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There’s a river, and Ed is sitting on a chair in the middle of it, reading his book. He flips the pages with automail fingers, and turns when he seems to notice Roy.
“Oh you made it, sir,” he says, red hair floating in the wind. “Jump on in, water’s warm.” And indeed, it is steaming, so Roy obliges. Faint traffic noises are drifting in through the open window, and Roy takes a step into the river of milk.
Ed shuffles some more pages, the sound gentle amongst the traffic, and the sky is turning soft orange—
Groggily, Roy blinks open gritty eyelids and wakes to a view of a pair of uniform-clad legs sitting cross-legged on a chair. The sun seems to have set, and a gentle breeze is wafting in through the open window to dispel the heat that had lingered from the day. The taste of sleep still on his tongue, Roy shifts so he can sit up.
“Hey.”
The tumultuous storm in his mind seems to have calmed down, for now, and Roy manages to draw up a slightly more genuine smile for Ed, perched on the chair still. “Sorry for keeping you.” His voice sounds too loud in the hush, and he clears his throat. “Good read?” he asks, with a nod towards the book.
Folding the cover back over gently, Ed gets up and stretches before walking over the shelf to return it. “S’all right. Mostly stuff I’d gotten off Mei already, but it did have a neat little bit about how alkahestry’s linked in with our alchemy that I hadn’t seen before, helped me figure out something in my head about how arrays work together and shit.” Ed returns to lean on the chair, arms crossed and looking down at Roy. “Feeling better?”
“Marginally. How long was I out for?” Roy stretches out a cramp in his arm as Ed raises his head to peer at the clock.
“Fo—five hours. Ish. It’s almost eleven now.”
Shifting back in the chair, Roy takes stock. The buzzing of his thoughts has turned down to more of a gentle niggling now, but it’s still there, and he can’t really trust himself to drive. It isn’t that he fears another panic attack. But occasionally, he finds that he’ll put his foot down too hard and just not care, which, in the back of his mind, he knows to be a bad thing.
“You should probably get home,” Ed says, and Roy turns back to face him.
When his eyes settle on Ed, his heart skips a beat, and here, in the quiet and the odd sacred softness that Ed’s created tonight, it hits Roy—in a way that he is powerless to deny—how beautiful Ed is. The lamplight casts a yellow glow across tanned skin, reflects off the silver sheen of his hand. His head is tilted in the most adorable way as he regards Roy curiously, his braid starting to come loose after a long day, and there is nothing Roy wants to do more in this moment than to run his fingers through those little stray wisps of hair.
Very deliberately, he tucks his hands in his pockets. “I probably should.” He blinks tiredly, then lets out a long breath, and starts gathering his things. “Is Alphonse waiting up for you?” he asks as he shuffles things around on his desk. His wallet is here somewhere—he’s a creature of habit, he puts it on his desk whenever he steps inside his office. But he can’t find it, and he starts pawing through his things with growing desperation because he knows that it’s somewhere here, and he needs it to get home. Truth, he wants to go home, but it still evades him, and there’s a rising tide in his chest—
Ed lifts one of Roy’s various papers—pictures of Hayate filling the margins—and slides Roy’s wallet out from underneath. “Nah, he got on the train to Risembool this morning,” he says, offering the innocent piece of leather.
The desperation is suddenly replaced with guilt. Roy accepts the proffered item, inwardly berating himself—he knew, Edward had told him only yesterday that his brother had an early train out, but it had been…lost. The knowledge simply slipped through, only dredged back up now with Ed’s words.
“You told me,” Roy says, hating that he forgot. “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind.”
“Hey, no big deal,” Ed says easily. “C’mon, you should get back. You okay to drive?”
Roy shakes his head as he shrugs into his coat. “Not the greatest of ideas at the moment,” he says, and he feels something close to being glad that he can inflect wryness in his voice. “But it’s only a short walk.”
“Right then.” Ed clicks his tongue, and saunters to the office door. “I’ll take you back.”
Roy starts to protest. “Really, Ed, you don’t have to.” You’ve done enough; don’t let me weigh you down any longer.
