a/n - you guys are amazing. wonderful beautiful, all of you. we read all the comments. we hold the art in our hearts permanently. every single thing means to us and its thanks to you(hearts!) anyway, here's a plotty chapter.

should i let them out? / lillian olson, eyes open

They look like branches, her scars, sprawling across her back as if it craved for more skin to carve. Riza looks over her shoulder and her reflection in the mirror touches the parts where it's discolored with reds and yellows and even some peach tones from the marred skin. Stretching from her shoulder blades, the texture is leathery from the scarring running deep.

It doesn't hurt any more; it hasn't hurt for a while now. What it is, however, is an explanation someone inevitably demands, requiring her to open up, recount, and relive the pity coupled with looks of superficial sympathy, like she was this beautiful but broken thing. She gets tired of telling it. It's never enough when she tells them the only answer she wants to give: a burn from a long time ago, an accident. In morbid curiosity, they go on presumptuously and ask, "how, when, why?"

That morning, in the middle of sex in his bedroom, she was ready to stop and gather her clothes rather than hearing the slew of questions and running through the motions. Instead, he says, "I don't care." Or she's convinced he did. It makes her feel peculiar and she can't pinpoint if it's because of his own disfiguration, but she can't help thinking about it now every time she catches a glimpse of her own back.

A ping sounds from the open laptop on her bed, pulling her out of her thoughts. She meets disappointment when it's just a university-wide notification and kicks herself for her eagerness to hear from him. Cold water hits her arm, dripping from her wet hair from the recent shower. She supposes she should dry up and get out of her towel properly. She grabs the blowdryer sitting on top of her dresser and slips back into the bathroom, the air still warm and humid from her shower.

As she dries her hair, her mind's eye brings forth the memory of his burn scar as the blowdryer tunes out the rest of the world. It's terribly discolored with deep violets and burgundy, worse than hers. It must've been recent, she muses, because hers hasn't looked that in quite a few years. Back when it did hurt. The shoe has never been on the other foot before and she wonders what happened, and how, and when. If it hurt terribly.

Annoyance prickles around her mind because now she's the hypocrite who wants to know and sharing scars from excruciating burns shouldn't be something that makes her comfortable and curious about him. She doesn't know how long she wants to continue this, this unethical episode of hers, and perhaps it's better that she doesn't know and best if she doesn't ask like she knows not to. If she doesn't like being asked, perhaps he doesn't either.

Riza combs her fingers through her fluffed hair as she crosses back into her bedroom. To her surprise, Rebecca is lying sideways on Riza's bed with the laptop moved to her fingertips; she's got a wide grin on her face as she scrolling through something and her recent browsing history horrifyingly races to the forefront of her mind.

In hindsight, Riza should not have been googling tips on the finer points of ...fellatio or how to make it spectacular for the receiver in broad daylight.

In hindsight, she should've realised that she was asking for trouble, asking for her nosy and determined best friend to weasel any scrap of information she could out of her.

"Rebecca!" Riza shrieks, running, dropping her towel in the process, slamming down the lid on her laptop, and feeling the burn flush through her entire body. She snatches the electronic from Rebecca and lets it fall heavily on her desk.

Rebecca cackles that cackle that Riza hates so much and she begins wheezing. "You...you actually... searched fellatio?" Quite the exaggerator, as always, she holds her sides, past the point of making any recognisable sound as tears stream down her face. She squeaks, " Oh my God, Riza, it's called a blowjob!" Rebecca falls back on the bed, gasping for air and turning a faint shade of purple.

Riza would feel sorry for her if she wasn't feeling so embarrassed herself. She picks up the fallen towel and chucks it to her friend's head none-too-kindly as Rebecca continues her best impression of a strangled seal.

Rebecca sighs once she manages once she calms down a bit, wiping at her face and having sporadic bursts of giggle fits like a prepubescent schoolgirl."Cosmo is not who you should be looking to for blowjob advice. Nothing about 'how to lick his dick like a froyo' is actually gonna prepare you for when he tries to shove it down your throat with no warning."

Unfolding the undergarments from her drawers, Riza mutters, "Why are you in my room?"

