A/N: This is a very old short oneshot I wrote for a friend. When I say old, I mean OLD. I went back and read it, and decided I liked it, so here you go. This was a gift; the pairing really isn't my thing. HughesxRoy fan here. Hope you enjoy anyways. :)
He hated the rain.
The rain was how their meetings had started. One night, the Colonel had simply shown up at his doorstep, wine in hand, trembling and soaking wet.
He was freezing, Jean remembered. Though the rain hadn't seeped through his trencoat, though it had been a warm night… The Flame alchemist was freezing.
And it was raining.
It hadn't crossed his mind to wonder why the Colonel had come to him. Of course, it was obvious to him eventually – he was the one Mustang trusted, his best friend, the one he could count on to keep his mouth shut.
It took him less time to realize the darker, far less endearing reason for the meetings.
The Colonel had had a ritual with the late Brigadier General. Of course he had. They'd spent the rainy nights together, content in one another's presence and oblivious to the gloom outside their windows.
It was as though the windows had blown now, and the Colonel was left to sit in the howling winds and fierce precipitation. The rain carried another reminder – one of happier, joyous times with a man he'd loved. A man he'd never see again. The rain's one comfort was gone, and the storm was more merciless than ever.
That was how it had started. He was all too eager to become Hughes's replacement, often spending long nights twisting in the sheets, at the mercy of the heat of Mustang's touch, the tenderness if he could just pretend hard enough, and the emptiness when it was never enough.
He'd always left feeling empty, Havoc realized. And that was his method of coping. To leave empty was better than to leave miserable. He never blamed him.
No matter how unhealthy, no matter how wrong what they were doing was, Havoc could not for the life of him stop. At first, it was merely the physical aspect – God, the things the Colonel could do – but eventually, he found himself more and more watching the Colonel as he slept, resting his head on Mustang's chest the few times he'd fallen asleep deeply enough not to realize, savoring the feel of his skin and the beat of his heart.
As Jean glanced out the window, a gentle knock confirmed his hopes – the Colonel was coming again tonight. He opened the door without greeting, taking the Colonel's coat and giving him a small smile. The gesture was returned, and a bottle was handed to him.
Jean hesitated.
"What's wrong?" Mustang asked, staring at him with a somewhat quizzical expression.
"Could we… Not use alcohol tonight?" Jean asked, nearly stumbling on his words as he did his best to look the man straight in the eye.
Dark eyes seemed to grow darker. "No."
"But - "
"Don't think I haven't noticed, Havoc. I care about you a great deal, but these meetings are what they are. To have anything more to them is ridiculous. There won't be anything between us."
"…Understood, sir."
Two stony stares, two empty men, and no desire whatsoever to continue their ritual. Even though it was never theirs to begin with.
The night proceeded as normal – there was nothing to indicate that either of them were struggling with their own internal confusion.
Like why Jean had grown to fall for a man who'd essentially used him, or why Mustang had used a man when he had no interest in men. Or, quite simply, why it was that the harder they tried to reason with themselves, the less they understood.
Roy was awake when Havoc laid his head over his heart, and warm arms encircled him, as if he were the one in need of comfort.
Ha… They were terrible men, he thought.
And that was okay.
Because feelings didn't go unrequited, only unfulfilled.
And that was more than enough for him.
And because, in a strange way, Mustang had already trusted him with his heart. He was the keeper of Roy's secret vulnerability.
It was something that set him apart from Hughes. And, in time, they began to wonder if, some day, this would be their ritual, too.