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system-to-the-madness · 1 year ago

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Blessed (2/2) - Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader

SPOILERs for up to ch. 235 - canon complient until then Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader Genre: angst (Part 1), fluff (Part 2), hurt/comfort Word Count: 7 946 Warnings: death, injury, stitches, blood, pain Summary: Megumi woke up after having been saved by you, but will you recover, too?

Part One

The air smelled of wood and tatami. Megumi groaned slightly as he tried to stretch, feeling the soft blanket and the warm futon engulf him. His limbs felt stiff, like they had done when he had been bedridden for weeks with the flue when he had been thirteen. He grabbed his hands and intertwined the fingers, stretching them above his head, before eventually blinking his eyes open. The room he was in was lit up only by the orange light of a small lamp at the headend of his futon. Beyond the traditional room separations made of washi and wood the darkness of night lingered quietly. The tatami floor filled him with the comforting sense of familiarity. He was back at Jujutsu High, strangely enough the one place he had always felt safe at. Maybe because you had always been there.

A sudden noise at his feet drew his attention to it, and sitting up a little he was met with a sight that let his heart almost stop in his chest. Curled up at the end of his bed, hair dishevelled and one hand resting on Megumi’s ankle as if to make sure he wouldn’t get up unnoticed, lay Gojō.

His snow-white hair seemed to glimmer in the low light of the room. His eyes were closed, white lashes resting on his cheeks, even breaths moving his torso in a slow and steady rhythm. Megumi wondered when Gojō had lost so much weight. His cheeks seemed fallen in, exhaustion was written into his features, even while asleep.

The last time Megumi had seen his teacher and guardian had been before Halloween, before Gojō had been sealed away. And now it was… what day was it? How much time had passed since…

Megumi stopped, memories suddenly flooding back to him. Sukuna taking over his body and killing Tsumiki, the fight in Shinjuku on Christmas Eve against Gojō. And then? What had happened since then? How much time had passed since Christmas? Why was Gojō here, but you weren’t? Had something happened to you? Where were Yūji, Inumaki, Panda and Maki? Had something happened to them?

Slowly, not sure how strong his body was, he propped himself up on his elbow. Gojō looked peaceful, sleeping like this, and Megumi realised that in all the years he had been under the powerful sorcerer’s protection, he had never seen him sleep. Considering how exhausted he looked, Megumi was reluctant to wake him, but he needed answers. Badly. Especially concerning the question of where you were.

But before Megumi could reach out to shake Gojō awake, he stirred, blinking his eyes open. Over the years Megumi had gotten used to the stunning blue of Gojō’s eyes, but now, after all that had happened, after he had thought he had lost the only father figure he had ever had, he felt like all breath was knocked out of him, looking at Gojō with his dishevelled, white hair and those huge blue eyes.

Gojō seemed to take a moment to realise what he saw, as he slowly lifted his head, disbelieve written into his features.

“Megumi-“

No sound left Gojō’s lips, that formed the name of his protégé, and Megumi felt himself shrink under his teacher’s intense gaze, before the white haired man lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his student.

Megumi gasped in surprise as Gojō squeezed him in a hug, hesitantly returning it. Gojō was not the kind of man to hand out hugs just like that. Over the years, Megumi could probably count the times Gojō had hugged him, really hugged him, on one hand.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Gojō breathed, pulling Megumi tighter against himself. “I thought I had lost you.”

Megumi nodded, trying to swallow down all the questions that were burning on his tongue and instead focus on what Gojō had said.

“You got locked away-,” he recalled. “I thought you’d be imprisoned forever.”

A beat of silence passed and all it took was an inhale by Gojō for Megumi to know the emotional reunion was over.

“Aww, did you miss me,” Gojō asked teasingly, pulling away, and causing Megumi to roll his eyes at him.

But then he stopped, looked at his teacher for a moment before he nodded.

“I did,” he admitted, knocking the wind out of Gojō’s sails, whose eyes widened in surprise at the honesty.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, pulling away far enough to sit up normally again.

“How are you feeling,” he asked instead of continuing his intended teasing, his eyes now scanning Megumi carefully.

“Pretty okay, I think,” Megumi answered, “A little stiff, maybe... wait- what happened to Sukuna?”

Gojō took a deep breath, making Megumi fear the worst for a moment. What was the worst? That Sukuna had possessed Yūji again? No, it would be worse if he were to possess you.

“Sukuna’s dead,” Gojō answered, and Megumi was glad that this time his usually annoying and always teasing teacher hadn’t made a big deal out of revealing the answer. “Yūji killed him through (y/n)’s technique.”

Megumi nodded, even though he was not sure what exactly Gojō had tried to say beyond that Sukuna was a problem of the past.

“So, he’s gone?”

“Dead, gone, never gonna possess or kill anybody again,” Gojō confirmed, a soft and relieved smile on his lips.

Megumi could feel the weight off the world fall off his shoulders, and he dropped back into his pillow, looking up at the wood panelled ceiling. Another question rose to his mind, and just as quickly the weight on his chest had disappeared, it increased again. What had happened to you? He was not sure he’d be able to ever get up from this futon if the answer was anything other than that you were fine.

“(Y/n)-“

The silence that followed his single word question made his heart plummet to unknown depths, and he screwed his eyes shut, but the tears welled up regardless. Why had he gone through all of this, all of it, if he could not even protect those he loved? Not only had this war demanded Nobara’s life, but he would have to spend the rest of his days living with the knowledge that his own hands, guided by an ancient evil, had killed his sister. And now the girl he loved, the girl he had thought was the one, the girl he had scolded himself over because you were basically still kids, how could he know you were the one, the girl he had secretly imagined he would marry one day… now you were gone, too?

Had it been summer, the silence would not have been as loud. Cicadas would have sung, and frogs would have quacked in the ponds outside. But in winter the school ground were quiet.

Gojō’s voice broke interrupted the quiet.

“She’s- well, her hear is beating, but she’s unconscious.”

Megumi’s eyes flew open again.

“What happened. Didn’t you say she helped Yūji kill Sukuna?”

Gojō deflated, shuffled his long legs around to sit more comfortably before he continued.

“We don’t know what exactly happened. One moment she allowed Yūji to reach through her to finish of Sukuna, the next she collapsed. Yūji and I are both certain we felt a… a wave of power at the moment of Sukuna’s death, so our best guess is that something happened on a level of their souls the moment Sukuna perished. He released so much energy that it would have torn all of us apart and she used her soul to protect us, you, me and Yuuij. Her soul couldn’t process all of it at once, but she tried absorbing it anyway…”

Gojō’s voice died down at the expression on Megumi’s face. Megumi looked exactly how Gojō imagined he had to feel. Grief, pain, self-reproach, hatred towards Sukuna, despair- all was written in his eyes, as he exhaled and let his head rest heavily into his pillow. Gojō almost expected him to send him away, to demand privacy, but the request did not come.

“Where is she now,” Megumi asked, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut the world with its cruelty out of his mind.

“She was in the hospital wing, but Shoko suggested she should better be in her own room. There isn’t really much she can do at the moment; anyone can do at the moment. If her soul wasn’t destroyed completely, she might recover in time, but there’s no way of knowing if it will work. A normal sorcerer would have died immediately, the only reason she’s still alive is her cursed technique. If she can manage to patch her soul back up-“

“Please-” Megumi’s voice was strained as he interrupted his teacher. “Please stop talking.”

Gojō immediately shut his mouth, his eyes flickering over the boy’s features.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Megumi hesitated for a moment, before he shook his head, keeping his eyes still closed. “No,” he answered truthfully. “I’m scared of where my mind will go when I’m alone.”

“Do you want me to talk to you?”

This time Megumi nodded. “Just not about her,” he asked, and Gojō complied happily.

He told Megumi about how he had been released from the prison realm, about the fight between him and Sukuna. He tried to make it sound funny, but he felt the pain radiate of Megumi, so he went on about his friends. Gojō told Megumi about Yūji, who had spent the whole first day glued to Megumi’s bedside, until Shoko had sent him to bed. It had only been less than 36 hours since the battle had ended. And Gojō told him about Inumaki and Panda, who had kept wake with Gojō since then. He told him about Maki, who had tried reading to them all, and then he told him about anything and everything that came to his mind, about all the things Gojō was looking forward to doing and eating again, now, that the threat of Sukuna was over. And he kept talking long after Megumi had fallen asleep again.

When Megumi woke for a second time, Gojō had resumed his position at Megumi’s foot end, curled into a tight ball, but this time with his back to Megumi. There was no clock around, but Megumi had the distinct feeling, dawn was closing in. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, and he was overcome with the sudden urge, like every time he had a nightmare, to seek the comfort of your presence.

