She wasn't exactly sure what she was doing here.
The hallway she stood in was dim, lit only by the cracked glass lamps next to each door that flickered with each breath as if weary with the world, ready to extinguish themselves at the first possible moment.
Riza only hesitated for a moment before pulling the spare key out of her purse and turning it in the lock, wincing at the loud, protesting squeaks as she opened the door. Even it knew she shouldn't be here.
He had forgotten to close the drapes again. The sun had just began to rise over the city, filling the apartment with shafts of a strange, rosy glow and casting strange shadows on the walls. Unopened boxes were scattered throughout the room, scribbled with things like shirts and photos. It was dishearteningly similar to her own apartment, but she wasn't surprised. The day Roy Mustang unpacked was the day he no longer needed her. At least she could pretend to be organized.
Boots all too heavy against the worn wooden floor, Riza picked up his uniform jacket from its spot beside the couch and laid it out over the nearest box.
At last, her attention fell on Roy, curled up on the couch and facing the wall. She sighed, pulling the sheet covering him up to his chin and trying to ignore the half empty glass of water and headache powder that she knew he made far too strong.
He stirred, shifting from side to back with a small groan.
She gave up, falling to her knees and grasping his bandaged hands as tightly as she could, quiet sobs shaking her body.
They had made it this far.
So why did she feel so defeated?
Riza honey I'm pretty sure that's breaking some sort of law
Whoops. I'm not dead. Sorry for being so lame.
