A/N - This is basically just shameless Mustang angst. It takes place pretty much right after he comes back from Ishval. He's pretty sad in this one, so there's implied ptsd and hints of alcoholism. Plus big trigger warning for vomit, esp in the second chapter. Chapter two will be posted in the next few days.


"Roy!" Hughes yelled, spotting his friend in the distance. He was standing outside the bar where he and Hughes had agreed to meet, looking a little lost and forlorn. Hughes had only seen Mustang a couple of times since they'd gotten back from Ishval two weeks ago. Both of them were trying to settle into a new life that they didn't quite know how to manage, and that had taken up a lot of time. But finally, Hughes had decided that both of them could use a break, and he had called Mustang and asked him to come out with him tonight. Mustang had agreed (he didn't seem to have many other friends in Central, and was scarcely busy), and now here they were, ready to go out drinking together like a couple of students instead of shell-shocked war veterans.

Mustang turned towards Hughes at the sound of his name. For a split second, he looked rather shocked, like he wasn't sure what was happening, who was calling him. In that moment, Hughes was alarmed at how pale and exhausted his friend looked. He looked haunted, more than anything. Hughes didn't think he was handling the transition back to Central very well. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

But then recognition flashed through Mustang's eyes, and Hughes felt himself relax a little. He still looked tired and drawn, but he no longer looked so afraid.

"Are you ready to go inside?" Hughes asked, walking up to Mustang. Mustang nodded, and he managed a small, strained smile. Together, the two of them went inside the bar.

"Two beers please!" Hughes called to the bartender the second they entered. Mustang still hadn't said a word to Hughes, and Hughes wanted to get some alcohol inside him as soon as possible. He wanted to see his friend relax a little bit.

"Have you seen Gracia recently?" Mustang finally asked as the two sat down at the end of the bar with their beers.

Hughes lit up a little despite himself. "I saw her last night!" he said excitedly. "It was great. I'm so glad I met her. Are you sure you don't want me to set you up with one of her friends? I would love to set you up with one of her friends. I want you to find someone who makes you as happy as she makes me!"

"I'm alright for now," Mustang said. His voice was a little strained still, but now that he'd downed half the beer he seemed a little less high strung than he had when Hughes had first seen him outside the bar.

"Okay, well, just let me know," Hughes said, finishing his beer and examining the empty bottle with a disappointed expression.

Mustang forced a grin, and Hughes was relieved to see a spark surface in his friend's eyes. "Come on, Hughes, you think I need any help?"

Hughes laughed, maybe a little louder than was warranted, but he'd been worried about his friend. He had been afraid that the arrogant bastard he'd met in the Academy was gone forever, but he was still there - just buried deep.

He raised his hand to the bartender for another beer, then turned back to Mustang. "Still working on yours?"

Mustang looked down at Hughes' empty beer, then back at his own half-full bottle. He smiled slightly and drained it, then smirked at Hughes.

"If that's how you wanna play it," Hughes muttered. "You're going down, Roy-boy." He received their beers from the bartender and passed one to Mustang. Mock-serious, they raised the bottles in a salute and started chugging.


It had been quite a while since Mustang had gone out drinking. Or out at all, for that matter. He'd only been back for two weeks, and he still didn't feel much like celebrating. If it had been up to him, he would have been back at work, filling his days with paperwork and mindless tasks. But instead, he was on leave: supposedly a reward, although it felt more like a punishment. It left him more time to think, more time to relive memories he didn't want. He knew that he was one of the lucky ones, he'd come home alive and in one piece. But he didn't feel whole. He felt shattered, and he had no idea how to go about picking up the pieces, let alone how to fit them back together.

He was hoping that tonight would help him start that long process. Tonight, he would try to find the person he'd been before Ishval, before alchemy, before the blood and the death and the betrayal. Tonight, he would have a drink with his best friend, just like a normal twenty-three year old. If Hughes could do it, he could too.

Mustang finished off his second beer, watching Hughes out of the corner of his eye. His friend slammed his bottle down on the table just as Mustang swallowed the last of his own drink.