But Ed just gives him that look. The patented Mustang-are-you-stupid look, and it burns away any further pretence of not wanting Ed with him. After all, that is Ed, isn’t it? Forthright and stubborn, especially when it came to those he cares about.
Somehow, miraculously, Roy’s earned that honour.
The two of them shuffle out of the office, lights clicking off to cloak the room in darkness, before the heralding of another workday. Their conversation is sparse, some quiet apologies when shoulders bump into each other, but somehow the quiet is comforting rather than terrifying now, and Roy feels something almost—not quite, but almost—like peace, in the gentle echo of their footsteps down the empty halls.
The wind’s picked up by the time they step back outside, and Ed knows that the way that the air’s still hot and heavy means that there’s a storm coming. The moon’s flickering in and out behind some clouds that are starting to build up, and thank fuck for that, because Ed wasn’t sure that he could’ve survived the heat much longer.
It’s bright as they wind their way through the streets of Central. Not Risembool bright, not the kind of bright that’s lit up by multitudes of stars dotting the sky and the glow of the moon, with fireflies flickering amongst blades of grass that clustered around fence posts. Nope, Central is headlights and streetlights and a fuck ton of other types of lights—the yellow of office windows (even though it’s damn near midnight), and the flash of shop signs on quiet streets.
Whatever the lighting situation, the night still has pockets of shadows, and it’s only when they pass under a street lamp or a car swooshes by that Ed can see that Mustang looks like shit. Slightly less like shit than he had a few hours ago, but it’s still…worrying. The couple of hours rest has done him some good, at least; he looks slightly steadier, if nothing else. His hair is sticking up all over the place now, and Ed clamps down on the urge to reach up and smooth it down.
When Roy said that he’d be able to get home alone, Ed wanted to scoff—hadn’t he been able to see that Ed couldn’t leave him alone like that? More than that—he wouldn’t. Roy looked so lost when he woke up—confused, disoriented and fucking fragile (and isn’t that a weird thought). How can Roy think that Ed, for a single moment, would just be like “yep, job done, see you tomorrow”, when he looked like that?
There’s a distant rumble of thunder, and Ed looks up at the sky. Why he does that, he’s not too sure, because it’s not like it’s going to tell him anything.
“Probably gonna rain soon,” he says.
Roy does that grunt-acknowledgement thing that Mum always used to frown at Ed for.
“Should probably hurry up, a bit.”
Now Roy looks up at the sky as well. Ed wonders if it reveals any more than it did to himself. Probably. Most things seem to be way more willing to co-operate when they see that stupidly gorgeous face, and nature probably isn’t any exception.
“Yeah,” Roy says non-committedly, but he does seem to lengthen his stride a bit.
It’s awkward. Ed isn’t going to pretend that it isn’t, because it isn’t every day—well, really, today had been the first—that you walked in on your superior officer having a minor break down alone. But it isn’t uncomfortable, at least not in any kind of Ed not wanting to be there way. The problem is that he does want to be there, he does want to stick around, but Mustang is always so…Mustang that it’s hard to figure out how exactly Ed can look after him without being shoved away.
So he just sticks with keeping quiet, for the moment. Makes sure to subtly (probably not very subtly at all, actually) brush up against Roy when they cross a street, just to give him that half-second of a pause to check for the cars Roy isn’t bothered looking out for. He’s going to get the man home, make sure he gets water, and rest, because there are shadows under Roy’s eyes that look solid enough for Ed to transmute something out of.
Roy just looks so worn, and fuck it if Ed can’t remember what that feels like, doesn’t also know fatigue and weariness like an old friend. Ed just wants to wipe it all away: the weird blank look in Roy’s eyes, how they’re unfocussed, how his usual long strides have been reduced to the shuffled dragging of feet.
How lost he looks.
Ed clears his throat.
“So…you need to talk about it?”
Roy looks at him, and his expression is empty for a moment, before he seems to remember who’s with him and where he is.
“I…” He lets out a breath. “I’ll be fine. But I appreciate the offer.”
But when he looks away, Ed’s a bit pissed.
Not at being pushed away—he’d kind of expected that, and if that had really been what Roy needed, then Ed would’ve been fine with it.
