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september first, 1914
Roy is an innately curious person, he can't help it. If mysteries aren't meant to be solved, then they wouldn't be mysteries to begin with. So when he gets home after a late night of work and finds the previously empty apartment 3C wide open, it's only natural that he would peek through the door in order to catch a glimpse of the new tenant.
There is nobody to be seen yet, but boxes pile up all over the place. They're not a lot. Either his neighbor is not a materialistic person or they're not done unloading the moving truck yet. He strains his eyes to see past the entry hallway, but no shadows nor silhouettes move in the living room. Not done unloading then. Otherwise they would already be here.
Something nudges his leg and he jumps back, startled. A small dog peers up at him with big eyes, head tilted to the side. It sniffs his shoes and licks the laces, apparently deeming him a friend. He bends down to scratch its head, and the dog happily accepts the gesture.
"Hey there, buddy," he says. "Are you my new neighbor? Where's the owner?"
"Can I help you with something?"
Roy startles again at the voice, immediately retreating his hand behind his back, as if petting the dog was a punishable offense. Next to the staircase stands what might just be, in his humble opinion, the prettiest woman he's ever seen. Blonde hair, a rounded nose, formidably well built, evident even through the bulky wool sweater. He has to remind himself it is rude to stare, because holy shit.
"Hey," he stands up and tugs on his shirt to straighten it. It's wrinkly. Had he known he would meet her today, he wouldn't have taken that nap in Hughes' couch. "Is this your dog?"
"Black Hayate, come here." She puts down her box and the dog runs at her wagging its tail. "Yes, he's mine. And you are?"
"Mustang. Roy Mustang. Neighbor to the right. 3B."
"Pleasure," she smiles, and oh heavens, she's beautiful when she smiles. She extends a hand towards him. "Riza Hawkeye."
He could shake it, really, he could, but the cheesy part of his brain insists that he turn it downward and plant a mock kiss on her knuckles. Her eyebrows shoot up in amusement.
"Quite the gentleman, aren't you?"
"My aunt prides herself in having raised me well."
"Tell her she should dial back the corniness for her next batch of children."
Oh, God have mercy on him. "Will do. Need any help with that?"
"No, thank you." She picks up her box again and takes it inside the apartment. Black Hayate offers him one final lick and follows his owner. She pats his head and smiles at him in a way that cannot be good for his cardiac health. "Have a good day, Mr. Mustang."
Roy stands there with his heart galloping like a frenzied horse for longer than he cares to admit.
november nineteenth, 1914
Roy exits the staircase and is immediately assaulted by a demon with four paws and the brain of a caffeinated teenager. His pristine shirt is the first victim.
"Hayate, no!" His panicked owner chases after him. "Bad! Come here!"
"Whoa, buddy, chill," he pats his head, half to calm him down, half to shove him down to the floor so he wouldn't jump him anymore. "Excited, aren't we?"
"Sorry," Riza hurriedly clasps on the leash with an apologetic smile. "He's been trapped inside all day and it makes him really anxious."
"Yeah, that checks out."
"Sorry about the shirt."
"I've had worse stains. Just ask the mustard."
"Will do," she chuckles. "It probably has a lot of interesting stories to tell, doesn't it?"
"You'd never guess."
They stand in silence for a second, her fingers twirling the leash around themselves, his fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch. He notices her eyes nervously flitting down to the dog tracks all over his torso. Cupping his cheek as in deep thought, he contemplates the white fabric.
"This looks like the latest fashion," he observes. "Do I look handsome in animal print?"
Her laughter comes out in choppy sprouts. It's slightly nasal and honestly? He's as good as gone, isn't he? "You do look handsome. The brown really brings out your eyes."
"Does it now?" He tries his best not to look too happy about the compliment. "Perhaps I should implement more of this designer's work in my daily wardrobe."
"Should you decide to do so, I'll make sure you are the first to receive the finest pieces."
"Why, thank you, Miss Hawkeye, that is delightful to hear."
"Consider it retribution, Mr. Mustang, for any inconveniences caused by my tiny pal." Mirth glistens in her eyes. How lucky was he to have met her? "Come on now, though, I'll help you clean up."
He waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I got—"
"Please, I insist," she grabs his wrist and drags him inside her apartment.
It takes him a very long while to realize that in all the months he's known her, he hasn't ever taken one step beyond her doorway. She leads him to the kitchenette and lets go of him to find soap. His skin feels sore without her fingers there, but a cold splotch in his stomach distracts him soon enough.
"I'm really sorry," she mutters again, wiping his shirt with a sponge. "At least it's coming off."
He watched her rather awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with his hands. She's really close, even though she doesn't seem to notice.
"There," she finishes her cleaning and presses a towel to the wet area. "All clean."
They lift their gaze at the exact same time and now she notices the lack of space between them. Clearing his throat, he steps away.
"Thanks," he says clumsily and pats Hayate. "Be good, Hayate."
He flees her apartment and locks himself in his before she can see his red face.
january twenty-fifth, 1915
Roy is, to put it bluntly, in deep shit. As he frantically gropes around every pocket on his body, he realizes that yes, they are indeed empty.
Oh, crap.
"Someone's looking chirpy."
Behind him, Riza approaches him with a bag of groceries and a smile.
"I don't have them."
"What?"
He grips her shoulders and shakes her. "I don't have them!"
"What don't you have?"
"My keys!"
She goes pale. "Oh, crap."
He releases her and runs his fingers through his hair. "You think?!"
"Well, where can they be?"
"In my office."
"Let's go get them, then," she proposes. "I'll come along, hurry."
"The office closed an hour ago."
"Don't you have the keys to..." She trails off when she sees his frustrated expression. "They're with your other keys, aren't they?"
Roy just groans and drops to the ground. Moping like a child around the pretty neighbor wasn't in his to-do list for today, but life has a way of surprising him. Riza sighs, but she's entertained by this whole ordeal. He glares up at her through his bangs.
"You're pathetic," she informs him.
"Thank you for the reminder."
"Come on," she offers him a hand and pulls him up. "Follow me."
She takes him to her apartment, dropping the groceries on the counter on her way. All apartments have sad little balconies, and hers is no exception. She slides the door open and beckons him outside.
"What are you planning?" He asks cautiously.
"It's relatively easy to open these from the outside," she says like it's nothing. "Your balcony is right next to mine. If you can get over there, you can get in."
He stares. What else can he do? This woman is absolutely crazy yet she looks at him like she's patiently waiting for him to make up his mind.
"I'm not going to jump."
"Die stuck in the hallway, then."
"I could get myself killed!"
"It's not that hard."
"You do it, then."
"Alright," she agrees and hitches up her skirt to her knee.
Oh, she's actually going to do it. He has half a mind to stop her, but he somehow doubts she'll hurt herself. She heaves herself up on the banister with masterful balance and takes the leap. The soles of her shoes tap delicately on the other balcony.
She waves at him. "See? Easy. Your turn."
Now he couldn't let himself be outplayed, could he? Much less gracefully, he hauls himself to the other side railing and carefully extends a leg to his balcony. She was right, the distance isn't that great and soon enough, he's clinging to his own banister for dear life, but at least he's there.
Riza laughs wholeheartedly and it almost makes him let go just to watch. "Here, let me."
He holds onto her as she helps him step onto the balcony itself. Once he's on firm floor, he keeps her hands for just a little longer.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." She smiles. "Now, can you pick a lock?"
april sixth, 1915
Roy miserably drags his feet up the staircase and curses himself for choosing an apartment on the third floor. The view is nicer up here his ass, he had an entire building worth of apartments to choose from, why did he choose this one? How dare his own stupid home make him work out after a long, tiresome day of work?
He doesn't even have the strength to pull out his keys when he gets to his door. Instead, he stares at the pathetic piece of chipped wood, and when it doesn't magically open, he bangs his forehead against it and waits.
For what? Who knows, something ought to happen eventually.
"Rough day?"
Speak (think?) of the devil.
Riza brushes past him on her way to her own door. The brief shoulder bumping revives him somehow, and he manages to turn his head to smile tiredly at her.
"You have no idea."
