There wasn't anything particularly special about the day.
Technically, it was three solid months after the Promised Day.
She knew that.
But, no one celebrates three months.
It was one month. Then six. Then a year.
So, there was technically nothing special about that day.
It was minute and small. Medial. Stale.
Just another day. Nothing worth remember.
Riza could remember. Every detail.
It was grossly sunny, baking sunlight piercing through the wide office windows all day. Even better, the violent rays favored her little desk, cooking her where she sat and requiring a constant stack of forms raised in her right hand to keep the light from her eyes. The heat resulted in a blinding migraine, slowing her work down to a third of its normal speed. Which was inconvenient given she was tasked with reviewing and completing the upstart paperwork for the new HQ in Ishval.. Which just happened to be on rush-order. Because they would depart in only a few weeks.
And, in the end, after she had trudged through the volumes of legalese, glued to her tiny oven of a desk, all the General had to do was sign them. That's all he would have to do. She knew there would be whining. Or just flat out procrastination.
Spinning in his chair.
And, tapping his pen.
And whistling.
Like he was right now.
"Sir."
Hawkeye dropped her make-shift shield. The sun shot on her face.
She lifted her hand, squinted and looked toward the figure at his desk.
"If you could refrain from whistling."
There was a pause.
The sun burnt into her cheeks and she couldn't see anything.
"Are you alright, Captain?"
"Sign your forms silently, Sir, and I'll be just fine. "
They all looked at her with a strange mixture of fear and concern. She could feel it.
Particularly the General. If it was possible, for the past few months, his attention to her and her nuances shot through the roof. Great. Now he was going to look into it. Now she was going to have to answer a slew of questions that were too difficult to answer.
She just wanted him to stop whistling.
Good news about this mundanely miserable situation; Riza could rest assured that this day had picked a particular angle of attack on her that would not last for long. It wasn't completely incapacitating. She just had to get through the day. This insignificant, small, medial, minute, stale day had picked heat and a headache, and the Captain could have confidence that this was the strategy life had chosen. She could wrap her head around it. She could handle it.
That is until the end of the workday when the Amestrian sky pulled a sick joke and cloaked itself in deep, dark clouds. Out of absolutely nowhere.
Breda and Havoc, Fuery and Falman all, managed to escape the office before the torrential downpour. To be honest, a piece of Riza was absurdly reluctant to dismiss them. The weeks they had left in central were dwindling. They had reassembled the team almost as a recovery measure, but they all knew it would end. Not everybody could go to Ishval. For that reason, it was hard to let them leave.
And, they had umbrellas.
A heavy sigh. She had walked to work today.
He waited around for her. She could tell.
He tapped his pen and bounced his knee and waited for her to come to a stopping point. He wasn't even productive while he waited, mind you.
But, he didn't bail like he normally would on a Friday evening.
He stuck around. When she rose from her seat, so did he.
She slipped on her military jacket. He grabbed their coats and offered hers to her.
She didn't look at him.
She didn't mean to do that.
They were on the steps, under what was left of central's roof.
It was pouring. Neither of them had anticipated this.
Not to mention suddenly she was frozen stiff. Biting wind howled right onto her nose,
which could chip off like porcelain after only a few minutes out in the open. When she wiggled her fingers,
she could almost hear the ice crackle off her knuckles.
She swallowed, still unable to breath.
She stepped into the rain.
He grabbed her forearm and pulled her back.
"What's wrong?" he said, soft and informal. Completely dropping rank.
She shifted uncomfortably then shrugged, "Nothing in particular, Sir."
Of course, she could point out one thing.
Riza looked at the sky, "This cursed weather can't make up its mind."
The scar at her neck swelled and pulled in the chill. Riza mindlessly lifted a hand and grazed across it,
wishing she could massage it or something without her irrational fear of the wound bursting open,
She would fall to the floor.
Blood would gush.
She could see her Colonel, broken.
She couldn't breathe.
"Does it hurt?" He interrupted, lifting a hand as if to join her touch but thinking better of it nearly immediately.
She tore her eyes from the slick streets and glanced at him.
"It's tender" Really, it felt like the skin was held together by a strand of razor sharp fishing line.