But it’s bullshit, isn’t it? Everything is screaming bullshit, because Roy’s eyes flicker back to Ed’s—just for a moment, but it happened—and there’s something there, just a brief flash of hesitation across his face. But then his gaze drops back down to start studying the pavement again like it’s all that’s interesting.
And Ed’s tired too. Not in the same way Roy is, not at the moment, but he’s just sick of all this…lying that they’re doing. He’s sick of the hiding and the dodging around when he trusts this man the way he trusts Al, and doesn’t Roy know as well that Ed’s got his back?
“Y’know,” he says slowly, the sound drawn out in the hush of the night. “You don’t…look, I get it, okay? I’ve done the whole bottling up shit before, and I’m not sayin’ that you…that you owe anyone anything, or that you have to spill if that ain’t what you wanna do. I know sometimes…shit’s heavy. But if you…if you gotta unload, then I’m okay with that.”
This sounds stupid. Ed knows that it sounds stupid, but he’s—Roy needs to know. Needs to know that he’s important, and that Ed will stand in his corner and beat him up for his bullshit, but also that Ed will just as readily fight against anything that comes at Roy and tries to tear him down. Roy needs to know that Ed will always stand by him, that there’s something worth sticking around for.
Ed needs Roy to know.
There’s a long silence, and all Ed can hear is the occasional rumble of thunder of the approaching storm, and the clopping of Roy’s shoes against the pavement. A younger Ed might’ve yelled for Roy to say something, might’ve gotten flustered and blundered his way through to hammer through the silence that feels like a concrete block, but a younger Ed knew jack shit. Younger Ed hadn’t seen Roy go from putting on his best Scary Colonel face, to pissing himself laughing the next moment after scaring Havoc shitless. Younger Ed hadn’t seen Roy give Elicia a piggyback, or solemnly draw pictures with her seated in his lap, hair clips holding his dumb hair down. He hadn’t known that Roy could be tired, or sad, or fucking quiet. Vulnerable.
Younger Ed hadn’t realised how important it was to have someone with you, unquestionably, faithfully watching your back. He had been grateful for it, knew that he wouldn’t have been anything without Al. Without his family, without the team in blue and gold. But it was only after everything, when he’d had a moment to slow down, to think, that he realised how fucking important it had been to have it all.
And it was only afterwards that he realised that Roy had always, always been on his side.
So he lets Roy have his silence, because sometimes all you need is to know that someone cares, and if that’s what Roy’s happy with tonight then Ed will let him have it. And for a little bit, he doesn’t think Roy’s going to say anything. But then the familiar voice drifts into the night, soft, and a little vulnerable.
“It was…warm.” Roy clears his throat, lifts a hand to undo his top button as though suddenly remembering the heat. “I mean…you’ve been to the desert?”
Oh.
He suspected, but now, Ed’s pretty sure of where this is going. “Yeah.”
“Right.” Roy shrugs. “Ishval wasn’t quite the same, but…close enough. So it just…reminded me. Then I had to go think of Maes.” Ed’s heart skips a beat at that, and there’s that familiar flash of tightness in his chest whenever he hears that name. There’s a wry tone to Roy’s voice now, but then it softens. “I can get by without doing that for months, but then…it’ll just be something small. My phone rang. And that was enough to have him on my mind all week.” Roy shrugs “You know how it is.”
And Ed thinks his parents, of Risembool. Thinks about a little girl and a giant dog.
“Yeah,” he replies softly. He does know.
There’s a pinprick of coldness on Ed’s face. Then another. He blinks, and then there’s the crescendo of water on concrete that announces the arrival of the long-awaited storm, and suddenly the night is alive with noise and movement.
“Shit.” Ed debates for a moment whether to use his jacket to shield his head—and damn it, the wool is going to stink later—but fuck it, he’s already drenched through in the couple of seconds they’ve been standing around, so no point, really.
“We’re almost there,” Roy says, voice louder now to be heard over the rain. “Come on, you can dry off at my place.”
Ed nods, and the two of them quicken their pace, Ed following Roy’s hurried steps. It’s fucking miserable, and he can’t see shit except for Roy’s back solid in front of him, shoulders hunched against the cold and the wet.