How many times had he gotten up at night and walked over to your room just to stand in front of your closed door for half an hour, not having the courage to knock? How fast had his heart beaten when you had eventually caught him one time, and made him swear he would knock in the future? How many times since then had he rapped his knuckles against the thin wood of your dorm door, only to be called in by your sleepy voice and how many times had you beckoned him into bed beside you where he had spent the rest of the night sleeping peacefully?

Throwing another glance at Gojō, Megumi carefully peeled back his blanket, and rolled off the futon. He was dressed in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and an oversized, dark blue sweatshirt. With naked feet, he tapped over to the door, taking a last look at his fast asleep mentor and slipped out of the sliding door. The air in the corridor was cool and smelled of snow. Even though it had been months since he had last walked around the school and there was no light source to guide him, he easily found his way towards your room in the dark building. Halting in his steps, he found himself once again in front of your door, hesitating to knock or even enter. How many hours had he stood like this, shifting his weight from the left to the right and back? Bouncing on his heels, walking a few steps back towards his room, only to turn around and stare at your door again? But this time you would not randomly return from a midnight-snack trip to the kitchen and scold him for hesitating in asking for help. No, you were unconscious, laying in your bed on the other side of the door that separated him from you, and there was no one who knew if you would ever wake up again.

Even though he knew there would be no answer, he lifted his hand to the thin, wooden door and knocked. Silence followed, silence he had expected and still hoped would be interrupted by your voice. He pressed down the handle nonetheless, letting himself into your room, and closed the door behind his back.

Your room was warmer than the corridor, but smelled fresh, as if someone had aired it out just a few minutes ago. Through the glass of the window beside your bed, he could see that outside the sky began growing slightly brighter. White dust – no, snow – covered the small garden in front of your window and the yard beyond. It seemed to have snowed a little since the battle in Shinjuku, and Megumi desperately tried not to think about how today a year ago, on the 26th, you had dragged him around Tokyo to go looking at all the Christmas decorations together. Back then, too, snowflakes had fallen from stormy dark clouds, and had caught in your hat and scarf, had splayed over the dark fabric of your coat like stars in the night sky as you had tucked on Megumi’s sleeve to get him to follow you to the next attraction. You had known each other for just two weeks back then, but Megumi’s mind still had played with the idea what it would be like if this trip had been a date, had even toyed with the idea of asking if this was a date. Now, when his eyes flickered over to the sleeping form in your bed, his heart reacted so differently than it had last year to the touch of your gloved hand on his. Instead of excitedly skipping a beat, it felt like it sunk into the ground.

Your hair was spread over the pillow, the blanket neatly pulled up to the middle of your chest, with your hands resting on it at your sides. You were wearing a long-armed sweatshirt, one that Megumi had gifted to you for Christmas last year. On the first glance it looked like a plain sweatshirt, but on the lower hem and on the arms, small, stitched-on flowers ranked around the seams, reaching a few centimetres up into the fabric. Megumi had seen the sweatshirt on a trip to Shibuya the day before Christmas Eve, and it had made him think of you, so he had bought it spontaneously, even though he had not planned on getting anything for you. You had smiled so brightly and admired the details when you had unwrapped it, that Megumi completely forgot how embarrassed he had been about it at first. The embarrassment returned tenfold though, when you ended up wearing the sweatshirt to the movie nights with all the other students, telling them how Megumi had gifted it to you. And now someone had dressed you in it, as you lay in bed lifelessly, the only sign that you were not dead being the shallow movement of your chest with each breath you took.

Carefully Megumi stepped further into the room. Usually when he had come to your room at such late hour, you had sleepily waved him over to join you in bed. You had always attempted to pull your blanket over him as well, but he had refused. It seemed inappropriate to join you under your blanket when he could not even confess his feelings for you, and he was certain, feeling you sleeping this close beside him would drive him mad. The temptation of wrapping you in his arms, tangling his long legs with your shorter ones, burring his nose against your hair, and inhaling your familiar and calming scent would have been too big. So instead he had always preferred the protective barrier of the blanket between your bodies. Now he wished for nothing more than you to attempt to tuck him in next to you, to feel your arms wrap around him securely and hold yourself close to him.

Feeling like it was not appropriate to join you in bed as he had done so many nights before, he instead grabbed the chair from your desk, and pulled it over next to your bed, sitting down in the dark. He didn’t dare turning on the lights, the little bit of morning grey that fell through the window illuminating enough of your features for him to know that the state you were in was worse than he had seen in his dream. Your cheeks were hollowed out from when you had poured all your energy into healing Megumi through Sukuna. There were cuts and not yet healed bruises all over your face and doubtlessly other parts of your body too. Megumi wondered where those had originated, but the thought that they were a result of Sukuna’s death were not too farfetched. Your skin had a grey hue to it, sickly and dead, and your hair was matt and void of any of the vibrancy Megumi knew. It looked like at one point it had been drenched in sweat but had dried since, single strands of hair sticking together.

Megumi’s eyes wandered to your hand laying on the blanket next to you. Small cuts and lacerations littered your beautiful skin, and even though it had only been less than two days, they already seemed to have started healing. He wondered if you’d be in pain if he were to take your hand in his. If so, would the pain be enough to wake you up? Was it even a good idea to wake you up? Wasn’t it better to wait until you woke up by yourself, when your soul was completely restored, assuming Gojō’s theory was correct? Megumi bit down on his own teeth, and quickly pushed his hands underneath his thighs, sitting on them to resist the urge to take your hand in his.

Beyond the window, in the grey light of the slowly approaching morning, sparrows tweeted in the yard, already up and making a fuzz as they always did. Megumi tore his attention away from your unconscious form, and directed it into the fading night beyond the glass instead. In front of your window was a small garden, conifers cut into bizarre shapes, ferns and different kinds of moss covering the rocks that lined a tiny brook that lead past the students’ dorms into a bigger garden behind the house. Beyond the small strip of carefully curated nature, a plastered yard opened up. Many afternoons he had spent training with you or Maki there.

A smile threatened to tuck at his lips at the memory of both of you facing off, afternoon sun beating down on you, sweat running down the side of his face and catching in the collar of his uniform. Even though you were smaller than him, you were almost equally matched. Unlike in his sparing sessions with Yūji, where Megumi almost always won, the chance to come out on top in a match with you were pretty much 50/50.

Well, not entirely. There was a third option, in which both of you were really equally matched, going on for sometimes hours without neither of you resigning or getting defeated. Those were his favourite sparing sessions with you. When in the end you both would all but collapse on the cobble stones, breathing heavily, and staring at each other for a moment before breaking out in tired laughter and laying on your backs on the hard ground, staring up at the sky with its clouds changing colour from white to yellow and orange to deep red and pink, before they turned blue in the sunset.

Oh, how much Megumi would give to get these times back. Sure, it had not always been easy, it had not always been fun. But you had been there with him, safe and uninjured, and Megumi had bathed in the illusion of having at least a little bit control over his life: when to study, when to eat and sleep, when to train. When to seek you out to hear your beautiful laughter.

Megumi turned back to you. Somehow you looked cold, he thought. As if the air in the room was too cool, giving you a chill.

Quickly he got up and fetched the woolly blanket from your wardrobe, which you had bought so Megumi could have a blanket too, when he was staying over in your room more than twice a week most times, since he always had refused to join you under yours. Working as quietly as possible, Megumi unfolded the blanket and threw it over your sleeping form before he settled down on the chair next to you again.

You still looked cold, but at least now your arms were covered as well, and there was an additional layer keeping you warmer. Megumi looked over your body, noticing that there was still the tip of your pinkie finger poking out from underneath the blanket. The same thoughts as before shot through his mind. Would you be in pain if he took your hand? Would you wake up? But this time he did not have the strength to deny himself the feeling of your hand in his, and very slowly, very carefully, he pulled the blanket away from your hand, pushing his own underneath your fingers. They were cold, as they rested in his palm, and quickly he brought his other hand down over it, covering it in hopes of offering a little warmth.

His fingers ghosted over the healing cuts and bruises on the delicate skin of the back of your hand. He wished he could do something to make them heal faster, something to warm your fingers up quicker, something to help you heal and wake up with the memories of what had happened no stronger than the memories of a distant nightmare.

He exhaled shakily. How long could he stay here with you? His heart screamed As long as it takes her to wake up!, but his head was more rational than that. He’d need to eat soon. Or use the bathroom. He needed to wash up and dress into something fresh, something he had not slept in. And if you stayed unconscious for longer, he’d need to get back to training, to studying. Sure, Sukuna was defeated, but there were still curses out there that needed to be dealt with.

Then there was the matter of the Zenin clan, the Zenin clan, which’s head he now was. By the gods, he really didn’t want that position, but he held it now, and even with how Maki had decimated the ranks, and the decision of the other clans to cast the Zenin clan out of the Big Three, there was still a lot of responsibility to bear, a lot of politics to learn. At least he did not have to worry so much about the Gojō clan, with Gojō Satoru, his guardian, being the head of it. But then again, he already dreaded the meetings. There was no way Gojō would behave maturely during those, was there?