He could tell. He joined her counting the cars parked on the street passed the courtyard.
"It's three months to the date." He murmured, but she heard it. Her eyes snapped to him.
She guessed she shouldn't be so surprised he had been thinking the same thing all day.
They were with each other that day. They were always with each other.
She realized in an instant. She had been thinking about it all day. Everything all day.
All the way back to the blasted sun was Ishval, the suffocating burn of the tunnels,
worsened by the General's flames. How she almost lost him,
how she failed him, more than twice that day.
Then there was the cold. The slice of the somehow freezing blade, the concrete she fell to, body heat dissipating, buckets of blood draining swiftly, incontrollable. She held the flaps of skin together with weakening fingers. She couldn't focus on Roy. But, she motioned upward. Yet, she couldn't have hope in salvation from their friends just above her. Help wouldn't come for her in time.
She accepted her fate.
She would die for her Colonel, ceasing to follow him.
She would break her promise.
She wished Amestris would pick just one traumatizing incident to torture her with in the span of 24 hours.
On the steps of Central, Roy helplessly watched her memories pass rapidly through her eyes.
"Captain," she didn't respond.
"Hawkeye," silence.
Her face grew pale. Rain began to pour.
Her neck throbbed, her artery threatened to burst through the rough slit.
He grabbed her shoulders, She flinched and then she stared at him and his sharp, black eyes turn soft.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she shook her head, "I supposed I need some rest."
She didn't need rest.
She slept too much last night.
She had been sleeping too much lately.
She scolded herself for it.
She didn't need any rest. So, there wasn't a reason for him to be more settled than she.
On an inconsequential three months to the date. But, Riza knew that in a pair, when one was emotionally compromised,
utterly weakened and failing as she apparently and involuntarily was, the other held the rationality.
Usually that was her. Today it was him.
But, even in midst of the mental siege,
Riza Hawkeye straightened.
"It's been three months," she said coldly,
a dismissal, not an affirmation.
"That isn't long at all, Hawkeye." He said.
"We shouldn't dwell on it," she answered.
Catch is that she was.
And, she hated herself for needed to get out of there. Away from the rain,
away from the office, away from the construction on the enormous hole in the side of their building.
It had been three months.
She started down the stairs, into the rain.
He followed.
"Let me drive you home."
Riza stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
That sounded nice. She realized once more she didn't have an umbrella.
Riza had automatically figured that walking home in the pouring rain would be quite fitting.
She figured she might as well lean into this especially unspectacular day's offenses.
She figured it was her occupied mind that had forgotten that Roy would never in a million years let her do that.
The Captain turned to her General. She lifted an eyebrow.
Before she could comment on his driving-
"Shut up."
"I said nothing, Sir."
His mouth melted into a smile.
For some reason, she felt warm for just a moment.
Not hot.
Not cold.
Just warm.
Just for a moment
The rain was freezing and she was soaked head to toe the whole way home.
Anyone could have handled it. But, she felt like she was drowning.
She looked to Roy. Perhaps to feel warm again?
But, his face was stone, fixed on the road. His brows were furrowed.
He was thinking too hard. She was cold
and alone.
She looked away.
He glanced at her. He made a turn.
Riza leaned on the window and massaged her temple.
The migraine was back. She should have been over it.
Three months was not a hallmark anniversary.
She sighed, maybe gasped, desperate for oxygen.
PTSD, a term Knox had thrown around,
particularly to the General and his Captain.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Unfortunately, Mustang and Hawkeye were too proud, maybe too emotionally oblivious
to allow themselves the peace of mind that came with that label. It was never PTSD.
It was falling down on their job.
It was weakness.
There were so many good things about that day. So much they had all overcome.
That light should have cast away any traumatic shadows that would have caused such a mental imbalance.
Her intelligent yet stubborn defenses had shattered.
This was bad. Maybe just a touch of Post Traumatic Something or Other, she thought.
A grave sigh. The silly girl in her had hoped the horrible things had ended with Ishval.
The car came to a stop. Roy put it in park. Hawkeye looked up.
"Where are we?" She searched the street, the buildings,
"Sir, why are we at your apartment?"
