The first time had been years ago. At the time, they had both been desperate, distraught, troubled. They had needed someone, anyone, to depend on, and had found each other in the darkness. Both had pretended they were not crying as their fingers smoothed over soft skin, purposefully avoiding the tracks of tears.
The metal fingers had been cold on the man's face, and they'd increased his disparaging feelings-- his heart had been smashed apart years ago, and he knew it would never be repaired. Their imminent actions, their lack of reason, left a bad taste in his mouth. They never kissed, because that would mean too much.
They had moved faster and faster, until he had felt that a touch of the metal fingertips would burn through his body. Though he could manipulate flame, his body was the same as any other, and so the heat had been both beneficial and had served to show him how cold, how empty, he usually felt. The tears had lasted through the night until they had both fallen asleep, feeling dirty, used, terrible, but at least free of nightmares.
They had never touched again, spoken again of that night. The blonde alchemist had sacrificed himself and disappeared, leaving in his place a bright younger brother missing four years of experience, both physically and mentally, like four white chapters in the middle of a book that could only be filled by second-hand accounts. After years of hard work from both brothers, the blonde had managed a return.
The now half-blind Major General (just waiting for the Furher to die, at this point) had regarded him with cool surprise as he stopped by the office, saluting though he had been MIA for years. Edward confessed that the night had kept him from falling through to the deep end through his three and a half years of solitude. The Mustang had moved around his desk, calmly brushing away golden strands that had curled around the rounded but matured face, inspecting his expression carefully.
In his 35 years of life, Roy Mustang had seen many things, had done many things, quite a few which would make people sick, or cause them to lose it and shoot themselves. God knew he almost had, and had almost committed the inexcusable- but Maes Hughes had saved him. No one had saved Alphonse and Edward Elric. They had pushed their way through and defeated the homunculi, regardless of their age, regardless of everything they had been forced through and manipulated to do.
He knew Edward was infinitely stronger than he. But strength had its limits.
Amber eyes had regarded him silently, and the man saw, for the second time in his life, a soft acceptance, and a deep vulnerability. The blonde had come to him less than a month before his twentieth birthday because he needed someone to take care of him. Someone he could cry to freely, and who would know better than to make him speak about his experiences. Roy Mustang knew how it felt to want to face up to your actions alone, even if you fell back on someone else.
This time, Roy wouldn't make the mistake of pretending the tears weren't there.