Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.
"Fullmetal--"
"Shut up, bastard. I'm trying to sleep."
"Your report?"
"Later."
Mustang sighed, reluctantly going back to his paperwork. A few moments of relative silence followed, filled only with the scratching of pen on paper, and the low breathing of the alchemist sprawled across the room's worn out couch.
Then, a knock. Hawkeye entered.
"Sir?"
"Shh." Mustang motioned to the sleeping boy. "It's hard enough to get him to be quiet when he's awake. Don't ruin it."
Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless dropped her voice as she handed him a stack of papers. "Here. These need to be done by tomorrow."
Mustang grimaced.
Edward shifted on the couch.
Again.
And again.
Finally, he sat up, glaring accusingly at Mustang.
"So, now that you're rested," the Colonel said dryly, "care to give me your report?"
A pause.
"Your couch sucks."
