Notes: This is a "fan sequel" to Sevlow's fanfic, Breaking Point. You do not need to have read Breaking Point to understand this fanfic; it is written so it can stand on its own. You may appreciate the effect more if you read it, however. It does contain some very touchy material, though, as well as character death. It's far, far less dark than the fanfic it's based off of, and is meant to be more of and uplifting and hopeful type of fic. That aside, I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review. I really appreciate them. :) I also apologize for the formatting errors before... I think was being screwy, because no matter what I couldn't FIX them, but hopefully this should do it. :3

Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.- Franklin P. Jones

It was healthy, he figured, to return to one of their old rituals.

The man beside him had thought the same, and so the two of them had set out for a couple drinks. They sat in silence as they rode back in Havoc's car, the driver giving them a wry smile, cigarette hanging limply between his lips.

And it had been healthy - therapeutic, almost. The familiarity of their ritual was an odd sort of comfort. Of course, it wasn't the same - not nearly the same. Not the same as when both of them had, for the most part, been complete.

The reminder seemed to have hung in the air around them as they'd made idle chatter. Even a few drinks later, it wasn't about to go away. The ritual was the same. But the two of them were changed for good. The change was unavoidable, and even expected. Knowing that, had things gone as they usually did, the nostalgia of their more joyous times would have been almost painful. With that in perspective, it was almost welcome.

It had been a few months now since Maes had first come home to find his beloved family brutally murdered – massacred – and things were finally starting to begin to have their routine again. But only the routine would be familiar for them. Things would never be normal again; the "normal" they knew was gone. From now on, normal would mean a completely foreign atmosphere they would never be able to accept as such. When everything you know is split down the middle, there would be no possibility of understanding the new world you lived in.

The only way was to hold on and cope. And, eventually, the two of them would come to appreciate their lives, broken and altered though they were.

Roy nearly jumped at the feel of his best friend's head coming to rest on his shoulder. The automatic reaction was to turn his head, pressing his cheek against Maes' hair. His mouth spread into a small, soft smile, and he turned his hand over.

Their hands wove together of their own accord, as they almost always did. The kinship the two of them shared was unspoken, irrevocable, and, above all, unconditional. At the heart of everything – even when it seemed as though everything was lost – they supported each other. When sorrow shot them in the heart, they leaned on one another, protecting the other under the umbrella of their shared companionship.

--

"Thanks for not getting hammered," Havoc joked as he slowed to a stop. "You're a bitch to deal with when you've got a hangover."

Roy smirked. "And you've got quite a pair, saying that to a superior officer."

Havoc waved a hand. "Nothing Hawkeye hasn't been saying for the past few years."

The two said their goodbyes, knowing that tomorrow they'd have little time for good-natured jibes. The upcoming heavy workload was another reason for the outing; they'd needed something to keep them going.

Maes followed him into his apartment, as he always did. He was surprised at how comfortable it was, despite having two people now living in it. Maybe that was what made it so damn comfortable. Hughes hadn't been to his house – and that was all it was, a house, no longer home – since the day of his suicide attempt, and Roy had been reluctant to consider the long-term consequences of the two of them living together.

It was a bit more cramped, for sure, but aside from that, things couldn't have worked out better. …Given the circumstances, at least.

They sat together on the couch in silence, at a loss for anything to say. There was nothing to say that the other didn't already know. Roy felt like it was a rarity for him to be so acute to the thoughts of the man who always knew everything about him, but it seemed as though their thoughts were the same.

Their routine was different – that was a given. Nearly everything was. But it was just that – a routine. And the comfort of the familiar activity had done them a world of good.

All things considered, it was hard not to be content.

Gradually, they seemed to lean against one another, as they always did when they sat together like this. They never realized it until they felt the other's hair against their cheek. And, at that point, there was no reason to deny the need for the most basic of human contact.

They could feel the warmth radiating from one another through the simple touch, and it was all the reassurance they needed to know that they were alive. Alive and together. So long as they could touch one another, the cold grip of loss could not claim them, either.

They wouldn't let it.

Because they had each other. And that was more than enough to live for.

--

He was terrible at expressing himself. Absolutely terrible. Comforting another person – even the most important one in his life – was not something he was confident doing. But damn it, he was going to try.

