Disclaimer: See the first chapter.
Closing Time
(roy)
"May I… stay here for the night?"
The question has caught him off-guard; he blinks once, twice, at the girl standing in front of him, a sheepish smile on her face. He is surprised that she would ask such a question, and to him, of all people. He knows she's not stupid, that she knows what implications lie behind such a simple request – and that he understands what she's asking for as well.
Guilt and self-loathing begin to rise in his throat, choking off any quick response, any quick answer he might have had. He can't bring himself to say yes – that would mean ruining her even further – or no – that would mean losing her, driving her farther away.
What have I done? She's too good for him: too naïve, too pure, too blameless.
She's the kind of girl that a man would marry – not fuck. She's the kind of girl that a man would treasure for the rest of his life. Really, she's the kind of girl that deserves someone better than him: someone who doesn't have a track record of bedding a different woman each day of the week, someone who doesn't drown his sorrows in drink.
She deserves someone who doesn't slaughter innocents – and bring an innocent into war.
"It's late, and, my tent, it's farther away."
He can tell she's embarrassed. Her cheeks are red, like rosy apples.
Her flushed cheeks remind him of a quiet autumn day that he spent with her, when they were both much younger, in an apple orchard. She'd been thrilled when he'd taken several caramel candies and melted them to create a caramel apple, just for her. In fact, that day, she was so excited that she lost her reserved demeanor. He could still remember how her arms had wrapped around his neck, how her lips felt as they brushed his cheek.
That was the day I fell in love with her.
She hasn't done anything remotely similar until now.
Another wave of guilt and self-loathing washes over him. He hadn't meant to do anything with her that night, or on any of the other nights. He was drunk, like he was every night following a battle. And she'd been waiting for him at his tent.
He remembers the way she smells – vanilla with a hint of gunpowder. The way she feels – smooth and soft. The way she tastes – like tea with lemon slices. The way she sounds when she calls out his name – his first name. He wishes that he could remember more details, like what she looks like when she sleeps, snuggled into his chest –
The sound of rustling clothes jars him from his thoughts. And there she is, her back to him, ready to leave.
A beat of indecisiveness passes.
No.
Though he has no right to her, he cannot bear to watch her walk away from him.
"Wait." She stops; his heart lurches.
Now it is he who feels embarrassed, the one to stumble over his words. "You're right, it is dark. It's too late now, and there isn't much light to guide your way back. Plus, everyone's asleep."
"It would be rude of me to turn you away." He smiles weakly, hopes that she believes him. "Come in… Riza. I've got an extra blanket."
And he turns, stripping off his gloves, to lead her into his tent, into his bed, and further into his heart.
END.
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AN: I must admit, I like Riza's POV better. But this one is still fairly good in my opinion. :) A bit o' lime, but… it's not too bad.
I will have to say that I took some creative liberties in these two pieces. I haven't read the manga for a while (and don't remember much, so don't flame me for this!), but I'm working under the assumption that pre-Ishbal War, Roy and Riza weren't familiar/comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis. The indecision in this piece is because, well, it's the first time that they're calling each other by their first names. Also, since I've never been drunk, I don't know what drunk people remember. I'm guessing their vision isn't too great, so, hence the reason why Roy only remembers smell, taste, touch, and sound – not sight.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you!
(Reviews are greatly appreciated, but I'm not going to be like RAWR R&R!)
Chatte Blanche
