Hello everyone. Forgive me if I haven't had the time to complete the promise that I made for my other fanfic, the sequal of 'Mondays'. I'm afraid I'll be giving up on the next two chapters of that, for reasons of my own. I don't see much point in continueing. If I did, there wouldn't be much to talk about, and I would more than likely end up skipping to the dramatic events with Bradley. But, I have a completely other fanfic in the planning stage for something such as that.
Anyways- This is just a short fanfic I decided to write up tonight. Within two hours, it was completed. I had time to type it up and upload it, thank goodness. I hope that this might make up for my lack of writing. Now that it's summer, I might have some free time to write more. However, aside from all of the work I have to go over this summer, going to possibly more guitar lessons, as well as football practice, beginning in July, I believe, I'm not exactly sure.
As I began, but didn't finish-- It's just a short piece about Hawkeye's loyalty towards Mustang in his time of sorrow.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the FullMetal Alchemist characters... But if I did, there'd be sooo much more Royai. xD
To Be Held
How he had managed to get where he was now was beyond him. The day's events, as well as those before, came to him only in a blur.
However, the events that had occurred brought his thoughts into an unfamiliar restless rage, and the perspectives and opinions within the confines of his mind ceased to halt. Perhaps it was this that was causing such a reaction within him.
Right now, though, the only thing that registered was the shallow feeling of pain, loss, and fear.
Today, Roy Mustang had buried his best friend.
Had he been able to compare such a dramatic event, it would have come close with the Fall of Ishbal. He wasn't sure whether or not the war had taken such a short amount of time to sink in, but this pain was so fresh… It hurt. Bad.
From the earlier night while arriving in Central, the news of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' death was still ringing within his ears, the disbelief bitter.
Still, the sight of the elegantly shaped coffin, sinking into the ground, retaining within his best friend, remained to slowly carve within his mind.
The unsettling rush of returning to the temporary flat, as well as his First Lieutenant's accompaniment, still remained.
Roy Mustang was a man that often stayed in control. Whether he remained in his calm, laid back position, or the intimidating, raging fury, he always seemed in control of the situation. Despite this, the past few days had not been the case. Not even the slightest.
Everything had been far too quick for him to grasp, and event after event continued to pile up. It was only now, hours after the funeral, that Maes' death had begun to sink in.
In all truth, Maes' death had opened his eyes to what dangers could befall his closest allies, such as his staff. He had lost half of the most important part to his struggle for his goal. And because of this, the fear of loosing the other became quite plausible.
How ironic is was that, at the very moment, the other half was right beside him. In the dismal flat, in the lonely, sad excuse of a bed, she was there, beside him. Wrapped in her arms, the day's events had come crashing down on him. How long they had been like this, though, he wasn't sure. Hell, he didn't even know what time it had been when they arrived.
Moving for the first time, his dark, onyx gaze met hers, and the pain was visible. The fear that gripped him was far too much than he would have liked to admit, and he swallowed. Muscles tensed as her grip loosened, and the pained look shifted into a frown. He didn't want her to let go, to leave like Maes had.
Unintentionally, of course.
With the uncanny ability to read her Colonel's thoughts, the First Lieutenant did not loosen any more. There was a moment's pause where the thought of what he might do if he lost her passed, and the unwanted tears welled up deep within him yet again. Lips parted, trembling to find voice to thank the woman for the insubordinate act she had done, as well as state his fear for her.
But she hushed him before he could do so, tightening her grip and drawing him closer in her arms, lips brushing his skin as he buried his head between her neck and shoulder.
He didn't need to say anything. She already knew.
His own grip tightened, hating himself as he began to weep silently within his most loyal companion's arms. Holding him fiercely, the Lieutenant spoke to the Colonel every few moments, until the only thing that could be heard was the sound of their quiet breathing, and the soft 'tick' of the clock on the bedside table.
Inhaling a shaky breath, he shifted, chin resting on her shoulder. Her grip loosened, but remained. Onyx eyes closed, thoughts finally slowing.
He would figure out how to proceed from here tomorrow.
Right now, though, he was content with just to be held.
And there it is. Happy? I certainly hope so, because I am. ... Not really, though. Anywho. Constructional critizism would be appreciated. Excuse any mispells or typos-- It's been a bit, folks. I look forward to your reviews.
-Hoshiko