"Need another?" Hughes asked, raising an eyebrow like he doubted Mustang would take him up on the offer.

"I can do this all night," Mustang said untruthfully. Actually, he was already beginning to feel a little lightheaded. Ishval wasn't a place where you could afford to let your guard down, not if you wanted to make it home. But he had made it home, and so had Hughes, and maybe he could finally relax, even if it was just for one night.

Mustang downed a third beer, a little faster than Hughes this time. Already, he was liking the way the alcohol was making him feel. It was dulling the sharp edges that he thought he would never lose. It was making him relax. It was making him feel like a normal person again.

Mustang started on a fourth beer as Hughes was still finishing up his third. He saw Hughes' eyes widen in surprise, but he didn't particularly care. Mustang was simply enjoying the fact that the tension was finally leaving his body. He smiled broadly. It was a real smile, for what felt in that moment like the first time in years.

"Can we switch to something harder?" he asked. He didn't think he would be able to get as drunk as he wanted drinking beer all night. And there was something that appealed to him about the idea of downing shots. Quick and easy and a little painful. They would make him forget.

"Roy, are you sure?" Hughes asked, just now finishing his third beer. And his tolerance was higher than Mustang's anyway; he barely seemed to be feeling the alcohol at all while the room was already starting to swirl around Mustang. But he nodded quickly. His thoughts were coming slower now, and he liked it.

He heard Hughes hail down the bartender again, and then four shots were placed in front of him. He grabbed the first one, almost spilling it when he realized his hand-eye coordination was shot. He examined it carefully. He wasn't even entirely sure what kind of drink it was, all he knew was that it was something brown.

"Cheers," he said, raising the glass to Hughes.

"To surviving," Hughes said, raising the glass back. They both threw back the first shot. It tasted horrible. Mustang quickly did the other three. He didn't want to have too much time to think about any of this. It was easier not to.

The next hour or so went by in a blur of genuine pleasure. Mustang and Hughes spent a while talking with only each other, and before long they were smiling and laughing. They fell in with another group at one point, a bunch of other young adults that Mustang had never met and didn't know, and drank with them for a while too. No one brought up Ishval, not even once. Mustang suspected he was making a bit of a fool of himself, but he didn't care. That was what kids his age were supposed to be doing. Making fools of themselves by drinking too much at bars, not fighting for wars that they didn't believe in and couldn't really understand.

Now, with another beer waving in his hand, laughing so hard he thought he might be sick, Mustang felt like he finally remembered what happiness was.


Hughes was a little bit worried about Mustang. Whenever the soldiers had drank together in Ishval, he had stayed towards the edge of the group, barely talking to anyone but Hughes and never allowing himself to get drunk like this. But now, his eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed, hands gesturing wildly as he yelled excitedly about something that Hughes didn't entirely understand. Hughes knew he was having fun now, but he wouldn't be having fun tomorrow if he kept drinking like this. And he had to stay sober enough to make it somewhere after the bar closed.

But Hughes didn't have the heart to stop him. He hadn't seen Mustang smile like this in…he wasn't entirely sure, but he knew it had been too long. Besides, he'd called him in order to bring him out of his shell, to give him a night to forget. He needed this. On some level, they both did. Hughes was keenly aware of his own good fortune. Not only making it home, but having a beautiful girl waiting for him? He still walked around Central in a daze, treasuring every breath he took of Amestrian air.

So tonight, he would celebrate. Raise a glass with Mustang to all the men who hadn't made it out, and if he woke up tomorrow with a hangover, he'd just be glad the headache came from alcohol and not from artillery shells.

He caught sight of Mustang across the room, drunkenly introducing himself to a girl who'd detached herself from the main group. She was smiling, and watching them, Hughes smiled too. He grabbed another beer and turned back to their new friends, who were talking excitedly about the new summer fashion. Hughes didn't really know anything about clothing, but maybe he could get a present for Gracia…

Mustang appeared at his elbow, grinning widely.

"She gave me her phone number," he said proudly. "Told you."