He hopes that Roy has an umbrella at his place, because he does need to get home, and he’d rather have some kind of flimsy protection against the elements—which only seem to have increased in their efforts to piss him off now. If he doesn’t then…
Stay the night.
Ed almost groans at the thought, but the figure in front of him keeps him quiet. No, he shouldn’t be thinking shit like that, shouldn’t be getting those fucking hopes up, especially when his priority should be Roy right now. Roy who needs to get his ass into bed and sleep.
And…great, fuck, now he’s thinking about what it’d be like to curl up next to him, listen to Roy’s breathing even out. Would he be warm? Or would he be cold to touch, like Ed is most of the time? Ed’s banking on the former, but he don’t know how much of that is bias, because these days every time he gets anywhere near Mustang, electricity seems to jump in the air and heat seems to flood the room. Fuck, he really shouldn’t think about this, especially when his priority should just be getting the fuck home so he can not be drenched, but—
There’s a sharp blare of a car horn, and Ed looks up just in time to see Roy freeze, trip on the curb as a car barrels down, and the headlights flash to light up the alarm on Roy’s face—
Heart thundering, Ed grabs Roy’s arm, and yanks him back, stumbling, to crash into Ed as the car speeds past in a hiss of tyres slicing through water.
“Fuck, are you all right?” Ed’s heart is pounding a million beats a minute—which isn’t even scientifically possible, but what the fuck ever—and he grabs Roy to turn him around to face him. “You fuckin’ dipshit, you’re meant to fuckin’ look where you’re going!”
Roy stares, panting, and Ed’s heart trips again when Roy does nothing. But then he blinks, and licks his lips, looking fucking miserable his hair plastered down all over his face.
“I—I’m fine,” he manages. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t…I wasn’t looking.”
Ed snorts. “Damn right. You’re lucky I was fuckin’ here.”
In the dim white of a street lamp, Ed can just make out the corner of Roy’s helpless smile. “Lucky indeed.” Then he looks away, and nods his head at something across the road. “Would’ve been rather unfortunate as well, seeing as we’re only a few houses away now.”
Impulsive.
That’s what a lot of people say about him, but a lot of people don’t know jack shit. They just don’t see the agonising, the worrying, the overthinking until there’s so much pressure that actions don’t have any other way out than by explosion. Sure, there might be surprises every now and again, but please, he’s a scientist—he weighs, he calculates, and then he acts.
So yeah, it might look impulsive when Ed darts a hand out to wrap his fingers around Roy’s, but he’s been agonising over it forever that it’s as though the entire universe lets out a giant breath, and says finally.
“Well, I’m not fuckin’ trusting you to cross the road by yourself anymore,” he growls, and he’s glad it’s dark. Roy can’t see him blushing. Sure, he grabbed his hand back in the office to drag him to go to sleep, but that was…different. And had lasted pretty much two seconds, tops.
This is deliberate. This is deliberate, and Ed is present enough to notice the way that their fingers slot together neatly, with Roy’s hand a bit bigger than his own. And it’s…nice. His stomach is doing little summersaults, and his heart and straight up galloping out of his chest now—this time not from fear and panic—and it’s nice, and Ed has to scowl so he doesn’t grin like an idiot. There’s rain running between their entwined fingers, and it’s freezing, but Roy’s hand still feels fucking amazing in his and—did he imagine that, or did Roy just give a little squeeze?
Would be rude not to acknowledge that.
So, just to be safe, he squeezes back.
“C’mon.”
Then he all but drags Roy off the sidewalk—checking for cars first, thank you very much—to the house which Roy had gestured at. The wind’s knocked a couple of pot plants over, but that’s all good, because he’s done what he came to do, he’s finally taken Roy—
Home.
There is something, some inexplicable part of him—of many people, he supposes—that releases a little as he nears his house. Suddenly, exhaustion crashes into Roy, now that he’s here, now that he can let himself relax.
Although, there’s still the matter of his...bodyguard to deal with first.
Roy clears his throat. “I…appreciate this. Thank you.”
Ed just shrugs. “Welcome,” he says simply.