What came after? After studying and training and fighting curses and handling clan politics? His fingers tightened around yours, not squeezing, but just enough for him to feel your hand rest heavily in his. After all that, he’d come back here, hold your hand, pray for you to wake up. He didn’t really believe in the gods, but he’d also daily go to a shrine, and make an offering to them, asking them to bring you back to him.

Megumi slumped deeper into the chain. He felt sleep already tuck at his eyelids again, his thoughts growing fuzzy, dizziness taking over his vision, even when he tried to fight it. It made sense, he guessed, that he was still easily exhausted after everything that had happened. And he had a feeling Sukuna had not really cared to take good care of Megumi’s body while he had possessed him, so that he was weakened from months of physical neglect. Still he tried to refuse his body the need for rest, and instead turned to watch your face once more. The sky outside had brightened enough to give him a clearer image of what state you were in, and Megumi’s heart tucked painfully as he was able to make out the cuts across your face more clearly now. A deeper one, that had been stitched up, ran from the corner of your mouth to the side of your nose, another one right underneath your left eye and countless shallow ones were littered all over you face.

Megumi blinked slowly, exhaling shakily. He wished he could help you somehow, could do more than stare at you and hold your cold hand. He wove the fingers of his left hand through your right, continuing to brush over the tiny cuts on the back of your hand with the other one.

Was it just a figment of his imagination, wishful thinking, or had your hand become a bit warmer between his, your skin regained a little bit of its colour? No, he told himself, he was just exhausted, beginning to confuse reality with what he wanted to see. Looking back at your face, he inhaled with a shudder before he closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. He was of little help as it was, but completely exhausted he’d be even less useful. If you stayed asleep for a longer time, he wanted to be in shape and back in the game before you woke up. Maybe even have figured out all the clan business by then. And if you woke sooner, which he hoped for, he at least wouldn’t look quite as battered as he felt at the moment if he napped a little now.

His mind began drifting off eventually, the dizziness of exhaustion pulling him under, back into memories of spring afternoons sparing with you under the fall of Sakura petals. He wished he could summon those memories at will anytime he wanted, the feeling of the soft spring breeze on his skin, the touch of petals brushing over his face, the sound of your breathless laughter, the strain in his muscles and the shock in his bones whenever your staff hit his with unbroken ferocity. He was on the strange border between waking and sleeping, just wondering if he could manipulate the memory enough to stir his time with you away from the sparing exercise and instead convince dream-you to take a break sitting on the stairs, when suddenly there was something moving against his hand.

Half asleep, Megumi tried shooing the sensation away, wanting to stay in the beautiful memory of this afternoon in spring he had spent with you, but the motion in his hand returned and he jolted out of the dream.

The third time around, Megumi was certain that he was not just imagining it: Your fingers were weakly flexing against his, and before he had time to sit up or even direct his attention to your face, your raspy voice broke the silence that otherwise was only interrupted by the chirping of the birds outside in the snow.

“Megumi?”

It felt like Megumi’s whole world began collapsing in on itself, his heart first stopping and then beating with twice the speed at the sound of your familiar voice whispering his name.

“Megumi, is that you?”

Along with your question you tucked at his hand, and he finally looked up at your face.

Your eyes were still heavy, but open and fixed on him, flitting over his features as if you were searching for any indication that the boy in front of you was someone else, someone who just looked like him.

Megumi wanted to answer, but his throat closed up painfully. So he just nodded, grabbed your hand tighter into his, and nodded. At the gesture a smile began tucking at your lips, a sad smile that he desperately wanted to turn into a happy one, and panic began gripping his heart, when he suddenly noticed tears springing into your eyes. Quickly he shifted from the chair to sit beside you on the mattress of your bed, the softness of it familiar under him, your body pressing heavily against him through the blankets.

“It’s really you,” you answered your own question, a tear running down you’re the side of your face and into your hairline. Megumi wanted to brush it away, but he still held your hand with both of his and refused to let go. Instead, he just held your hand tighter, bringing it up to his chest. He was not sure if it was a gesture to comfort you by letting you feel his heartbeat, or a gesture to comfort himself.

Leaning a little closer to you he finally managed to press out a few words, his voice raspy and thick with unshed tears of relief. “’s me.”

You moved, pulling your other hand from underneath the blanket, and reached up towards Megumi’s face. Leaning in further, he met it halfway, letting you brush your fingers over his face. Cold fingertips traced the skin along his chin, over his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. It was only when your featherlight touch ran along the thin skin under his eyes that Megumi understood that you were tracing the parts of his skin where Sukuna’s marks had once been. A shiver went through him at the thought, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how much his body had been violated by the ancient sorcerer.

“He’s gone,” Megumi whispered into the narrow space between you, scared that if he spoke any louder, you might draw your hand away. He wanted to avoid that desperately. After all, your fingers left a sweet, tingling sensation in their wake.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you replied, drawing back from the subtle touch, and instead cupping the side of Megumi’s face. Instinctively he nuzzled into your palm, not minding that your cold fingers set the little hairs on his neck standing up.

“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up,” Megumi voiced his own confession.

Now that he was so close to you, close enough to smell the faint fragrance of the laundry detergent you used, and the dullness of the scent that only engulfed you when you were sleepy, he could no longer hold the thoughts at bay that had scratched at the surface to his consciousness since his conversation with Gojō. He had leant in close enough to feel your warm breath ghost over his cheek, and all of a sudden he was not sure why he had ever been scared of being anything but honest with you. Honest about his feelings for you, honest about how scared he was at the prospect of you getting hurt, or even worse, dying.

“Gojō said, you took the blow of Sukuna’s soul, when he died,” Megumi pressed out, his voice hoarse and scratching in his throat. “That you shielded our souls with yours. To protect us…”

You nodded at his words, your eyes carefully watching the emotions on Megumi’s face, as he furrowed his brows slightly.

“You could have died,” he accused. “Your soul could have gotten blown to bits and you could have died-“ Megumi was not sure if he was sad, angry or despaired at the thought. “Why did you do that, put yourself on the line like that?”

“What would have been the alternative, hm? Let Sukuna blow all of us up? Sure, my chances certainly would have been better if I hadn’t tried to absorb the blast, but then you’d be dead now. Yūji and Gojō-sensei too.”

Your breathing had gotten heavy over the few sentences you had spoken, as if it took great physical effort to talk. Worriedly Megumi shook his head at you.

“But did you think for one moment about how I’d feel if something had happened to you?”

You laughed, but it was one of the humourless laughs you paid Megumi whenever he had missed the point in something you had told him.

“Did you think for one moment how I felt? Watching you being possessed by Sukuna?” You took a deep breath, trying to counteract the strain the conversation put on you, and had Megumi not been as desperate to hear your voice as he was, he would have asked you to continue the conversation another time. “How I felt watching him use your body to fight against the strongest sorcerer of our time, letting Gojō blow you to bits?”

Your fingers tightened around his left hand, the faint memory of searing pain tucking in his mind somewhere.

“And just for the record, I did think about how you might feel. And I came to the conclusion that I’d be lucky if you’d feel anything close to the despair I felt, watching you go through all that.”

Megumi stared at you, your argument only half registering in his mind, as his eyes stayed fixed on your chapped lips moving around the words you spoke.

“You’re an idiot Fushiguro Megumi,” you continued, slightly out of breath, and pulling your hand away from his face to softly flick his forehead, “if you think I’d risk your life if I might as well safe it.”

The flick against his forehead pulled Megumi back into the moment, your cold fingers smoothing over the spot where your nail had gently snapped against his skin, and then cupping his face again.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Megumi mumbled, his eyes wandering to your lips before he hung his head.

He was tired, physically and emotionally. It felt like his body had been drained of all its energy over the past months, and now even the shortest conversations tired him out immediately. And he was sick of fearing getting rejected by you. He finally wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted you to know that in him you would always have someone who would look out for you, even if you turned him down. But was now really the right moment to spring this on you? Hardly.

“Me neither, Megumi,” you replied, “me neither.”

He felt you gently tuck at his chin, making him look up at you again. You were carefully observing his face, the way your eyes skipped to his lips again and again not escaping his notice, while he watched their flickering in a mixture of hope and anticipation as well as amusement. He wasn’t sure for how long you sat and simply observed each other, but when the first beams of winter sunlight began blinding him, he finally gave into the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since you had reached up to cup his face.

“May I kiss you?”

The question was but a breath in the little space between your faces, and he could feel your breath hitch once you had processed the meaning of his words.

For a terrible second Megumi thought you would deny him, would turn him down with the way your eyes widened and stared at him in surprise. But then they softened, and you nodded.

