Where would he go? Home was out of the question, since the small apartment gave off an even bigger cramped feeling than the bunks they got in the camp, and all of the friends he had made in military academy were either nowhere to be found or still fighting. Sighing to himself, Roy decided it would be best to just go 'home'.
A car pulled up behind him. "Hey," a voice called out. "Well, if it isn't the great Lt. Colonel Mustang." Roy didn't even have to turn around to know who the distinctive voice belonged to.
"I saw your name on the roster, of course," the other man went on, not giving Roy a chance to say anything. "Figured you'd be too busy rubbing shoulders with the big-shots to worry about us little people."
"Major Hughes, was it?" Roy interjected, a small smirk playing along his lip. "I'm surprised you even made it that far up the social ladder."
"I'd be careful what you say if I were you," the other man replied, nodding towards the empty seat next to him. "Or you'd have to walk home by yourself." The thought of 'home' wiped the smirk off of Roy's face. A short moment of silence passed between the two men, and then, the other began talking again, almost as if he had read Roy's mind. "Come on, let me treat you to a drink or something. It's not every day I get to chauffeur around a Lt. Colonel."
The mug hit the table with a loud bang. "Wassamatter?" Roy slurred, glaring fiercely at a waitress passing by. "Can't serve drinks fast enough?"
"H-hey..." Maes looked down at Roy nervously. "Slow down on the drinks, you could kill yourself on those things."
"So?" Roy picked up another mug of whatever the hell he was drinking - he had become numb enough not to care - and downed it in one gulp. "Die in battle or die here, wassa difference?"
The other man sighed as he stood up to fish for his wallet. "If I'd have known you would cost me this much money, I'd never have offered to pay," he mumbled under his breath, throwing a huge wad of bills onto the table. "C'mon, Roy. Lets get you into a hotel room or something. I don't trust being in a car with you, even if I'm the one driving."
Before Roy could comprehend what was really going on, he found himself hoisted from his seat. His first instinct was to grab madly for a half-empty mug left on the table, but due to his impaired vision, along with impaired everything else, he missed. "Aww," he whined into the other man's ear as he was lead up a flight of stairs. "Maes, you're no fun at all."
Roy groaned as he slowly pried open his heavy eyelids. He had the distinct feeling that he had spent a long time vomiting over a toilet, but hoped that it was all some sort of really bad dream. Rolling onto his back, he found himself staring at the face of a man, smiling brightly down at him.
"Heya, Roy!"
"... what are you doing in my room?"
"Well, technically, you are in my room, considering I paid for it."
Roy pushed himself off the bed and looked around the tiny hotel room. The previous night flashed back into mind and he groaned, feeling embarrassed. "Listen, Hughes..."
"No need to explain, Royo." That bright grin was beginning to get on Roy's nerves. "I expect pay back, though. One of these days, you'll have to take me to a bar and watch me as I down twenty - oh, excuse me, twenty three - drinks and then drive me home and stand by me as I puke all over the place and clean up after me and..."
"Like you'd actually trust me to drive you anywhere?"
"Good point."
They stared at each other in silence, Hughes grinning like an idiot and Roy still drowning in his embarrassment of what had happened. Then, Hughes broke the silence. "Well, I'd better get going. That desk job of my is calling my name. I'll drop you off at home?"
Roy shrugged, "no thanks. My leave's only a few days any ways. I'll camp out here for a while."
"Are you sure?" the grin had slowly begun to fade. "I wouldn't want a repeat of last night, especially if there's nobody here to stop you."
"I can take care of myself," Roy snapped.
"Well, that settles it then. Come along, Mustang. I have to go back to my desk job, and you are coming with me. If we hurry now, we'll be back by midnight."
"What?! Did you not hear what I-" Roy was cut off by a gun pointed straight at his forehead.
"I hate to do this, Roy," Hughes said grimly, "but I'll shoot you if you don't come along with me."
Roy grumbled something under his breath as he got up to follow Hughes. "You'll pay for this someday."
"Actually, you're going to pay. You're the one who puked all over my pants."
Wearing crisp, navy blue pajamas and feeling squeaky-clean, Roy stared around at his surroundings. "One bed?"
"Well, its not like I expected to have to drag your ass home with me. You're lucky there's even a couch here."
"Remind me again why I'm here."
"Because I don't have enough money to pay for you if you happen to get drunk and accidentally burn down the bar."
"Why would you be worried about paying? You're not my mother."
"If I were your mother, I'd have shot you years ago."
Feeling vulnerable without his gloves - because Hughes claimed that he had 'misplaced' them - Roy made the mental decision to stop the argument; but he couldn't resist having the last say. "Are you sure your mother didn't shoot you when you were little?"