There’s just enough light to make out the steps of his porch, and Roy gets a funny turn in his chest at the sound of Ed’s footsteps echoing his own on the wood, at the very thought that Ed’s at his house. And he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t think of what it would be like for life to be like this, for coming home to mean two sets of feet making that hollow sound on his porch, of Ed’s hand still firm in his.
But he’s tired, and worn, and Edward standing next to him is like the warmth of his fire hearth in mid-winter, and Roy is sick of heat holding nothing but nightmares.
So he can dream, surely? He can hope, that when he releases Ed’s hand to dig around in his pocket for his key, that he will get to experience that touch again. He can wish for something a little more, when Ed lays his hands over Roy’s unsteady ones to slot the key into the hole when Roy fumbles.
And when Roy pushes the door open and waves Ed through, he can just pretend, fantasise at the domesticity of it all, of Ed yanking of his shoes and dumping them by the doorway. Roy doesn’t miss the way that Ed’s got his hands clasped together for warmth, nor the hunch of his shoulders.
“I’ll light a fire,” he murmurs, beckoning for Ed to follow him into the living room. His gloves are in his pocket, soaked through now, but he has spares. He has spares, but doesn’t trust himself to use them at the moment, so it takes a little while to have the matches out and a flame in the hearth, the flames weak, but building in warmth. Still, Ed moves towards the flickering light, rubbing his hands together and shuffling his feet a bit, the curve of his shoulders relaxing at the heat starts to spread.
“Feel free to take a seat,” Roy says, gesturing at the armchair. “I’ll go get you something to dry off with.”
After a quiet noise of acknowledgement, Roy pads off to his room. It’s short work to shrug out of the soaked wool and changes into plainclothes, leaving his uniform to air out in the bathroom, though he wrinkles his nose at the smell. Indoors, and dryer now, welcome warmth is starting to spread back over his skin. Rummaging in his closet to find a few towels, he returns, laden, back to the lounge room, his steps slightly more animated now because—well, Ed’s waiting, and Roy really wants to get back to him.
The fire has, thankfully, comfortably warmed the room, and Ed looks considerably more content now that he’s out of the rain, and he looks strangely…peaceful. He’s older now, Roy knows, and though the perpetual energy which makes up his very being is still there, it’s mellowed out into something deeper, sharper, more focussed. Yet it’s still rare for Roy to see this calm, and in the moment before Ed notices Roy’s returned presence, his expression is smooth, and the firelight lights up the gold of his hair, darkened by water but still so beautiful.
Of course, Roy has to disturb the peace by throwing a towel at Ed’s head, which draws a yelp from Ed and a grin from Roy.
“Thanks,” Ed mutters, shooting a brief scowl at Roy before he starts to rub his hair out vigorously, and Roy can’t help but laugh a little at the sight.
“What?” Ed asks, head tilted to the side as he squeezes out what he can of the moisture.
“Nothing at all,” Roy says, but he’s still smiling. “I have just never quite dried my hair with the same air of…vengeance.”
Ed snorts. “If you had as much hair as I do, you’d be pissed at it too. Takes hours to dry. Though, I guess, not like you’d know.” There’s a smirk now, one that Roy knows Ed picked up from him. “Old man, receding hairline, and all that.”
Roy raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Ed’s sniggering now, the little upstart, and Roy both wants to strangle him and kiss him brainless. But then he continues, “don’t worry though, you’re still a handsome shit. Or at least, most of Central thinks that.”
Roy blinks.
What?
Did Ed just…what?
Little wings of hope start beating in his heart. Does Ed, maybe…?
In this lighting, Roy can’t tell, can’t know if he’s just imagining the blush that steals across Ed’s cheeks. But before Roy can respond, or investigate further, Ed’s rushed on, casting a glance out the window. “Rain’s not letting up,” he mutters.
Was that…an invitation? Or, rather, an invitation for an invitation? The plan, had there been one in the first place, was to let Ed stay, dry off, and send him on his merry way once the weather had stopped being quite so tempestuous. But…if Roy had to be honest with himself (even if not to Ed), he doesn’t want the other man to leave.