"You're staying."
She steeled, "Sir, no."
"Hawkeye, It's been three months. That certainly was not the best day of my life,"
Roy winced away the flash of Riza's blood pouring onto concrete. He nodded,
"I'm probably going to drown myself in whisky. So, I probably shouldn't be alone."
Of course, he was talking about her. Maybe not the whisky.
But, she certainly wasn't looking forward sitting alone in the shadows of her apartment,
only suffocating her further.
It was just like Roy Mustang to take the bullet for her pride.
He'd give her an appropriate reason to 'look after him' so in turn he could look after her.
When she hesitated, he nudged his head toward the window,
"Also, it's raining." He gave a sad smile, "So, you're up."
She rolled her eyes, insubordinate or no. "It's not like you'll be outside, Sir."
He opened his door, "Let's go." She chased after him, the freezing rain somehow
coming down more violently than before. "Sir," she had to yell over the sound of the pouring.
She had reached him the second he whirled on her,
the second he had led her under the cover of the building roof.
"Let me fix this," he said fiercely. When she flinched, his voice grew quiet.
"Just let me fix something. For once"
He should be thinking like that. "General…"
But he turned before she could try to refute him.
"I have tea," he said, jogging up the stairs.
She huffed, "Bribery, Sir?"
He didn't answer.
She reluctantly followed.
It was too cold outside to stay.
Ironically, his apartment was even colder.
She remembered that.
Riza focused all her attention on keeping her teeth from chattering.
Even when he turned the heater on and lit a fire, it wasn't as warm as it was supposed to be.
Even though if she got close enough, he radiated warmth himself.
It wasn't enough.
She could remember that.
She could remember nearly minute of yesterday, as unspectacular yet excruciating as it was.
But, now, observing all the evidence, something entirely and spectacularly significant had hit her like a brick wall.
Out of nowhere. An inevitable force.
And, she was blocking it out.
Which wasn't helping what she was best at, analyzing, evaluating, solving the situation in one pull.
Riza was quick on her feet, consistently and tirelessly vigilant.
In that moment, she was nothing.
Riza Hawkeye could handle anything.
Riza Hawkeye could not handle this.
"Hawkeye," he said. She blinked. She couldn't answer.
"Hawkeye, I need you to breathe."
Roy's face was one of terror, one of shock.
Had he done something wrong?
He must have done something wrong.
God, he failed her again.
There would be no recovery from this.
But, at the moment her face was turning blue,
and he was fully prepared to call and ambulance.
She had woken up warm. Blankets were tucked in around her, impossibly fluffy.
Sunlight was on her head. She could feel it. But, it was warm.
It was warm. It that moment, it dawned on her.
She had always been burning hot or freezing cold.
Nothing was comfortable.
Nothing was warm.
This was warm.
Her eyes opened dreamily.
Instantly, the heat was gone.
A mop of black hair was tucked into the pillow beside her,
all too close. All too close. She jumped. She wasn't sure if she screamed.
But, she jumped and he turned around. He was anticipating this. He knew this would happen.
This was all his fault. And he stood there, staring at the window, the morning sun,
Waiting for her to wake up.
Last night, he had wondered why he had never offered her hospitality before.
Staring at his Captain, who was practically hyperventilating, he stupidly, finally understood why.
He wasn't sure he had forgotten last night of all nights. Three months to the date.
Riza was petrified.
Feet on the floor, backing away from his bed.
This was bad. She could feel it.
It was such a typical plot, Riza thought.
Whisky. They had whisky. Inhibitions lowered just so.
Some sort of emotional compromising.
Years of whatever weird affection, whatever they were too good at ignoring,
Finally having its way. It was disgustingly unoriginal, yet frustratingly inevitable, she knew.
Perhaps it was so typical for a reason. But, Riza felt like she could hurl.
The twist was they didn't have more than one glass of alcohol.
And, they were far too skilled and trained to ignore any tension they've had since the years Roy studied under her Hawkeye knew how she felt about Roy Mustang. She'd known since they were young, silly teenagers.
But, she wasn't a foolish woman.
There was something about sex, or just romance really, that was just so simple.
