Disclaimer: Roses are red, Violets are blue, I don't own Full Metal Alchemist, therefore don't sue.
Making Her Cry
He lies there, wide awake, staring at the shadowy shapes on the ceiling. Moonlight streams through the open window, casting an eerie glow onto his bed. On nights like these, he finds himself unable to sleep. Usually, his thoughts turn inward, towards his past.
On nights like these, he remembers. The sickening smell of burning flesh and gunpowder, the crackling of wood as it burns. The hot, suffocating taste of ashes in his mouth, the cries of the dying around him, groaning and cursing. The quiet snap of his fingers, the red-orange tint of flames. He can almost feel the blistering heat again, its source eating and utterly destroying everything and anything in its path.
And, like always, a wave of remorse washes over him. He closes his eyes, swallows hard, hopes that the feeling will go away. It never does, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how many reasons he comes up in his head as he lays there, how many drinks he downs, how many women he brings to bed.
Remorse is his constant, unwanted companion, and there's nothing he can do about it.
A soft snore from his only companion causes him to turn his head, effectively interrupting his thoughts. It hurts him to turn his head, but he doesn't mind too much. He enjoys her company, even if she isn't quite awake at the moment.
He gazes briefly at her blonde hair, then her delicate features. She looks breathtaking to him, her head tilted to the side, pink mouth slightly open, moonlight caressing her face. As his onyx eye travels down her face, his gaze is suddenly caught by a barely-visible streak of black.
The streak starts from the corner of her closed eye, its path erratic and wobbly, before finally disappearing at the edge of her chin.
A sudden pain grasps at his heart, turning the dull ache of remorse into something fiercer. A mixture of anguish and sorrow rises in his throat.
She didn't belong here. She should be home, asleep in her own bed, not here, no. Not here, head resting against the whitewashed walls, curled up uncomfortably in a metal folding chair. She shouldn't be here in the room of what the military deemed a "traitor".
No, she shouldn't be wasting her heartache, her tears on a bastard like him.
On nights like these, Roy Mustang has many regrets, leftover from his actions in the past. There were many things that he has done in the past which makes him feel this way, haunting his conscience every single day. Some he regrets doing more than others; their voices are louder than the rest.
But what he now regrets the most, the one action whose voice is far louder than the rest, is making her cry.
Again.
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Chatte's Notes: A lovely, angsty, introspective little drabble. One-shot, yay. I was originally going to end it at "Remorse is his constant, unwanted companion, and there's nothing he can do about it," but I decided not to. I love RoyxRiza, and I (now) officially love writing fanfiction centered around this couple. I think they complement each other very well.
And, of course, angst is always fun to do. Plus, I had the ending line already thought up: "But what he regretted the most was making her cry". xD
Hopefully I didn't butcher Roy's character too badly. First Roy-centric fic, and somewhat of a practice one for my other fic. The flow's a bit off in this one; I'm really not used to writing in present tense. D I'll get better, I promise.
Flames will be used to warm my hot chocolate, thank you. ; I'm considering to write a follow-up (Riza-style) to this fic, but we'll see.
- Chatte