Not quite a morning after. [CLOSED | COMPLETE]
Characters: Dojima Ryotaro (smokersona) and Roy Mustang (thewarisover)
Location: The Dojima Residence
Rating: G for GAY!
Time: August 15, first thing in the morning.
Description: Following the construction post ( here), Dojima has been thinking a whole lot more than he should be. He also has a bad case of wandering eyes.
It had been a long, rather sleepless night for Dojima, but he paid it very little mind indeed. Even the aroma of coffee permeating the kitchen went almost unnoticed, and he barely gave any thought to his daily, morning cup (he always took that little kick in the mornings, God only knew he needed it). Early morning sunlight found him at the table, mug in hand and eyes fixed (rather unseeingly) on the window and the city beyond. A man in deep thought indeed.
Roy, on the other hand, had slept amazingly well. The previous day had been productive, to say the least, with the home construction and his later meeting with Kyouya Hibari (who was a most intriguing man, by the way). As such, the alchemist was in a rather good mood as he dressed up, prepared for the day and then stepped out for breakfast...
Oh, Dojima was up already. Not too surprising, perhaps.
"Good morning," he said in greeting, as he came into the kitchen. He was dressed much like he usually was these days: fatigues, tank top, dogtags. It was surprising how going as military as possible offered him more peace of mind in Death City.
And yet, it fit him like a glove. Dojima hardly paid it any mind these days (it would have been more surprising to see him in any other kind of dress), and he barely spared the man a glance, even at the greeting.
"Morning," he said in response, the little lift of his hand in reply before he nodded to the coffee pot yonder. "Just made some if you wanted. Fresh." Only thing he really could make, coffee.
Barely a glance spared, as he returned to his window-gazing, but he couldn't help notice the man a little more, even in his peripheral.
That was a little... odd. Roy glanced briefly at his partner before heading for the cupboards, digging out his mug, puttering over to the coffee pot. There were few nicer things than a cup of coffee right after waking up.
Still, after sitting down and receiving no reaction, after taking a few sips and watching the man outright and receiving no reaction, one did have to wonder.
"Something on your mind?"
He did look up then, blinking in a manner befitting a man caught by surprise. And he looked just that, as if Roy's appearance was a sudden thing. But he blinked, set down his mug, and offered the younger man that quirk of lips that was his smile.
"Not particularly. Why do you ask?"
Hmm...
"You just look a little pre-occupied."
Roy's tone, though, was neutral. Just curious and concerned enough to show that he cared, but overall, if Dojima didn't want to tell him, he wasn't going to press because it wasn't his business. The younger man reached for the ashtray on the counter, bringing it to the table. A moment, to pad himself down for his cigarettes, filp the box open with a careless gesture of his wrist; another, to pull a cigarette out with his teeth, light up, drag, exhale.
"Want breakfast? I can make something."
He wouldn't have been willing to say that before, but living with Dojima and his family had sort of forced him to learn how to cook halfway decent meals.
Better that Roy cook than allow Dojima to attempt, and he nodded his assent, if distractedly. Fingers twitched on that coffee mug, and he watched the younger man light up for a moment before turning his gaze back to that window.
"Sure. Anything you want to make, I'll take." Kind words, there, a hint of a chuckle in them to boot. Never mind the glance stolen from the corner of his eye, that flick of his gaze to trailing smoke, the cigarette between lips.
He'd never really noticed it before, how utterly and ridiculously graceful the man could be (he could think of no other word than something like 'fluid', and that sounded odd even in his head).
"Those could be your famous last words, you know."
The banter came easier these days, and the most surprising thing about it was that it had taken that one conversation (on mistakes, on saying things and not saying anything at all) over the network to make it happen. A part of Roy knew that he should probably think about it, consider the possible reasons why. The possible, future consequences.
Then again, he had been doing a hell lot of thinking these days. It was part of the reason he tried his best to keep himself occupied, because the last thing he needed were more things to consider. More reminders of what he was, and exactly what he couldn't be, or couldn't do.
...Right. Breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Perfectly harmless.
Or was it? Question of the month. But he allowed himself a chuckle, and allowed the other man to carry on.
Too much thinking, that's what it all amounted to. The banter, the little exchanges were nice, enjoyable even, but wasn't that what Weapon and Meister partnerships supposed to entail? Some sense of unity and camaraderie? He knew there was a certain level of trust to be involved, just as he was certain they had reached it, or thereabouts. That talk had done some good (maybe, maybe, and there's always the thought that Roy could just be pulling what Dojima himself often did in the face of confrontation; playing it cool, normal, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on).
Too much thinking, and it was getting more and more difficult to simply not. Before long, he found himself turning in his seat, just enough to watch the younger work, to watch the surety and fluid motions of his hands. Confidence in every fibre.
