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~x~
It happened once, on Miss Hawkeye’s thirteenth birthday. Roy had overheard from some of her peers as he was making his way back from a trip to the nearby grocer’s that it was that strange girl’s birthday, and did you see, she didn’t receive any presents - does she even have any friends?
In truth, it wasn’t difficult to figure out why she was friendless. From the little time he’d spent with her in the Hawkeye’s manor she wasn’t the nicest person around. Roy had tried to approach her a few times in the spirit of the good Samaritan, but any attempts at friendliness had been met with hostility. Like that one time he saw her swinging alone on the makeshift swing in their backyard. He had offered to push her on the swing, but she’d pushed him in the chest instead before disappearing back to her room. Or the other time he’d offered to help her with her chemistry homework when he saw her struggling with a permanent scowl etched on her features, in which she had merely stormed off after remarking angrily that she didn’t need an arrogant city boy like him rubbing it in her face.
… Like he said, Miss Hawkeye wasn’t the nicest person around.
Nevertheless, in spite of her antagonism, Roy liked to believe that she was an inherently good person somewhere deep down, if one looked hard enough. Really hard. He’d seen her feed leftovers to the dogs that visited their backyard occasionally though she barely had enough to eat for herself. The Hawkeyes’ abject poverty also meant that food was scarce, but even then she always made sure he got the bigger portion instead.
(Of course, he had tried - multiple times, in fact - to insist otherwise, but any resistance he put up was only met with a baleful glare and a stiff upper lip.)
For the most part, therefore, he was content to leave her alone, and she generally seemed to prefer dogs to people anyway. His days were filled with studying and thick tomes and incomprehensible codes, and Roy was focused on becoming a remarkable, respectable alchemist. One that his aunt would be proud of. Any spare time he had was typically dedicated to trawling through the awfully dusty library in the Hawkeyes’ estate for research and reading.
But this was different.
Birthdays were special, sentimental, as his sisters had indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to count. Enough to count their birthdays, they claimed. Roy therefore felt terrible at the thought of her spending it alone, without so much as a single gift or birthday wish. From the little he’d gleaned from her relationship with Master Hawkeye it was clear that the man didn’t pay much attention to her, and he found himself wondering if his Master even remembered that it was his daughter’s birthday.
Sadly, his theory was proven right over lunch.
As usual, Miss Hawkeye had been the one to prepare their meals. While he wanted to help, the kitchen felt a little like Miss Hawkeye’s untouchable holy ground - except for the fact that even the removal of his shoes wouldn’t permit him to enter. He ended up waiting awkwardly in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in a thick alchemical tome for the rest of the afternoon amidst sizzling pans and fragrant spices.
When lunch was ready, they ate together as a trio, but neither Master Hawkeye or Miss Hawkeye made any mention of her birthday.
It was just like any other normal day - tense, quiet and sombre.
Afterwards, he returned to his studies, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut, but not from Miss Hawkeye’s cooking. Lunch had been fine - great, in fact. Her culinary skills were fantastic, second only to his aunt’s and sisters’. Miss Hawkeye didn't seem to react well to compliments, though, so he smartly refrained from singing her praises.
Alone in his room, the mangled mix of emotions only multiplied tenfold. He'd tried to distract himself with the textbooks strewn across his table, on his bed, but it failed. Nothing could pacify the guilt that had been gnawing at him.
Roy sat upright on his bed, pillow to his chest as he thought long and hard about Miss Hawkeye’s birthday.
He didn’t even know what she liked, and he most certainly didn’t want her to feel like he was lording his money over her. Ordinarily, he might have gifted his sisters with a handmade card, but he didn’t know her well enough to know the words to write. Saying thank you for being so kind and loving all the time didn’t seem to sit well for some reason, and given how sharp she was she would probably see through the lie.
So perhaps something that didn’t cost him anything, and didn’t require him to pen down his thoughts (because really, it was hard to have that many thoughts about a person who barely said much to him) would work best.
A piece of driftwood, or flowers plucked from a nearby bush, maybe?
But those sounded absurd, even to him, and he failed to see what purpose Miss Hawkeye had for those things. Maybe a place he could bring her to?
Then, it hit him like an epiphany. Of course.