Rebecca ignores her to wipe the edges of her eyes. Instead of making any apparent effort to leave her room, she instead leans back on her elbows and wolf-whistles loudly. "Damn girl. You lookin' fiiiine. Let me get yo' number," she manages in a deeper voice, before bursting into peals of laughter once more. Riza can't help a smile and sees her friend resting her head leisurely on her palm as she lounges on her bed. "You've been a little... preoccupied lately, not to mention well-rested. Now, I consider myself a very patient woman, but there's only so much time your best friend can take. So spill your tea. I can imagine it's still scalding."

Riza can hear the teasing in her friend's voice and she knows deep down that it doesn't come from a place of spite. What is she meant to say? While they stare at each other, a thousand excuses have run through her head, a thousand different explanations that bend the truth just so but in the end she knows that Rebecca well enough that a small lie will only work short-term. Part of her wishes she could just...tell her. Throw all caution to the wind and just speak openly about how fucking bizarre and terrifying and exciting this situation is. Either to share this wild experience with her or, if by some miracle, she'd knock some sense into her.

Whenever rhyme and reason elaborates on just how bad of a situation this is, Riza finds herself remembering the stretch and sighs, remembers the goosebumps from his lips on her neck, the way she felt when she was above him, and his dark eyes locked onto her own. It outweighs her common sense every time; wrecks her reasoning, then she calculates the number of weeks until the final grade is administered when it will too late to investigate; it won't matter after that. "Rebecca. Not now." Riza tries to make her voice sound firm, brook no argument, shrugging. "I have nothing to spill."

The fabric of her bedsheets shuffle from Rebecca scrambling to sit cross-legged. "I know you're fucking someone, Ri. I mean, your neck was a dead giveaway but you've been so spacey every time I see you. I need to know," she says, elongating the "know" into a whine.

"And I need you to get off my pyjamas." She tugs the articles of clothing she laid out on her bed earlier from under Rebecca.

"You keep changing the subject and that makes me very suspicious, Riza Hawkeye. Why is that? What is it, are you embarrassed? Don't you see how this is tormenting me?"

Silently, Riza turns away from Rebecca to dress.

"And I know it isn't that because your dad's visit isn't until next week so...spill. Or I'll find out anyway."

Incredulous, she looks over her shoulder. "Why is it that you know my schedule, Becca?"

"If you're telling me you don't know mine, I'm gonna start crying right here and now. But you're doing it again, trying to distract me like you know I can get. Change the subject one more time, I dare you. If you don't, you can come here," she beckons her to the bed, "And tell Mama 'Becca about your naughty, naughty sexcapades."

The bed dips under their combined weight and Riza huffs, rolling her shoulders to feel the satisfying grind of bones against one another after a lot of...activity. "I think you're putting too much hype onto this, you'll going to be sorely disappointed."

Rebecca mouths "three orgasms" while holding up three fingers and rolling her eyes to the back of her head.

Riza snorts. "Okay, okay." She leans back at Rebecca's behest and her head rests on her friend's lap. Before she begins, her fingers intertwining over her chest as she stares at the blank ceiling, a canvas for reminiscing the numerous times they pushed their bodies against each other."What do you want to know?"

A different barrage of questions ensue, "Who is he? What's he like? What's the sex like? What's wrong with him? Ho-"

"Rebecca," she interrupts sternly. "One at a time."

Rebecca sighs and says in a depressed tone, "Oh bother. Who is he?"

"A good fuck. A really good fuck."

"No, shit. If I barely saw you before, I see you even less now." Rebecca takes some of her hair and beginning to separate it. "And when you are here, you're in this daze. You'd think that dick was the cure for cancer or something." She stays quiet as Rebecca methodically combs through the small knots in her hair, before feeling her fingers over her scalp as she begins to form a french braid. Rebecca's fingers are gentle, sweeping up the baby hairs that have come loose around her forehead, smoothing them down. Riza smiles inwardly; it's soothing. "Give me deets and I'll give you advice on killer blowjobs."

