Dread
Roy Mustang rested his chin on his gloved fist. His bad eye was hurting, which always happened when he got frustrated, angry, confused, or...
Or what?
Jean's accusation shouldn't have hurt that badly, because it just wasn't true! It had never been true. The man had caught his eye during the Ishbar war. So what if his eyes had roved before and since? It's not like he had been using Jean as a replacement for people he'd lost.
Why was Jean suffering from such a godawful inferiority complex, anyway? What had triggered that?
He glanced at the clock. H'm. 7:30 PM. Jean would be home by now...
His hand reached for the phone, but he decided that it would probably be better to see the man face-to-face.
A short time later, he was climbing the stairs to Jean's apartment, knocking gently on the door and hearing a sleepy voice say "Come in..."
Roy entered, cocking an eyebrow at the chaos inside. History books were scattered around like a hurricane had hit, random bits of paperwork spread on his coffeetable and desk, Jean himself draped across his overstuffed armchair, apparently half asleep.
"Haven't you ever thought of getting a maid, Jean?"
"Mnr... too expensive." The blonde yawned cavernously. "Now go away; I'm sleepy."
"I'm sorry..." Not about disturbing the man's rest but about the rest of it... Jean seemed to understand.
"I made coffee. Help yourself."