“Please,” you whispered back, your breath fanning over his skin like a gentle caress.

Megumi watched your face for a moment longer, wanting to see if you really meant your answer or if you had just agreed in order to please him. But the expectant nervousness, the anticipation and slight giddiness written into your features was proof enough for Megumi to slowly lean down to where you were still resting on the pillow. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips were but a hair width away from yours, hesitating to close the last bit of distance. His heart was doing summersaults in his chest, your hand he was still holding clutched to his chest, the only lifeline he had to hold onto to stay in control of the spinning in his head. For a second he waited, let the tension between your lips and his sizzle and burn him, felt the heat your skin radiated, the shaky up and down of your chest as you patiently anticipated him kissing you.

And when it all got too much, when his senses got so overwhelmed with your presence, when his ears were ringing with his own heartbeat, he eventually gave in, closing the last bit of distance and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

Neither you nor Megumi had much, if any, experience with kissing, which an outsider would have been painfully aware to, watching the way Megumi was leaning over you, almost like frozen as his brain tried to process the sensation of your soft, sweet lips against his. But when he lifted one of his hands away from yours, and cupped your face instead, pushing his fingertips past your hairline, pulling you closer to him, the tension seemed to fall away, and he melted into the touch. Carefully he moved his lips against yours, his heart stuttering at the way your hand at his chest closed more tightly around his fingers, while the other moved from the side of his face to his neck, beckoning him closer and closer. His senses narrowed in on you, his world consisting of nothing but the sound of your hitching breath, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Megumi had often imagined what it might be like to kiss you, but never in his life had he imagined that your kisses might be so sweet, so soft and warm and gentle. The way our lips moved against his was heaven, and Megumi found himself wishing he could stay in that moment forever. Thin morning sunlight brushed over the two of you, warming his skin beyond the blush that hard started to burn on his cheeks, and his heart felt like it was beating in rhythm with yours as a soft gasp slipped over your lips when he ran his tongue experimentally against it.

That little sound was what made Megumi decide that he had to pull away from the kiss, lest his heart might give out, and with a shaky exhale he turned his head just enough to break away. Only then he noticed how out of breath he was, how shaky his hand on the side of your face had become. He rested his forehead against yours, playfully brushing his nose against yours, eliciting a small giggle, that made his heart swell.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, not caring anymore about whether it was a good or a bad time to talk about matters this serious. From where he was standing – or rather sitting – the two of you had barely escaped death, had won a battle against the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of all time, and now had kissed in a morning-sun flooded room while outside snow crystals glimmered in the light. When would he ever have the courage to tell the truth if not now? “I know it sounds stupid, like a cliché or something, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we first me. It feels like that day in Shinjuku, when Gojō sent me to pick you up… I knew who I was looking for, as if my heart knew something my head didn’t.”

He expected you to say something, but instead you stayed quiet, only breathing heavily from the kiss you had just shared, and Megumi almost wondered if you had fallen asleep again, when you suddenly tucked on his sweatshirt.

It took him a moment to understand that you were wordlessly asking him to lay down with you, so he hastily swung his legs onto the mattress, and when you tried pulling the blankets over him this time, he did not protest, but settled under the soft and warm fabric like he had secretly wanted to do since the first time you had invited him to stay the night. Next to him you shifted, and before Megumi knew what you were doing, you had rested your head on his shoulder, just where his arm connected to his torso. Your ear was pressed to his body, as if you were listening to his heartbeat and you brought your arm over his chest in a comfortable hug.

Ignoring the way his heartrate was spiking, Megumi wrapped the arm you were resting in, around your back, pulling you closer to him, settling you more securely against his chest, and linked his ankle with yours. In response you shifted again, shifted more of your weight unto Megumi until you were both laying comfortably in each other’s arms. It felt like a puzzle made of two pieces with very difficult patterns had clicked into place, and it took everything in Megumi not to start crying at how happy it made him to have you rest by his side like this. Even though you had not answered to his confession.

As if you had read his mind, you suddenly spoke up.

“It wasn’t your heart,” you whispered against his shirt, tilting your head up a little to be able to look at him. “It wasn’t your heart that knew something your head didn’t. It was your soul. That’s how I found you that day. There was this call… not for the new student at Jujutsu High, but the call for me. As if your soul had been looking for me. And when I saw you, it felt like something had fallen into place and I knew that our lives had been meant to be intertwined even long before we first met.”

Megumi blinked into the by now sun flooded room.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know if something like soulmates exist, but if they do, you’re mine.” Megumi felt your lashes against his jaw as you leant up to press a kiss to his chin, and then the side of his neck, sending a warm shiver down his spine. You settled back against his chest, before you asked: “Is that stupid?”

Megumi shook his head. “No,” he answered, “No, it’s not.”

He remembered how he had just followed an instinct that day, trying to find you, how he had been magnetically pulled towards you. He was certain soulmates were nothing but a fairytale made up by media trying to sell love to young girls, but the idea that there was someone out there destined for him was addicting. Especially if this someone were you. Scrap that. If that someone weren’t you, he wouldn’t want them either way. With you in his arms, he had everything he had ever dreamt of.

Megumi knew, that when he woke up again, there would be work he had to do. He’d have to deal with Yūji’s doubtlessly overly enthusiastic response to see him alive and well, and with Panda and Inumaki too. Yuuta and Maki probably would have the decency to greet him without violating his personal space. And then there’d be Gojō, who, now that his biggest possible enemy was gone, would turn into an unsufferable source of stupid ideas and childish behaviours. Megumi was almost looking forward to seeing the man he considered perhaps not his father but at least an older brother, back to his old, happy self. Then he’d have to deal with the Zenin clan, and the other clans. Maybe Gojō could help with that. But in between, whenever he wasn’t busy, he would come and find you, and maybe you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two.

“Hey, Megumi?”

Your voice was already thick with sleep as you pulled him out of his thoughts again. He hummed in response, too tired to form a coherent answer.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Seemed like the chances that you’d allow him to steal a kiss or two were pretty good then. He hummed again, this time with a smile on his face, burying his nose in your hair, and you pressed yourself closer to him in response.

It was around noon, when Gojō made his way towards your room. When he had woken up, Megumi was gone, and there was only one place really the raven-haired boy would run off to. Not bothering to knock, Gojō pushed the door to your room open, fully prepared to find his protégé slumped in a chair beside your bed, holding your cold hand or staring at your lifeless features.

Indeed, there was a chair pushed to your bedside, but Gojō had not been prepared to find Megumi laying in bed with you, your arm dragged over his middle, head resting on his chest. It was obvious that both of you were exhausted, but the colour had returned to your skin, nothing like the last time Gojō had seen you, all grey and void of life. Even your hair seemed to have regained some of its old glow. It seemed like you had woken up at some point and dragged Megumi into bed with you. The way the boy had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his face buried in your hair, not to mention the way Gojō remembered him looking at you for the past year, indicated that Megumi had been only all too happy to join you.

For a while Gojō watched his two students quietly. A part of him already wanted to tease Megumi, and he knew eventually he could, but he would also make it abundantly clear to both of you, how happy he was for you. After all you had been through, you deserved happiness.

Steps in the corridor approaching the room made Gojō pull out of his thoughts, and a moment later Yūji pocked his head in. Just like Gojō he took in the scene, and his mouth formed a little o before a grin split his face.

“About time,” he whispered with a grin, and Gojō couldn’t help but join in with one of his own.

“Finally, huh,” he agreed before he turned towards the door. “Come on, let’s let them sleep a while longer.”

Yūji nodded and bounced back into the corridor, the happiness for his friends unmistakable in the way he skipped away. Gojō turned to look at Megumi and you one last time.

There was a lot of work to be done when you woke up, but for now you deserved to rest. You had almost been killed and Megumi had been possessed by the mightiest sorcerer there had ever been. At least until Gojō had been born, the white-haired man thought smugly to himself. Megumi had lost so much, his father and mother, his sister, and almost the girl he loved. It was time that the wish that resonated in his name finally came true, that Megumi finally could live a blessed life.

Gojō quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. If there was one thing Gojō was certain of, it was that Megumi already considered himself blessed for getting to hold you in his arms, for getting loved by you and being allowed to love you back.

Tags: @natriae

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erimeows · 1 month ago

Text

Dinner With Havoc

It’s another late night. Riza Hawkeye is sitting on Roy Mustang’s living room couch, translating a coded letter onto a piece of paper that she knows will be burnt later on with a ballpoint pen. The lamp sat on the end table beside her bathes the living room in a warm, amber glow, casting long shadows over the stacks of documents cluttering the glass coffee table in front of her.

“I just ordered takeout from Panda House,” Roy calls out, his voice carrying from the kitchen. His head pops through the doorway so he can look at her, a small smile on his face. Riza opens her mouth to ask if he’d remembered her order. Before she can so much as speak, Roy continues. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I know your order. They said it’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

Riza lets out a quiet sigh, her pen pausing mid-stroke.

