Way Home

The first time he'd stood here, he'd cried. He'd blamed it on the rain, but it had been a weak excuse.

The last time he'd cried before that, it had actually been raining. He'd wandered over to Hughes' place--what a long time ago that had been. Rain had poured down his face, mixing with the tears, and Hughes had understood. Wordlessly, his friend had pulled him inside and gently kissed his sorrow away.

But now it was different. Rain still poured down his face, unlike that first day, and mixed with his tears, but as he turned to leave the graveyard, Mustang had nowhere to go but his own empty home.