Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its characters.

Author's Note: Hi! So for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) I am doing the Royai 100. Originally I wasn't going to do it this year, but my friend needed a writing buddy, so here I am, having finished my first theme before my two papers due tomorrow (woops). Will be just about every genre in here, and probably some crossovers too. Mostly manga-verse. The title is from a song called After the Rain by Ruthie Henshall, but I didn't want to call it that since it's one of the themes. So you get this line instead. Listen to the song - it really reminds me of this pairing. Okay, well, sit back, relax, and watch my frantic attempt at 50,000 words in thirty days begin!

Theme 10 :: Promise

It was another day in Ishbal; nothing more, nothing less. The war was still raging forward, alchemists ripping across the land like wildfire, their protectors from the sniper camp following close behind, the rest of the soldiers bringing up the rear. They fought most of the day, coming back to camp tired and dirty.

Roy Mustang sat on the edge of his cot, head between his knees, fingers twitching a little at their places by his sides. This, too, wasn't particularly abnormal. He often spent the evenings like this, recounting the day – the taste of grease on his lips, the heat of flame on his face, and the eyes . . . those red eyes were what haunted him the most.

It was then that a young blonde, easily mistaken for a boy on the battlefield, ducked into his tent and set about shuffling through his few belongings. He didn't look up, for she did the same thing every night. And every night he knew that should he steal a glance in her direction, he'd find her fingers twitching as well, mimicking the pulling of a trigger as his struggled to go through the motion of snapping.

"Riza . . ." he whispered, eyes still fascinated with his boots.

"Yes, Major?" she replied, still rearranging his things, tidying.

"How . . ." he swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts, "how many?"

She stopped abruptly and studied her palms for a moment. "I don't remember." She sighed and looked at him. "I lost count, sir."

"Me, too," he nodded a little, still refusing to look at her. "I always do," he added grimly.

Frowning a little, her fingers came across an unsealed envelope. She took a furtive glance in his direction, but he remained in his slump, and if he'd noticed or cared that she'd found the packet, he gave no sign.

She smiled. Not a large smile, but a sweet, subtle expression of wistful happiness. They were photographs. There was one there of Roy and his best friend Maes, on their first day at the Academy. There was another of a much younger Roy and his three sisters, all toothless smiles and giggles. There were others, remnants of his childhood, but one picture stood out amongst the rest.

"Oh, so you found it."

She looked over quickly, a little embarrassed that she was caught. "Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I've actually been wondering where this went." It was only then that she noticed he was no longer frowning – not smiling, but not frowning either.

"If I remember correctly, that was the day I proposed."

She turned away at once, afraid she might be blushing, and looked at the photograph again. They were only children then, playing in the garden. He'd been nine years old and she only six, and because of this he saw fit to tease her as much as possible. Little Riza was scowling at him, arms folded across her chest, her blonde locks tangled and dirty. A few feet away, young Roy was holding a doll high above her head, using his height as leverage. It was after that day Riza stopped playing with dolls.

"Yes," she said softly. "You wouldn't give my doll back until I agreed to marry you."

"You never gave me an answer," he reminded her.

"And you never gave me back my doll."

He was quiet for a moment, then ventured quietly, "I still have it, actually."

Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him. "Ready to give it back?"

"Not until you hold up your end of the bargain." It was then that she noticed he was smiling. It was faint, still clouded by the day's tragedies, but it seemed their conversation was the reprieve he needed.

She was a little shocked to say the least, but her face betrayed none of it. She neatly stuffed the photos back where they belonged and muttered as she made her way out of his tent, "I want that doll back."

Roy just looked after her, watching his tent flap sway a little with her departure. "A promise is a promise."

689 words. Definitely not what I first envisioned but I guess it came out cute. Love it? Hate it? Tell me.