He didn't know that his being there was enough. Or, rather, couldn't accept it. He needed to do something for Maes.

Maes could read him eerily well. It wasn't this that discomforted him so much as the fact that, by comparison, he felt like he scarcely knew anything about his best friend. Sometimes, words just weren't necessary on his part.

And, as the two of them began to form a connection stronger than anything he'd thought possible between them – more than he knew how to comprehend – words weren't always necessary on Maes's part, either.

With a few exceptions.

"Did you pick up some more soap?"

Roy rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Yesterday. Still in the bag."

"I'm glad you went shopping. Otherwise I'D be the housewife, here. And we all know you love wearing aprons."

Roy rolled his eyes, but kept his face entirely serious. "Yes, I suppose you would take a jab at my masculinity when you go to bed in those ridiculous pink pajamas."

"Oh? Maybe you're just mad because my pajamas don't have a fly. There is a reason I made sure your PJ bottoms had easy access."

It was hard not to laugh at the thought of the ridiculous pajama bottoms Hughes had gotten him for Christmas one year. But he managed. Their game required that he never break his serious composure.

"Really? Funny. Seems to me as though I'm the one desperate for a piece of your ass. Never knew you felt the same."

"Of course. I mean, hot damn. Only reason I haven't let you completely ravish me is because I'm dying to get inside of you."

They had to stop then, or one of them would break composure, and the game would be lost for both of them.

Their game had carried over, too. It was, oddly enough, one of the most effective means of comfort. Their childish game allowed them to be themselves again. The sillier, less uptight Maes and Roy they were way back before the war. Never mind before the tragedy.

"This is more fun with Havoc around," Roy remarked. Maes nodded with a slight smirk.

The beauty of the game was that it annoyed the hell out of others – particularly Havoc. The idea of the game was to explode into a comically dramatic display of emotion – usually it was a declaration of deep-rooted lust, or some overzealous display of emotion over something that was very obviously ridiculous. Anything went, as long as one kept entirely serious during the game while, obviously, they were not.

Roy heaved himself up. "We should be getting to bed soon." He cast a glance back down at the couch that had more-or-less become his best friend's bed. "And we're getting you a real bed soon."

Hughes shrugged. "It's not so bad. More comfortable than your bed."

"It's bad enough. If you live here, you're sleeping properly. Got it?"

Maes rolled his eyes. "Of course, Colonel," he responded sarcastically.

"Good." With that, Roy flashed him a smirk and walked off.

--

Nights weren't as bad with Maes here. He couldn't imagine living without the man's companionship these days. He sometimes jokingly wished he'd been the one to marry Maes.

He chuckled to himself. That was quite a visual, really. As if he really could stand Maes in that sense. Gracia had a hard time putting up with the overly romantic man, herself.

And he sighed, guilty that, even jokingly, he'd thought of taking something from Maes' late wife.

He was aware of the door opening; he was almost expecting it. Maybe he was more attuned to Maes than he gave himself credit for.

"Hey," the man said simply.

Roy's response was a grunt. "What do you want?"

"Move over."

Roy sat up on his palm, staring incredulously at his best friend. "You've got to be kidding…" His body seemed to be moving over of its own accord, however, so Maes took the chance to prove that he was not kidding and set his glasses down on the bedside table before settling in next to him, pulling the sheets over the both of them.

Again, his body moved of its own accord. The warmth of his best friend wasn't something that could be passed up. If it came in the form of warm arms enclosing him while he slept, so much the better.

Sleep was the only time he couldn't be sure Maes was still with him - when the lines between horrified nightmares and reality blurred. Just as Maes thought he had, Roy had almost lost everything. He wondered idly if he - had Maes succeeded - would have been able to find a balance. Or would he have been the one with a knife to his throat? No, he wouldn't - there was always something worth living for.

The angry red scar on Maes's neck, visible even in the darkness, was a grim, albeit necessary reminder.

An arm freed itself from around him, and groped around until it found his hand. Fingers entwined.

"You wanted me to sleep properly, didn't you?"

Roy sighed. "This isn't exactly what I meant…"

"Really?" Maes smiled slightly. "This feels pretty proper to me."

