Summary: That was it. The Flame Alchemist had lost his dearest, best friend. Why? It wasn't fair. His hand closed around the glass. He would have raise one more glass with him... for one final toast. One-shot drabble.
This was written based of a picture on Pinterest: Raise A Glass, One Last Time. It broke my heart when I saw it for the first time.
Now... there are spoilers. For FMA manga, and both anime series, with a character death from the series. You guys know who. For those who don't, well... CHARACTER DEATH SPOILERS! Read at your own risk!
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One Final Toast
He stood before his best friend's grave, a bouquet of fresh flowers laid down before his tomb.
Maes Hughes
1885 - 1914
Hughes had died too soon. The Flame Alchemist knew it. Hughes had promised him he'd support his friend by working under him, being prepared to help him at all costs. But Hughes... he'd just... died.
He wanted to blame himself. He wanted to blame himself for his dearest friend's death. But no, he couldn't. He wasn't there when Hughes had died. He had nothing to do with the events leading up to his death. However, he wished he was there. He wished he had been there to save his friend.
But no. It was too late. Now, he was standing before Maes Hughes's gravestone, the year of his death imprinted straight on stone.
He was dead. Dead. Gone forever, in a world that he could probably never reach. At least, not for quite a long time.
The Flame Alchemist wasn't just there to simply mourn about Hughes's death. He had brought a little something with him. It was a normal-sized bottle of liquor; the kind that he and Hughes would always drink, the kind that stirred warm memories of the sweet past. He'd brought a small glass with him.
He sat down beside the gravestone. Slowly, with trembling hands, he opened the bottle, and laid the cap down gently on the grass, swaying silently to the light breeze in the air. But he paid no attention to it. His hands shook as he filled the glass to three-quarters of what it could hold, the gold liquid entering the glass.
He lifted the glass up, the way he always did with his best friend, as they laughed joyfully, telling jokes and stories. But now, Hughes was silent. He would be forever silent from now on.
Tears ran down his face. They fell smoothly down from his cheek, reaching up to his chin, then falling to the ground with not a single sound.
Hughes... I'll miss you, my greatest friend. The tears wouldn't stop falling down his face, though he didn't have the heart to try and stop them. He took a small sip of the liquid in his glass, but felt no taste in it, no texture. Even the liquor knew there was no point. It was too late. No more Hughes. No more joking, laughing Lieutenant Colonel. No more friendly, happy, joyful Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes.
He was gone. Gone. His dearest friend, his best friend, his greatest friend... gone.
He'd fought with Hughes on the battlefield. They'd joke around in times of peace. Hughes had saved him from madness, from insanity on the field of war...
That great man. He'd just died.
All that was left of him were pictures. And memories.
He lifted up the glass to the heavens, to the sky, in the hope Hughes was watching. The tears kept on coming, faster, and more of them fell down from his face.
The Flame Alchemist had lost his dearest, best friend. Why? It wasn't fair. His hand closed tightly around the glass. He would raise one more glass with him, for one final toast.
Farewell, Maes Hughes. May we meet again, in a world better than this one.