(He never has.)
And now the words are sitting on the tip of his tongue. Words he spoke earlier, but which have an entirely different meaning now.
Could you stay?
Sleepy silence descends, enveloped in the warm folds of the light coming from the fire, documented by the ticking of the clock on the bookshelf. But beneath it all, there’s an undercurrent of vibrant electricity, overwhelming pressure for Roy to just let go.
He can’t.
He wants to.
“You should get to sleep,” Ed says eventually. His eyes meet Roy’s as he offers the towel.
“I should.”
Roy reaches out to take the proffered item, and—it’s deliberate. It is entirely deliberate, how he lays his hand over Ed’s as he takes the towel.
Ed freezes. Looks at where their hands are joined together. Licks his lips, his eyes flickering up to Roy’s for a brief moment. “Um. Yeah, you should sleep,” he says, but the words are quiet, and his voice is hoarse. “You’ve got to get to work tomorrow.”
And at that sentence, at that weight, Roy remembers why this can’t happen.
Why he can’t just decide to give into that electricity around them that sparks and crashes every time they touch, every time they’re in the same damn room. He remembers, with a jolt, work and rank and subordinates and all of Roy’s mess that he still has yet to clean up.
“Well, I will see you tomorrow then, Fullmetal,” Roy says, voice firm once more. He withdraws his arm, feels Ed’s warm touch slip away, and the throws the cloth onto the couch. He can do this. He can play the role of the Colonel, the Flame Alchemist, everything that Ed doesn’t need, and can’t possibly want.
Or perhaps Roy can’t lie—not when Ed’s gaze whips up to land on him, the intensity a flaming brand across his skin. Those golden eyes scrutinise him for a moment, and Ed opens his mouth.
God, Roy can see the emotion play out across Ed’s features, and he marvels at how he can do that, marvels at how he can be so open to the world even after all the shit he’s gone through.
Marvels at Ed.
There is fury, then a moment of hesitation—then just determination as his voice rings out, strong and true.
“Did you want me to stay?”
Stay?
Puzzled, mind still fuzzy from sleep the having spent the entire fucking week on edge, Roy can only stare blankly.
“I…asked you didn’t I?” he drags out slowly, confused. And hadn’t he put his pride on the line in doing so?
Ed looks to the ceiling and puffs out an exaggerated sigh. “No, I didn’t mean tonight. The military.” The golden eyes land back on Roy, and Roy feels terror sing through him, though why he isn’t entirely sure. Maybe it’s the demand there, the unforgiving expectation that Roy will bare his soul as Ed does.
“You said it before.” Ed’s voice is soft, deliberately—too deliberately—level. “You never asked me to stay. So did you want me to?”
Roy can’t do this.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. Or as smooth as you can be after having your subordinate witness your breakdown and then effectively tuck you in in your own office to wake up with a crease down your face from the braid on says subordinate’s jacket. “You’ve always been an addition to the team, and everyone here cares for you and your brother, Fullmetal.”
“I told you not to call me that,” Ed growls. “Don’t act like you’re just my boss, because you know that that’s just bullshit. And that’s not what I meant, and you know it, Roy.”
And the sound of his name on Ed’s tongue sends Roy’s heart tripping because yes, he knows what Ed is asking; after all, it’s what he’s been avoiding. He had known that this would all come to head, that they couldn’t go forever with longing glances and Madame giving him knowing looks over their drinks all the damn time.
“Don’t lie and tell me that you can’t feel whatever—” A frustrated hand comes up to gesture vaguely at the air “—this is. Just for once in your life Roy, give me a fucking clue about what you want.”
I want you.
“What do you want?” he asks back, but he almost withers under Ed’s gaze.
“I asked first.”
Roy almost laughs at the petulant way that Ed pouts, and crosses his arms, because isn’t that just like him? So stubborn in what he wants, what he’s demanding, concern written in the way his brows are knitted together and the sinking of teeth into his bottom lip, but still so, so brave.
And it’s that which decides it for Roy. If Ed is willing to put his pride on the line, to ask—open and vulnerable—then Roy is too.
