a/n: you guys are nuts and we love you ALL. here's a little bit longer one for you~
Riza waits after class.
As she's pacing in the front of the bathroom stalls, it feels more like hiding. The surprise coffee on her desk has given her the jitters and everytime she had taken a sip out of it, she felt an unsettling guilt like there was a secret she was hiding.
This is ridiculous, it's literally just coffee... even if it had a personalized note written on it. He was doing something nice; her professor was doing something nice for her. Maybe that's what it boiled down to. But she couldn't just expose him by thanking him in front of the auditorium.
Indecisiveness wiggles its way into her en route to his office. Perhaps a simple thank you note would suffice then she would never have to think anymore of it. A coffee maker would make for a good investment as well.
In the end, she doesn't have a say in the matter.
"Miss Hawkeye."
Riza steps out of the way and into him almost knocking into him trying to get out of his way. She was under the assumption to be in his office already, judging by the embarrassing amount of times she's been there.
He gives her concerned looking pointing to his coffee cup as if to say: "Not again." Instead, she picks up uncertain undertones when he casually mentions, "You didn't fall asleep."
Riza doesn't consider herself shy - reserved maybe, but the amount of times she's been mortified in the last three weeks in the presence of this man alone is throwing her through a loop. She trails behind him with her heartbeat drumming in her ears. "No," she says quietly. "I did not."
"What a joy it is to not have to interrupt a lecture to wake you up."
She bites her lip at the sarcasm. Even though she vowed to never come back, he opens the door for her and Riza edges her way inside. She keeps her arms close to her body eyeing him carefully as he strolls by her, fluffing strands of her loose hair. "I wanted to thank you."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He fans out the papers across his desk and the rich oak surface disappears as he empties his bag, just like the night before.
She tries to look over a little, to read his expression because she thinks he's joking. "For the coffee?" Riza clarifies a little bit braver, clearer.
She straightens herself when his suddenly head snaps to her; his eyes narrow and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Wordlessly and intimidatingly, Mustang walks over to his office door and she can see him checking either side of the hallway before he shuts the door. Riza takes a step back. She's thoroughly confused when a hand on her shoulder guides her away from the door. "I know it's from the same place where you get your coffee. It wasn't from an on-campus cafe." She doesn't know why she feels the need to state it out loud; it's not quite an accusation, nor is it just an innocent statement. She doesn't understand why this is bugging her so much - yes, it's a little unusual but as far as she understands there are no rules about it being wrong to be given a coffee by your professor.
Right?
He runs a hand through his hair and it somehow gets even messier, sticking out in all the wrongright places. "Please don't misinterpret, Miss Hawkeye. I don't make it a habit to reward students who sleep in my class with coffee in the morning."
"No," she says to the floor, uncharacteristically, and then, unintentionally glances the length of him until meeting his eyes. She cranes her neck a bit just to do so. "Of course not, sir."
Mustang clears his throat as he walks away. "I am your professor and you are my student. It'd be precarious to both our careers if you assumed our relationship extended beyond anything than an academic one."
Her brow twitches and it feels like she's been hit with something out of left field. She turns and his back is already to her. Pursing her lips, her cheeks radiate with heat. "I only came to thank you."
He turns his head slightly to regard her out of the corner of his eye. "Then why are you still here?"
"I - " Riza struggles with her words; a thick knot caught in her throat as if she's been caught when, in truth, there isn't any red on her hands. She racks through her brain, frustrated that he expects her to explain her reasoning when he's the reason she's standing in his office in the first place. "I've calculated the totals for possible grades at the end of the semester alongside past assignments, and even if I achieve top marks on your assignments, at most I'll get is a C for the class in the best possible situation." She lies to save face, but, to be fair, she's made a really broad estimate in her head.
"And?"
She sighs, starting to feel like a parrot, "Extra credit."
His shoulders visibly drop as he exhales emphatically. "I don't even know why I asked." Mustang turns around properly and leans on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. He fixes a gaze on her and she almost loses her nerve from the scrutiny. He shrugs, "Take the C. I'm not changing the rules for one student."
