Once again, I'm back! This weekend, I'm going to put up the bonus chapter for Strawberry, so bear with me, please! I thought of this when I was trying to write a fanfic for RoyxHughes. Then this randomly popped into my mind. Hope you like it!!
Comfort in the Night
Slish-slosh.
Slish-slosh.
That was the only thing that could be heart, as Roy Mustang shuffled through the dark space he was in. He had no idea where he was—and he didn't care. For some reason, he was numb; both physically and emotionally. His obsidian eyes were dull, a huge contrast to their usual sharpness. He couldn't even think a single thought.
He had just committed a horrible act.
Mustang slowed to a stop at this realization. That's right. I did do something horrible. His thoughts flashed to the two lives he had just taken—two innocent doctors. All they were doing were saving lives...loves on both sides of the battlefield. Then...Mustang had his orders. He closed his eyes and let his shoulders sag. I'm no hero—I'm a murderer
Just as Mustang was about to continue his endless march, he heard something.
Slish-slish.
Slosh-slosh.
Opening his eyes, Mustang turned around. In the darkness, he could make out two figures heading his way. He blinked and squinted, not recognizing the forms. As far as he knew, he was the only one in his desolate place, aside from the liquid that almost came up to his knees. As a side note, he realized that the substance was a little thicker than water...
As the figures came closer, they began to take shape. Mustang could make out a man and a woman. They were walking side-by-side, holding hands. They seemed like a happy couple. But why are they here? thought Mustang, raising an eyebrow.
He opened his mouth and called out to them...only to find out that his voice was gone.
Mustang tried again, but only ended up with the same result. Panic gripped him, as he reached up for this throat—
Until another hand beat him to the punch.
Mustang gasped inaudibly, as the hand tightened it's grip on his throat. He tried to pry it off...only to find that his hand went right through it.
WhWhat the hell—?! Black spots danced in his vision, as the grip became even tighter. His legs started to give out and the assailant took advantage of this. The assailant kicked out Mustang's leg from under him and completely submerged him under the liquid, the hand still on Mustang's throat; pinning down.
Mustang tried again to pry off that assailant's arm, but his hands went right through it. He coughed, as the air was being choked out of him...and froze.
When he coughed, some of the liquid had gotten into his mouth. It had a strong, metallic taste.
It wasn't water. It was blood.
Before the full panic set in, the assailant's face became clear. Even through the blood, Mustang recognized the face...and his whole body went cold.
It was Mr. Rockbell—one of the doctors he had killed. And standing behind him, was Mrs. Rockbell. Both were covered in blood and as pale as corpses.
Mustang tried to scream, but he didn't make a noise. As everything went black, the Rockbells were chanting:
"Murderer."
"Murderer."
"Murderer."
--- --- ---
Roy Mustang woke up, screaming. He sat straight up, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his body was covered in cold sweat. Panting heavily, Mustang looked around at his surroundings.
He was back in his room, the off-white walls were familiar to him. Off to the right was a dresser; the only other piece of furniture in the room, aside from the bedside table. The moonlight filtered in through the window, creating weird shadows on the wall. Rain was also pounding heavily on the window, making a loud, continuous noise.
Mustang sighed heavily, as he put his face into his hands. What a nightmareHe ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, still trying to calm down his racing heart. I haven't had a dream about the war for a long time. Still...it succeeded in shaking me up.
Mustang staggered out of bed and dragged his feet to the bathroom, which was next door to his room. He flipped on the lights, forcing him to squint his eyes. Deciding it was too bright, he shut them off. The colonel walked over tot he skin and started splashing water on his face; hoping it would get rid of the nightmare's images.
The nightmare had truly frightened him, striking him deep within his consciousness. Even now, he was still shaking. When Mustang looked at himself in the mirror, his obsidian eyes were blood-shot and it looked like he had trash bags under them. After a few all-nighters at the office, he thought he would actually get some sleep tonight.
"Some sleep I got..." muttered the colonel, wiping off his face. He stumbled back into his bedroom and, unceremoniously, fell onto his bed. He curled up and pulled the covers around him, trying to go back to sleep.
However, the nightmare kept playing on behind closed eyelids, forcing Mustang to open his eyes. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable place to sleep. But even though his eyes were open, the haunting chant still played on in his mind. Murderer, murderer, murdererMustang's body went cold at the mere thought. He shuddered, as he tried pulling the covers closer to him, but it didn't work. He was still cold.