Her heart beats quickly, slightly flushing and praying to the void that she can get through this without incriminating herself or anyone else. "He's a red-blooded male. I don't know what else is there to tell. Energetic?" Rebecca tugs on a portion of her hair with a little more force than necessary and Riza yelps, her head jerking backwards with the motion. It's clearly not the answer she wants.

"Listen, you're telling me you've been seeing this guy for weeks, weeks and that there's nothing to tell. Do you even know me at all?"

"All right," she concedes, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

A satisfied smile widens on Rebecca's face as she brings her back down by the ends of her hair, careful of preventing her work from being further undone. "That was...easy."

"As if you were giving me the choice," she grinds out.

"Nope!" Rebecca chirps, popping the 'p' with relish. Her flatmate pats her shoulder to reassure her, but it does nothing to alleviate the unease growing in Riza. "Now, are you two exclusive or...?"

"No," Riza quickly answers, but she bites her lower lip because the truth is she doesn't, and what she does know: "But I want to see him again. At least, I think so. I want to..." she begins, twisting her fingers. "I think he does too."

"Where'd you two meet up?"

"He's… the guy from the party," she lies casually and perhaps, too hastily. "From a few weeks back." Riza doesn't even know the one from the party, who he is, or even his name; but it would do the job - better than being overly cagey about the little details that would raise red flags.

"Oh! You two were going for it in the kitchen, yeah?"

Fuck. She was counting on Rebecca's intoxication to aid her. Riza knows better than to have loose ends. "No, not him. He was too far gone to do anything. It was the one after him."

She watches as her friend's eyes bug out. "After? How drunk was I? I don't remember another guy."

"Everyone was sloshed. We exchanged numbers and it was downhill from there." Rebecca's quiet as she finishes the braid with a tight knot to hold the plait. She's too quiet, like she's scouring her memory for any signs of her imaginary friend. "I don't remember a lot of that night," she hedges, hoping that it'll be enough to dissuade her. In reality, of course she does, she remembers that night all too well: slick fingers and the shame cresting over her in waves.

"Well, whatever. How did it start?"

Riza sighs. She recaps the main points while altering a few key details. Like the library was now random outdoor seating area before her class and how it was over for her there and remembering how he had pushed her against the wall, the way his hand had wrapped itself in her hair, pulling against her scalp pleasantly. The way he made her feel with just his fingers afterward and how she deliberated whether or not to show up at his place.

Rebecca drinks every detail up and Riza is intent on making this story as truthful as she can manage, even by allowing Rebecca come to her own incorrect conclusions. "The magic dick. Spill." She elongates the word, her tongue awkwardly flicking the last vowel. "I'm still not over three fucking orgasms like shit. The boys here are lucky if I fake one."

Riza sits up, feeling the tight braid under her fingers. "I mean, if you want to be technical we should count the ones from the night before too," she interrupts, trying and failing to keep the smirk off her face.

Rebecca's jaw goes slack. "You're fucking with me."

Riza smiles broadly, shaking her head. Was this...pride? Was she proud of experiencing this?

"I want a play-by-play recount," Rebecca insists. "Though I get why you'd be wanting to repay the favour, that's-"

"He's simply someone who knows what to do with me. Like he takes note of what gets me closer to an orgasm. As if he knows if I have a good time, he will too. Especially showing me things because he's definitely more experienced. More...mature, I would say," she confesses, finding herself getting lost in her memories and in the pulse beginning to beat in between her legs. Riza looks tentatively at Rebecca wondering if she gave away too much.

Rebecca grabs a pillow to hug, half-burying her face. "Give an example." Her eyes are bright and Riza can't help but be transported back to the sleepovers they'd have when the two of them were much younger: still gossiping about boys, still squealing over gossip overheard in the playground. Admittedly, it's more fun now, because they can compare notes and tell lurid stories but - this particular encounter feels different.

Perhaps because she's holding back. Riza swallows, and vows to at least be truthful about the details of their...sessions? Dates is too weird, and hookups feels too...cheap.

"Facesitting," Riza finally answers. Her face warms up as she says, "Different positions in different places I would have never considered. I'll give it to him, he's got an imagination and creativity. He's got a sizable dick, but even if he didn't I'd say he'd still know his way around.