Riza huffs, pushing her bangs away from her face. Her request isn't unreasonable. She can feel a little tempering simmering in the back drop from the way he shoots her down, almost cruelly. She can finally empathize with Rebecca whining about her stubborn professors. But Riza can't back down herself because she can't risk her scholarship - it's her only real means of paying for her exorbitant tuition and her job is her only real means of paying for her lifestyle, however meager.
Her brow flattens but his demeanor doesn't change. She defiantly mirrors him, crossing her arms over her chest as a lightbulb goes off, "You just said you don't make it a habit to buy a student coffee." Right then, she doesn't know what that means; she doesn't connect the dots that it means more than just her ace in the hole.
His face drops. She swallows hard. The air is stifled from her little stunt and she holds a breath looking at him looking at her wordlessly. She becomes painfully aware that she is a student in a closed office with a professor who has bought her coffee.
His abrupt laughter fills the room, like she's told the funniest joke, and it adds a different tension to his office. Mustang sets aside his glasses to rub at his eyes."I didn't expect that to come back to bite me so quickly. Do you always bite the hand that feeds?"
She doesn't say anything. She's won and he knows it. Anything said to her beyond that confirmation is distraction, so she lifts an eyebrow emotionlessly.
He smiles and that manages to stir something in her otherwise steel gut, "Right. Since you managed a successful checkmate, I'll concede to your victory."
The rigidity in her muscles dissipate, finally.
"Please note, Miss Hawkeye," he says matter-of-factly with a push to his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "That I won't just give extra credit. You will have to earn it."
"Understandable." She nods, and despite her relieved smile she knows enough stories, true or imagined, to be wary of that tone and diction, for her own reasons. "What will you have me do?"
Mustang chews on his bottom lip while staring at the space in front of her feet, contemplating. His fingers drum on the overhang of his desk.
Riza's eyes wander around the room while he thinks - an order for herself to stop staring at the man and, for as many times as she's been here to grovel, she's never noticed how spartan the room is. Filled with books and frames with diplomas, but nothing telling about him, like pictures, personal or professional. There isn't a ring on him either, not that it matters for her, but she hasn't considered how young he really looks for a professor. Couldn't be older than thirty. She couldn't be sure. Something tells her that, underneath his clothes, he's undeniably fit for someone in academia.
Blushing lightly, she doesn't follow that train of thought, but her attention snaps back to him when speaks again.
"I chose to work for this university because of its extensive resources." He raises his eyebrows but not his unfocused gaze. "It's amazing, actually, how much this place pours into scientific research." His eyes fix on her. "It's why you saw me yesterday night at the library and why there are papers all over the place on this desk."
Her head tilts in the slightest way, unsure.
Mustang pushes off the desk and at last takes a seat in his rolling chair. "I need an organizational assistant. The department had informed me I'd be able to choose one in a couple of weeks from the class list, but I really don't have the time for that...nor the patience."
Papers she can do. No problem, easy. But being around him more than she should feels like a red flag. Something in her gut tells her to walk away from it, like a premonition of danger - or bad decisions. She repeats back to him, "You want me to be your assistant?"
"Unofficially," he corrects. "To help me organize and other administrative tasks, like finding books and indexing sources, until I'm cleared to find one of my own."
Riza breathes out. "I'm sorry, sir, but I barely have time as it is with my courseload and my position in the library."
"It shouldn't be a problem. Overnights can be surprisingly productive for me." He smirks, flipping a pen in his hand. "Think of it as a few extra tasks to do while you work at the library. For only a limited time."
Rebecca's cackling laugh is one of her…less endearing features and it grates on Riza regardless if she's had any restful sleep or not. She finds herself slinking away from her food and into her chair. It's already boisterous in the dining hall on campus and people are still looking in their direction.
Her words are choppy, in between breaths. "I cannot believe you convinced him to give you want." Rebecca obliviously remarks, "You look so angry all of a sudden. ...what did you have to do?"
"Please don't phrase it like that." Riza pokes at her fruit. "And try not to draw attention."
"I can tell it's not an easy feat, Riza. You said you've been living at his office for the past month."