"She looks cute," Hughes said. "Not as cute as Gracia, but then, who is?" Mustang rolled his eyes, and Hughes continued. "What's her name?"

Mustang furrowed his brow, thinking hard. "I don't remember," he admitted.

This struck Hughes as absolutely hilarious, and he choked on his mouthful of beer, snorting it back into his nose. He coughed and sputtered, still laughing, and slumped forward on the bar into a small puddle of beer.

When he recovered, he raised the bottle to his lips only to find that he wasn't holding the bottle anymore.

"Roy! Get your own goddamn beer!" He snatched the bottle back, but it was completely empty. Mustang shrugged, looking remarkably guiltless. Muttering threats, Hughes flagged down the bartender once again.

"Hey, buddy, we're closing down in ten minutes," the bartender told him. "You two wanna leave so I can clean up?"

Hughes stared at him fuzzily, unsure what he was talking about. What about the group they'd been talking with? But when he looked around, they were gone, and he and Mustang were the only ones in the bar. Hughes shrugged.

"Sorry. What's the tab?"

The figure was astounding, even as drunk as Hughes was. He looked over at Mustang, who was picking up empty bottles and checking them for liquid.

"Heyyyyyyyy, Roy?"


Ordinarily, Mustang would have complained endlessly about paying the tab, but now, he didn't care at all. Everything was going fuzzy at the edges, which was something Mustang supported wholeheartedly. Recently, everything in his life seemed to be made of knives. Wherever he turned, a spiky shard of memory reached out to grab him. But now, those sharp edges were dulled into something manageable. He was having a ridiculous amount of fun. He desperately wanted to thank Hughes for bringing him out tonight, but he wasn't entirely sure how.

Once he was done paying the tab, Mustang staggered over to Hughes. "Where are we going now?" he slurred.

"My place?" Hughes asked. Mustang was still staying in the military dorms, but he knew Hughes had wanted to get his own home as soon as possible and already had an apartment.

"Your place!" Mustang said excitedly. He figured he was in no condition to go back to the military dorms now. "Can we drink more there?"

"To my place!" Hughes yelled. "For more drinks!"

Mustang wrapped his arm around Hughes' shoulder, still laughing. He reeled into Hughes a few times before catching his balance, or maybe it was Hughes staggering into him. It was hard to tell who was holding up who anymore. They both needed support, and they both offered it.

The two of them started weaving through the streets of Central in the general direction of Hughes' apartment. They were still talking loudly, arms slung around each other like they were one person instead of two. Any people they passed stared openly at them, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that tonight felt easy, and they had both needed that.

At one point, Mustang felt the strong desire to start singing. He made the words up on the spot, to the tune of a song the soldiers had sometimes sung around the campfire in Ishval. He suspected that the lyrics to his song might not entirely make sense. But Hughes seemed excited about it, loudly encouraging him, ruffling his hair a little every time he finished the ever-changing chorus. Mustang thought Hughes wanted to join in, but he didn't know the words.

It was the early hours of the morning when they finally arrived at Hughes' apartment. Hughes unlocked the door while Mustang leaned heavily against the wall in the hallway, still giggling about something that he couldn't entirely remember. The world was starting to spin around him a little, and he was having trouble standing up. But it was a thousand times better than another night alone.


Hughes carefully guided Mustang into his new apartment. He made his way to the kitchen, his friend weaving in his wake. Mustang slumped down on a stool at the counter as Hughes opened cabinets until he located a bottle of whiskey. He found some glasses, and painstakingly poured some whiskey into each, inordinately proud of himself for getting all the alcohol in the intended area.

He passed one of the glasses to Mustang and joined his friend at the counter. Hughes contemplated the dark liquid in the glass for a few seconds, then raised it slightly.

"To making it back," he said. Mustang raised his glass unsteadily, just a bit off of Hughes'. Hughes gently tapped the glass with his own and they drank.

"Damn, that's good," Hughes said, staring happily at the bottle. "A lot better than the moonshine we had in Ishval, huh?"