‘He knows my order. Of course he does.’

Every so often, Roy asks her to join him at his house to catch up on paperwork, decode urgent letters, or plan for missions. Part of her wants to believe it’s an excuse for them to spend time together, but he’s never said or done anything to suggest that. Riza knows better than to assume- especially with Roy.

“Right,” She responds, and then clears her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

Roy pops back into the kitchen to finish making them a pot of coffee to share.

Riza stays on the middle of the living room couch. In front of her is Roy’s glass coffee table, lined with stacks of papers. Most of them are letters from Maes, that of which are in code. Riza’s here to help Roy decode them faster- just in case they have some sort of urgent information.

Roy reappears in the living room with a mug of coffee in each hand. His is in the red cup, loaded with milk and sugar. Hers is in the blue cup, straight black, just how she likes it. He gently pushes the mug into her hands and sits down next to her. There’s one cushion in the middle, the only thing keeping them separate. Riza wonders if he wants to close the distance between them as much as she does- if he wishes the couch were just a little smaller to allow for a brush of their shoulders or a bump of their knees.

Riza doesn’t know how long she’s been in love with Roy. Maybe it’s always been that way. Her feelings for him are like a fact of life. When they were young, she was drowning in keeping up with her father’s care- when they were older, they were in a war- and now- well, now they’re too fucked up for Riza to know how to handle the overgrown mess that is their relationship. Maybe he returns her feelings, that much is possible, but even if he does, he’s too damn stubborn to say anything.

This is exhausting. The warm glow of the lamp Roy has turned on highlights his stupidly sharp, beautiful cheekbones and the different shades of black and brown in his raven hair. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The top buttons are undone and his collar is crooked.

It feels… Intimate. Far more intimate than what’s appropriate between a colonel and his lieutenant. They’re here, alone in Roy’s house, about to eat takeout together, both of them out of uniform and sitting on his couch in arguably romantic lighting.

“I appreciate your help,” Roy speaks between sips of his coffee. “Really.”

“It’s my job, sir,” Riza cooly answers as she takes a drink of her own coffee. She sets the cup down on the corner of the table and continues translating Maes’ coded letters. “It’s no problem.”

“Still. Coming to my house to do extra work isn’t part of your job description and… Well, I appreciate everything you do. I just want you to know that. Honestly, if I were you, I’d be tired by now.”

Riza struggles to continue, her pen hovering over the page. Her chest tightens as she processes his words. He always manages to say just enough to make her hope for more but never enough to make her believe it’ll actually happen.

“I’m used to it,” She finally says. “There’s always work to be done.”

When the takeout arrives, they eat together in silence. Riza swears that she feels Roy staring at her, but when she looks at him to meet his gaze, he’s staring down at his food.

It must just be her imagination. It always is.

By the time they finish the last of Maes’ letters, it’s nearing midnight. Roy leans back on the couch, letting out a sigh as he surveys the completed stack of translated letters.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” He says, his voice laced with gratitude.

“It’s part of my job,” Riza repeats the words, thinking that if she says them enough, the truth will cease to bother her.

As she gathers her things and prepares to leave, Roy follows her to the door.

“Drive safely, lieutenant.”

“Of course, sir,” She replies before stepping out into the cool night’s air.

As Riza walks to her car, she feels the weight of the evening- and every other evening like it- settle over her. She’s tired, so incredibly tired of wanting, and loving, and waiting for something that might never come. She doesn’t blame him, not really. They’ve both seen too much, done too much, to believe they deserve each other, even if he does return her feelings. Still, the ache is there, deep and unrelenting.

When she slides into the driver’s seat, she grips the steering wheel tightly, staring out at the darkened street.

‘This can’t go on forever,’ She tells herself.

Tomorrow, she decides, will be different. It has to be.

Jean Havoc has come to the conclusion that his job is becoming exhausting. Not because of the job itself, but because of the ongoing spectacle of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye pining after each other.

At first, it was endearing. Now, it’s just painful. Watching two people who are so obviously in love refuse to admit it is like enduring a slow, never-ending soap opera.

“They’re exhausting, aren’t they?” Havoc murmurs, his gaze fixed on Roy and Riza through the glass window of the colonel’s office.

Riza stands at Roy’s desk, her expression stoic, while Roy- clearly smitten- stares at her with a dopey smile.

Breda, Fuery, and Falman stand beside Havoc, all watching the scene unfold. Their lunch break has just ended, and while Havoc was about to return to the office to work, he is now too distracted by the mushy scene in front of him to do so.

Interrupting feels wrong, anyway. What’s going on in there is… Intimate. Really, they shouldn’t even be seeing it.

“Yeah, it’s painful to watch,” Breda answers while placing a hand on his hip.

“Maybe they’re dating and keeping it a secret,” Falman weighs in, and though Havoc would like to think that’s true, he knows that it’s not. “It’s none of our business.”

Havoc has had enough crushes to know when other people are experiencing it. What Hawkeye and Mustang have is not an actual relationship, it’s blatantly obvious mutual pining with a dash of unresolved romantic tension.

“They’re not,” Havoc takes a cigarette out of the pack in his front pocket, puts it between his lips, and lights it. “Trust me, I can tell.”

“How do you know for sure?” Fuery asks.

“It’s the way he looks at her,” He explains. “Like she’s something he can’t have. And when he’s not paying attention to her, she looks at him the same way.”

“God, you’re cheesy,” Breda cringes. “So what, who cares? The colonel and his lieutenant have a crush on each other, it’s a tale as old as time. Fraternization laws are probably all that’s keeping them apart. They’re too smart to go for it.”

“I don’t know… They do a lot for us, wouldn’t it be nice to see them- well- happy together?” Fuery interjects. “Even if it’s not technically allowed…”

“Exactly. Just because none of us are in successful relationships doesn’t mean that they can’t be,” Havoc answers. “It’s not like they’re not accustomed to keeping secrets from the government by now.”

“Well, sure, but what they do in private really isn’t our business,” Falman sighs and crosses his arms as if he’s in deep thought. “There’s not much we can do to help them if they won’t communicate, is there?”

At that, Havoc smirks.

“Maybe there is something we can do. Colonel Mustang does seem like the jealous type, doesn’t he?”

The next day practically flies by for Riza. Normally, she might be irritated by the mountain of paperwork she showed up to, but today, she’s grateful for it. The constant keeps her hands and mind too occupied to linger on the night she spent with Roy Mustang and the emotions that resurfaced from it.

After her team’s lunch break, she slips into the staff lounge to refill her water bottle. To her relief, the room is empty. Solitude is rare here, and she’s grateful for the fact that she won’t have to force small talk with someone she doesn’t particularly care for.

Riza moves to the cooler and fills her bottle, the soft trickle of water and the clicking from the analogue clock on the wall the only sounds in the room. But as she’s screwing the lid back on, the door creaks open behind her. She tenses, bracing herself to make polite conversation. Turning, she sees Jean Havoc step inside, his familiar grin already in place.

A sigh of relief falls from between her lips at the sight of him despite the nasty scent that comes from the cigarette held in his mouth.

“Havoc,” She greets with a faint nod, turning back to the cooler.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” He says as he makes a beeline for the cabinet near the water cooler.

He retrieves a box of donuts Fuery had brought in earlier that morning, placing three of the frosted desserts onto a paper plate.

Riza starts to head for the door, eager to return to her desk before anyone else comes in. Havoc’s voice stops her midstep.

“Hawkeye, wait,” There’s a note of urgency in his tone that makes her pause. She turns, raising an eyebrow at him. He continues. “We should go out on a date tonight. Just the two of us.”

Riza blinks. Of all the things she expected him to say, this wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. Though Havoc has had a perpetual string of failed dates, Riza was under the impression that he was interested in her best friend, Rebecca Catalina.

“Excuse me?” She asks, unsure if she heard him right.

Maybe staying up with the colonel to work is having some negative effects on her brain… She really should be sleeping more.

“As friends,” He quickly clarifies, much to Riza’s relief. “I know about the fraternization laws and all that. I just figured, well, you work so hard, and it doesn’t seem like you get a chance to go out much.”

Riza isn’t sure whether to be flattered by his thoughtfulness or annoyed that he’s apparently taken notice of her lack of a social life. Part of her suspects that he’s up to something if the way he won’t look her in the eye is anything to go by, but… What could he possibly be up to that involves a friendly date?

“Oh,” Riza says.

It’s not the first time someone at work has asked her out, but those invitations always seemed romantic, and she always turned them down. This, however, feels different. Not bad, per say, just different.

