? or A friend of mine is borrowing the apartment for, er, personal matters, and I really don't want to-
Today it's the latter and she cuts him off with a waved hand, "Say no more, I get it, I get it." And for the first time since last weekend, she really laughs, not a derisive snort or polite chuckle at a colleague's joke. He thinks about how she's never been a laugher exactly- even before Ishbal, she was a relatively serious young woman, well-educated, with a rather dry humor and a tendency to hide her feelings. Except that day. Can I trust you with my back? And she'd seemed genuinely scared, and sad, and she had every right.
That's when he'll stand up, walk beside her chair, and bend down to press his lips to hers, just like every Friday for the past few weeks, and she'll smile, and- well, that's how every Friday starts. Sometimes she'll grab him by his sleeve and wordlessly lead him to her room; sometimes they'll sit on her couch and read, his head on her shoulder. Sometimes there's just an awkward pause afterward, and he'll wander off to find Black Hayate and take him for a walk in the evening air, and think how he's the luckiest and unluckiest man in the world at the same time. Luckiest because I've got her. Unluckiest because I can never keep her.
But whatever happens after the kiss, he'll awake on Saturday morning on the left side of her bed with the dog curled at his feet, and she'll call from the bathroom where she's just finished brushing her hair, "You'd better get up, sir," because Friday night is over, and soon he'll slip into his uniform, and they'll be back to what they are every other day of the week. Military personnel, a fleeting glance between them the only proof that the evening really happened.