Mustang blinked at it slowly, then grinned sheepishly. "My taste buds aren't working."

Hughes felt like he should probably worry about that comment, but he had whiskey and company, and he didn't want to ruin the feeling.

"Trust me, it is."

"I believe it," Mustang said, yawning. He drained his glass and reached for the bottle, then changed his mind. "I'm gon' spill. Maes?"

Hughes absentmindedly poured his friend more, caught up in the wave of memories. "I guess we had a few good nights out there, huh, Roy?"

Mustang clutched his glass and considered carefully. He didn't answer. Hughes steamrolled on.

"Remember when Maris stole that asshole Kimblee's boots and put a scorpion in them? And then we blamed it on that chick no one liked?"

Mustang chuckled slightly and sipped his whiskey. "Yeah, I remember. Maris...Great guy…"

He must be pretty drunk, Hughes thought. His friend didn't throw around compliments that easily. But Maris had been a pretty good guy.

"Yeah, he was," Hughes said, nursing his drink. "Shame. Died two weeks later."

Mustang didn't say anything, but Hughes figured that was an answer in and of itself. He poured himself some more whiskey and continued.

"I think that was the Sector 18 mission," he mused. "Lotta casualties on that one."

"Yeah…." Mustang said, staring helplessly into his empty glass. He didn't say anything else, and after a few moments he held the glass out for Hughes to pour him more. Hughes did it without thinking. He might have even poured him a little too much. His eyes didn't quite seem to be working properly anymore.

"That wasn't too long before the mission where we ran into that Ishvalan we knew from the Academy. Do you remember that, Roy?"

"You killed him," Mustang said, his voice dull. He'd set his glass back down on the table; it was empty. Now, he was just staring at his ungloved hands, as if trying to figure out how they could possibly be attached to him.

Hughes' chest tightened a little, but all he did was shrug. "He would have killed you, Roy. You know that. He...he broke two of your ribs, remember? It was just luck that the first bullet hit your watch. If he'd kept shooting…."

"I know," Mustang murmured. Then he raised his voice a little. "I know, alright? It's just...it doesn't make it right. I...I don't understand why it's like that…."

"It was him or you, Roy," Hughes said, as gently as he could. "It was...I didn't like it, but I would have done the same thing every time."

Mustang crossed his arms on the table and lowered his head into them. Abruptly, Hughes felt a pang of fear go through him. His friend was starting to get really drunk. Everything had been fun until about fifteen minutes ago, and now Mustang looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown and Hughes was feeling too intoxicated to properly handle that. He wasn't sure what to do. He wished he could go back to two drinks ago, when they'd still been leaning on each other and laughing.

"I know you would have done the same thing every time," Mustang muttered. His voice was muffled because his face was pressed into his arms. "But I wish you didn't have to. How...how can a person be expected to end another person, just like that? I wish...I wish that it had never happened. How can we go back after that? I don't understand how to go back…."

Abruptly, he sat up and grabbed the whiskey. He started chugging straight from the bottle, and he caught Hughes so off guard that he managed at least four or five swallows before Hughes managed to wrestle the bottle away from him.

"Stop that," Hughes said, as firmly as he dared. "Don't...don't talk like that anymore. And you need to stop drinking. I'm...I'm going to put this away. I'm cutting you off."

Hughes staggered up from the counter and over to the cabinet. He set the half-empty bottle of whiskey in its proper place, and blinked at it fretfully for a few moments. They had had a lot to drink, especially Mustang. No wonder all of Ishval was coming back up for him. Any of the walls he had set up for himself would have been swept away in a tide of alcohol.

When Hughes turned back to his friend, Mustang was sitting at the table crying. He felt a sharp pang of guilt go through him, barely even dulled by the whiskey. Mentally chastising himself for waking his friend's demons, he rubbed Mustang's shoulder.

Mustang just sat there, forehead cradled in his left hand, tears rolling down his face and falling onto the counter.

"Roy-"

"I keep seeing his face," Mustang said hollowly, still not making any effort to wipe away his tears. "We were friends. How...how did we let a man we'd never met change that with a decree made in some office?"

