Author's note: INSISTENZA is the Italian ford for "Persistence", in a little bit negative way. I'm Italian, and I'm trying to improve my English, with results more or less satisfactory. I hope I haven't made too much mistakes in this story! And I hope you'll like it, of course. I'm human, afterall.
I will never thank properly sensei Arakawa for creating FMA!
INSISTENZA
It was only at the end of a long, overwork day, after having dismissed all of his men, that Colonel Roy Mustang noticed, almost by chance, that letter that emerged from a pocket of his coat. He took it and turn it through the fingers that dirty, rubbed piece of perfectly anonymous paper.
Any sender, neither wax seals.
But he knew who wrote it.
It was always him.
Unfortunately.
However, just in case the missive was wrote by a beautiful lady, decided to go to the desk and, taken the letter-opener, engraved the top part of the envelope, to extract the content of it. Quite enough done, no more than an ugly piece of notebook paper, full of dribbles and squirts, and in the center few words in a childish and hasty handwriting.
"Meet me at the gate."
In a second the letter was burned in the trash can.
The Colonel set out storming toward the secondary exit, even if in that way he would have had to make a turn a lot more breadth to return home. And it would have been the third time that month.
It was time to send that drifting mine of Fullmetal in some mission very, very far from East City. Definitely.
Done damn little shrimp, but didn't he have better things of to do instead to submerge him of challenge letters?!
Edward waited at the front gate of East City Headquartier: his brother had remained in the dull city library to finish reading certain volumes, convinced that the other one had simply returned home for tiredness.
He minded lying him, but he didn't have choice.
He could explain him the situation but the other wouldn't have understood, and probably he'ld opposite him.
There was nothing to worry that he returned home before him, disclosing his lie. To facilitate the job of search for his brother, and to save him from an useless work, he would have remained up there until the library closing time.
He had exchanged only a few absent-minded words with the soldier at the gate, focused as he was toward the offices.
When that light extinguished, his heart missed a beat.
He waited in the seconds that followed, counting his breaths.
The seconds were stacked in minutes.
And the minutes also accumulated.
Until it was not clear that, once more, it made not sense in remaining there.
Edward thrusted the hands in his pockets, proceeding toward his hotel room, wondering for how many times he would still has tried to confess his feelings to the Colonel with those love letters, before surrendering to the inescapable evidence of facts.
END