"I'll start feeling like I'm about to come and it's like he doesn't hear me telling him and it always hits hard. The amount of times he's made me come like, two or three times in a row before he does is just...yeah." She bites her lip in memory of the most recent encounter - he had eaten her out on the island in his kitchen in between making them breakfast. Riza squeezes her thighs together involuntarily and tries to suppress a shiver.

The bacon had burned, but he hadn't seemed too concerned; then fucking her until the toast burned too.

"He never seems to be in a rush to get himself off, but with me it's like he's trying to set a world record for - how many times can we get her off, does that make sense?"

Rebecca glares at her. "Because that's such a burden, isn't it?"

Riza pokes her tongue out playfully.

"Oh my god, how could I forget about what he looks like-" Rebecca sits up suddenly. "Is he ripped? How tall?"

"Athletic. Defined. There's a decent six pack there but it's more like - he can just pick me up like I don't weigh anything. And he's...thick enough, I suppose. Whenever he first puts it into me properly is the best feeling because he's not quick about it and the stretch is just…" she trails off, grinning unabashedly. "Like the fucking itself is great, don't get me wrong, I'm trying to grab at just about anything I can get my hands on. His hair, his sheets, his back..."

Rebecca runs her fingers through her hair as if she's getting bothered. "A guy who knows how to fuck and likes to make a meal out of it? That's a rare combination. Can you share him? Please."

Riza smiles. "I know your type and he's not tall enough for you. Less than six feet tall."

Rebecca sighs dramatically. "At least. But now I know your mystery man isn't entirely perfect. There's still hope for the rest of us."

"Not all of us need a freakishly tall man, 'Becca-"

"How am I meant to wear heels if I end up taller than him that is unacceptable-"

The two of them burst out laughing and Riza leans back against the wall, drawing her legs up close to her chest. She does feel better, for having talked about it, however carefully, but the room falls silent again and the unease settles again.

Rebecca's jaw is slacked when Riza looks up. "Who is this guy? Does he go here?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, but I'm sure I would've heard about him by now. Probably just transferred here."

Riza snorts. "I won't deny it's not great, because it really is-"

"Okay. Okay. I'll try my hardest not to be jealous of you and this new boy-toy." Her friend groans and throws herself back onto the bed. "What's his name?"

She fails to consider this with care. "Boy...le."

"Boyle?" Rebecca raises a questioning brow; Riza would too. "Like boils on the face?"

"Mmhm." Riza jokes dryly. "He's got a ton of them on his face. It's one of my turn-ons."

"Gross, Ri."

She can see the suspicion sharpening her narrowing eyes. Out of the two of them, her poker face has always bested Rebecca's but she's never had to lie to her face to this capacity before. Quite frankly, there's a sinking feeling in her gut because of it.

Right as she begins to second guess her to decision to lie, a manic, lecherous grin spreads on Rebecca's face; it bares her teeth wide.

It unsettles Riza because she thinks she's got her with a "Got you! I've known all along, you liar" and this problem would lift - into an entirely different problem, mind you.

Instead, Rebecca looks like she's about to combust from excitement and it finally culminates with a squeal and a launch to grapple Riza's arm; she shimmies her head and shoulders against it. "Do you know how exciting this is? I'm usually on the other side of this!" She lets go and stares at her. "Okay, you spilled, and now I spill. A blowjob-"

Riza interrupts with hands in her face. "Tomorrow. I have to sleep now."

Rebecca glares. She probably had an outline prepared for her with the thesis on performing a blowjob, and tosses aside the pillow. "Fine. But promise me you won't take advice from that magazine. The advice in their columns are a running joke."

"I'll have your wisdom yet, Mama 'Becca."

"You nerd."

After her first round of classes, Riza returns home to pick up some materials to study for the upcoming midterms after spring break and lingers for a quick break for lunch. Her plate suddenly clatter from a large weight falling on the table and she nearly leaps from her seat from the fright. Rebecca is smiling, never tearing her gaze from her as she sits. Riza swallows uneasily. "Hi Rebecca."

"I've been thinking about what you've said and something doesn't add up. You forgot to tell me something big. Very big."