Roy just shook his head before resting it against Maes's shoulder.

"You know," Maes went on, "it's kind of weird. Being like this" – he gestured to the two of them – "makes me almost forget how fucked up it is. Whole damn world seems right."

He had to admit, he was taken aback. While he felt the same serenity his friend did, it was surprising to hear it from the other's own mouth.

Yes, the world did make a bit more sense here.

And when the two of them shared what they did, it was only natural. They loved one another more than anything. Their love wasn't that of friends or brothers, nor was it romantic, sexual, or one of sheer dependency. It was just love, pure and simple. To give it a title would almost devalue it. There wasn't any definition.

It was irrevocable – the two had become impossibly tangled in the other.

Maes smiled against Roy's forehead before softly kissing it. He remembered the last time he'd done so – when it had been to kiss him goodbye one last time, the same as he wish he could have done for his wife and daughter…

He wondered, then, how his world could seem right, when he'd thought it'd been taken from him. But once more, he'd been wrong.

Though he was damaged beyond repair – and to say so would have been an understatement – it wasn't as though his world had crumbled. His life was something new now. There was no hope of him ever returning to the way he was before his family; when he'd met her, and his own Elysia, his entire being had been altered and ripped apart in the most beautiful way until he no longer recognized himself, all because of the amazing woman he'd opened his heart and life to. When she was gone, part of him would go, too, ripping him apart in what was, in contrast, the worst way possible.

But his world was together – broken but strong – and had taken on a very different form now.

"Roy…"

"Maes…?"

Another smile. Another gentle peck on the forehead.

"You are my world now."

--

Just as there was no limit to the amount of suffering one could endure, or the happiness one could feel, the love he was able to give was somehow a far more precious, ever-expanding kind of limitless.

The love he gave would be cherished. He loved and loved and gave with everything he had for his beloved little girl. There was nothing he wouldn't give for her. The love he would fail to give would be lost for all eternity.

Roy would lose nothing. The thousands of shredded and tattered ropes holding him together seemed to weave into an iron bound, securing him and forever binding him to the man he owed his life to. Roy would never be loved by anyone as much as him.

Elysia had died before she could begin to make her mark on the world. While no one East of Central hadn't heard of her, her accomplishments were hindered by her short time with him. To die was the equivalent price for a chance to live.

He wondered… Did Elysia, in her four years' experience, think that she had truly lived? Where he'd seen far more of the world they'd lived in – more than he'd ever wanted her to see – was he merely comparing the life an adult had lived to the simple, shielded views of a child?

If he could ask her, would she think dying was a fair price to pay for her chance, however small, to shine in this world?

The only answer he got was the still, rhythmatic breathing of his best friend.

He knew his answer. There was nothing worth the most beautiful life he knew being torn forcefully away before it could truly begin. Knowing what Envy was capable of, would Elysia, in the final agony of having her tiny body beaten and torn, have thought her entire four years weren't worth it…?

"Maes!"

Roy's voice cut through his thoughts, and a small warmth spread itself over icy ruins once more.

"You were doing it again. Sorry."

He shook his head, still trembling. "God, I'm sorry, Roy…"

"What the hell are you apologizing for? You still-"

Maes cut him off. "I know, Roy, it's just… I don't want you to see me like this."

He wasn't expecting the emotion he saw in his best friend's usually cold eyes.

"Anything's better than wondering. Here I can see just how bad it is, instead of fearing how bad it might be. Stop trying to shield me and worry about yourself."

He had to appreciate the irony - Roy, telling him to take himself into consideration. It had gotten so bad that Roy had given him the advice he'd spent his life listening to from Maes' own lips.

It was enough. He smiled. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

"You wouldn't be doing anything."

He sighed and buried his head in Roy's shoulder. "I know I say it often enough, but… Well, damn. Thanks for giving me something to live for."

A sigh. "I can't get tired of hearing you say I'm enough for you to live for."

"Enough?" Maes smirked. "You know how I feel about gross understatements…"

"Can the romanticism, Maes."

The two remained silent for a moment, their shared warmth their only communication.

"Maes."

"Hm?"

He felt Roy shift, and turned to meet his gaze.

"Is your heart still in it?"