Hughes couldn't answer him. He'd asked himself the same question at the time, and had come up empty. He didn't have a way to set his friend's mind at peace. All he could do was stand beside him, rubbing his shoulder and trying to keep him sane.


Mustang felt the tears spill over his face, and part of him, somewhere deep down in the back of his brain, was embarrassed to be losing control. But at the same time, it was almost a relief to finally be facing some of the monsters lurking in the shadows. He'd been carrying the faces of the dead inside him for so long, and they'd just been getting heavier and heavier. Now, at long last, maybe he'd be able to shed some of that weight.

He felt Hughes' hand on his shoulder, and the part of him that was still mostly functional yelled at him, told him to pull himself together, to stop acting so weak. But the corpses he'd left in Ishval wouldn't leave him alone, and he brought his other hand up to his face as his tears continued to fall.

"They won't go away, Hughes," he whimpered. Hughes sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Despite himself, he was glad of the companionship.

"I know," Hughes said. "I know."

Mustang lost himself in the guilt that had been threatening to overcome him ever since he'd first arrived in Ishval. The people he carried with him were never going to leave, and on some level, he didn't want them to. He couldn't forget, not ever. But at the same time, he didn't know how he could bear their weight and continue standing himself.

"I can't help it," he told the kitchen, talking to himself more than Hughes. "I...every day, I wish I could forget, even just for a minute…I'm such a coward…"

Hughes didn't answer him, and Mustang turned to look at his friend. He blinked fuzzily. Hughes was wiping away tears of his own.

"Maes?"

"Damn it, Roy, you can't blame yourself for wanting to forget," Hughes said sadly. "We all do."

That didn't make Mustang feel any better, but he didn't want to tell Hughes that. He didn't really know why Hughes was crying, but he thought that it might have something to do with him. So instead of answering, he just sunk his head into his arms and pressed his face against the cold stone counter. Part of him wanted to say something else. He at least thought he should try and move. But his entire body suddenly felt impossibly heavy, and he didn't think that he could.

"Roy," Hughes said tentatively after a few minutes. "I think that maybe you should get some sleep. You'll...you'll feel better in the morning. It's late, and you've had a lot to drink…."

"I don't sleep," Mustang said, voice hollow.

"What?"

"I haven't slept more than a few hours a night since getting back from Ishval," Mustang said. He had tried, really he had. But after waking up screaming two nights in a row, he couldn't bring himself to go to bed. If he stayed up until he was so exhausted he was swaying on his feet, then he would sleep more deeply and the nightmares weren't so bad. He could usually snatch a little sleep between around three and six in the morning, but even he knew it couldn't be near enough.

"Roy, what are you talking about?"

Hughes didn't understand, and Mustang felt desperation rising in his chest. "Please don't make me go to sleep," he whimpered. "I don't want any nightmares tonight, please, Maes…."

Mustang felt Hughes tentatively pat his shoulder again, but he barely even registered the touch. The world seemed to be fading away around him, and he was having a hard time remembering what exactly was going on. Had he really just told Hughes about the nightmares that had plagued him since returning to Central? He thought that he had, but he certainly hadn't intended to. No one was supposed to know about those. That was his burden to bear alone.

Had he really cried in front of Hughes? He had a vague notion that he had, but already the memory was blurry and fractured. He felt like everything was happening to him through a veil, like this whole thing might be a dream and he would wake up tomorrow and none of it would have happened. He felt somehow detached from reality. He stared down at his hands and tried to focus on breathing.

"Roy, I know you don't want to, but you really do need to go to bed. I...I don't think you're going to have any nightmares tonight, alright? You're just going to go to sleep, and then when you wake up tomorrow everything will seem better."

"I'm going to be sick," Mustang murmured helplessly, still staring at his hands where they rested limply on the table.

"Roy, you're not going to be sick, you just need to get some sleep…."

Mustang forced himself upright, suddenly a little panicked. "No, I'm actually going to throw up."