“We could both dress up,” Havoc suggests with an enthusiastic grin. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth with his spare hand and burns it out in a nearby ashtray. “Go to that steakhouse on Main Street. You know, the fancy one with the valet? We’ll order some expensive wine, maybe even dessert if we’re feeling frisky. It’ll be great!”

For a moment, Riza allows herself to imagine it; the cool glow of the restaurant, the valet parking her car for her, drinking something that isn’t plain water or coffee, and the rare luxury of an evening that isn’t tied to training or obligation or Roy. She’s driven past that restaurant countless times on her way home from Roy’s house, always wondering what it would be like to step inside but knowing that no one would ever be able to take her because of her duty to watch Roy’s back.

Alas, the reality of her life quickly sets in. Dinners like that aren’t cheap, and she lives frugally on the off chance that her and Roy’s plan to make him fuhrer goes wrong and they have to escape the country on short notice.

“As much as I appreciate the invitation, I can’t justify spending that kind of money so last minute on-”

“It’s my treat,” Havoc interjects before Riza can even finish the thought.

Riza hesitates. There’s something disarming about Havoc, something that makes it difficult to say no to him, just like the rest of Team Mustang.

“Very well, then,” She finally agrees, a small smile tugging at her lips. “What time should we meet at the restaurant?”

“How about six?” Havoc suggests.

“Six it is,” Riza agrees and turns to the door once again. “Now, let’s get back to work. The last thing I want is to cancel our date because I’m picking up your unfinished assignments.”

Havoc chuckles, trailing behind her as they leave the lounge.

“I’ll make sure my desk is spotless, lieutenant. Wouldn’t want to ruin our big night.”

As they part ways, Riza can’t help but smile to herself. She doesn’t know if tonight will be as ‘great’ as Havoc insists, but at this rate, anything is better than spending another night the way she usually does.

Later that day, Riza is left behind in the office with Roy. It’s quiet and dull, with Roy sitting at his desk pretending to do paperwork, and Riza actually doing work. He seems distracted. She’s not sure why and knows better than to ask.

The others, as per usual, filtered out a few minutes ago.

“Lieutenant, I need you to carpool home with me,” Roy says, breaking the silence. “I’ve got a mission report from the Elrics that I need help deciphering. They’ve gone and turned another town on its head. If what Fullmetal has written is to be believed, I’ll need your help cleaning up after him… Again.”

Riza pauses, her hands gripping the report held within them a little tighter. He always assumes she’s free, as if her life exists only to orbit his whims. As annoying as it is, she can’t deny there’s some truth to it- most nights, anyway. When she agreed to watch his back, she agreed to devote her life to helping him always. Yet, she can’t help but feel… Frustrated. Greedy. She wants more than he’s willing to give and she’s tired of it. It’s more her fault than his, for getting her hopes up, but she’s getting tired of spending all of her time and energy chasing after him.

Tonight is going to be different. Tonight, she’s going to do something different; go out, eat a wonderful dinner, spend time with her comrade, and leave Roy and any thoughts of him behind in this dusty office.

“Unless that’s a direct order, I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you, sir.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before guilt tugs at her chest. She’s not used to telling him no. She only has a few friends- Team Mustang and Rebecca Catalina. She doesn’t date because of her marred back. She doesn’t have any hobbies that don’t revolve around work or Black Hayate. Most of the time, it doesn’t feel like she deserves to do anything for herself, so she easily goes along with Roy’s requests to see her after hours to work on God knows what.

Roy looks up from his desk.

“Really? You can’t?” He leans back in his chair, studying Riza as if her refusal is some kind of puzzle he can’t solve. “Why not?”

Riza straightens the crooked books on the nearby shelf to make herself seem busy. Her mind races. A part of her wants to lie, to avoid the truth entirely. But then again, what’s the harm in what she’s doing? Roy doesn’t meddle in her personal life- at least not publicly- and a small, spiteful corner of Riza’s mind wonders if maybe, just maybe, the truth will make him get the wrong idea… If it’ll make him jealous. Even just a little.

“Havoc and I have dinner plans at six,” She explains while moving on to pick up a miniscule piece of trash- anything to keep from having to look Roy in the eye while she does this. “Maybe this could wait until tomorrow?”

For a moment, there’s silence- thick, loaded silence. When Riza finally dares to look at Roy from her peripheral, his eyebrow is raised.

“You’re going out to dinner,” He repeats, as if the concept is completely foreign to him. “With Havoc.”

“Yes, sir,” Riza answers.

Roy leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His voice shifts- quieter, now, and full of a baffled sort of disbelief that offends Riza on Havoc’s behalf. “Alone?”

The question hangs in the air between them. Awkward. Silent. Almost as if he doesn’t believe it at all- as if it’s some sort of fucked up joke she’s playing- as if he expects her to say ‘gotcha’ and for them both to laugh. Of course, the gotcha moment never comes. “Yes. Alone.”

“As in, no one else will be there? No Fuery, no Breda, no Falman? Not even Catalina? I thought he was into her.”

“Precisely, sir.”

Roy tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he’s trying to decide whether or not he believes her- because, apparently, her going to dinner with Havoc is just that ridiculous of an idea to him.

“Alright, then,” He says after a moment, though his voice doesn’t portray any of the nonchalance he’s clearly aiming for. “Tomorrow, then. We can go over the report first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That works for me,” Riza says, but she can feel the tension between them. Her gaze flickers to the clock. Her shift ended five minutes ago. Thank God. “It’s past five. I should go, if that’s alright with you, sir. I need to get ready.”

Roy nods. His eyes still haven’t left her face.

“Drive safely, lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

She pauses, momentarily. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that lingers even as she steps toward the door. He’s still looking at her- she can feel it. His eyes pierce through her, enough so that Riza wonders if he knows part of the reason she’s telling him any of this is to make him jealous. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t object, nor does he question her any further. It’s not his place to do so. They both know that. So, Riza leaves, her steel-toed boots clicking against the polished floors of eastern headquarters as she does.

With every step that she takes through the hallway, she grows heavier with a mixture of regret and anger that pools in her stomach like tar. She shouldn’t have told him. She should’ve just gone on the dinner date with Havoc and returned to work the next morning like nothing had happened. Instead, she’s gone and made it convoluted by making Roy think that her and Havoc are going on an actual date…

Outside, the cold air bites at Riza cheeks, but it does little to quell the heat rising in her chest. As she walks toward her car, she finds herself glancing back, half-hoping, half-dreading that Roy might come after her.

He doesn’t.

Rebecca comes to do Riza’s makeup for her despite the short notice. Riza has never been very good at doing it by herself, as independent as she is. She sits on her living room couch with Rebecca across from her, smearing a pale, cool cream on her face with a teardrop-shaped sponge.

It’s almost six o’clock. Riza is both grateful that Rebecca lives nearby and grateful that instead of laughing or making fun of her, she happily agreed and drove straight over upon receiving Riza’s call.

“I didn’t know you were into Havoc,” Rebecca starts as she finishes blending the foundation and concealer, putting them away before grabbing a tube of lipstick. It’s a deep, dark, unnatural red that Riza wouldn’t normally choose for herself, but Rebecca insisted it would complement the dark green dress she did choose- mostly because it’s the only formal dress she owns that suits the chilly winter weather. “Can’t believe I’ve known you for this long and never figured it out. To be honest, I thought you were still into that colonel of yours.”

“I’m not into Havoc, and this isn’t a date,” Riza clarifies, and then puckers her lips so that Rebecca can apply lip liner, followed by the dark red lipstick.

She doesn’t bother addressing the accusation regarding Roy, because truth be told, she is still very much into the colonel.

“Right, because a man offering to take you out to the nicest restaurant in town with just the two of you doesn’t seem like a date at all.”

“I know, I know,” Riza replies, a bit flustered. Rebecca is right- if Havoc hadn’t stated his intentions, Riza would think the same thing. Guilt gnaws at her when she remembers that she probably led Roy to believe it was a date as well. “But he told me it wasn’t a date, just a friendly outing. If anything… He’s probably taking me out so I’ll put in a good word to you.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Rebecca sighs and puts the lip makeup away in favor of an eyebrow pencil that she aggressively drags across Riza’s eyebrows. “So, what does your colonel think of this ‘not date’, then? Or did you not tell him because you knew he wouldn’t like it?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with him,” Riza argues. She shuts her eyes so that Rebecca can put on eyeliner, dark green eyeshadow, and mascara without her ruining it by flinching. “And to be honest… I don’t know what he thinks. I didn’t tell him the details, just that Havoc and I were going out alone tonight.”

“Trying to make him jealous, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Riza sighs. “Whatever I feel, whatever he feels, none of it matters. He acted sort of weird about it when I told him, like he was surprised, but… He made no attempt to stop me.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. You don’t sound like the intelligent, observant, practical Riza that I know,” Rebecca lightly scolds while applying some setting spray to keep the makeup in place. “The Riza that I know would be smart enough to see how he looks at you. Why don’t you just say something?”

