Roy didn't have to move out, because he had never moved in. He kept a room on campus and, for all Hughes knew, even slept there sometimes.
Still. As a senior cadet with his own apartment in town, Hughes could provide a place to escape the Academy for a few hours. That became a place to sleep. Which became someone to sleep with. Which became - not that, anymore, for complicated reasons. But Roy kept staying over. Some nights Hughes didn't hear him come or leave, just saw evidence the next morning when the sofa cushions were made up too neatly.
Tidy as Roy could be, he was careless with possessions. Random things - pens and cufflinks, books and phonograph records, shoe polish and whatever industrial byproduct he used to make his hair look like that – settled in and gave the dangerous impression of belonging.
That's how Roy ended up backing out of Hughes' doorway, his arms full. "This is the last of it," he said, then amended, "Whatever's left, you keep."
"Sucks you won't make my graduation."
"Can't miss alchemy camp," Roy said. That was his playful nickname for the upcoming year of rigorous training that he wasn't supposed to talk about.
"Why do they have to ship you out so early?"
The playfulness faded in an instant. "Because they're evil motherfuckers." Hughes heard the simmering rage that rested beneath Roy's irony.
Hughes remembered when he had thought he could help.
"Take care of yourself." He put a hand on Roy's shoulder. Roy tilted his head, and although they were standing in an open door and he could see kids on their bikes, Hughes thought they might kiss.
Roy stepped back. "You should call that girl. What's her name. Gracie."
Hughes gave him a look meant to convey, You are the last person qualified to give me romantic advice.
Then Roy left. And Hughes called Gracia.
*
They had been out once before, and Hughes had liked her but believed he'd come off a babbling idiot she didn't want to see again. It had been easier to think that, but the clear delight in her voice when he called cut out that possibility. They laughed all through dinner, held hands on the way home, and on his doorstep, Gracia stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I know this is the second date, but maybe the war accelerates our timetable?"
She woke him the next morning with lips on his rough cheek. "I have to go to work."
Hughes squeezed her hand and took in her blurry smile. Only when she'd left and he put on his glasses did he see the silk scarf he'd taken out of her hair before they fell into bed. He sat up, looked for a robe, thought he would go call after her, but then he stopped.
Rolling up the scarf, he tossed it toward his dresser. It fell there, the corners curling, as it settled over Roy Mustang's third favorite pocketwatch.