"Rebecca please."
"Relax, I'm joking. I'm happy that you won't have to lose your scholarship. Really. You wouldn't shut up about it. Are you sure you shouldn't be in law with Olivier with your uncanny powers of persuasion?"
Without answering, Riza looks up from her plate and a knot forms in her throat when she sees him at a distance picking up a to-go order. She only notices him for a second.
"Oh, fuck."
Her eyes snap back to Rebecca. "What is it?"
Rebecca glances behind her and swivels back with a quirked, suspicious eyebrow. "Did you fuck him?"
A chunk of strawberry nearly lodges in her windpipe. Strained, she says, "I won't dignify that with an answer. I managed through respectable means." Technically, he bought her the coffee. "You, of all people, should know that."
Rebecca slumps in her chair, "You're right."
"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint," Riza says unapologetically.
Her friend is quiet for a moment and Riza earns a moment's peace from her. That is, until Rebecca's switch flips and she perks up again, leaning eagerly into the table. "You totally have the hots for him, don't you?"
Riza frowns, brow knitting in disapproval. "No," she responds pointedly, aggressively poking her fruit now. "Absolutely not." Riza sees him leave and Rebecca follows her gaze.
"Riza." Rebecca scoffs teasingly, "Did I or did I not just see you ogle at him?"
"I don't ogle."
"He caught your attention like the heavens above shined a light for your -"
"All right!" Riza glares. Into her plate, she mutters, "He's not the most unfortunate looking."
The gasp Rebecca releases is obscene, along with the flailing in her chair. "I've never thought I'd see the day! You have such high standards - usually. But, I mean, I can't totally blame you. The boys here are just that - boys."
"This is why I can't take you anywhere."
"You love me. Okay, now that the cat's out of the bag, sweetheart, what assignment has the hardass given you? Something tells me it's not just a paper."
"I'll be helping him organize his research."
"Scandalous…" She shimmies her shoulders. "Alone? In his office? At his place?"
"At the library. While I'm working there overnight."
"It might as well be alone." Rebecca's voice is dripping in innuendo, and Riza flicks a piece of pineapple her way.
"Even if I find the man attractive, that doesn't mean anything. There are consequences for things like that and I'd rather not risk my education for something so careless. I'm acting as an assistant until he finds a new one - and that's all there is to it."
And she does. With her best intentions.
Mustang arrives at the library that same night and every night the following week. Riza gives him access to the study room; this time away from where she can sneak glances from the help desk. She's still tired from her eight o'clock classes (three bloody times a week - why can't they just be combined escapes me) except now there's always a warm coffee sitting on her desk with only an R.H. to tell her it's hers. She's learned to tolerate black coffee. The sheer bitterness is more than enough to keep her awake, though Riza is hesitant to admit that there might be another part that is beginning to enjoy his classes - not for the knowledge he is imparting, but rather that he's become somewhat of a character study for her. The margins of her notebook are littered with observations and witty responses to things he's said in class. She's grateful that she sits at the back of the class; he can only suspect she's not giving him her full and rapt academic attention now that she's conscious during his classes.
She encounters a different obstacle however.
Riza didn't account for the consequences following Rebecca's conversation where she verbally, and foolishly, admitted she finds him attractive. On the first night, her awareness of how she acts around him becomes keen and that makes her feel off. His presence sends off little pings in her head that tell her "don't look at him too long", "don't laugh too hard at his jokes", and "don't overanalyze his gestures."
Ever since then, she never stays in the room with him, decidingly taking the notes back to the help desk and sorting it there - a clever maneuver on her part. She finds the many books and articles printouts he requires.
In light of it all, Riza is eternally grateful for his professionalism. If he's noticed her frigid behavior, he's said no word of it. The focus the man has is something to be admired. She catches glimpses of it whenever she has to walk back into the room and it feels like she's invading a very private and personal space. Even when she's reshelving books, she sneaks in a look from the open door.
There's nothing wrong with simply looking. It's like window shopping without any of the costs.