Hughes, it seems, took the last comment as a win on his part and didn't pursue the debate. Instead, he patted Roy awkwardly. "I just didn't feel right leaving you alone, that's all. You looked like you needed a friend." There was a slight pause, and then Maes turned to leave. "G'night, Roy."
But before Maes could move, he felt arms wrap around him. "Please don't leave me..."
A coarse hand carefully grazed pale, exposed skin, sending a shiver down Roy's back. "Hey," silence followed the outburst.
"Hmm?" The reply was more forced than anything. He could feel the other man growing restless beneath the covers, and expected a long ramble about something or other. And now wasn't a time that Roy wanted to spend talking.
The silence that followed didn't please Roy any more, it only made him more conscious of the inevitable conversation. Maes slowly pushed himself out of bed and lit a cigarette.
"I've been thinking..."
"Hn..." Maybe if he pretended he couldn't hear Hughes' voice, everything would be alright. Roy curled into a tight little ball under the covers.
"... maybe it's just time?" Blocking out Maes' voice didn't seem to be working. Frustrated, Roy made an attempt to redirect the conversation. "You should stop smoking," he said, his voice muffled under the covers. "It's bad for you."
"You can't avoid this topic, Mustang. You knew when this began..."
"Well, you knew too. So why'd you agree to this?" That was it, if he couldn't shut the guy up, Roy was going to lay on the guilt until it hurt. Only problem was, he hurt.
"I couldn't. You were clinging onto me and bawling like a little girl."
"I hate you."
Maes let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. You know I care about you. Otherwise we wouldn't have spent half a year... well, you know."
Roy understood perfectly. It had been six months since the night Hughes picked him up from the military base. That night, they had broken all moral reasoning. And it was as if both were hooked by some inescapable power.
But Maes had a girlfriend. And he made it perfectly clear from the very beginning that he loved her. So then, Roy constantly wondered, why was it still happening? And the only answer he could come up with was that in some way, Maes must've cared for him more.
"So why can't you stay with me? If you care so much."
"Because I love her."
"Leave me alone."
"Roy..."
"Get out."
The raven-haired Colonel stared blankly out the window, lost in deep thought. It had been years since he and Hughes found common ground, and while their relationship had been patched back up, there was still a gap that never really closed.
It was the one year anniversary of Maes' death. Roy had spent that morning getting himself drunk to the point where he had to be dragged out of the bar, laughing his ass off over something or other; something that wasn't even remotely funny. He would have burnt down the bar as well in his drunken state, if it weren't for someone - Hawkeye maybe - knocking him out with a blunt object.
Roy hadn't drank since that night; he had promised Maes that day that he would never touch alcohol again. And today, he had wasted the entire day away locked inside his apartment, staring out the window, too embarrassed to go visit Hughes' grave. After all, who knew what kind of information the dead received in afterlife.
But somewhere between his incoherent drunkenness and agonizing hangover, Roy somehow found himself standing in front of the gravestone he had worked so hard that day to avoid. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed the wind to dance over his skin. It was as if he could hear Hughes' voice.
"You never showed up for my wedding." "Is that how you greet an old friend? 'You never showed up for my wedding'? I was busy." Maes broke into a familiar grin, but kept silent as he continued to stare at Roy. "Why are you looking at me like that?" "It's been a while." "Yes, it has." Roy found himself staring at the crimson carpet, unable to meet Maes' stare. "I'm sorry." "Wow, the great Mustang just said he was sorry. So, Roy, which misdeed are you apo-" "I wasn't busy." Roy heard a long sigh come from Maes. He suddenly felt the air around him tightening. "I know. But it wasn't entirely your fault."
Roy took a deep breath. The alcohol had left his vision oddly blurred, and he found that he couldn't keep himself upright. In the end, the black haired soldier fell to his knees, staring ahead at the gray outline of a headstone before him.
"Why'd you leave me, Hughes?"
Silence.
It was beginning to get dark. It was raining. Or maybe it was just tears, Roy couldn't tell the difference anymore. Slowly and awkwardly, he bent down until he could smell the scent of the earth beneath him. He kneeled there for a while, as if in some sort of awkward prayer. He pressed his forehead against the moist soil, gasping for air, and allowed the drops of fluid to languidly crawl down his face.
"I didn't love you either." The raven haired man clawed into the soil beneath him, almost as if he was trying to keep a firm grip on something slippery. His voice had become steel-like, almost mechanical. "I needed someone, and you were there for me. You needed me and... I... was too busy holding a grudge."
He closed his eyes and planted a soft kiss onto the ground beneath him. "I didn't love you either," he repeated, ignoring the bitter taste of mud that slipped from his lips onto his tongue. "But I cared. And I still do."
"I'm sorry." "Oh, wow, did I just hear right?! The Oh-So-Great Mustang himself, apologizing?" "..." "It wasn't your fault." "I love you." "I love you too."