He had recently discovered, during one of his recent trips to the forest when he’d been tasked by his Master to collect firewood, that there was a secret hideout that lay within. Oddly enough, that particular corner was unshrouded by trees, and the sunsets there were exceptionally breathtaking - especially when the sunlight refracted off the clear, emerald lake in the middle of the little sanctuary. Occasionally, Roy would take a short break on the abandoned bench to admire the view and empty his mind of the vicissitudes of life that plagued a fifteen-year-old. But the bench was large enough for two, and he sometimes yearned for a companion who could enjoy the scenery with him…
And now, Miss Hawkeye could.
He grinned excitedly as he sprinted over to her room, though when he arrived the wooden door suddenly seemed rather... intimidating.
But Roy was determined to make sure that Miss Hawkeye had a decent birthday, at least. Such occasions were not meant to be spent in isolation, in bitter solitude.
He would not falter.
Taking a deep breath, he mustered all the courage in him and finally knocked on her door, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. Why am I getting so nervous, anyway? It’s not even a date -
She opened the door to stare at him quizzically. “Uh… hi,” he stuttered. Words eluded him.
“May I help you, Mr. Mustang?”
“Ah, yes... Would you mind taking a stroll with me?” With that one question the look of curiosity on her face was quickly morphing into scepticism, distrust.
“What for?”
“It’s your birthday, right?”
Now she was most definitely suspicious. “... How did you know?”
He gulped. “I… overheard some… things…” he finished lamely. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a little gift, that’s all.” The large, overbearing grandfather clock in the hallway signalled that it was about five o’clock in the afternoon, and if they went now the timing would be perfect. “Nothing weird, I just wanted to show you a place. If you don’t mind?”
Miss Hawkeye scrutinised him carefully, as if searching for any hint of deception. He kept his palms open, pupils dilated in earnest, and gave his most charming, sincere smile.
When she was finally satisfied that he was being honest, she relented. “... Okay. But not for long, I have to be back to prepare dinner.”
He smiled sunnily at her in response. “Of course, Miss Hawkeye. Shall we go?” She nodded in agreement before following him quietly, and he was thankful for the relatively comfortable silence that had settled between them as they walked through the forest.
Miss Hawkeye was quite a sight to behold, he realised. The sunlight that crept through the dense crowd of trees cast a charming light on her stoic but pretty countenance, and in the forest she seemed a lot more relaxed; a childlike innocence and joy twinkling in her golden eyes. Her skirt billowed gracefully along with the falling leaves that frolicked in the autumn breeze, but despite her attire she moved lithely; feet shuffling through detritus with disconcerting familiarity and ease like she’d done this before.
They eventually arrived at their destination. A light sheen of sweat was beginning to form on their foreheads, but they found, much to their delight, that the sun was starting to set in brilliant shades of aureate and tangerine. Roy tugged at her wrist gently to lead her to the bench, to which she shyly obliged, settling them both onto their respective seats. “Here we are. Lovely, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’ve been here before, actually,” she said, fingers fiddling idly with the hem of her skirt as she gazed at the picturesque scene ahead, lulled by the sighs of the water and the gently rocking waves before them.
Roy was a little taken aback by this new revelation. “How did you know about this place?”
Miss Hawkeye’s fingers continued to pick at the threads, and he wondered how they hadn’t come loose by this point. “My mother used to bring me here, too, a long time ago,” she murmured softly, a brittle sort of reverence in her voice.
He stiffened, fervently hoping he hadn’t offended her in some way by bringing her here. “I… I’m sorry, Miss Hawkeye, if this place brings back bad memories.”
She shook her head, but though her lips were beginning to curve upwards in a small smile there was a poignant look in her eyes, like she was reminiscing a distant memory that could never be recreated. “No, it’s not like that. I just… it’s a nice place.”
“It is,” Roy echoed. The silence that had dawned upon them suddenly felt very awkward to him. He swallowed nervously, but decided to ignore the thoughts swimming in his head. Instead, he continued to stare at the sunset that was unfurling in front of them, silently hoping that Miss Hawkeye enjoyed her birthday gift.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Mustang,” she whispered, legs swinging in tandem with the water’s rhythm.
It broke him out of his reverie. Roy was delighted with the small affirmation that she did like her present, after all. He turned to look at her again, and was mesmerised by how tender she looked, saturated in orange. “Roy.”
“What?”
“Please, call me Roy.”
“... Okay.”
“Can I… can I call you Riza?” He asked, hoping she wouldn’t behead him there and then in the middle of the forest. She nodded imperceptibly while keeping her eyes ahead. Roy couldn’t tell if it was the sunset glow that painted her cheeks in the subtlest shade of scarlet, or if it was a blush.
