Everyone had his or her hang-ups. It was an inevitable and sometimes unfortunate byproduct of living. Everyone found themselves, at some point, plagued with some phobia, kink, or song they just couldn't stand anymore by virtue of the fact it reminded them of the sordid attentions of some unfortunate ex-lover.

Some rooms were just not big enough to hold two people and their baggage comfortably. The side effects of such an environment included uncomfortable shifting and fidgeting, a difficulty in relaxing even an inch, and an awkward awareness of the other person sharing the room. The air felt heavier, breathing became a conscious effort, and keeping a steady, relaxed pulse was decidedly impossible.

Havoc gnawed on the end of a cigarette with the determination of a man pointedly ignoring all evidence towards an oral fixation. And pointedly ignored looking at the other man in the room with the desperation of a man trying to hide the fact he was obsessed. There were healthier habits, more productive vices…why did it have to be something as unattainable, as impossible as Roy Mustang…

Why the hell had the man invited him over anyway? It didn't seem like Mustang was after the pleasure of his company, not from the way he was staring studiously at a crack in the paint a few inches from his nose.

Roy Mustang, for his part, was doing his damnedest not to acknowledge the fact he was aware of Havoc's…interest. Hard to do when each failed attempt at an unobtrusive glance on Havoc's part made gooseflesh rise to attention down his arms and shiver its way up the back of his neck. It wasn't fair, it wasn't at all appropriate. It had been bad enough when Maes had snuck looks at him like that, and it had been decidedly improper for Roy to react.

The little bit of cracked paint on the wall in front of him, where Maes had hit his head in a particularly inebriated bought of physical impropriety, was not helping the issue. Why had he invited Havoc over in the first place? One instant of weakness and his mouth betrayed him, giving into the urge to get the blond closer…

It was embarrassing- upsetting even.

"So…" both men began in one of those rare moments of social gestalt, each turning to face the other with identically bland expressions on their faces.

The humor that glinted in Havoc's expressive eyes caused something to lurch to relieved and pleased life somewhere in the pit of Roy's stomach, an anticipatory sort of glee that Roy was not at all prepared to deal with.

"Hey, would you rather I left?" It was bullshit, sitting there and trying to deal with Roy trying to avoid him, while being unhappy about avoiding him. It was asinine. It was pointless. It was making him go through cigs at an alarming rate. The ashtray Mustang had provided was a battlefield of tortured and decimated cigarettes, a testament to the intensity of Havoc's displeasure.

"Ah…" Time to make some sort of actual decision, some manner of tactical commitment. He was a soldier, dammit, a commanding officer. It shouldn't be so…damn…difficult.

A soldier, especially a commander, didn't have the luxury of hang-ups such as his own. Mustang took a deep breath, tried his best to ignore the ghost sensation of large hands snagging his shoulders from behind and hauling him into a crushing hug, and faced Havoc. "No. Please, I would like it if you stayed."

A contented sort of grin stretched around the cigarette perched on the edge of Havoc's lower lip. "Sure thing, boss."