“And get rejected? Even if he returns my feelings, it would be stupid for us to be in a relationship. The fraternization laws exist for a reason.”

“Riza, life is too short in our profession to keep everything bottled up the way you two do. Either of you could die tomorrow. Maybe… Maybe one day, you’ll get tired of waiting for him to make the first move.”

“What if I already am?” Riza frowns. Rebecca blinks and stares at Riza with shock lacing her expression. It’s clear that she doesn’t know what to say. Riza doesn’t expect her to know how to fix this when she herself has no idea. “...Never mind. Thank you for coming to do this on such short notice. I should finish getting ready and get out of here before I end up being late.”

“Of course. I’ll head back to my place, then,” Rebecca stands up and packs the makeup away before heading to the front door. She opens the door, turning back to look at Riza. “And Riza?”

“Yes?”

“You’re too hot for either of them, anyway. If things don’t work out with Roy, we can go on a date next time!”

“Thanks,” She chuckles. “I may have to take you up on that.”

“Have fun- but not too much fun- okay?”

“I’ll try my best.”

With that, Rebecca exits the apartment, leaving Riza to give herself a once over in the mirror.

What an unusual day…

The cold wind blows Riza’s perfectly curled hair out of place as she steps out of her car, adjusting the front of her dress. She rarely dresses in anything that’s not her military uniform or a t-shirt with cargo pants, but tonight is an exception, one she’s still not entirely sure about.

Across the parking lot and a few feet away from the front door of the steakhouse, Jean Havoc waits, leaning back against the brick wall. He’s dressed in a neatly pressed suit with a dark blue tie. He has a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a grin on his face as Riza approaches him.

“Looking sharp,” He compliments easily, to which Riza smiles.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Well, I’m glad we could hang out,” He says before walking towards the door and holding it open for her. “Shall we?”

Riza nods, walking past Havoc and into the restaurant. He follows close behind. Inside, the warm, muted lighting casts a soft glow over the polished wood and white tablecloths. The low hum of conversation mingles with the smooth tones of a classical music band playing in the corner. It feels a world away from the stark, utilitarian atmosphere of the building that they spend their days working at.

The hostess escorts them to a small table near the window. Havoc pulls out a chair for her, and though Riza rolls her eyes, she takes the seat.

“This is definitely… Different,” She says, glancing around the elegant dining room.

She feels somewhat uncomfortable at a place like this, wondering if the knee-length satin dress she wore is appropriate, if her hair still looks decent despite the wind outside, if her makeup is smudged. Riza isn’t normally one to care about such superficial things, but she also isn’t normally at the nicest restaurant in town. Having grown up with very little money and going into the military as soon as she was old enough, she never got to experience things like this. To this day, she’s unsure of the proper etiquette, of the dress code, of whether or not she should even exist in a restaurant like this one.

“Different’s the point,” Havoc replies, dropping into the chair across from her. If he can sense Riza’s unease, he’s kind enough not to mention it. “No paperwork, no mission reports, no Mustang. Just good food and good company.”

The mention of Roy makes Riza circle back to the colonel, as much as she wanted to avoid thinking about her predicament during her and Havoc’s dinner. She doesn’t know what he’s doing right now. Maybe he’s sitting peacefully at his home, working without her, already over her refusal to spend the night going over mission reports with him. Maybe he’s lamenting the fact that Riza is out with Havoc right now instead of with him. Riza doesn’t know. Roy is a whirlwind of emotions and confusion and unpredictable chaos.

When the waiter arrives, Havoc orders a bottle of red wine for their table without hesitation.

“I hope that wasn’t too expensive,” Riza halfheartedly scolds as she stares down at the menus on the table.

All of the bottles of wine are on the pricier side, but some are worse than others.

“Don’t worry about that,” Havoc dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “Tonight’s on me.”

As they wait for their drinks, Havoc begins recounting a string of his most recent dates, which were all either horrible on their own or ruined by the girls inevitably refusing a second date. By the time he gets to the one where he sneezed on his date’s dress from across the table at the same time that he spilled white wine on her, Riza finds herself struggling to contain her laughter.

“And then,” He says with a dramatic wave of his arm. “I tried to save it by saying, ‘at least it’s only chardonnay- it’s less noticeable’, as if she didn’t reek like a winery and have a fat glob of green snot on her sleeve. You can imagine how well that went. Hell, I was so embarrassed that I asked to get transferred to eastern headquarters so I’d never have to see her again. That’s how I ended up meeting you guys.”

Riza chuckles, shaking her head.

“And I thought the colonel had bad luck with love,” She wistfully sighs, thinking back to the string of dates that Roy has been on over the years.

Most of them have only been for intel, but some of them have been genuine attempts for him to find love that have never worked out. He doesn’t talk about them, but Riza knows that he’s never been on a date with the same girl twice.

Almost as if on cue, she sees the hostess walk two people past their table. One, a tall, beautiful woman with short blond hair similar to Riza’s and dark eyes. They actually look quite along, the main difference being that the woman is wearing a backless dress, something Riza wouldn’t ever dream of. The skin on her back is blank and unblemished, a beautiful canvas framed by ruby red chiffon.

The other, Riza immediately recognizes, even though she only sees the back of him as he walks by. Raven hair, broad shoulders, a familiar black coat and white scarf, and the waft of his cologne are enough to give Roy Mustang away. He looks over his shoulder, gazing at Riza and Havoc momentarily. His eyes widen when he sees them. He quickly looks away.

Roy and the woman are sat at their table by the hostess, across the restaurant from Riza and Havoc but not completely out of sight. Roy looks totally miserable. Riza isn’t sure if that makes her feel better or worse. Did he figure out that this is where Havoc had planned to take her and show up to disturb their dinner? Or is this a coincidence?

Havoc shamelessly looks behind him to see what’s captured Riza’s attention, his smile falling when he sees Colonel Mustang and his gorgeous date. Riza isn’t sure if this date is for intel or if it’s… An actual date. Either way, she doesn’t like it. The shock and disappointment is so potent that she can’t mask it, even when Havoc looks over at her.

“You shouldn’t worry, y’know,” Havoc shrugs. Riza is curious about whether or not he’s picked up on what’s going on between her and Roy. He answers her question with his next statement. “He may be a bit of a bullheaded idiot, but he’s only got eyes for you. Any other guy would be thrilled to be on a date with that girl over there, but Mustang? He looks like he’s seconds away from using his alchemy to light himself on fire.”

Riza doesn’t know how to respond, but the words from Havoc are comforting enough that she’s able to will her gaze away from Roy and the woman he’s with- at least for now.

When their wine arrives, Havoc pours them both a glass. Then, he lifts his from the table in a toast.

“To escaping work, even if it’s just for one night! Maybe if we get drunk enough, we’ll have a good excuse to ditch come tomorrow morning,” He snickers.

Riza lifts her glass and clinks it lightly against his.

“To that.”

Their food arrives shortly after. The conversation turns into silence as they both dig into their food, both of them clearly starving from a day’s work with nothing but coffee, water, and Fuery’s morning donuts to sustain them. Riza does everything she can to avoid looking back at Roy, even when she swears she feels his charcoal eyes burning a hole through her and Havoc.

By the time their plates are cleared, Riza feels something she hasn’t felt in weeks; at ease. There’s no weight pressing down on her shoulders, no lingering thoughts of work or the war or Roy to distract her from the present moment. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed this until now. She wishes she spent time with her friends more often. Seeing both Rebecca and Havoc today has lifted her spirits more than she thought it would. Maybe, she thinks, she could get the entirety of Team Mustang together soon for an outing.

The waiter returns, asking if they’d like dessert. Havoc immediately looks to Riza, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think? Need some cheesecake in your life? How about a creme brulee?”

She shakes her head, already stuffed full from the steak, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and wine.

“I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

“Well, that just means we’ll have to come back again the next time one of us gets a fat paycheck,” Havoc grins as he flags the waiter down for the check. He grabs it before Riza can even think of protesting against it. “Don’t even try. I told you, I’ve got this.”

“I don’t usually let people pay for me,” Riza mutters in slight discomfort, and it’s true. Even when the colonel orders them takeout, she always pays him back for it. “Next time, it’ll be me covering the tab. Understood, Havoc?”

“Fine, fine, if you insist.”

Havoc quickly pays the tab and pushes all of the remaining dishes to the side of the table so that the waiter can grab them with ease. The two of them walk out of the restaurant, side by side. When they reach the parking lot, they stop.

“Thanks for tonight, Havoc. I wish I had evenings like this more often.”

“You deserve more of them,” Havoc replies. He takes the cigarette from behind his ear, lights it, and places it between his lips. Smoke quickly billows into the cool night’s air. “And hey, if you ever need another night off, you know where to find me.”