There was something about the butterflies that seemed so frivolous, pointless.
She was neither simple nor frivolous.
She had no time to engage in such behavior.
But, she was not immune to admiration or deep dedication.
She knew she had stuck with him because of who he was. Roy Mustang.
Her Roy Mustang. She knew she would give her life for him.
That was, of course significant. She knew that.
But, she wasn't simple. She wasn't controlled by lust,
occupied by any sort of affection. She had a job to do and she did it well.
She couldn't have been so childish to seek refuge in such simple,
frivolous things after an emotional breakdown, right?
It wasn't even a breakdown.
It was just a hiccup.
But, at some point last night, she somehow became just like everyone else.
She was knocked off her prideful pedestal and proven she was human,
and no longer above the concept of love.
Riza realized she was staring at him, eyes shot open.
He sat up straight, his face dropping in concern or shame or-
She choked. He had more definition that she remembered.
Of course, she had only ever thought about it when they were young.
And briefly. She was not a simple woman, nor was she a simple girl.
But, he was much more developed now.
She blinked, and in that flash she saw herself held up against the wall.
Muscled arms wrapped under each leg that flexed and curled at his sides.
In the back of her mind, she heard herself let out a sharp gasp.
Her arms tightened around his neck. Then she heard herself moan quite fiercely, like someone so…
Simple.
Stupid.
Someone so frivolous.
It was certainly consensual, she could tell you that. But, she couldn't evaluate any further.
Riza couldn't remember her reasoning, her motive. She couldn't remember. She tried harder.
Pink cursed her cheeks. Riza couldn't find her voice.
"Hawkeye." He said again. He moved to get out of the bed and she blurted,
"Don't"
He froze. She wasn't sure he had clothing on at all. He did, underwear of some sort, shorts of some kind.
But, she couldn't tell then. She was not going to think about it. She was not going to stay this violently pink if she could help it.
"You're having a panic attack."
"I'm not." She blurted.
He gave her a look. Riza Hawkeye could handle anything.
But, right before him was his Captain, utterly unhinged.
"I'll get back into the bed. Just don't get up."
Why the heck did she say that?
She exhaled nearly all the air out of her body.
"I'll be," she breathed, "I'll be fine."
She slipped under the covers, avoiding his gaze at all costs.
Roy blinked. He couldn't help but think: Was he really that bad in bed?
Maybe he was taking this situation too lightly.
But, a very large piece of him that had been suffocated and silenced
since Ishval suddenly reined supreme, taking over every inch of him.
He felt like he could finally breathe.
He was panicking. He was concerned,
but none of that feeling of release was unadulterated.
It was a bizarre cocktail of panic, concern, terror,
and total euphoria.
Regardless, he had to keep his head about him.
So, he ignored the way her blonde locks fell over her shoulders,
the way the blanket raised and fell on her chest as she breathed.
She draped her arm over her eyes and bit her lip.
He lied back down and turned his back to her.
The sun was blinding. A tinge of anger was added to the cocktail.
They both let this happen. But, he would only blame himself.
"What happened?" Riza mumbled to herself.
Roy answered anyway. "We drank whiskey," he grumbled.
"That can't be it."
They didn't have enough. She just had one. He just had one.
It's not like they completely lost it. She felt no different after one glass.
She could remember that.
But, it was far easier to pretend she did. That they had lost it.
So, when Roy tried to problem-solve and asked,
"Do you remember anything?"
Riza bit her lip and decided to say, "No."
She did.
She could more clearly remember that yesterday wasn't special. She had stumbled for absolutely no good reason.
She could remember baking at her desk in the sun. She could remember freezing in the rain.
She could still feel the headache. She could still see the terrible things that plagued her mind.
His apartment was freezing.
But, this part. She had blocked it out.
At least momentarily.
She remembered the gist, though. Slowly but surely. She focused. She forced herself to remember.
And she did, in inconvenient red hot flashes that would loop in front of her mind's eye,
preventing her from getting herself together and figuring this the hell out.
In the most recent loop, she recalled calling him "Colonel" way too many times last night.
More like once or twice. Or three times. Still too many.