His eyes narrowed. "Roy, that's a stupid que-"

"I know you want to live," Roy cut in, "but how much meaning does your life have for you now?"

Maes chose his answer – a careful smirk. "I'll chose to answer the first question."

Roy didn't so much as gasp as a hand cupped his face.

"My heart is wherever you want it to be, Roy. It's not mine to decide for."

At first, confusion. Then, as Roy's eyes widened in realization, his mouth twisted into a small, distinctive smirk.

"Maes…"

"Hmm?"

"…That was quite possibly the corniest thing I've ever heard in my entire life."

He had to laugh.

No, Roy could never be for him what Gracia was – he couldn't say he loved her more, but he also couldn't say that was a fair assessment. While his love for Gracia, at least in the romantic sense, was defined as that of soul mates – most likely the standard for all marriages – there was no definition for what he felt for Roy. It was similar, in a sense, as it had always been, but no matter how hard he thought, there was just no way for him to put a label, or even a description to it. To define it seemed impossible.

To the extent where he could say the parts of him still capable were in love, so to speak- in a far different, unfamiliar way than the devotion he'd felt for the woman he'd given his life to.The parts that always, in their own way, had been, long before he knew Gracia existed. That they survived, and continued to because of him, ensured that he always would share something with his best friend that was strong enough to defy definition.

"It's true, though."

He couldn't see it, but Maes knew Roy was rolling his eyes. "I know. Do we really need to involve corny novel rip-offs?"

Maes shrugged. "Some things can only be expressed in words, love."

"You could stand to keep some words to yourself."

He sighed, slightly amused, and pecked the corner of Roy's mouth before gently nuzzling his neck.

"Well, for the record, anyways… I love you, Roy."

"And I love you, too, Maes," Roy said as the lazy smirk smoothed into a simple, meaningful smile. "As if you didn't know."

It was strange for them to feel the serenity that they did. Strange that things felt right while in their mind they knew things weren't. And yet, it all made sense, and the answer was as simple as the touch of skin, twining of fingers, and shared warmth of two people who truly knew what it meant to live for each other.

Those three words were said too much. In a lot of ways, they weren't enough. But when the two of them knew, the need for them was little more than a silly formality.

While it had been since that day that Hughes had last kissed his best friend's forehead, he couldn't remember the last time he'd really, truly kissed someone other than his wife. Only that, long ago, or so it seemed, that "someone" had been Roy, and the circumstances hardly qualified it to have had any meaning.

Roy was the most important person alive to him, right? All he needed. He didn't have many words for what else the man in his arms meant to him. So why not kiss him? He had every reason to, and no reason not to.

So he did.

And Roy rolled his eyes, sighed, and cupped the other man's jaw before returning Maes' tenderness without hesitation.

--

They never would be able to explain it – what their relationship was – in terms that the rest of the world could understand.

Perhaps it was because what they had was so rare that not enough people had experienced it for it to have a name.

It wasn't platonic, familial, sexual, or romantic – to some extent, it seemed to be a combination of several elements of love.

Quite simply, it was love.

And if few enough people in the world had to endure what they had to understand, then that was fine. It took losing everything to discover that they hadn't lost everything.

They were safe, warm, and content in one another's arms. And while they had no idea what was in store for them, the two of them had only the best support to lean on. Maes no longer followed behind Roy. He was beside him. And always would be, as long as he could hold himself up. And even if he couldn't.

Before giving into sleep, Maes smiled, the brief image of his wife and daughter flickering in his mind. They were happy he was alive - happy for him and Roy. Maybe now, his guardian angels – the light of his life even after theirs had ended - could share the peace he felt.

After all, he still had one more guardian angel left to protect in return, and would do so as long as he lived.

Some more notes:

The quote at the top was an afterthought. It just seemed to fit. A couple lines in this story are based off of lines from the translation of Hughes' character vocal, "Angel Heart". Because that song is AMAZING. Go listen to it. Also like to say that I had a hard time depicting their relationship, and I'd like to make a note that while there are a lot of romantic aspects to their relationship, it's entirely non-sexual at this point, aside from the kissing. Yes, they had to kiss. Sooo cliché. XD Anyways, PLEASE review – I appreciate any feedback, good or bad. Mostly good.