Riza nods.

“I might take you up on that.”

Havoc nudges her shoulder and shoots a wink in her direction.

“You better.”

With that, Riza returns to her car and starts the drive home. Again, she half-dreads, half-hopes that Roy will follow her- and again, he does no such thing.

Riza goes into work early the next day. Though she enjoyed her evening with Havoc, by the time that she returned home and got into bed for the night, Roy was back on her mind. She found herself wondering how the rest of his miserable-looking date had gone, if he’d have rather been at his house with her eating Panda House and looking over mission reports.

Guilt and anxiety well up in her chest as she enters the doors of his office.

The blinds and curtains are pulled shut, shielding what Roy is doing from the outside world. With no light pouring into the small room, it’s mostly dark save the small amount of light that comes from the lamp on the corner of Roy’s desk. He’s sat on the edge of it with a stapled stack of papers in one gloved hand.

Riza shuts the door behind her and approaches him.

“Good morning, sir,” She greets the colonel cordially, standing up straight beside him. His eyes stay trained on the paper, and she notices that the bags beneath them appear more prominent than usual. His hair is a mess, too. “What are you working on?”

“The mission report, remember?” He grumbles. “Look over it with me. I may have to have you make some calls to do damage control- those boys have really fucked shit up this time.”

“Of course, sir,” Riza agrees, not unfamiliar with having to work with Roy to fix the results of the Elrics’ antics.

They both stand there, staring at the front page of the report, but it’s clear that neither of them can really focus on it. A minute passes, and then two- long enough that both of them could’ve easily read the first page by now if they were paying attention. She checks the clock. It’ll be at least an hour before the rest of their team shows up for their shift. Dammit.

The room is so tense that Riza can barely breathe. When she glances over at Roy, he’s staring straight at her, and when she meets his eyes, he doesn’t bother pretending that he wasn’t.

“How was your date last night?” Roy suddenly asks, much to Riza’s surprise.

Honestly, she suspected that going out with Havoc and not giving Roy the full picture before doing so might cause a temporary rift between them, but she never suspected that Roy would actually talk about it any more than they had the day prior.

“I don’t know, sir, how was yours?” Riza bites back before she can think better of it. She thinks back to Roy sitting with that girl who looked just like her, almost as if he was mocking Riza from across the restaurant. “You really seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I hope you’re joking,” Roy scoffs and turns around to toss the mission report onto his desk.

“Not at all, sir,” Riza flatly replies.

“Alright, lieutenant, you got back at me for holding you at an arm’s length and made me jealous,” Roy sarcastically congratulates her, slowly clapping his gloved hands. The agitated, exhaustion-laced gesture pisses Riza off to no end. She can’t believe that, after all these years, he’s finally communicating how he feels and… It’s like this. “You got what you wanted. Good job.”

“Oh, please. You’re far from right if you think what I wanted was for you to tear into me this morning,” Riza rolls her eyes and steps away from him. “You go through women like Havoc goes through cigarettes and you’re going to lose your shit because I hung out with him for one night?”

“You’re more dense than I ever would’ve thought you were if you can’t see the difference between what I do and what you did last night,” Roy pauses, unable to meet Riza’s fiery gaze, almost as if he’s reconsidering what he’s about to say. He speaks again, his voice quieter now. “None of those dates, with any of those women, were ever real. But last night, you and Havoc… You… I could tell you enjoyed yourself more than you’ve ever enjoyed spending time with me.”

The softly spoken confession is enough to somewhat quell the anger and resentment that threatens to spill out- at least for long enough for Riza to take a deep breath and re-evaluate the situation. She regrets not telling Roy about Havoc’s intentions in the first place. Seeing him jealous and hurt, while it confirms his true feelings for her, is less than ideal.

“That’s not true,” Riza sighs. “And Havoc and I… I should’ve told you yesterday, but him and I are friends. It wasn’t a date.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say that earlier?” Roy demands, wide-eyed.

“Well, forgive me, I didn’t expect you to show up at the restaurant we went to like some sort of stalker.”

“What, like I did it on purpose?” He stammers. His cheeks are red with what Riza assumes is embarrassment and frustration. “It was a total coincidence!”

“Yesterday when we talked, you didn’t have any plans and wanted me to come to your house to help you with a mission report. Then, when I have a dinner scheduled with Havoc, you miraculously have a date that you just so happen to show up with at the very restaurant that Havoc and I were eating at?”

“After you left work yesterday, I was trying to follow you out to stop you from going,” The admission makes Riza’s heart skip a beat. So, he’d tried to follow her after all… “But she stopped me as I was on my way out and asked me on a date. She’s Fuhrer Bradley’s new secretary and I thought I could get some useful intel from her. Her family owns that steakhouse, so that’s where we went.”

“You could’ve at least had the decency to look like you were having a good time. That poor girl.”

“You proved your point, alright?” Roy groans, now holding his head in his hands.

“Prove a point? Is that what you think this is?” Riza raises her voice without realizing it.

“What else could it possibly be? You had to have done that to fuck with me, right?”

“Are we really going to talk about this? After all the time we’ve spent avoiding it, me going out with Havoc is what finally gets you to talk?”

“You never said anything, so you can’t act like-”

“As if it was my job and my job alone to be the one to say something about- about whatever this is?” Riza angrily paces around the office now, her steel-toed boots clomping heavily against the hard floors. Roy just stares at her, listening. “You clearly knew how I felt- you could’ve said something, too.”

“Do you think I enjoy this? This- this thing that’s been festering between us for God knows how long? Do you think I enjoy only being able to spend time with you when we’re here or at my house under the ruse of it being about work?” Roy stomps up to her and places a hand on her shoulder, effectively turning her around to make her face him. Upon seeing the tears welling up in his charcoal eyes, Riza softens. She wants to reach out to him, to pull him into the hug that they both so desperately need, but she hesitates. “I want a normal life with you, Riza. I want to do the things that normal people do, to be able to take you out like Havoc did last night. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

“Of course I do,” She answers, exasperated. “Being in love with you after everything we’ve been through is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done!”

“You love me,” Roy says the words like he’s just had the breath knocked out of his lungs. “I love you, and you… Really love me?”

“I love you,” Riza confirms with a slight nod. “I’m in love with you.”

Before she can say anything else, Roy wraps his arms around Riza’s body. She melts into him, burying her face in his shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh of relief. All these years, everything they’ve done, have all been building up to this and it’s finally happening.

After a few moments, Riza breaks away, afraid that someone will walk in and see their embrace.

“Go on a date with me tonight, Riza,” Roy catches one of Riza’s hands within his own, holding it tight. His gloved thumb gently traces nervous shapes into the center of her palm. “No meeting up at my place in secret, no shitty Panda House takeout, no paperwork. Just a nice, normal date. It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

Riza swallows, her heart fluttering in her chest. This scenario is one she’s fantasized about an embarrassing amount of times, but she never thought it would actually happen. Now that it is, she finds herself dumbfounded.

“What if-” She cuts herself off and looks off to the side to avoid Roy’s puppy dog eyes. “What if someone sees us? Your position is fragile. If someone sees us and says something-”

“We can go somewhere private. I’m done worrying about that shit- just look where it’s gotten us. So much wasted time.”

“Okay, then… How about a picnic at that lake a few miles south of here?” Riza proposes. “I walk Black Hayate there all the time. It’s usually pretty barren.”

At that, Roy smiles.

“I’ll start packing a basket when I get home. Pick you up at eight?”

Riza nods.

“I’ll see you then.”

A week later, Jean Havoc leans against the window of Roy Mustang’s office, looking in through the glass. His friends, Fuery, Falman, and Breda are by his side, watching along with him.

“Hey, is it just me or is something… Different between them?” Fuery nervously asks while watching the scene that takes place within the confines of the office. “Do you think they’re okay?”

Havoc takes a long drag from his cigarette with a smirk taking over his face. Roy and Riza are there, with Roy sitting at his desk and Riza standing by his side. Instead of sneaking glances at each other when they think the other isn’t looking like they were just a week ago, they’re chatting happily about god knows what, practically beaming at each other.

“You know, I swore something was off, but I thought I was just being paranoid,” Falman weighs in. “I’m glad someone else said something.”

“Yeah, I knew things were off when Colonel Mustang didn’t tear me a new asshole for spilling my coffee on his coat this morning,” Breda makes the observation with a somewhat uncomfortable expression as he places his hands on his hips and furrows his brow. Roy and Riza appear to be in their own little world, seemingly unaware of their subordinates gawking at them. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“You know what I think?” Havoc starts. “I think my plan to get them together actually worked!”

“Your plan?” Falman questions, looking a little scared. “What do you mean ‘your plan’? Havoc, what did you do to them!?”

“Well, it’s sort of a long story, but after our little talk last week…”

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