He was a General now. And, it certainly wasn't the most formal of situations.
He was far too distracted to correct her on either account.
Distracted with the fact that he dreamed about her using his rank in that tone, in that pitch.
It was even worse when she finally gasped out the name "Roy."
Oh boy.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. Electricity shot through his body, he heard her voice again,
echoing from last night. His heart started racing.
He held his breath.
She was gnawing on her lip,
her eyes were nailed shut.
Riza Hawkeye could handle anything.
Except this. This was bad.
So, it was best to just keep pretending.
It was easier to lie. Just like always.
He turned back to the window. "Neither do I," he sighed, "It was most likely the whisky then."
"Maybe you just let me use your bed," she removed her arm, stared at the ceiling and rationalized,
"Maybe you had too much pride and too much of a hero complex to let me sleep on your couch."
He whipped back around, "Excuse me. A hero complex?"
Finally she looked at him and met his eyes.
"You-" She swallowed her voice realizing she just insulted a superior,
her commanding officer. She was in bed with her commanding officer.
She was in bed with the General.
She was in bed with Roy Mustang.
But, she didn't back down.
It helped her believe the story.
"Yes, sir. A hero complex." She stood by her word and waited to be berated,
kicked out even. That would have solved a lot of problems.
But he just snorted, especially at her use of 'sir' in this particular circumstance,
and turn to lie on his back, and then with a small revenge-hungry smile he told the celling fan,
"Well, you're wearing my dress shirt, so your hypothesis is most unlikely, Captain"
There was a suffocating silence. Hawkeye stared in horror at the unbuttoned cuffs around her wrists.
Suddenly everything took on an intoxicating Roy-like smell. But, she recovered quickly.
"Sleeping wear you provided me."
"If that were true, wouldn't you be wearing my slacks as well? To complete the ensemble."
Riza's heart dropped. Her toes grazed the opposite leg. She wasn't wearing any-
Riza caught Roy's broad, smug smirk before she shot up and reached under the covers
to ensure the validity of this atrocious nightmare.
"I'm only in my under…" she said calmly
Roy turned his head and watched Riza process the fact.
There was no getting around this now.
There was no logical explanation. Nothing she could convince herself of.
They could pretend.
But, there was hard evidence for this one.
Riza whipped the pillow from behind her and slammed it into Roy's face,
He rolled away, failing to dodge. He rolled off the bed.
The window shades clattered, the bed frame shifted,
Roy let out a weak, "ow."
"I WAS STANDING UP," she yelled, motioning wildly to the space in front of his closet where she wasn't stood,
frozen and exposed in more ways than one, "I WAS STANDING THERE WITH NO-"
Roy's face inched over the edge of the bed, just stopping at his nose.
He suppressed a grin. Riza chucked another pillow.
"YOU SCOUNDREL."
"To be fair I wasn't paying quite so much attention to your lack of clothing
as I was to the fact that you were and still are very close to the edge of suffocating."
He was right. She still was. Riza took deep breaths.
"Because this situation appears to be fatal to you," he bit just a bit bitterly,
climbing back onto his side of the bed. But, he didn't turn. He faced her head on.
"General," she gritted her teeth.
"What," he challenged.
"You know this is against every rule in the book."
"Not every rule," he countered.
"We could be court-martialed. We could be discharged."
They'd be back to square one, every ounce of effort and dedication
wasted for one night they most definitely did not deserve.
All their work three months ago, pointless.
But, she physically couldn't make herself voice that issue.
"No one is watching us anymore."
"That does not make this any less illegal, General," she hissed.
He refused to lose this fight.
He hadn't done anything wrong.
He probably did, he thought.
He failed again.
But…
Her voice from last night echoed in.
It certainly was consensual.
He couldn't take full blame for something so inevitable.
So he fought back.
"My point is when you leave here, no one will know. We don't even remember anything that happened,"
he lied, pulling his mask on, the one he was famous for.
Nonchalant.
Blasé.
Indifferent.
Which made her furious for reasons she couldn't place. Riza said nothing.
"We can forget this part too," he grumbled, "I still have some whisky left."
