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i. thief.
He was taller than her, darker, louder. His eyes were grey and his hair was blacker than the spaces between the stars at night. He smiled at her with parted lips and perfect teeth and she just shook her head. She wasn’t very good at making friends.
She didn’t even want to be his friend at first.
He was a thief, after all.
She often stared at him, as he studied. As he spoke to her with grace and charm. The little blonde girl wasn’t used to another person being in the house. It had been over a year since her father had taken on an apprentice.
In the early hours of the morning, the alchemist would sit by her bed and rouse her from her dreams, telling her that something was different about this one. Telling her ‘One day my research will pay off, little bird. One day we will be happy.’
The boy was certainly smarter than the others, but perhaps it was due to his upbringing. Her father had never cared to explain the boy’s past to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
She tried her best not to notice that he was nicer than the others as well. Or that he was better looking. Or that he liked her.
It was obvious in the way he stood close to her when they spoke, or in the way he blushed at her compliments, and fumbled for words when she showed any sort of affection towards him. It took a few months, but he grew on her, ‘much like a fungus’ she’d said to him. He laughed and reached over to tuck her bangs behind her ear, his finger brushing her cheek ever so softly. His face had lit up red like a tomato when she stuttered his name immediately after.
She found that he was often flustered like this, around her. It was flattering, but she knew her father wouldn’t like it. He was a kind man, but the idea of his apprentice trying (and failing) to flirt with his daughter might push him over the edge. So they kept their ‘friendship’ a secret.
He asked her all sorts of things, even though he knew she didn’t like to talk. She asked him those things and return, and even more. They started to meet outside of small accidental interactions. They started to plan outings together and write notes only the other would understand.
It was slow, their romance. It was quiet like their morning whispers and it was gentle like his hands in her hair. She allowed herself to care for him in a way she’d never cared for another. She allowed herself to trust, as he’d trusted her. Eventually they found themselves in deep conversations about their childhood, their parents, their desires for the future. He told her he didn’t want a future without her in it, and she snickered.
She only really laughed for him. He liked that. He liked it so much the next night they met he touched her cheeks with his hands and pulled her into a kiss. She’d never kissed a boy before but it felt right. It felt different. It felt warm.
It was then that she figured out something she’d never known before about him. Funny thing, thievery. It’s addicting. It’s thrilling. And she became a thief too.
She played his games for a long time. Whether it was kisses under the staircase or touches behind the house, they were thieves together. But he was always the worst.
Something had changed in his eyes the day he received a formal letter in the mail. They didn’t speak for days, and she worried.
The day he told her he was leaving she realized he’d stolen a very big part of her. She reached out to touch him but he was already gone. Fingers lingered on his jawline as they said their own goodbyes. ‘Keep it,’ she said, but he didn’t know what she meant. She smiled.
He promised to return to her, to return for the future he’d always longed for, and in the span of several moments he turned his back and left. She was crying when he looked over his shoulder, but she’d already disappeared inside.
She was never as good as stealing as he had been.
ii. crimes
It was several years before she saw him again, before she could see the eyes of the man who’d stolen from her. It seemed that old habits die hard, but this time it wasn’t really stealing. She’d bared the prize to him by choice, hadn’t she?
What he’d done with her gift afterwards, though, had been completely out of her control.
It was several years after that that she’d begun to make her own future, although some of her pieces were missing. She knew where they were, though. In his hands, in his eyes, in his pockets. She wondered where he kept her biggest piece, but soon forgot her pain when the war began.
It was her job to bring pain now, and she did. Quite expertly.
Only after seeing him again in the vast lands of the warfront did she realize the thief’s future could be her own future. Hadn’t it been that way all along?
He stole from her a final time and she screamed into his chest as her skin fought against her and her body was seared by something more than a flame.
Sometimes it seemed like he was trying to give them back… the things he stole. There were no more kisses or confessions but there were lingering touches, glances, whispers. When she was a child she didn’t know what love meant but if feeling this type of devotion and care for the man made her in love, then she wouldn’t deny it. She wouldn’t admit it, though. Not yet.
Not even with her life in his hands. Not even with the devil staring them in the eyes. Not even when the country fell and they were left tot pick up the pieces. Not even when they were discharged for their warcrimes, when they drank too much when he could see her face again.
He told her she was beautiful and she snickered. They held hands in private and in time she found that she had been stealing just as much as he had.
iii. justice
Somehow things began to change. There were no longer rules binding them, keeping them from each other. Somehow he’d been given the privilege to keep his team, to keep his dream alive.
It was an autumn night when they found themselves in a familiar situation. They were alone on the balcony of the room just above his aunt’s bar. They leaned against the railing together, bodies pressed side by side after they’d heard the results of the final election from the streets below. She turned to him, slowly. She looked like she did when they were younger. He refused to look at her for a moment, a gentle smile illuminating his face.
“Congratulations, President Mustang.” she breathed against his ear. He laughed quietly and turned to face her, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her forward. It felt a little awkward, a little foreign. They hadn’t done this in a long time. He didn’t say anything, just held her for a moment until she leaned a little closer.
“Give it back,” she whispered, her smile gone, her cheeks flushed. He quirked a brow, tightening his hold as her arms snaked around his body.
“Only when you give mine back,” he said suddenly, and she blinked in surprise.
“I can’t,” she huffed, “it’s mine now,” she said quietly, stern like she used to speak to him in front of others, “forever.” she added to the end, too quiet to hear. It registered with him, though, and he tilted his head, nose brushing hers in the cool outside air. He was warm, she noted, just like he used to be. “And besides, I don’t take orders from you anymore, sir.” she joked, eyes bright with a new awakening, with a familiar type of joy.
“That’s alright,” he replied, “it always belonged to you anyways.”
She snickered. She only ever laughed for him, and he liked that. He liked it so much he held her waist with his hands and pulled her in for a kiss.
After that, he never had to steal again.