A/N: Five one hundred word drabbles, stringed together to form something that vaguely resembles a one-shot. Inspired by Avril Lavigne's 'Innocence' and OneRepublic's Say (All I Need). Enjoy.
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Back when her mahogany eyes still holds some semblance of innocence, and his dark ones weren't unfathomable pits of sorrow disguised with arrogance, when he smiles, she does too.
That same thing goes for everything else.
He practices his alchemy, flames igniting at his beck and call as she watches in amazement; his jaw drops the first time he sees her hit a target, her trigger finger finding its place with the cold and deadly weapon.
He grins at her, so rare and bright that it served as a wordless congratulation; she should have said it then.
But she didn't.
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It's been quite a while, and the years come with age and the knowledge that the world was more wicked and heartless than they thought.
By now, taking the gun from its holster and taking a shot, in the span of two seconds, was more familiar than breathing.
By now, the fire he'd once been proud of had caused a massacre, and nothing would let him forget.
She sees him again, both of them now sporting the blue uniform of the military (so much has changed, but not really); she should have said it then.
But she didn't.
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She tries not to think of how pathetic he looks, his starched uniform rumpled to match his unruly black hair; the Colonel, once so proud and so tall, now slumped over the counter of a dingy bar, reeking of alcohol and sweat.
He gazes at her hazily, so very sad and regretful; his hand ghosting over hers lightly, too sickly sweet to be a man mourning his best friend. He murmurs, sometimes, slurs some things she can't understand. She realizes that he would not remember any of this later.
She should have said it then.
But she didn't.
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He massages his temples with his fingers (which were drumming agitatedly on the desk a while ago), eyes shut tightly to ease the migraine caused by the banged door from moments earlier.
"That Full Metal…" he trails off, his expression creased with irritation. He tries again. "Tell me why I put up with that boy?"
"Because he's Edward, sir, and you're fond of him, even if you won't admit it," she replies promptly.
He smirks, says "Always so blunt," with a chuckle; her heartbeat speeds up just a bit.
She should have said it then.
But she didn't.
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She tells herself she will, this time, if—when he wakes up. Whenever someone said he wouldn't, Roy Mustang, like the bastard he is, always came back to bite them in the ass.
With all worries cast upon his bedside, she hopes he wouldn't have to pay for her mistake so dearly.
On cue, his eyes flutter open, and, hazily, he turns his head to her side.
"Hello, Hawkeye." His lips form her name, almost shattering her.
She was going to say it then, dangling from the tip of her tongue.
But she doesn't; sighs instead.
Maybe tomorrow.
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A/N: Hoped you liked it. Leave a review?