And in pursuit of his task, Roy didn't notice a thing. Four eggs, sunny side up. Ten strips of bacon - something easily divided between two people. He could make another batch later for Nanako, although he felt a little leery about subjecting the girl to his cooking. She could do better: he knew that for a fact.
(He smoked while he cooked as well, which might have destroyed how domestic he might've seemed to another.)
Twenty minutes later, he was bringing two plates over, then rounding back to fetch the utensils, glasses, a pitcher of water.
"Here."
A small, quick smile, and he focused on his meal.
Not domestic at all, at least to Dojima's eyes. There was something to be said about a man in military fatigues, smoking like a chimney and frying the eggs for the day. He tried not to think too much on it.
"Thanks," he murmured, the bow of his head before he dug in. Yes, it was easier to focus on the food in front of him rather than ponder on the man across the table.
"This isn't so bad."
"Really?" Mid-munch there, Mustang. No need to talk with your mouth full. Swallow. Definitely getting too comfortable. (Definitely should be more concerned about that.)
"I'll have bragging rights, then, if anyone from home shows up."
Hawkeyes and Havoc always DID complain about how useless he was when it came to everything BUT alchemy and commanding soldiers.
"Couldn't cook?" the quip, that subtle smile widening just a bit, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced up. He could understand the sentiment and feeling there; there was a reason he'd been relegated to coffee duty around the house.
"Not at all."
He felt even more alive than he had when he woke up... he had taken to greatly underestimating the power of proper rest and a full breakfast as of late. Roy smiled at Dojima, meeting the other's gaze, and --
And the things one noticed. He had caught sight of it time and again, he realized - that ring, a silver and quaint and elegant band on his left hand. He knew what it was; had to be an idiot not to, given the fact that his best friend had been married.
Briefly, he remembered their conversation on that hill, all the little things Dojima had said without really saying anything at all. The way the man's hands had tightened around a bottle of beer, or over his own knees. The way the sunlight flashed across the surface of that ring, faster than a blnk.
His gaze must've held for longer than a second, but Roy hoped the other didn't notice. Fork up more bacon, slice off a little bit of egg. Consider the commonalities, the differences. File the information away somewhere for future reference.
(Or maybe - just maybe - forget all about it.)
A ring that had sat on his hand so long, it was almost a part of him, just another one of those little things that he'd stopped paying much mind to. He noticed that glance, if barely, blinking almost curiously before flexing that hand.
"I get you there," he said instead, keeping his tone light, casual, allowing another light chuckle as he turned his attention back to that coffee, blessed lifeblood of the working man.
Too sharp, the younger man seemed at times. Too sharp, too thoughtful. Too quiet, too considering. Too much of everything and yet not enough, somehow. Not enough conversation, not enough banter or joking around or cutting too loose too often. Was that why he watched the soldier then?
A slip-up again, this one more obvious than the others. No matter: proceeding as normal was one thing that Roy Mustang did best. Keep on moving, and there wouldn't be a need to ask outright. The answers were bound to come on their own.
"Done? I can take care of the dishes."
"It's all right," he said, slightly wider smile than before as he pushed his plate aside. "I can do them, since you made breakfast. Fair trade."
While the man may have been difficult to read, it wasn't entirely impossible to do so. Evasion, it seemed to be Mustang's specialty.
"As long as you don't break any," Roy jokingly replied, to better move right back into the safe zone. "Nanako will kill us both if that happens."
The alchemist stood up, stretching as he left the table: slowly, fingers laced together, arms way over his head, then to one side --
-- then, right when he was in the middle of stretching to the next side, he paused, remembering something important.
"Oh, before I forget." he looked at Dojima, his expression a little apologetic. "I'll be in my office for the rest of the day, and out in the evening. Is that all right with you?"
He stared a moment or two, eyes fixed on hands, on laced fingers and the subtle movement of muscles under pale skin, each shift in position seemingly executed just so--
"Eh?" A blink, a small shake of his head, before eyes snapped back up to the younger man's face. Oh yes. Right.
"Of course. I'll leave the light on for you." Like he wouldn't still be awake then.
Had Dojima been... staring at him?
Now what was he going to make out of that.
"Thanks."
And with that, Roy rounded back into their room, to check if he had forgotten anything. When he emerged again, he was thumbing out another cigarette with his teeth, pulling on the top that'd complete his little uniform (it was almost a size too big on him now - he had lost weight, apparently), shifting his arms a little to keep the sleeves from drooping all the way down past his wrists, lighting up, shifting again to fold things just right.
Another swift smile, just when he was at the door.
"See you later, Dojima."
