Inspired by the magnetic poetry "don't I know one word hi." Very, very, very light Royai. I'm so ashamed. Never, ever, ever would I have thought I would do a Royai, no matter how subtle or how stupid Roy would seem. GAH!

Anyway, enjoy. I'm actually rather proud of this one. I'm very satisfied with it.

Disclaimer (forgot this again…!): Eww, straight romance, why would I want that? So no, it's not mine.

Four hundred ninety-five words: Game

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Across the room was a dream. A dream with a gun. A dream that knew how to use that gun and could castrate him with a bullet before he could get close enough to see said gun.

"Damn."

"What's with the frown, Roy? It's a party!" Maes slapped him enthusiastically on the back, sloshing the whiskey in his glass over the front of his uniform. Roy turned with a glare of Death at his friend, who just laughed. Laughed. Gracia was at his side; Roy hadn't seen those two out of each other's company since they had returned from Ishvar. Sheer dumb luck; then again, neither of them was a great catch, so Roy supposed they deserved each other.

He turned around again and hunched over his now half-full glass, trying to hide the wet spot on the front of his uniform.

"Aw, come on, Roy, what's got you so down?" Maes said as he sat beside his friend. Gracia excused herself and left them alone.

Roy looked at him. It wasn't as though he couldn't trust Maes; for god's sake, worse things had happened that he had confided in the man. After a moment, he lifted his glass to his lips and pointed to the woman. Discreet. Smooth. Very Roy Mustang.

He watched Maes take her in with his eyes, heard the low whistle of appreciation. Who cared that her hair was in a short cut as per military regulations, or that she wasn't wearing a skimpy skirt, or that she wasn't wearing as much makeup as a civilian would? Roy didn't.

"So what's her name?" Roy muttered, figuring his friend would know.

"Riza Hawkeye," Maes responded, ordering his own glass of something. "Near-new. Vicious with a pistol."

With a smirk, he mouthed her name: Riza Hawkeye. Oh yeah. That was nice. Then she was gone.

"Bloody Mary on the rocks." A sturdy female voice sounded near his shoulder, nearly barking out the order, and he turned to see who it was.

Riza Hawkeye.

Who else.

Say something, he told himself. He could feel Maes poking at his thigh under the bar with a stubby finger, but all he could see were the eyes in front of his. Say something!

Her eyes were slightly wide, teeth tugging at a full bottom lip like indecision ruled her mind.

Say something! FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!

"H-hi," Roy stammered. He was immediately aghast; Roy Mustang didn't stutter.

Riza gave him a half smile, took her drink and left the two men at the bar. All of a sudden, his uniform was stuffy, and the booze fumes were making him dizzy, or was that something else?

Maes leaned over and whispered, "Regulations, Roy. Fraternization, Roy. Fun, isn't it?"

Soon Maes was leaning over the bar, cradling a boxed ear as Roy wandered with a purpose to the dance floor, not caring that his uniform was still wet with whiskey. He prayed for Gracia to return and kiss it better.