So his feet carry him forward, unbidden, because he’s never had much choice when it comes to Edward Elric. And Ed’s tongue is darting out to wet his lips now, and he looks so beautiful, tan skin lit up in the flickering glow of the fire, hair a tangled mess from the rain and the mad attempts to dry it.
One hand finds its way to cup Ed’s cheek, to stroke one damp strand of blonde back and tuck it behind his ear. He doesn’t miss the little sharp intake of breath, though it was almost inaudible over the pounding of his own heart and the sighing of the blood in his veins at how right this feels.
“I do feel ‘this’, as you so eloquently put it,” he says quietly, gaze fond as he looks down at Ed, whose gaze is boring into him even as a flush creeps across his cheeks. “I want—I’ve wanted ‘this’ for a long time now. That’s what I want, Edward. But of course, if…if you don’t…?” He trails off, unsure why he’s protesting, only knowing that he should. There are a myriad of reasons—most of which were running through his mind not two minutes ago—why he shouldn’t, but he can’t seem to voice them now, not when Ed is so raw and real in front of him.
Ed frowns some more, but his mouth quirks up in a smile. “You’re hopeless,” he says, and he leans into the hand that’s still resting against his skin, before turning to nip at Roy’s fingers, drawing out a surprised laugh.
But Roy’s all the more surprised when Ed pushes up on his toes, and kisses him.
Ed is still rain-cold, but his hands are warm from the fire, and it’s that warmth that Roy feels when Ed tentatively cups his cheek. There is a moment, a brief moment of hesitation—of surprise, confusion—but then Roy simply melts into the gesture, melts into and breathes in Ed.
It’s firm and almost businesslike, the way that Ed starts out, and Roy places a finger under Ed’s chin to tip his head back, to deepen the kiss, to coax him into something slower, smoother. His other hand shifts to wind around Ed’s waist and pull him closer, and Roy swallows down the muffled sound of surprise, swipes his tongue across Ed’s bottom lip, dips it gently inside to taste, and cherish.
When they surface, when Roy opens his eyes once more, there’s Ed. Ed with his eyes blown wide open, pressed against Roy’s chest, one hand still resting against Roy’s cheek, the other grasping his shirt.
And slowly, together—and isn’t that a miracle?—they start to smile.
“Stay?” Roy asks, fingers curling in Ed’s hair. “I mean, it’s late, and if Alphonse isn’t home…”
Ed butts his head gently against Roy’s chin. “If you give me something that isn’t drenched to sleep in, then sure,” he says.
“We can arrange that.” Roy bends down to press his lips softly to Ed’s once more—because he can—then takes his hand and starts leading him to the bedroom.
It’s nice. Really quite odd, and Roy’s still reeling from the sudden turn of events, but it’s nice, like this. Ed’s quiet, and soon they’re bundled up in bed together, Roy tentatively looping his arm around Ed’s shoulders. When Ed simply just burrows into Roy’s chest, damp hair splayed everywhere, Roy grins like a fool. His heart is going to have to stop doing that excited gallop thing soon enough; he does need to rest, but the excited gallop thing just feels so nice right now. Everything is just nice. Ed tucked up against him, Roy’s old military shirt draped around his frame as makeshift sleepwear.
“You’re comfortable?” he breathes, because this still seemed so—surreal. So odd that he’s dreamed of this, and to actually have it happen.
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Ed replies, and the sheets rustle as he shifts, warmth pressing in closer to Roy. “C’mon, get to sleep already. I’m fucking tired, and we still gotta clock in tomorrow.”
“We do,” Roy murmurs. We. A miracle, a change in a pronoun, and Roy gets to wake up next to Edward Elric tomorrow. “I suppose we should sleep.”
“I suppose we should,” Ed mimics, but his words are slurred, and tucks himself into Roy a little more.
“Good night, Edward.”
There’s a sleepy murmur which sounds like “g’night, Roy,” and the sound itself makes Roy smile a little more. He has no idea where this will go, how this will end up. But right now, there isn’t anywhere else he wants to be.
So for the second time that night, Roy closes his eyes, and lets his mind drift to dark and nothingness; lets the sound, the feeling, the very being of Ed lull him off to rest.