At the end of the week, her perfect maneuver to stay out of his hair backfires when he asks her to stay with his notes. Mustang tells her he needs them to be readily available, but would still like them to get organized and, with a distracting smile, that the little colored tabs she puts on them makes it really accessible.
She doesn't say much; she minds her own business, working diligently through his handwriting. Just like in class and the first night, he walks around the room as he thinks, stepping up to the dry-eraser board in the room, toying a marker with his mouth.
He always comes dressed comfortably, probably to gives appearances of a student, and today is no different with sweatpants and a sweater to combat the bitter cold that has settled over the city for the last week. It's precisely when he rises from his chair that she notices, to her misfortune, that it's a bit too… tight to be decent. She doesn't have the heart, or enough energy for the gall to say anything and honestly, it's none of her business - let alone inappropriate. That would be admitting that it was obvious, plain as day, calling her attention and she-
Riza takes a deep breath for focus, looking away from any and all prohibited areas. With every stride, she tries very very hard not to notice his ...endowments shifting around. By the time she is back to blankly staring at the notes, the image is already ingrained in her mind. She's baffled by how it is clearly outlined under his pants, including which side its favoring, and she can feel her ears getting warm with a rapid pounding pulsing in them.
She's sitting at the end of a four person desk and Riza tilts her head the opposite direction when he walks to the chair on her right. He asks her plainly, "Can you hand me the stack you have?"
Riza glances at him cautiously when he takes it, but he's mumbling to himself sorting through the looseleafs and she swears his habit of keeping writing utensils in his mouth is a punishment or maybe all of it is. She is a statue in her chair, looking forward, until he begins to scribble a name and a title on a sticky note. Leaving the room, she reminds herself not to spring out of her seat so quickly next time.
Eventually, Roy finds her in the 800 section - again. She cradles a heavy tome in her hands, and is completely diverted by it. At first he's a little annoyed - he had sent her off half an hour ago - when really, it should've taken her ten minutes at best. But she's curled up against the metal shelving, completely distracted by the words in front of her, her mouth sounding them out quietly. All thoughts of chastising her flies out the window as he watches her more, watches how her fingers descend with each line, stopping in places as she murmurs to herself - the barest hints of a smile curls into her lips.
It feels like he's intruded on something sacred, not meant for his eyes. She seems smaller in this space; completely unconcerned with what is happening around her and absorbed wholly with what's in front of her, and it isn't until he crouches down next to her that she's pulled out of her reverie.
Gentler than he intended, he says, "This isn't the journal I asked for."
She smiles guiltily, and gestures to a printout next to her, already stapled and highlighted. "There's not much in that one," she says by way of excuse, gripping the book tightly. "My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to-"
Roy shakes his head and sits down next to her, resting his head against the cool shelf behind him. "You're probably right. Yoki has always been full of his own bullshit." He sees her relax, and it's probably the most relaxed he's seen her the entire week. "What I'm more interested in is a chemistry major spending her free time with the likes of-" he leans in closer to read the name on the front of the book, brushing against her fingers with his own and tipping the book forward. "e. e. Cummings?"
He ignores how that surname rolls off his tongue.
"A long-time favourite of mine," she says quietly, almost reverently. "Poetry isn't for everyone, but the sentences he creates are…"
Roy knows he should should tell her to get back to work. He knows he should stand up and return to his cubicle. However, not for the first time this semester, curiosity meddles in the way of reason: he taps a finger on the page. "Which one of these is your favourite?"
She hums pleasantly, flicking to the front of the book and slowly working down the index.
"I like my body when it is with your body," she begins, still staring down at the index page, and the words alert him like splash of ice water. He thinks she's joking until she goes on: "It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth-ness and which I will again and again and again-" She stops here, a shaky smile on her face. "It's not-" she says quickly but he holds up a hand.
"It's lovely," he says tensely. "An you've memorised it all?"
She nods once, hesitantly, but he doesn't discount the pride gleaming in her eyes. "Only the important ones," she explains.
"Is there more?" he prods carefully, investigating. Roy had never been much for poetry in his younger years. They were just words in his eyes, prettily arranged at best and desperately misaligned at worst. Hearing them recited, with such reverence and affection was an entirely new experience. Fleetingly, he speculates if this is really her favorite, or if this is a play of hers.