He told himself that he had a lot of work to do, and that he wasn't going to spend the first hour or so smoking through his pack, wondering what that had all been about.
Location: The Dojima Residence
Rating: G for GAY!
Time: August 15, first thing in the morning.
Description: Following the construction post ( here), Dojima has been thinking a whole lot more than he should be. He also has a bad case of wandering eyes.
It had been a long, rather sleepless night for Dojima, but he paid it very little mind indeed. Even the aroma of coffee permeating the kitchen went almost unnoticed, and he barely gave any thought to his daily, morning cup (he always took that little kick in the mornings, God only knew he needed it). Early morning sunlight found him at the table, mug in hand and eyes fixed (rather unseeingly) on the window and the city beyond. A man in deep thought indeed.
Roy, on the other hand, had slept amazingly well. The previous day had been productive, to say the least, with the home construction and his later meeting with Kyouya Hibari (who was a most intriguing man, by the way). As such, the alchemist was in a rather good mood as he dressed up, prepared for the day and then stepped out for breakfast...
Oh, Dojima was up already. Not too surprising, perhaps.
"Good morning," he said in greeting, as he came into the kitchen. He was dressed much like he usually was these days: fatigues, tank top, dogtags. It was surprising how going as military as possible offered him more peace of mind in Death City.
And yet, it fit him like a glove. Dojima hardly paid it any mind these days (it would have been more surprising to see him in any other kind of dress), and he barely spared the man a glance, even at the greeting.
"Morning," he said in response, the little lift of his hand in reply before he nodded to the coffee pot yonder. "Just made some if you wanted. Fresh." Only thing he really could make, coffee.
Barely a glance spared, as he returned to his window-gazing, but he couldn't help notice the man a little more, even in his peripheral.
That was a little... odd. Roy glanced briefly at his partner before heading for the cupboards, digging out his mug, puttering over to the coffee pot. There were few nicer things than a cup of coffee right after waking up.
Still, after sitting down and receiving no reaction, after taking a few sips and watching the man outright and receiving no reaction, one did have to wonder.
"Something on your mind?"
He did look up then, blinking in a manner befitting a man caught by surprise. And he looked just that, as if Roy's appearance was a sudden thing. But he blinked, set down his mug, and offered the younger man that quirk of lips that was his smile.
"Not particularly. Why do you ask?"
Hmm...
"You just look a little pre-occupied."
Roy's tone, though, was neutral. Just curious and concerned enough to show that he cared, but overall, if Dojima didn't want to tell him, he wasn't going to press because it wasn't his business. The younger man reached for the ashtray on the counter, bringing it to the table. A moment, to pad himself down for his cigarettes, filp the box open with a careless gesture of his wrist; another, to pull a cigarette out with his teeth, light up, drag, exhale.
"Want breakfast? I can make something."
He wouldn't have been willing to say that before, but living with Dojima and his family had sort of forced him to learn how to cook halfway decent meals.
Better that Roy cook than allow Dojima to attempt, and he nodded his assent, if distractedly. Fingers twitched on that coffee mug, and he watched the younger man light up for a moment before turning his gaze back to that window.
"Sure. Anything you want to make, I'll take." Kind words, there, a hint of a chuckle in them to boot. Never mind the glance stolen from the corner of his eye, that flick of his gaze to trailing smoke, the cigarette between lips.
He'd never really noticed it before, how utterly and ridiculously graceful the man could be (he could think of no other word than something like 'fluid', and that sounded odd even in his head).
"Those could be your famous last words, you know."
The banter came easier these days, and the most surprising thing about it was that it had taken that one conversation (on mistakes, on saying things and not saying anything at all) over the network to make it happen. A part of Roy knew that he should probably think about it, consider the possible reasons why. The possible, future consequences.
Then again, he had been doing a hell lot of thinking these days. It was part of the reason he tried his best to keep himself occupied, because the last thing he needed were more things to consider. More reminders of what he was, and exactly what he couldn't be, or couldn't do.
...Right. Breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Perfectly harmless.
Or was it? Question of the month. But he allowed himself a chuckle, and allowed the other man to carry on.
Too much thinking, that's what it all amounted to. The banter, the little exchanges were nice, enjoyable even, but wasn't that what Weapon and Meister partnerships supposed to entail? Some sense of unity and camaraderie? He knew there was a certain level of trust to be involved, just as he was certain they had reached it, or thereabouts. That talk had done some good (maybe, maybe, and there's always the thought that Roy could just be pulling what Dojima himself often did in the face of confrontation; playing it cool, normal, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on).
Too much thinking, and it was getting more and more difficult to simply not. Before long, he found himself turning in his seat, just enough to watch the younger work, to watch the surety and fluid motions of his hands. Confidence in every fibre.
