Author's Note: So I've tried writing fan fictions before, this one being my third attempt. I've never dared share them with anyone (besides to my brother who could care less) thinking that they may not be good enough. I've built up whatever confidence I could and decided to finally share this one. Even though it's my third, it's the first I've taken a bit of pride in and the first I've decided to share, so technically you can consider it my first. Of course, if you decide to critique this little story of mine, critique it as if I were more experienced and be as productive as possible. -- I don't get offended easily, even if you flamers do decide to attack me.

Also, I could leave this story as is and refrain from possibly smiting and burning it, or I could take a chance and continue it. If I continue, I'll more than likely exceed four chapters, but stay under ten. I'll leave this decision up to you readers and what you say in the reviews. Leave as is or continue? Finally, we begin.

Everything Hurts More When it's Cold

Ever whack your finger with a zipper on a cold winter morning? Ever do the same in the summer? Hurts a lot more when it's cold, huh?

It was a glorious day for our god-kissed man of a man. Normally, he wasn't a morning person-- actually, on weekends, it was more than common for him to rise out of bed around noon. Astonishing enough, this man had sprung out of his hackneyed mattress in the morning. If he were in bed at noon, surely he'd miss his assignation.

His torso was thusly clad in a white collar shirt while black slacks adorned his legs; shoes and thick wool jacket were quickly slipped on, and he sprayed a dash of cologne at his collar bone region. As the man passed by the pedestal in his hall, he ran his pale fingers through his raven black hair. That infamous lady-killer smirk tweaked his lips when onyx eyes locked onto a little black book that must've contained a years worth of hard-earned phone numbers. The hand in his hair dropped down and swiftly knocked the book into a nearby waste bin. He opened his front door and took a single step onto his porch out into the snowy wonderland that'd fallen upon Central in one simple night.

Now, who was this mystery man?

Why, it was none other than the Flame Alchemist himself: Colonel Roy Mustang.

The colonel resumed his walk to the sidewalk, his weight wearing the prints of the soles of his shoes into the snow blanketing the asphalt. He walked at a steady pace to his first destination: the flower shop. He greeted the female clerk with a smile and a nod. Her own greeting was short and bitter.

"No."

Roy gave the flower shop maiden a quizzical expression, arching up a thin brow and scratching his short raven hair.

"I'm sorry?"

"Last time you asked me on a date, you never called afterwards."

Called afterward? Why would he…. oh. OH. Right.

Women normally didn't appreciate getting ignored. Oops.

In any case, he hadn't woken up in such an ecstatic mood to simply ask this woman on another meaningless date. Aside from the fact that she didn't seem to be 'his type,' he'd found someone else. Her self-flattery mildly irked him, but his mood was far too great for him to throw his standard snide retort at her. Instead, as he inspected the flowers, he made somewhat of an offer.

"On the contrary-- I've decided to let you go on account that one of my ancillaries has his eyes on you. You may've heard of him… First Lieutenant Jean Havoc?"

He received no verbal response, and to avoid any predestined awkwardness, he pointed to a bundle of flowers. Their dark petals flared out brilliantly, and each bud hung on a dangerous stem plagued with thorns, He peered away from the display and smirked when he saw the light tint of pink sitting itself on her cheeks. Mr. Matchmaker lowered his finger and finally spoke, smirk seeming to be plastered to his face.

"I'll take the roses."

Mustang stood under a naked tree, its fawns having foundered in the in the autumn; both its dead leaves and weak branches became covered with layers of snow. He rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes, bouquet of roses slowly swaying with his movements. It wasn't characteristic for her to be late, and due to this fault, his nose and cheeks altered to a light red color, the cold climate finally taking its toll on him. It seemed to affect the flowers as well. Their once full buds were becoming skimpy, their petals falling and blowing away.

The colonel ceased his rocking and shifted his eyes around the area. A smile crossed his features for the umpteenth time when he saw her walking in his general direction. He strode forward to meet her halfway, but to his dismay, she bolted to attention as soon as she realized who he was.

"Sir."

"At ease, Riza. We're off duty."

Hawkeye's amber eyes narrowed at his casual greeting. "'Riza?'"
The fact that he'd been so informal was soon shrugged off as Roy resumed speaking.

"What are you doing here?" As if he didn't know… he noticed her eyeing his nearly deceased bouquet when she began to respond.

"Last night someone slid a letter under my front door. I'm supposed to meet someone here. The writing was familiar… was it you, Colonel?"

A melodramatic silence filled the air, amorous fire flickering and lighting up the colonel's dark eyes. Rather than replying with a simple 'yes,' he swiftly extended his arm out, presenting the display of roses to her; his lieutenant's reaction wasn't quite what he expected.

She stared at Roy, normally docile cinnamon gaze widening, mouth slightly gaped open. Yet another moment of silence broadened the air… then she refused the flowers.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

At this response, his smile faded as he stared at her for a moment. Finally, the smile reappeared, but it was a meek, half-hearted one.

"I know they're in bad condition… but, see, while standing in the cold---"

"It's not that."

He could only pray he misinterpreted her statement. Onyx eyes tangoed with amber one as if he were searching for a more positive explanation. He didn't fancy her further response.

"It's against the regulations. If someone were to catch us we'd both be--"

"You think I care?"

"I care. I'm not going to allow you to throw away years of effort for a crush."

A crush? Was that how she took it? His eyes narrowed softly, extended arm retreating to his side.

"You've known me for years… I can take whatever you throw at me, so give it to me straightforward, Hawkeye. What do you think of me?"

As expected, she gave no immediate response. He waited, both lusting and dreading her answer. He saw her eyes avert to the ground.

"No… Riza… Please…"

Her right foot shifted back, eyes avoiding any contact with his.

"Black Hayate… He needs to be fed."

That right foot furthered its distance until it hit the ground and pivoted her around, back now turned to our broken Roy. He watched her briskly walk away, hardly noticing that the breeze left his roses completely petal-less, exposing the buds from all directions. A case of aphasia seemed to sweep over his body when he attempted to call out her name. His muscles tensed, and he soon found he couldn't budge.

Yeah…

Everything hurts more when it's cold.