"Screw this." muttered Mustang, sitting up and throwing the covers off of him. He glanced out the window, listening to the rain. There's no way I can go back to sleep. With some help I probably could, but... Mustang thought for a moment. He then got out of bed, hoping that a certain someone wouldn't mind if he came over at 2:00 in the morning...
--- --- ---
Maes Hughes slowly woke up to the sound of something knocking. He groaned and rolled over, wishing to go back to dreaming about his beautiful wife and cute daughter; who were currently out of the house. Gracia was visiting her parents for the week and look Elycia with her.
Just as Hughes was about to drift off, the knocking sounded again. This time, it was a bit louder. Swearing softly under his breath, Hughes opened his eyes and sat up slightly. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he groped around for his glasses on the bedside table; all the while, listening to the knocking. At first he thought it was a tree branching knocking against the side of the house...but when he listened carefully, it was coming from downstairs.
"Who in the world would be up at this hour?" mumbled Hughes, as he staggered out of bed and downstairs, "Not to mention in this weather..."
It was raining up a storm outside, with the high winds helping the rain's speed. It was also quite chilly out. Anyone who was out in this weather had better have been dressed right.
Hughes flicked on the few lights, as he approached the door. He yawned softly, put on his glasses, and unlocked the door, opening it up.
"What is it that you—"
Hughes stopped cold, as he saw who was standing in front of him.
There, standing on his front porch, soaking wet, clad in light-green pajamas with little cows on it, clutching a pillow in his arms, barefoot...was Roy Mustang.
Mustang was completely soaked, his onyx hair was plastered to his head. His pajamas were clinging to his body, showing off his frame. His feet, aside from being bare, were pale and dirty; suggesting that he had walked from his house all the way to Hughes's.
Hughes shook out of his stunned state, the sight of Mustang standing pathetically on his front porch had woken him up, "What're you doing, standing out there? Get in here!"
Since Mustang wasn't moving an inch, Hughes grabbed his arm and dragged him inside. Once the dripping wet colonel was fully inside the house, Hughes turned around and closed the door, locking it.
When he turned back around, he saw that Mustang was shivering. Sighing softly, Hughes once again grabbed Mustang's arm and led him into the living room. Once there, he gently pushed Mustang onto the couch; the colonel plopped down without protest. In fact, he hadn't said a word since Hughes had opened the door.
Once Mustang sat down, he clutched the pillow in his arms tighter, as his whole body started to shudder violently. The cold was finally sneaking in.
"You could've hailed a taxi, you idiot." muttered Hughes, "Wait here—I'll get you a blanket to warm you up."
The Lt. Col. walked down the hall some, until he came to a closet. He opened it and started shifting through it, trying to find a warm-enough blanket. With a victorious "Ah-ha!" Hughes found what he was looking for. He pulled out a dark navy blue blanket, that was soft and thick. It was made out of wool, so it was guaranteed to be warm.
He closed the closet and walked back into the living room. Mustang hadn't moved from the couch. He was still, however, shivering. Hughes walked over to him and threw the blanket around his shoulders. Mustang reacted almost immediately, grabbing the blanket and pulling it around himself. In order to cover his feet, Mustang forced himself to curl up, snuggling into the corner of the couch.
Hughes chuckled, as he watched the colonel snuggle into the blanket, "Let's dry you off before you get sick."
After making sure Mustang was comfortable, Hughes left the room and headed upstairs to the bathroom, to get a towel to dry off the wet, shivering colonel.
While heading upstairs, Hughes recalled a similar moment when him and Mustang were kids. It was late at night and Hughes's parents were out for their anniversary; leaving their child home alone. And, like now, it was storming outside. Except back then it was summer, while now it was the middle of fall. Hughes awoke to someone knocking on the door. Thinking that it was his parents, Hughes got up and sleepily made his way over to the door...only to find out that it wasn't his parents...it was his best friend, Roy Mustang. Mustang was standing out in the rain, looking very similar to how he appeared at Hughes's house just now. Hughes invited him in and warmed him up. He even got some hot chocolate to speed up the warming process. After drying off, Mustang had apologized for coming over so late. His reason was because he couldn't sleep. He told Hughes about his nightmare (which turned out to be that a large, black monster with several needles all over it, as chasing Mustang) and ended up spending the night.
He always did come to me, whenever he needed help. thought Hughes, as he walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He then headed back downstairs. If it's the same dream that he had when he was a kid, I'm gonna die laughing. Before walking into the living room, Hughes sneaked into the kitchen and made some hot chocolate. Can't give him coffee—it'll keep him awake.