And in pursuit of his task, Roy didn't notice a thing. Four eggs, sunny side up. Ten strips of bacon - something easily divided between two people. He could make another batch later for Nanako, although he felt a little leery about subjecting the girl to his cooking. She could do better: he knew that for a fact.
(He smoked while he cooked as well, which might have destroyed how domestic he might've seemed to another.)
Twenty minutes later, he was bringing two plates over, then rounding back to fetch the utensils, glasses, a pitcher of water.
"Here."
A small, quick smile, and he focused on his meal.
Not domestic at all, at least to Dojima's eyes. There was something to be said about a man in military fatigues, smoking like a chimney and frying the eggs for the day. He tried not to think too much on it.
"Thanks," he murmured, the bow of his head before he dug in. Yes, it was easier to focus on the food in front of him rather than ponder on the man across the table.
"This isn't so bad."
"Really?" Mid-munch there, Mustang. No need to talk with your mouth full. Swallow. Definitely getting too comfortable. (Definitely should be more concerned about that.)
"I'll have bragging rights, then, if anyone from home shows up."
Hawkeyes and Havoc always DID complain about how useless he was when it came to everything BUT alchemy and commanding soldiers.
"Couldn't cook?" the quip, that subtle smile widening just a bit, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced up. He could understand the sentiment and feeling there; there was a reason he'd been relegated to coffee duty around the house.
"Not at all."
He felt even more alive than he had when he woke up... he had taken to greatly underestimating the power of proper rest and a full breakfast as of late. Roy smiled at Dojima, meeting the other's gaze, and --
And the things one noticed. He had caught sight of it time and again, he realized - that ring, a silver and quaint and elegant band on his left hand. He knew what it was; had to be an idiot not to, given the fact that his best friend had been married.
Briefly, he remembered their conversation on that hill, all the little things Dojima had said without really saying anything at all. The way the man's hands had tightened around a bottle of beer, or over his own knees. The way the sunlight flashed across the surface of that ring, faster than a blnk.
His gaze must've held for longer than a second, but Roy hoped the other didn't notice. Fork up more bacon, slice off a little bit of egg. Consider the commonalities, the differences. File the information away somewhere for future reference.
(Or maybe - just maybe - forget all about it.)
A ring that had sat on his hand so long, it was almost a part of him, just another one of those little things that he'd stopped paying much mind to. He noticed that glance, if barely, blinking almost curiously before flexing that hand.
"I get you there," he said instead, keeping his tone light, casual, allowing another light chuckle as he turned his attention back to that coffee, blessed lifeblood of the working man.
Too sharp, the younger man seemed at times. Too sharp, too thoughtful. Too quiet, too considering. Too much of everything and yet not enough, somehow. Not enough conversation, not enough banter or joking around or cutting too loose too often. Was that why he watched the soldier then?
A slip-up again, this one more obvious than the others. No matter: proceeding as normal was one thing that Roy Mustang did best. Keep on moving, and there wouldn't be a need to ask outright. The answers were bound to come on their own.
"Done? I can take care of the dishes."
"It's all right," he said, slightly wider smile than before as he pushed his plate aside. "I can do them, since you made breakfast. Fair trade."
While the man may have been difficult to read, it wasn't entirely impossible to do so. Evasion, it seemed to be Mustang's specialty.
"As long as you don't break any," Roy jokingly replied, to better move right back into the safe zone. "Nanako will kill us both if that happens."
The alchemist stood up, stretching as he left the table: slowly, fingers laced together, arms way over his head, then to one side --
-- then, right when he was in the middle of stretching to the next side, he paused, remembering something important.
"Oh, before I forget." he looked at Dojima, his expression a little apologetic. "I'll be in my office for the rest of the day, and out in the evening. Is that all right with you?"
He stared a moment or two, eyes fixed on hands, on laced fingers and the subtle movement of muscles under pale skin, each shift in position seemingly executed just so--
"Eh?" A blink, a small shake of his head, before eyes snapped back up to the younger man's face. Oh yes. Right.
"Of course. I'll leave the light on for you." Like he wouldn't still be awake then.
Had Dojima been... staring at him?
Now what was he going to make out of that.
"Thanks."
And with that, Roy rounded back into their room, to check if he had forgotten anything. When he emerged again, he was thumbing out another cigarette with his teeth, pulling on the top that'd complete his little uniform (it was almost a size too big on him now - he had lost weight, apparently), shifting his arms a little to keep the sleeves from drooping all the way down past his wrists, lighting up, shifting again to fold things just right.
Another swift smile, just when he was at the door.
"See you later, Dojima."
He told himself that he had a lot of work to do, and that he wasn't going to spend the first hour or so smoking through his pack, wondering what that had all been about.