He pushed himself off the stool and somehow stumbled to the sink, bracing himself on the counter as he retched and felt his stomach contract unpleasantly. He threw up twice, then stayed bent over the sink, head propped against the faucet, arms trembling against the counter.


Hughes didn't think that Mustang even knew he was there, but just in case, he stood awkwardly behind him and rubbed his back as he gagged up alcohol into the sink. Hughes wasn't entirely sure how the evening had ended up here. This was supposed to have been a fun, relaxing night where Mustang remembered how to smile. How had they ended up sitting in Hughes' kitchen at 4am, crying like a couple of schoolgirls?

He had a sneaking suspicion that it was his fault, but the things he'd said had already blurred slightly, and he would rather them stay fuzzy. He shook his head. He hadn't realized quite how much Ishval was weighing on his best friend. Had he really not been sleeping? No wonder he looked so pale… Hughes bowed his head and leaned on the counter beside Mustang, wishing that there was a way he could shoulder some of his friend's burden.

But there wasn't anything he could do, nothing but stand here next to him, rubbing his back as he shuddered against the kitchen sink.

After fifteen or so minutes had passed without Mustang throwing up again, Hughes thought he was probably done for the night.

"Come on, Roy, let's get you to bed." He gently pulled at Mustang's shoulder, trying to lead him away from the kitchen, but Mustang shook his head, knuckles tightening on the countertop.

"I can't sleep now…"

"You won't have any nightmares, I promise," Hughes said softly. Mustang shook his head again.

"No, it's not about nightmares, what if I throw up again?"

Hughes stopped trying to pull him away from the counter and looked at his friend's panicked expression.

"You won't. If you were going to throw up again, you would have by now. Come on, you'll feel better if you get some sleep."

"If I...if I throw up in my sleep, I'll choke," Mustang insisted, a tinge of fear beginning to creep into his voice. "I didn't make it through all of Ishval to die choking on my own vomit in Central."

Hughes winced in sympathy. He knew that Mustang wasn't really worried about asphyxiating. He was just trying to process the fear he'd lived with for so long on the battlefield.

"You're not going to die," he told Mustang firmly. "I'll turn you on your side, and I'll even watch you to make sure you don't throw up. Okay?"

"No," Mustang whispered. "No, please…."

But he allowed Hughes to grab his shoulders and peel him off the sink. Hughes led him to his own bedroom. He figured Mustang could use a good night's sleep better than anyone at this point, and he wouldn't be able to get that on the sofa. Hughes didn't mind. He just wanted to see his friend relax a little for once.

"Lie down," Hughes said as gently as he could.

"No, I can't sleep…." Mustang said, squirming under Hughes' hands.

"It's alright, it's alright, I won't let you die. Just lie down, please." Hughes gripped Mustang's shoulders a little more firmly and guided him towards the bed, and finally, he felt Mustang stop resisting. He helped Mustang lie down in the bed.

"You...you won't let me die?" Mustang said, eyes still wide with fear.

"I will not let you die."

Hughes knew that Mustang wasn't really in danger of asphyxiating, he wasn't drunk enough for that yet. But he didn't want Mustang to be afraid, not tonight, so he rolled him over onto his side and put pillows behind him so he wouldn't be able to roll back.

"See?" Hughes said softly. "You can't roll onto your back now. I won't let you die."

Mustang nodded and blinked slowly up at Hughes. Hughes could tell Mustang was starting to get tired now, and he prayed he would be able to sleep, at least for a little while.

"I'm going to go get a chair from the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Hughes dragged a chair back from the kitchen, and by the time he got back Mustang's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply and evenly. He was already asleep. Hughes thought it was probably safe to leave Mustang, and go catch a few hours of sleep on the sofa.

But he didn't. He didn't want Mustang to wake up alone, so he set the chair up next to his friend's side and settled into it. He carefully watched Mustang's breathing, just to make absolutely certain that it didn't slow, and tried to pay attention to the movement of his eyes under his closed lids, so if he started having a nightmare he'd be able to wake him before it got too bad.

After about an hour, Hughes fell asleep right in the chair at his friend's side.