Either way, he beamed, happy with the progress they had made. “Happy birthday, Riza.”
This time, the smile reached her eyes. Roy’s heart began to pulsate in his throat. He felt his breath being taken away, but he was unsure if it was because of the breathtaking scene in front of them or something else. For while the sunlight continued to scatter glittering diamonds on smaragdine, the sparkles dancing in her ochre eyes suddenly seemed infinitely more fascinating.
In front of them, their shadows began to lengthen with the sun’s movement, before slowly merging into one.
~x~
“What’s on your mind, sir?”
“Nothing, just appreciating the sunset,” Roy chuckled. After regaining his vision, he’d come to rediscover an appreciation for simple things that he might have previously taken for granted. But while the sight of the setting sun engulfing the tall buildings in Central was rather glorious in its own way, it paled in comparison to the warm, fulgent rays delicately kissing his Captain, painting her lovely visage in a warm, tender gold.
Roy often found himself wishing that he could be the one kissing her there and then instead during moments like these. Quite unfortunately, though, any semblance of a relationship they shared would have to remain strictly confidential. Their duty to make reparations took precedence over anything else, and in any case the anti-fraternisation laws were still in place.
Dating like two normal civilians was therefore a prerogative that they did not have.
But this was fine. Perfectly acceptable, in fact. Stolen, furtive kisses over daybreak and evening-time tasting of ginger tea and caffeine; the occasional quiet embrace or two filled with warmth and suppressed ardour. Little indulgences like these were enough to keep them hanging on to each other, to their shared resolve.
Anything beyond that - holy matrimony, domesticity and normalcy, perhaps a family of three - probably teetered dangerously close on the precipice of avarice.
This too, shall suffice. Roy ran a hand through his unkempt hair, as if doing so would quell his desires, before turning to give her a soft smile. A conspiratorial whisper, one that only she could hear. “And you.”
“I see,” she replied impassively, although the gears in her brain were already clicking as memories of her thirteenth birthday flashed behind her eyes. Speaking of sunsets and birthdays…
Of course, it didn’t escape her that Roy’s birthday was coming up soon, the same way his daily schedule was never a mystery to her. Birthdays weren’t a particularly special occasion to Riza, but Roy liked to make it so.
She smiled gently as she observed fire dancing in obsidian, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that his schedule was mercifully empty for the next few days.
Perhaps a trip to Tobha is in order.
~x~
The train ride to Tobha was one filled with companionable silence as vast conglomerations of buildings faded past them into rustic fields and lush valleys of green. Roy picked indolently on a slice of cake that the train staff had kindly provided for their journey. Whether this was a surprise of sorts from his beloved Captain, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help chuckling at the memory of almost-begging a young girl to follow him somewhere on her birthday nearly decades ago.
The close proximity between them now reminded him of that memory - the first time he’d inched so close to her without a looming death threat. But now, sitting so close to one another felt like second nature. Wherever they went, his feet always somehow drew him subconsciously nearer to her, and vice versa; revolving around each other like planets in orbit. In some ways, he supposed their presence had the effect of pulling each other in like gravity.
Slowly, he encroached into her personal space to lean his head on her shoulder. Then, he took her right hand in his (hers was smaller, colder) and ran a thumb gently across her knuckles, committing every callused ridge and line to memory to reassure himself again that this wasn’t a dream. That she was well and alive before his very eyes; eyes that could see once more.
“What are you doing, sir?” Riza muttered under her breath, an accusation and a protest. She’s a little embarrassed by how overtly affectionate he was despite the cabin’s privacy.
Roy, on the other hand, could care less.
“There’s no one else here,” he whined, like he was fifteen again. “And it’s my birthday, so let me have this privilege, please?”
She doesn’t bother deigning him with a verbal response. But with a free hand, she cards through his unkempt hair, and Roy feels the faint thrumming of a quickening pulse as she does so. He grins triumphantly to himself before allowing the inconsistent rhythm to lull him to sleep. It’s the most peaceful slumber he’s had in months: he dreams of gossamer webs and sunsets in autumn, reliving a treasured adventure, a cherished memory.
It’s short-lived, though. Soon enough, he’s awoken by her shoulders shrugging against his neck. “We’re here, sir.”
Roy places a finger on her lips. “Please call me Roy,” he requests politely, mirth and nostalgia dancing in his eyes as she rolls hers.
“Fine, Roy. Shall we go?” Roy can’t help but let out an unbridled, wholehearted laugh. It feels a little like a fairytale told in reverse, he thinks. One that he doesn’t mind countless retellings of.