Riza puts down her sandwich, realizing it was only a matter of time, but she thought she'd have more of it. "Look," she starts, throat suddenly dry.

"Have you been missing work this entire time? Because believe me, sex is sex and great sex is hard to come by, but how does that fit in with your work-study schedule?"

Riza breathes and tries her hardest not to make it look like a sigh of relief. "I don't work at the library any more."

"What? What happened? Did you get fired? Do we need to talk to someone? You need this-!"

"Rebecca," she puts a hand over her frantic friend's forearm. "I got a new one. One that pays a little more and doesnt make me tired all the time from the overnights."

"You did?" She asks, almost whimpering it out but relieved.

"Yes, I-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She pushes her plate back, taking a sip of tea. "In between classes, settling into this new job, and...well, y'know-"

"Getting fucked to within an inch of your life," Rebecca helpfully supplies, grinning as Riza chokes on her drink. "Yeah, I can see how it would just get pushed back with everything else. Honestly though - is it a better job? I guess anything is better than what you were already doing at the library."

Riza nods, putting her mug down. "It's like an assistant job. Basically I have to do a ton of menial labour that the professors don't want to do themselves."

"Oh, like printing off papers and that sorta stuff?"

"Yeah. At least it relates to my degree a bit more - and being employed by the university will look great on my resume. The hours aren't as consistent but even then the pay is still way above what the library was offering. So there's that."

Rebecca smiles brightly, before her expression slips into something far more sinister. "Oh my god, does this mean you're working for Mr. Hot Pants?"

She goes very still. "Who?"

Her friend levels her with a look, the kind that tells her I know you're playing cute and it's certainly not working on me. "Your professor," she explains. "Am I gonna start hearing about some hot love triangle where you're fucking both of them on the side-"

"'Becca-"

"I mean, it was only a few weeks ago that you were saying that you had the hots for him-" Rebecca gasps suddenly. "It's not him, is it?" The accusatory tone is far too real and Riza ducks her head, cheeks flaming.

Riza says quietly, "Rebecca, please."

"You're right, you goody two-shoes. Do you think he has girlfriend? He looks the type who looks good but is boring in everything else."

Trying her best not to laugh at that ridiculously wrong theory, Riza mumbles in agreement. She doesn't want to talk about him directly. She's afraid she'll slip.

"But have you seen that new business professor? He's got a dumb name like Havoc or whatever. Who cares though - he's hot. Do you think if I enrolled in his class and did badly he'd give me tutoring lessons?" The innuendo rolls off her tongue like quicksilver and Riza can't stop the girlish giggle that escapes her.

"I'm sure if you asked nicely he would consider it. But don't all those teacher-student fantasies rely on the student being bad?"

Rebecca waggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Are you, Riza Hawkeye,telling me to break the rules?"

She looks are her smiling friend; if it were three months earlier, Riza would have quickly advised her friend to not get involved with the faculty, but now she has no room to speak. Circling the whorls on the wooden dining table with her finger, Riza opts to change the subject instead.

"Your family is going to Creta for the spring break, right? I'm sure you'll find a tall young boy there to thoroughly shag."

Rebecca swoons dramatically in her chair, resting the back of her hand on her forehead artfully. "A girl can dream."

In the middle of that same week, it dawns on Riza that she never actually got around to asking him for his academic advice on the final essay set for the class. While the due date for that particular proposal still isn't due until after spring break, she's always been insistent on keeping on top of her assignments. But hours have passed and the academic jargon she's been trying to decipher for the last few hours are bleeding together at this point. Any chance of further study is unlikely now.

The chewed highlighter cap taps rapidly against her surface of her desk as she weighs her options. She could always email him, wait for a response, but she doesn't want to do that. It feels weird and unnecessary to suddenly revert back to this clinical relationship when she knows that he is not as cut-and-dry as his course would lead her to believe. It's difficult what with their boundaries blurred, or eradicated altogether.

She checks her watch; the walk isn't too bad and she figures she has got enough time to duck past his office before the closing hours. Quicker then sending out an email and waiting for a response, Riza rationalizes. Plus, she hadn't received any message about whether he'd be needing her in the library or whether she would be free to get a proper night's sleep before the weekend.