"Yes, but-"
"I'd like to hear the rest," he says, nudging her shoulder slightly with his own.
She exhales heavily, murmuring under her breath, her tone rising and falling as she quickly recants the first half of the poem. "...which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of you, I like - stroking the - shocking fuzz of your electric fur-" her cheeks are stained pink and she keeps her eyes firmly on the book in front of her. "And what-is-it comes over parting flesh...and eyes big love-crumbs - and possibly I like the thrill - of under me you quite so new."
He's silent for a moment and averts his eyes from her face, trying to give her some semblance of space and propriety and for himself, some composure. Her hands grips the thick book tightly, her knuckles blanching white.
The next question falls from his mouth before he can catch it. "Why is that one your favourite?"
Her head jerks around and Riza gapes at him a little inelegantly, her cheeks rapidly shifting from pink to a darker hue. She quickly scrambles to her feet, stumbling over the piles of books surrounding her and she scoops up the printout, thrusting it towards him. "I need to - to do restocking again," she says jerkily, and Roy sighs, accepting that he may have gone a step too far.
In hindsight, he should've walked away.
She visibly struggles with the weight of one of the book. Her toes push down on the carpet floor and she stretches up, bearing some skin from her lower abdomen. The book wobbles from the inadequate support the tips of her fingers supply and it doesn't take a genius to know it's about to smack her in the face.
All in good faith, Roy closes in swiftly, standing behind her, to catch the spine of the book before it falls on her. He nudges it back into its place. She turns around and he's blindsided by an alluring scent of perfume still lingering on her skin. Their hands touched again when he helped her, and the electrifying sensation was present there too. He looks down on her with a hooked arm over her head. Her mouth is slightly parted like she still has a line of prose she wants to recite, but she's searching for it in his own eyes.
He's not moving. He doesn't want to.
The scant distance between them is all too small; too charged in the respect that there is something unspoken between them. The breathing changes for them both, hitching or holding breath or a combination of the two. It seems all too cliched that it's a secluded area of the library in the quiet of an early morning.
Roy finds it intoxicating to be on the precipice like this and for a while, for the good innocent days he's dealt with her help, he thought he could dwell on the edge. Yet, something else, something carnal, yearns for more in that specific pocket of time, probably because it's within grabbing distance. He admits to being ensnared by her little poetry, but it's a slippery slope that could cost him everything. Unfortunately, he knows he has a blurring line in the sand, for inexplicable reasons, when it came to her. Trying to make sense of it in the few silent seconds they stood like that, he'd say: she's the exception, his exception.
He really should have walked away.
In the same moment she curls and tugs at the strings of his sweatshirt, Roy angles her jaw towards him. Their mouths meet, joining together like they were magnetized, crashing like waves from a turbulent tide. The fragrance from earlier wafts prominently as his fingers comb through her hair - not a perfume, a shampoo - and it only adds fuel to the fire coursing rapidly through his blood.
Theirs is not a timid or gentle kiss, it is forceful and heady, gripping at each other. He learns that she enjoys nipping at his lower lip and teases with the echo of an amusing whimper when his tongue dances with hers. She abandons the strings and grasps a handful of his sweatshirt.
Without thinking, the hands on her hips push against her. The shelf behind collides with her back and his leg pushes to part her own. To his delight, the moan-that-wouldn't-escape finally does, wreaking havoc through his body and encouraging the small tenting in his pants to grow. But it's only seconds before the books on the other side hit the ground. They rip from each other, wet sounds entering their ears as they do, and the severity of it dawns on them simultaneously.
Roy takes note of the coloring of her lips before he turns his shoulder away from her. He leans on a shelf with arm and a hand covering his pulsating mouth. He can hear her catching her breath. He wants to say something - anything. But conflicting thoughts murks his clarity, and he cannot conceive a rational one. He's speechless, astonished, unsure. Roy stammers just trying to formulate a sentence in his own mind.
When he shifts to face her, Riza is already gone.