September 14, 2010
Her back was to him, bare and illuminated in the dim lighting of the study they were currently occupying. They had been in this situation many years before, only as children.
Roy had requested, too timidly for her to refuse, to once again see her imperfect tattoo that had been the secret to unlock the full potential of his studies. Riza complied reluctantly, wondering if he only wanted to see her vulnerable and half-naked. At the end of the struggle against Father and the Homunculi, she welcomed his personality bouncing back to a previous state that existed a long, long time ago. They would never be those same people again, but any kind of hint at their former selves was refreshing.
"Why now?" she asked. When she was younger, she held her shirt in front of her chest modestly. Now she only used her hands, shirt strewn over the desk placed against the wall.
"It's always good to reflect on where you come from when the storm dies down."
"I've always been tied to you in one way or another, Riza. I wonder what pathetic mess I would be without your presence."
"Pathetic mess sounds about right," she joked, drawing a deep chuckle from her superior.
This had to be wrong. Bantering back and forth like this while his fingers, bare against her back, traced the lines of the array tattooed onto her skin. Silence echoed, and all she could hear was her breathing. Maybe he could feel her heart beating so strongly by simply touching her skin. Once he reached the puckered skin of the scar he had been forced to inflict, he stopped.
His voice was hushed. "Does… it hurt any more?"
"Not any more."
"Do you ever think about that day?"
"Too much. But you're avoiding the question."
"That's because you already know the answer."
Roy caressed the scar, making her shiver. She wasn't ready for that soft of a touch, even if his fingers were already warm from her body heat. "Sorry," he apologized.
If he were able to see her face, he would've seen her eyes slipping shut as she savored the feeling of his fingers against her skin. Moments like this were too few and fleeting. He stared at the nape of her neck, visible now that her hair had been chopped off on a whim after they had left the hospital following the final battle.
"Riza." There were no formalities, no titles here. This, especially along with her hair length, reminded him too much of the past and the desperation he felt when it came to her.
"Stay with me."
"I am with you," Riza stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Her voice was level, as usual.
"… forever, though."
She massaged her temple. "That was a statement, not a question."
Her shoulders slumped, and he couldn't tell if she was becoming depressed by this conversation or amused, hiding her laughter. "Are you drunk?"
"Riza," he whined. "Be with me, forever, as my wife."
"No one lives forever," she reasoned. "You know that."
She had turned around, not bothering to cover her breasts in modesty like she would've done in her youth. They were different people now, especially Roy. He had never broken eye contact with her, not even once to glance downwards. His determination shone through in those eyes, those eyes that could once again see. Life was too precious to waste. Time was too precious to waste.