![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perfectworrytitle: Raze the City
fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
pairing: Riza/Roy
rating: K+
notes: once again, inspired by a middle-of-the-night convo withcorvae_regina (I need to get her to post some of her fic); title is the name of a Snow Patrol song
"Sign this," she says, handing him a stack of papers that will doubtlessly just end up in the pile on his desk, forgotten and ignored, inevitably buried by the flurry of paperwork that always accompanied Fullmetal's arrival.
He reaches out for them casually, chin still resting in his other hand, elbow on the table propping him up. His eyes betray his boredom.
Their hands touch; his fingers brush hers. It lasts only a split second, a single frame in the film of their lives. Riza can see it as an observer, what it must look like to a spectator. She examines it from this vantage point, distancing herself from the electrical shock that runs from her hand to her heart; she sees their hands through the papers, centered in the cross hairs. She sees her hands now as they might be seen by someone watching this strange story unfold. Safe from the impending war, unburdened by almost impossible promises, they might sigh and wonder why she wears no ring on her finger. She thinks about the audience members who aren't watching for the war story and wanted to see the love story.
They wouldn't understand. Not having been here, in this room, in this moment, in Ishbal, in the trenches, in the past, in Central, in the heat of the moment, they would miss out on the love story that unfolds in the quiet moments like these, where Riza is reminded that she might have been Gracia, might have had a ring for her finger, might have slept in the same bed every night instead of the same tent for a week in a war.
Watching this scene, they would miss the bigger, deeper love between them. It is not the love of a man and a woman, but of a colonel and his lieutenant.
In moments like this, Riza feels an almost imperceptible pang of regret that she isn't a character in the story taking place in their heads. In that version, this casual, accidental touch leads to her pinning Roy down and really crumpling up his papers. In the story she lives in, he simply takes the papers and tosses them onto the desk, rather than her tossing him down onto it.
They are both beyond blushing, beyond stammering when something like this happens, and the moment is over almost before it began, and both of them ignore it. Though her eyes betray nothing, Riza will hold this scene in her heart to play and replay before she falls asleep at night, reveling in the version of the story they would tell.
She wonders if Roy will, too.
*
fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
pairing: Riza/Roy
rating: K+
notes: once again, inspired by a middle-of-the-night convo with
corvae_regina (I need to get her to post some of her fic); title is the name of a Snow Patrol song"Sign this," she says, handing him a stack of papers that will doubtlessly just end up in the pile on his desk, forgotten and ignored, inevitably buried by the flurry of paperwork that always accompanied Fullmetal's arrival.
He reaches out for them casually, chin still resting in his other hand, elbow on the table propping him up. His eyes betray his boredom.
Their hands touch; his fingers brush hers. It lasts only a split second, a single frame in the film of their lives. Riza can see it as an observer, what it must look like to a spectator. She examines it from this vantage point, distancing herself from the electrical shock that runs from her hand to her heart; she sees their hands through the papers, centered in the cross hairs. She sees her hands now as they might be seen by someone watching this strange story unfold. Safe from the impending war, unburdened by almost impossible promises, they might sigh and wonder why she wears no ring on her finger. She thinks about the audience members who aren't watching for the war story and wanted to see the love story.
They wouldn't understand. Not having been here, in this room, in this moment, in Ishbal, in the trenches, in the past, in Central, in the heat of the moment, they would miss out on the love story that unfolds in the quiet moments like these, where Riza is reminded that she might have been Gracia, might have had a ring for her finger, might have slept in the same bed every night instead of the same tent for a week in a war.
Watching this scene, they would miss the bigger, deeper love between them. It is not the love of a man and a woman, but of a colonel and his lieutenant.
In moments like this, Riza feels an almost imperceptible pang of regret that she isn't a character in the story taking place in their heads. In that version, this casual, accidental touch leads to her pinning Roy down and really crumpling up his papers. In the story she lives in, he simply takes the papers and tosses them onto the desk, rather than her tossing him down onto it.
They are both beyond blushing, beyond stammering when something like this happens, and the moment is over almost before it began, and both of them ignore it. Though her eyes betray nothing, Riza will hold this scene in her heart to play and replay before she falls asleep at night, reveling in the version of the story they would tell.
She wonders if Roy will, too.
*
