We met in an eventful day of a summer in Youswell right after I graduated my high school. It was the next day, actually. I and my friends got slightly drunk at a small party we'd thrown to celebrate our success and freedom. But for me as of now, it wasn't just the graduation that made me happy, it was meeting him. He was a charming young man who had the smugness of a politician back then. No, I think if he were here, he would still have the same traits as he had. He had those deep black eyes which might be the prime factor that caused me to not be able to forget him, even after all this time. His hair was short, almost too short; and actually had no styling at all. It wasn't in trend or anything at that time, yet it seemed attractive in my eyes.

He was the one who approached me, seemingly to know that I was not a local. We'd gotten along with each other pretty quickly, with many light banters and playful arguments which he handled well. I'm surprised at how I remember every details of it since I was partly drunk at that time. I remember how I laughed when he said he was half Xingese and how he laughed back when I said my last name was Hawkeye.

He had revealed he was also visiting the bar to celebrate, much like me, except he was celebrating one of his fellow colleagues' coming back from war. He didn't explicitly tell me whether he was also a soldier at that time, but seeing his physique, I assumed he was. We had talked for hours under the moonlight, laughing at some normally-unfunny things just because we were drunk. He had not disclosed much about himself other than his name and his friends', but we had shared some opinions regarding almost every single thing that exists in this world. Wines, school, work, relationships, cars, parties, technology, graduation, nature, and pretty much everything a drunken could spill out. Not literally, note that.

After some crazy talks and make-out sessions in his Mustang (ironically the same as his last name) which he claimed he bought with his own savings right after his graduation, we decided to go home. He offered to drive me home as a man would generally do, but I told him I was staying with at a friends' house and I didn't remember the way. I was not lying, though. I barely remembered my name, let alone the way back. It was probably due to alcohol influence, but I also considered it was a great moment to lose my virginity. After all, he had the look of a man who would give good sex. And then being a generous man he was, he asked me to stay at his home for the night. I accepted without much thinking other than he was just a guy trying to get into my pants.

How wrong I had been.

The day after, I woke up in the late afternoon with a terrible headache and found my clothes still on neatly meaning we didn't have sex the previous night, and a tray of food accompanied by some painkillers next to the bed. I couldn't feel more comfortable in my life.

When he got back home, he was clearly surprised at how I was still there cleaning his kitchen. He immediately apologized for the dirtiness of his house as he was always busy and had no time to clean his home. In addition to thanking me for tidying up, he offered to make me a drink. I had told him I was planning to leave after he'd gotten home as to not leave the house empty, and then he claimed his friends would be visiting soon so I took it as a cue to leave. However as I was about to leave, he stopped me and asked me to be his 'other half'. Despite how absurd and unromantic I found it (having been acquainted to him for less than 24 hours) I accepted him (much to my own shock). I thought it would just be a short fling and nothing more, but I was so completely incorrect. I began to adore him like a true lover. He brought life to my life, regardless how much I didn't want to believe in the foreign thing. He made me forget about my complicated family matters and instead replaced my thoughts with memories of him. The love which I didn't approve at first blossomed naturally as time passed. He had been very caring towards me and very fun to be with, not ceasing to make me feel loved all the time. Although he was a bit too playful for his age, he had never once made me feel he was a burden. During that period of time, I felt as if I was the happiest and the most blessed girl in the earth.

Soon, he became acquainted to my father to learn about flame alchemy. My father never approved of him as an apprentice, at least not before his passing. Since I knew of Roy's resolve to protect the country, I gave him the secret that my father buried onto my skin. He mastered the alchemy in an unexpectedly short period and soon got a state alchemist qualification. Deciding to support his dreams, I made a choice to enlist to the military.

On our first year together, he took me to his parents' 'secret basement' under the bar and we drank so much we fell asleep in that wine cellar. Since then, every time he brought me to Madame Christmas' bar, we'd sneak into the cellar to take some liquor to the rooftop which was our 'spot'. We drank and stargazed and talked about anything that came into our mind. He mentioned one of his comrades referring to us as June and Johnny Cash, for reasons we didn't understand. Under alcohol influence, he said he would have married me if we weren't in the military. Despite being drunk, I thought it was a sweet idea.

But everything went downhill ever since.

We were enlisted in the Ishvalan extermination war, which took our sanity and left us with extreme remorse.

The guilt made me force him to burn the tattoo on my back. The guilt made me have constant nightmares. The guilt made him see me cry for the first time we've been together. Everything felt utterly horrible. His noticing of my misery led to him getting the tattoo on his back and burned it himself, as some kind of a way to atone for his choices.

Roy was frustrated. Everyone was frustrated.

He didn't turn up for work for a week.

Hughes found him at his old house with human transmutation ingredients.

But things didn't stop at that.

He quit his job. He began staying out late at night, coming back at dawn in a drunken state. If he wasn't out drinking, he'd spend his time 'painting' with fire and his body as his canvas. I made him move into my house to keep an eye on him, but it didn't stop him from his actions. There was one day I go back home finding him with my gun in his hand, and that was the time I stopped keeping guns in my bedroom.

Eventually my patience ran out. On that fateful night, I scolded and bellowed at him for holding onto the past, as opposed to keep reaching for his dreams. I slapped him for being obnoxious but he didn't retaliate. The peak of the fight was he blaming himself for taking up flame alchemy and not daring to disobey orders. He blamed me for joining the military. Then he blamed himself for even allowing me to join the military. He shouted at me to just marry someone and quit from the military. Out of anger, I yelled that I didn't care anymore, he could do whatever he wanted and that I'd leave him behind if he continues being like that. He tore off all his gloves and swore to never come back.

He fulfilled it.

He never did go back to my house. He never even came back to his own.

I didn't quit the military, I continued rising to the top, a small part of me wishing to bring him back with this position.

However, I never saw him anymore.

As a matter of fact, I'm never going to see him anymore even if I wanted to.

He was gone, gone from this world.

I didn't want to leave him behind, but I did. Now that he's gone, I realize I didn't mean any of my words. I cared. I cared more than anyone probably did. He was the only holder of my heart.

But now he's gone.

Forever.