AN: Guys, I'm going back to school tomorrow! My days of practically living at my friend's house, sleeping ridiculously late, and watching episode after episode of Hetalia are over. Oh well, at least I have Royai to cheer me up...or in the case of this particular theme, make me incredibly depressed. Enjoy!

004. Grave

Roy Mustang was fed up with funerals.

He was fed up with girls in black.

"Is it alright to believe in a world where everyone can live in peace?"

But what he really couldn't stand was what he saw when all the black was stripped away.

"Can I entrust my back to you, Mr. Mustang?"

He was fed up with tears.

"Mommy, why are the men putting dirt on daddy?"

"They're burying him, dear,"

"I don't want them to! Don't! Don't bury daddy!"

"Elysia!"

But the grief was never as bad as the initial terror.

"HAWKEYE-SENSEI!"

"Maes?...Maes?..hello?!...Maes can you hear me?! Pick up the phone! MAES!"

He was fed up with the damn weather.

"Except...it's a terrible day for rain,"

"...but sir, it's not raining,"

But what really bothered him was how utterly useless it-along with everything else-made him feel.

"Yes...it is."

In short, Roy Mustang hated funerals. He hated death, and most of all, he hated graves. To Roy, graves seemed painfully meaningless. As if a stupid piece of rock could fix anything. As if a couple words engraved in a tombstone could sum up an entire human life. As if there was any point to burying his loved ones if they didn't let him jump into the earth as well. As if any of it was equivalent exchange. It wasn't! It wasn't equivalent, it wasn't fair! It was death, and it was random and abrupt and it hurt so, so bad, especially if you were still alive-why the hell was he still alive when they were all-

"Colonel, are you alright?"

Roy turns around and there she is, golden-haired and brown-eyed, her soft pink lips pressed together in a concerned frown, and he feels the fire inside him cool down.

"Yeah," he replies, turning his back to her again. "It's just a terrible day for rain,"

"But sir..."

The sky is all gold melting into orange which oozes into warm pinks, and there's not a cloud to be-

"This isn't Hughes' funeral."

He looks over his shoulder but Riza is gone.

He is alone.

And he is afraid to look down at the tombstone. But of course he does anyway.

He reads the name engraved there and then his vision blurs and everything is a wet blob of gray.

Damn this rain.