To be perfectly and genuinely honest, Something in Riza's heart, the simple part that wanted to be here
in this spot, with this man for many many years. Such a simple, frivolous, aimless, pointless piece.
That piece broke a little.
Or shattered.
She was much tougher than that piece, she reminded herself. Or she would pretend to be.
It wouldn't affect her. It couldn't affect her. So she bit back, "That's a fine idea, Sir"
"Thank you, Captain," he shot back calmly.
But, just the same turned toward the window with a huff, like a child.
If he got to behave this way, she could do the same.
She turned toward the door.
Backs to each other.
She yanked the covers over her head and buried her face into the sheets.
It was a long time before she spoke. A long time before she realized she hadn't left his bed yet.
She was too focused.
Focused on the way her fingertips tingled, almost able to feel his hair as she ran her fingers through it.
the night before. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard him moan.
She was being pushed onto the bed. He straddled her, leaned down.
Their noses grazed and their lips hovered. Soft, she remembered. Delicate.
Good Lord.
It was freezing in his apartment last night.
Riza crunched her eyes and shook her head, one flash replaced with another.
The feeling of his hand just hovering over the deep scar at her neck, terrified to touch it, desperate to make it disappear.
They were close at some point, too close, in some room, the kitchen she thought.
It was dark, only the fire flickering.
Even with the fire, it was so cold.
Everything was so cold.
Except for him. He was warm.
Not hot.
Not cold.
Just luxuriously warm.
This had always been true, she thought.
But, she had reached her breaking point with extreme temperatures.
That was a break that was a long time coming.
She could see his eyes, flickering from her neck back to her face.
"Stop," she said. His mouth twitched just the slightest. "Stop doing that."
He met her gaze. "Stop doing what?"
She huffed and grabbed his hovering hand. She brought it to her eye line and smoothed her finger over the scar straight through it. Nearly feeling the vibration, the freezing sword slicing through its warmth.
"If you're going to drown yourself in self pity, General,
at least don't pretend you're alone."
But, they were so good at playing pretend.
His face melted deep into an emotion she couldn't read anymore.
They were far too close. She shook her head to clear it, "It's over."
It had been three months.
It was time to be over it.
Or pretend to be.
The teapot boiled over.
They were supposed to be making tea.
He didn't notice. She had forgotten.
His knuckles grazed her cheek, warm.
"I told you to stop, Sir" Riza rolled her eyes and snapped.
It took effort to snatch his fingers away from her face.
"You impossible man."
He exhaled a fragment of a laugh.
Her deadpan melted into a smile that
would have been invisible to anyone but Roy.
"Fine," he surrendered, "I'll do my best to refrain from-"
His words faded away from her mind.
She suddenly could still feel her lips meet his,
She could still feel him kiss back.
She could still feel the kiss grow hungry. And, in the split second she pulled back,
Their noses touched and she remembered he waited just a moment.
And then she gave the slightest nod.
Another pained, frustrated groan came from under the covers.
It was her. She kissed him out of nowhere.
How foolish.
How simple.
How utterly stupid.
What a typical plot line.
"How did I let this happen?" she muttered to herself in her own personal conversation of despair.
It was just like Roy Mustang to butt in.
"Well, let's examine the situation rationally." He sighed, sitting up against the headboard,
staring down at the Riza-shaped lump on the left side of his bed.
Half to spite her.
Half to help her.
Maybe 30/70.
40/60.
"We all know the effect I have on women."
A nasty snarl-scoff came from underneath the blankets.
She muttered something quite insubordinate.
"But, you wouldn't be done in solely by physical attraction and shallow charm.
You're much more profound than that."
Riza turned, unveiling her eyes now staring up at him
with her razor-sharp, diamond-slicing glare.
"The same goes for me," he added,
confronting her sharp brown eyes head on.
She snorted. "What about all those girls, Sir? Are you telling me every one of those interactions have been profound?
"Both you know and I know you never fell for that charade. Stop posing."
It took a second for him to believe it, but her eyes smiled, beamed. She held tight on his comforters up to her nose,
still sunk into his mattress. And, for the first time since he was a teenager, she watched his breathing hitch just a little bit.
