DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I am in no way affiliated with the author(s), producer(s) or publisher(s). I am writing strictly for entertainment purposes with no material or monetary gain.
The snow was falling thickly, adding continually to the layer of pure white covering the world outside. Roy Mustang watched it fall absently as he half-listened to what Edward was saying. They were on the couch beside the window, Ed's head on Roy's knee, Roy resting his chin on one hand as the other threaded gently through Edward's hair. Although Edward had grown significantly during all the years Roy had known him, he would never be considered a tall man, and as thus his legs did not quite reach the armrest on the other end of the couch; as though to disguise this, Ed had his feet flat on the couch-cushion, knees pointing to the ceiling. They swayed lazily side-to-side as Ed talked, and that movement had held Roy's attention for a little while before his gaze wandered out the window.
"….totally the bastard's own fault, right?" Ed demanded.
"Quite," Roy replied, though truthfully he was losing the thread of whatever Ed was going on about.
As his lover continued, Roy found his thoughts wandering further away from the meaning behind the words he was saying, though the sound of Edward's voice was soothing, regardless. It was a bright, light afternoon with all the snow, and though it would be hell to drive through once the vacation was finished, for the moment Mustang could appreciate why Edward loved it so much.
Originally, Roy had planned to be productive this afternoon—he had started to pack away the house decorations when Edward had caught him, and asked in bewilderment what he was doing. Roy had explained that with the holiday already three days past, it was time to return his house to normal—but Ed loudly disagreed, insisting they still had five whole days of vacation left. Though Roy usually had the final word in matters of the house's condition, seeing as he owned it, Edward had eventually won that argument. It was Ed who had wanted the brightly-colored, gaudy decorations in the first place, and Roy had allowed them alongside his own minimal, elegant, silver winter ornaments. Roy knew that what Ed meant when he said "tradition" was "when I was a child." For Roy's lover, at twenty, the pain of his lost past was still close and fresh for him; Roy himself was over thirty, and had had more time for the unhappiness of his childhood to fade. After all, it was hardly as though Edward had afforded himself celebration during the years of his quest, which had ended not three years ago. So the decorations had stayed, and Ed, still seeming wary that Roy was going to try to take them away at any moment, had decided they should forego any productive work and sit and enjoy the decorations, the fire, and the snow outside. Then he had launched into the story he was currently telling.
"…which was totally a reasonable thing to do, right? Right?"
"Right," he affirmed, totally clueless as to what he was agreeing, but this answer satisfied Ed, and he continued.
Mustang swept his fingers through Ed's hair the other direction, enjoying the feel of the smooth, clean strands as he followed them to their ends, lying on his own knee, and turned to watch his hand move along Ed's scalp. His hair was getting long, now, and he wondered when Ed would get fed up with it and cut a few inches off, as he did from time to time. He had to admit he loved his hair this way, in the shimmering ponytail he frequently wore, or loose, as it was now. Utterly gorgeous as it was in itself, it only served to highlight the beauty of the rest of him.
Would it look like this next year, the year after? How many years would it take for sliver to slip in with the gold? A much longer time than his own, certainly. Twenty years? Thirty? Would he even be by Roy's side at that point, for him to compare? Five years now they had spent as lovers, and this would be their third time spending the holiday together. He could recall them easily to his mind, what year it had turned, whether or not the champagne had been good, who gave whom what. Those things he would probably remember no matter how many winters they spent together…but would he remember this? The feel of the weight of Edward's warm head on his thigh, the argument about the decorations, the way the world looked beyond the window, blanketed it soft white? Would he remember the quiet afternoon of January 4th, 1920, spent solely on enjoying each other's company? Or would it slip past, settle somewhere in the fog of memory between New Year's and Valentine's, the details forgotten? The careless way happy people who foresaw no end to their time together filed away an unremarkable day?
"Roy!"
He looked up to Edward's sharp eyes, looking at him in annoyance, upside-down.
"You aren't even listening to me!" he accused, and Roy took in the furrow of his eyebrows, the golden glare, the way his mouth turned down, the way his nose flared out just a bit like it always did when he was put out.
"I love you," he said.
The words didn't come easily to Roy, even all this time after he had admitted that to his subordinate for the first time, and they came out a little raw; but it was everything he was thinking and feeling, so they weren't as rough as he usually found them.
Surprise filled Ed's face for a moment, and then it became serious as he rolled over onto his stomach to look at Mustang properly.
"Roy?" he asked, searching his face guardedly. "Are you okay?"
"Mmmm," he assured, smiling a little. "Just thinking." Edward continued his scrutiny for a few moments until he seemed satisfied Roy was telling the truth.
"Not about what I was saying, obviously," Ed said, mouth quirking up on one side.
"Guilty as charged," Roy smirked, and pulled Ed into his lap as he tsked and grumbled and sighed in annoyance. Roy settled his arms around Ed's waist, and when Edward turned his face to him, obeyed and kissed him softly.
"This was a good idea," he said when Ed turned forward once more to watch the snow outside. He was an adult, after all, and could admit such things.
"It took you five years to figure that out?" Edward snorted, and Roy paid him back with a finger in his side, which made him squawk.
"I meant sitting here for a little while," he clarified, and gave a nod to the decorations still over the fireplace. "Those and all."
"Ha!" Ed said triumphantly, exactly the same way he might have six or eight years earlier, standing on the other side of Roy's desk in all his leather-clad glory, hands on hips, and Roy laughed to hear it. The Edward of eight years ago, however, certainly wouldn't have been crying it over convincing Colonel Mustang of the merits of spending an afternoon snuggling together.
Roy squeezed Edward a little more tightly, pressing his nose to the crown of his head and inhaling, taking in once more the pleasant mix of shampoo and Ed no longer masked by the smell of machine oil, though he had loved that smell once, too, for the fact that it hailed Edward's presence. He felt Ed squeeze him back, flesh right hand on Roy's arm, as he watched snowflakes trickle past the windowpane. And Roy Mustang knew, in a strange moment of insight, that if he could continue to have small, unremarkable days like this, he would die, many years from now, a happy man.
"January 4th, 1920," he murmured softly to himself.
"Eh?" Ed grunted, shifting a little in his arms. "What about it?"
"Nothing," he smiled, and kissed Edward on the temple. "I just want to remember."