"I do, actually." She rummages through her pockets for her key. She has so many pockets, everywhere, in all her outfits. He would ask where she found so many clothes with pockets if he didn't know she modified or straight up made them herself. "I heard Olivier is giving you a hard time again."
"Such a lovely woman," he sighs, "and such a surprisingly creative foul mouth."
"I'll never understand how you got her to hate you so much. She's always nice to me."
"Everyone is nice to you, Riza."
"And no one is to you. Wonder why."
He snorts. "My ideas proved too big for their little minds."
"More like your ass proved too smart."
"I'll take that as a compliment, actually."
"Please don't."
"Too late."
Shaking her head, she finds the keys and unlocks her door.
"Hey, don't you wanna do that for me too while you're at it?" He asks. "Keys are in my coat."
She raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, Roy?"
"Please?"
"Get your own door."
"But I'm exhausted," he drags out the last syllable for extra pity points. "Please?"
Riza bridges the seven steps between their doors (yes, he has counted them, thank you so much for noticing), fishes out his keys from his pocket and dangles them in front of his eyes. She then proceeds to deposit them on his palm and guide his hand to the lock.
"I've gotten you this far, can't you open it yourself?" She snorts when he just flaccidly flaps the key around. "What are you, a child?"
"Yes."
"Just twist it to the side."
"No."
"Roy," she pulls out the stern voice and he gulps.
"I'm sorry." He stands up straight and actually opens the door. "There, I'm sorry."
She rolls her eyes, albeit fondly because she secretly likes him, and begins to make her way back to her own apartment. He catches her wrist before she gets far.
"Tea for your efforts?"
She contemplates her answer for a second and smiles. "I probably deserve pastries too, don't I?"
"Absolutely."
"In that case, alright."
"After you, m'lady."
june eighth, 1915
Roy buys flowers on his way home. Yes, he's indulging the cheesiness again, sue him. It's been nine months; he wants to actually do something, what's wrong with that? He picks out a small bouquet of camellias, pink, white and red. The florist grins knowingly and ties the wrapping paper around the stems with a golden ribbon even though he doesn't ask for it. He thanks her and practically skips the rest of the way.
Riza has the same working hours as he does, if one is to judge based on all the times they've met in the hallway at six pm. He rushes up the stairs. With his stop at the flower shop, he's running a little bit later than usual; she must already be there and he doesn't want to miss her. His heart thumps harder and not due to the exercise. He gives himself a moment to regain composure before opening the staircase door.
The hallway is empty.
He stands there like the idiot he is. Great. The one day —the one day— he finally grows some balls is the one day she decides to be late or early or simply not there. Destiny must really have it out for him. He sighs. He could simply knock, but the misfortune knocks the courage right out of his chest. Guess the flowers will have to wilt on his counter.
"Roy, you're blocking the door."
Impossible. He spins on his heel and there she is, divine as always, slightly winded. Did she run up too? Her eyes fall on his bouquet at the exact moment his land on the one in her hands. They're all white, white petals accommodated in a spiral.
The reality that there might be someone else who likes her just as much as he does hits him like a truck. It's not unreasonable, why wouldn't they like her? She's beautiful and smart—
"Oh," she says and it sums up his feelings pretty well.
"Uh," he scratches his neck. How awkward must it be to get flowers from two people in one day. "These were for you, but I see someone got ahead of me, huh?"
She clears her throat. "Actually, these were for— well, for you."
He blinks slowly. "What?"
"I don't know," she admits, growing increasingly redder. "I saw them and thought you might— I don't know. They're gardenias."
"It must be fate, then," he smiles uncontrollably, "right?"
"Right." She finally meets his eye and she can't get any more stunning, can she? "Too bad I don't even own a vase."
"Neither do I."
"Perhaps you could accompany me to buy one?"
"Miss Hawkeye, are you asking me out?"
"No. This is a neighbourly activity," she deadpans.
He laughs. "I'd be delighted."
"Maybe I should give you these."
They exchange bouquets. Roy looks down at the gardenias, a pleasant lump beginning to form in his throat. Riza holds her flowers to her chest and intertwines their fingers before leading him out of the building.