“Of course, Miss Hawkeye,” he replied, intertwining his fingers as they got off the train. She grumbled at his idiocy, but was nonetheless thankful for the lack of prying eyes in this isolated, raffish town.
Together they walk to the forest, hand in hand, and with a quick glance at his pocket watch Roy realises it’s five. The perfect time to watch the sunset. Roy already has a rather accurate idea of where they’re going, but nonetheless obliges - teasingly, of course - when Riza tells him to close his eyes as they pass through magnificent woodland. The smell of wood and damp earth makes for a cornucopia of childhood innocence, one that he’s more than happy to immerse himself in.
“Close your eyes, Roy.”
“Or what, you’ll blindfold me? I didn’t know you were into stuff like -”
“On second thought, maybe I’ll just knock you out myself.” Riza glares at him, feeling like he’s just ruined the magic of the moment with his predilection for bad jokes.
Roy laughs again before complying, lifting his hands to cover his eyes. As he peeks through the infinitesimal gaps, he sees her shaking her head in exasperation, but the slightest hint of amusement makes itself known in the form of a subtle smile.
“Okay, now follow me.” Riza says, and he does. It’s easy to follow her. Roy knows her so well by this point that he understands every change in pitch, every hitch of her breath, every tug at his arm like simple chemistry.
(There’s an electrifying chemistry in the air between them, and he wishes he could seal it with a kiss right there and then.)
Patience, patience.
“I’ll follow you into hell if you wish, Riza,” he opts for teasing her again, and though his eyes are closed, he can already envisage her scowl in his mind.
Regardless, she’s still a sight to behold, as she’d been as a thirteen-year-old.
“We’re here,” she announces a little excitedly, breathily. Instinctively, Roy removes his hands from his eyes to cover her open palm instead.
Tugging at her wrist gently, he leads her towards a wooden bench that’s all too familiar. It’s a little weather-beaten by time and rain, but sturdy all the same: it supports their weight comfortably as they sit, bodies adjacent to each other. Their shadows merge once more as the sun bathes their silhouette in crimson and orange. Roy pulls her in with an arm and relishes in the contact, sneaking a glance at her every so often while she watches the sunset unfold.
Before them, the vivid blaze begins to soften into a gentle lilac as the lake drowns out the final vestiges of the sun. Any worries and sins and tragedies that might have plagued them recedes like a spectre with the setting sun to give them a moment of undisturbed quietude. It’s incredible to watch, and Roy might have been fascinated by the show if he wasn’t so entranced by the way it reflected in Riza’s eyes; the scarlet mottling her cheeks (he’s pretty sure it’s a blush this time).
Lost in admiration, Roy doesn’t even notice that the enormous sky above them has turned a deep, dark blue until she points out that the first star of the night has appeared.
“Could be Venus instead of a star,” he muses out loud.
“You really have an uncanny ability to spoil things, Roy,” Riza frowns.
“Well, in Roman mythology, Venus was the goddess of love and beauty, and also sex and fertility...”
“... Let’s narrow it down to the goddess of love. Your point being?”
Her question is pure rhetoric at this point as she turns to look at him. Their noses bump against each other’s, but neither makes a move to withdraw. Roy leans in closer, nearer, the same way there was no distance separating their hearts.
Finally, their lips touch, and it feels a little like stars are being born in the enormous universe above them. It starts off tentative, gentle. Riza runs her hands tenderly through a crown of raven black to draw him deeper into the kiss, decades of pining and memories and love unfurling beneath them. It continues like a slow waltz, as though they had all the time in the world, but soon it quickens into a passionate, heated dance as they open their mouths to offer an invitation to explore charted territory. Her eyelids flutter, her breath hitches, and Roy thinks there’s nothing more exquisite than the taste of her. Her morning coffee lingers within. Two spoonfuls of sugar, but it is the indiscernible hum in her throat that sweetens the kiss.
“Happy birthday, Roy,” she whispers after they pull apart.
“Not Mr. Mustang?” Roy manages to quip, a little breathless himself.
Riza sniggers good-naturedly. Idiot. “No, sir.”
He flashes her a smile, one of bittersweet understanding, before leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “Let me savour this moment for a bit more before we get back to business, Riza.”
“Of course, Roy.” She supposed they could afford just this one moment of indulgence before resuming their roles as Brigadier General and Captain.
At the very least, we’ll have these hours of glory to keep our hearts alight, alive.