Hughes walked back into the living room and shoved the cup of hot chocolate into Mustang's hands, "Drink up. It'll warm you up faster." he said, as he sat down next to Mustang and started drying off his hair. As soon as he sat down, Hughes noticed that his friend had scooted closer to him. With a chuckle, Hughes lifted the blanket up a little and snuggled in next to Mustang; wrapping the blanket around both of them, "Is that better?"
Mustang nodded, as he snuggled up against Hughes, trying to steal his warmth. Hughes couldn't help but shiver at how cold Mustang's skin felt against his warm body. His continued drying off the colonel's hair, careful of the hot chocolate still in his hands.
"So, what brings you over this time, Roy?" asked Hughes, trying to start a conversation with his speechless friend.
"...Couldn't sleep." muttered Mustang, from under the towel. His voice was tired and strained, like he was trying to stay awake.
Hughes took the towel off of Mustang's head and looked at his friend. Thanks to him tousling his hair to dry it, the colonel's hair was standing up all over the place; onyx strands sticking out this way and that. Combined with his current expression, he truly looked like a child.
Hughes chuckled softly, as he took his hands and tried to flatten the rebel strands, "Couldn't sleep, huh? Too much caffeine and/or sugar to get you through those late nights at the office?"
"It...was a nightmare, Maes."
Hughes froze for a moment, his hands resting on top of Mustang's head, "...What was the nightmare about? Don't tell me it was a big, black monster that had several needles all over it, like last time..."
"Ha! I wish it was as innocent as that." chuckled Mustang, weakly. His obsidian eyes lowered down to the still untouched cup of hot chocolate, "It was about the war."
Hughes's eyes softened, as he looked at his friend. The war was something that scarred everyone that had participated in it. Some were more mentally scarred than others. Hughes had seen some horrible things...but nothing compared to Mustang, a State Alchemist. It was thanks to the Ishbal War that Mustang had strived to change how the nation ran—to become Fuhrer and change it all.
"I see..." said Hughes, softly, as he continued to try and tame Mustang's hair, "How bad?"
"Bad enough that I woke up screaming." said Mustang, his shoulders sagging. His recalled the images and sounds, and shuddered.
Hughes placed his hands on the colonel's cold cheeks, making Mustang look up at him. Hughes could see the fear and sadness lingering in his friend's obsidian eyes. Whatever this dream was about, it shook him up badly. He remembered Mustang having similar nightmares a few months after the war. Every time, he nearly always woke up either screaming or crying, sometimes both. And Hughes was always there to help him get back to sleep.
Without warning, Hughes leaned forward and claimed Mustang's lips with a soft, comforting kiss.
Mustang's eyes widened at the sudden kiss, but he then closed them. There was no way he could protest about this. After all, this was how Hughes had comforted him in the past...and it always worked. The unease he felt just a few minutes ago was ebbing away, thanks to Hughes's kiss. He kissed back, thanking him. The colonel then broke the kiss and snuggled into Hughes's chest, gripping slightly at the older man's pajamas.
Hughes smiled softly at Mustang, as he petted his head gently, "Tell me all about it, Roy. It'll help you sleep."
Mustang nodded, as he slid down from Hughes's chest and into his lap. He got comfortable, curling up and trying to pull the blanket more closer to him. Hughes helped, chucking softly.
And so, Mustang started re-telling his nightmare to Hughes, who listened intently to every detail. The blood-filled space, the eerie quiet, his numb emotions...and the Rockbells. Hughes knew all too well about the horrible act that Mustang was ordered to commit. It haunted him for weeks—Hughes had stayed with him every waking moment during that time, fearing his friend's unstableness.
"It was awful, Maes." moaned Mustang, rolling onto his side, so that he was facing Hughes's stomach, "But you're right. Now that I talked about it over with someone, I do feel better."
"See? Am I ever wrong about these things?" grinned Hughes, rustling Mustang's already mess hair about. Mustang growled playfully, as he swatted away Hughes's hand. He then blinked and yawned, grandly.
"Someone's tired. Wonder why...?"
"Shut up." grumbled Mustang, as he snuggled up against Hughes, "You're warm. I'm cold..."
"Roy?" Hughes looked down to see his friend already fast asleep in his lap. The Lt. Col. smiled softly, as he ran his hand through Mustang's silky onyx locks.
"Sweet dreams." whispered Hughes, as he turned off the lamp next to him and took off his glasses.
He was sleeping on the couch tonight.