Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Warnings: This story contains shonen ai, as in malexmale pairings. Specifically, this story is about the relationship between Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang. If you don't like that idea, go find something else to read. Flames will be laughed at. However, constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Maes stares at Roy, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then stares some more. There is probably something he should be doing, somewhere he should be going, but his mind has fogged up suddenly, and he can only stand back and watch as it all jolts away from him. He's slipping away from reality, and he tries to blink, to make sure that this isn't a nightmare, but all he can do is stare at the man in front of him.
Suddenly he's dizzy and he feels like he's going to throw up, but he ignores the feeling and keeps on staring. Roy is sitting smugly at his desk, tapping his pen ominously to the wood.
Surprised I figured you out? the man asks, and his smile widens. It is not a smile that Maes likes.
He can't grip the reality of it, can't get his mouth to form anything more than this one word, over and over. He knows that he has spoken but he doesn't hear his voice for an eternity, as if he is a film and the sound doesn't synch up with the images.
You were getting annoying, too. I don't need to hear that you love me twelve times an hour, Maes. If that were even true, why would you assault me with baby pictures? There is a tinge of sarcasm in Roy's voice, and Maes doesn't like that either.
Maes says, and his voice sounds light and foreign to his ears, which are ringing shrilly, sounding like high pitched birds, cicadas. He takes a deep breath. Roy, listen to me. I can explain things to Gracia –You won't ever change, Maes. If I know one thing about you any more it's that you love your wife and your daughter, Roy says, still smirking, and Maes can feel something inside of him shaking, and you're a liar.
Maes doesn't point out that that was two things, because Roy is right and that is giving him an odd, sinking feeling. The ringing in his ears increases, sounding like machinery now, like little aliens chattering to each other.
He doesn't like this conversation; he'd like to have it later, once he had thought it all over and come up with something smart to say. Some other time when he had pulled himself together, when he could talk some sense into Roy. As it is his mouth is dry and he feels weak, useless, defeated. His hands are shaking, like frightened mice, and his hands never shake. I'm turning into Roy, he thinks, and if I'm Roy, he's me. Maes stares at Roy, at himself, with increasing disbelief.
I don't want to have every second of my life devoted to you, Roy continues. I'm not going to burden myself and help you; it should be the other way around. Roy lifts his head and his two black eyes burn into Maes'. I don't want anything to do with you. Leave.
Maes knows these words, he realizes, because he has thought them before, once upon a time. One rare occasion when he had let the stress empower him, one moment he has felt eternally guilty for.
Maes can't protest any longer, even though the anger is welling up inside of him, building and fuming and crashing like waves against a cliff.
He retreats into his office wordlessly to read up on the Ishbalian Civil Conflict, losing himself in the words but not really comprehending them. Maes forces himself to concentrate, to do anything but think of Roy.
Behind him, Envy gets up from Roy's desk, and in an instant opens the window and jumps out, smirking triumphantly.