He crossed his arms and smirked down at her, leaning lazily against the headboard.
The moment felt like they were ten years younger, innocent and entranced.
Before the murder and the chaos and the coups and the death.
They were suddenly their old selves for just a moment.
Roy and Riza.
Unfortunately, the murder and the chaos, the strife, and the torture, it was woven into their beings now.
Roy and Riza were now wrought with deep pain and regret, self-hatred and self-punishment.
Yet, also with unwavering determination, relentless dedication to a most worthy cause.
His dream.
Her dream.
For some reason in the sunlight from his window beaming down with a warmth she could melt into,
in the settling dust of the Promised Day, Riza couldn't help but feel like every piece of them,
tragic or no, made this moment better.
They had come out on the other side. And, for a second, they could be honest.
For a second, they were together whole-heartedly, hiding and denying nothing at all.
The sun didn't scorch her. Rain wasn't freezing her.
She was warm. Maybe happy.
He flopped back down into his tower of pillow, his own plus the two she threw,
leaving her with none at all. He yanked the sheets back from her too.
"You hog the covers."
"Do not."
"Give me those," he yanked, leaving her with the edge.
She sat up, though, "I'm leaving anyway."
"It's Saturday. We don't have work." Roy said far too desperately.
"That's hardly what I meant," She said.
Riza sat still for a moment, feet on the floor.
Roy turned back to the window.
"I think you should stay."
She snatched the top sheet from him
as he turned around. Riza wrapped it around her shoulders and stood.
He turned and sat up.
"You need rest."
"I'm fine," Riza deadpanned, Riza pretended,
"I prefer Hayate as company anyway."
"I'll give you your pillows back," he bargained quite quickly.
"How generous." Riza searched for her clothes on the floor.
They were all over.
It was getting harder to pretend this didn't happen.
That they hadn't thrown all these clothes to the ground so quite willingly.
She snatched her jacket off the floor.
"Riza, sleep," he finally said, "That's an order."
Orders always worked on her, thick and thin.
She lifted an eyebrow at him.
That was a low move.
An order to stay in his bed?
"That's highly inappropriate, Sir."
He gave a signature slow smirk, "Still an order."
She gave an exasperated sigh.
Riza did need rest. Riza so needed to be warm.
For once. For as long as she could.
"You're impossible," she gritted and watched her feet
take her unwillingly back to his bed.
"I get what I want."
"Stubborn child," she yanked the comforter from him.
He dropped one of her pillows on her face. He kept the other.
Stubborn
child.
"It works."
"I can not believe you," her words muffled from under the fluff,
then made quick work of turning away, back to him once again.
It wasn't nearly as luxuriously warm as looking him in the eye.
But, she could feel his gaze. He pretended not to watch her silently.
She pretended not to notice.
She pretended to be fine, recovered.
He pretended the same.
But, mindlessly, after moments, she sighed and her fingers reached for her scar.
She snapped them back down. He surely saw that. Riza choked a little.
And, after a long time, Roy still watched her.
She still struggled to breathe. There was a piece of Riza, much larger now than before,
who was substantially glad she was with him at that moment,
Heat draining from her body like her blood on the concrete.
Riza was meant to be with Roy at that moment.
Even if it was under less than ideal,
certainly illegal circumstances.
"It's been three months, Roy," she heard herself murmur,
not even sure what she meant. Not sure what side to take.
Was it a long time?
Or a short time.
Should she be over it or not.
Was she losing it or not.
She pretended she knew right up until the moment it happened.
She shouldn't have been shocked.
For a pair that was thick as thieves, they were somehow too close.
It was too intimate. Or it should have been.
There was no preamble, No forewarning.
She should have been paralyzed, alarms at full blast,
But she wasn't.
She was just warm when Roy lay back on his pillows, gently reached for her,
turned her into his chest and buried his nose in her soft hair.
She wrapped her arms around his torso and inched closer. He smiled sadly.
He kissed her hairline. He breath caught. She nuzzled into his chest.
"Roy," she murmured into him for no particular reason.
He buried into her hair and responded, "Riza."
And for the briefest moment,
Perhaps one of the first in their lives
they didn't pretend.