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Mustang talks in his sleep.
Hughes was annoyed by it for the first couple of nights, but now, a couple of weeks into the term, he’s already used to it. He realizes that he’s listening for it, as he pushes up onto his elbows and squints at the clock on the nearby table, trying to decide whether or not he can justify going back to sleep. Hughes is not a morning person, but Mustang is really, really not a morning person.
The first time reveille had sounded at 0500 he’d looked about ready to murder someone. Hughes was only worried because he was the “someone” in closest proximity.
Mustang mutters something undecipherable and rolls over onto his back. Hughes chucks a pillow at him, then swings his legs over the side of his bunk. He’s not quite awake yet, but he’s definitely not asleep. The room is still dark as fuck, Hughes can barely see by the ambient streetlight cutting through their small window with its heavy curtains.
“Mustang? You up or what?”
“Time is it?”
“Four-thirty.”
“Leave me alone, then.”
Hughes scrubs his face with his hands and tries , he really does. But then he’s clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. And then he’s whistling. It’s soft and low, really it is, but when Mustang sits up, the look in his eyes really does hint at potential violence. Hughes shuts up. For a second or two.
Then: “I’m bored ,” he whines.
“How the hell can you be bored at four-thirty in the morning ?” Mustang growls.
Hughes climbs onto the other boy’s bed. Mustang’s eyes widen. “You talk in your sleep,” Hughes points out.
“Why are you on my bed?”
“I already told you, I’m bored.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“I don’t know.” Hughes flops down on his stomach, so that Roy is forced to scoot over to make room for him. “What’s Riza?”
“What?”
“I told you, Mustang, you talk in your sleep.”
“She’s… I don’t know. A friend, I guess. It’s not important.”
“Oooh, a friend .”
“For fuck’s sake, Hughes, it’s not like that. She’s twelve. My teacher’s kid.”
“You’re dreaming about your teacher’s kid?”
“I… guess?” Roy doesn’t actually remember what he was dreaming about. But if he’d been saying her name… Still, it really isn’t like Hughes thinks. Riza’s just a kid, and he cares about her, yeah, but not like that.
Roy shifts away from Hughes, frowning down at him. His roommate is lying sprawled out on his bed, shirtless and wearing only boxers, sweating in the heat of the extended-summer that is September in Central.
“Hughes?”
“Huh?”
“Get off my bed.”
Maes rolls over onto his back, looking up at Roy with hazel-green eyes that somehow seem bright even in the darkness. “You’re no fun, Mustang.”
Roy kicks Hughes, his foot pushing at the other boy’s hip. He stops just short of actually pushing him off the narrow bunk. Maes catches himself on the edge and then pulls his feet up against his chest. Now, the two of them are sitting side by side.
“I hate you,” Mustang mutters. Maes grins. “Why’re you awake anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep, I guess. And it’s too late to go back to bed, now.”
Maes reaches out and puts his hand over Roy’s. Mustang frowns down at it, as though he’s never seen a hand before. He shifts, but doesn’t pull entirely away. Emboldened, Maes reaches over and pushes his other hand through Roy’s messy bedhead.
“What’re you doing?” Roy asks softly. Barely breathing.
Maes shrugs. It’s four-thirty in the morning and everything is tinted by the unreal haze that that implies.
And Roy doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t tell him to stop.
Maes rests a loose fist at the curve of Roy’s shoulder, feeling the heat of Mustang’s skin through the thin fabric of his tee-shirt. And then he kisses him, an experimental press of his lips against Mustang’s. Roy opens his mouth slightly, and he has morning breath, which is not super sexy, but Maes still doesn’t stop.
When he breaks away, Mustang is frowning at him, the confusion clearly evident on his face.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Roy asks.
“Do you want to be?”
“What?”
“You want to dream about me, Mustang?”
“I want…” He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “I’ve never done that before,” he admits.
“Kissed?”
“Kissed a boy.”
“Oh.” Hughes sighs as Roy puts a hand on his leg. He shivers slightly and grins at his roommate. “Me neither.”
“You seem pretty good at it.”
“Must be natural talent.” Something is fluttering inside of Maes’ stomach. He shifts a little closer to Roy.
“Hughes?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re sure I’m not dreaming?”
Maes swallows hard, too aware of the heat in the room and the heat of Roy, the scratchiness of the sheets under his skin, the taste of Mustang’s morning breath. Everything is too real to be a dream. “Pretty sure.”
How sure can you be of anything at four-thirty in the morning? How brave can you be?
“‘K,” Mustang says sleepily. He leans forward a little, resting his head on Hughes’ shoulder and humming a little, sending vibrations through Maes’ entire body. His hand is still on Maes’ leg. “You’re not bored anymore, are you?”
“Nope,” Maes agrees, as they breathe in tandem with one another. “Definitely not.”