There's a certain anxiety she recognizes in her walk. Her breaths are short, and she was chewing and tapping a highlighter. Riza doesn't want to say it's from the talk with Rebecca because it's not. No, but it was something Rebecca said. Her phone's calendar prove her right: her father's visit is looming and she's been more apprehensive about it lately.

She's so lost in her own thoughts she doesn't even think about what a closed door for his office means, and opens it on autopilot. Halfway through asking a question, she realises he is not alone.

There's a heavy silence suddenly, and her eyes darting between his pointed stare from his seat and the other woman's surprised expression standing in front of his desk. "I'm sorry, sir," she stammers."I didn't-"

"Knocking is generally the polite thing to do when a door is closed," he answers smoothly, politely, but she knows a subtly annoyed tone when she hears it. "Please wait outside Miss Hawkeye. I'll be with you shortly."

She looks at his well-dressed guest again, momentarily dumbstruck. "My apologies," she says, backtracking out of the office, and nearly slams the door shut in her haste to leave. Her face is hot and she groans, running a hand roughly through her hair. Of all the days for there to actually be someone in his office… She's gotten comfortable. Too comfortable.

Riza spies a seat up a small stairwell on the opposite side of the corridor. It's tucked away enough that she's unlikely to be seen unless you know where to look. She doesn't want to face the other woman if she can help it. It was bad enough making a fool of herself in front of Roy; but at least she knew he wouldn't judge her. She isn't sure about the woman - her clothing indicated wealth, status - maybe a benefactor of the university? Senior faculty?

She counts nearly six minutes before his door opens once more and from her vantage point she can see the other woman subtly trying to look for her. She exchanges a few more words with Roy - too low for her to hear well, but whatever they're talking about, but it's enough to make him smile. Whatever it was, she hasn't seen him animated like that outside - well, certainly never here, in a professional context.

She must be a friend, Riza concludes. He wouldn't be that friendly with a colleague. Not that it mattered to her, what he did in his spare time wasn't her concern.

He watches the woman leave, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Another minute passes before he speaks.

"You can come out now. She's gone."

Feeling somewhat chastised, Riza quietly steps out the stairwell, hesitating on the final steps. She matches his height, and she watches as his eyes retrace her path.

"Were you eavesdropping on us?" It's not quite an accusatory tone; she can almost detect a hint of pride, strangely enough.

"No," she says stubbornly.

Roy gives her a look that suggests he doesn't believe her, before waving her back into his office.

"I'll admit that I'm curious as to what would make you just barge through my door without warning," he begins, closing the door and leaning against the wood. He regards her with a fond expression.

She breathes in, smells his cologne, and reminds herself that she came here with purpose.

He pushes himself off the door before walking closer to her, a dirty smirk beginning to grow. "Could it be you've gotten too familiar with your post?"

He's almost reached her when her brain finally kicks into gear. She realises how this must look and she stumbles back, throwing an arm out as if to ward him off, nearly smacking the paper in his face. "No, I'd like you to take a look at this essay topic." It sounds like a lame excuse coming out of her mouth, for the sake of propriety, but she is determined to try and salvage the vestiges of the decorum they had left.

He visibly deflates before grabs the paper from her hands and places his old man glasses on his face before gesturing her to one of the chairs. "That's certainly less exciting."

Riza settles comfortably, glancing away as she dryly says, "Surely, you have others to entertain you."

"Not exactly."

She glances back and Roy is holding his chin in his hand, looking at her in that same glazed expression. After a moment, he shifts his focus to her work. "Oh, before I forget - you have this upcoming Friday off," he tells her suddenly.

"I do?" She doesn't mean to sound so surprised.

He nods, looking through the stapled paper. "Yes, the university is hosting a faculty dinner before the holiday."

"Oh." She is confused to find herself feeling rather disappointed. "Whatever will I do with my time now?"

He snorts and smiles at her, his glasses framing his dark eyes. "Surely, you have others to entertain you."

Riza laughs, and tries to quash the small feeling of discontent gnawing away in her gut.