Hello all! I apologise profusely for not updating earlier.
It's a disease called SCHOOL and FINAL YEAR and MAJOR EXAMS.
I took my last paper 7 hours ago. Now its time for PleaseRoy!
Chapter 7:
The morning sun spread its buttery fingers across a tear-tracked chest and puffy eyelids. Hughes blinked furiously, disorientated and rather muddled. It took him a while to realise the up-down motion of his rather knobbly pillow was Roy. A second later, recollections of the previous night surged through his aching head and tears threatened to flood amber eyes once more. What was he supposed to do?
Hughes felt the steady lub-dub of Roy's heart, listened to the rhythmic shallow breathing – it was a Roy-symphony, and it sounded like heaven to his ears. After all, this sound meant life; a life he could repair.
Staring at the bony peaks of Roy's collarbones peeking through the pristine whiteness of the hospital pyjamas, Hughes contemplated upon the immense vulnerability of the man. Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist and a prominent upcoming leader – tamed by an IV drip and a hospital bed. Hughes wondered what lay behind this man's cognitive complex, what made him tick, what made this powerful man so powerless. His meagre knowledge of the man severely handicapped his ability to help him. What did he know; next to nothing?
A sudden pang of frustration suffused with the most crippling grief struck Hughes, so intense he lost his breath for one heady moment. Tears began to flow once again, unbidden; emotion in fluid form. He began to reflect upon his situation. This mere stranger had been reduced to tears, twice even. And Hughes never cried, never.
Sure, Roy was dangerously breathtaking. But was his willpower that weak? To be reeled in so easily, like a silly giggling virgin by a man's looks. A man, no less! Hughes remained overpowered by his incredibly want. He wanted to help Roy. He wanted to heal Roy. What else did he want? Hughes feared what lurked in the dark recesses of what ostentatiously was still a male mind with male impulses. It was sheer luck that prevented Hughes from delving into his internal mental mayhem. His "pillow" was stirring.
Roy twitched under the covers and blinked, trying to bat away the sleep-induced haze that enveloped his being. He was suddenly conscious of an aching pain on the back of his hand and a rumbling in his stomach. Roy was hungry, as per normal. He was also aware of the presence of another human. Hughes? The man had grief etched deep into his face.
In one blinding moment, the events of the previous night flooded back with a vengeance. Roy sighed heavily and stroked the puncture wound from the IV drip. The blood had coagulated, forming a bloodied smudge where the needle once was. Well at least he was no longer being pumped with calories. Unconsciously, a smile cracked Roy's pale features.
"What are you so happy about? If you've forgotten, you're being hospitalised for anorexia." Hughes' voice faltered over the last word. It was the word that verbally confirmed his fears. The doctors hadn't been tactful in revealing Roy's condition. There was too much mention of "death" and "dying".
Roy merely shook his head, quickly wiping the smile off his face, "When do I get out of this place?"
"As soon as you gain approximately fifteen kilos."
"That's not possible."
"Yes it is."
"You, you don't understand!"
"Then help me understand. What's going on with you?! Your BMI is 17.7. You're very
underweight! It is not possible for a man to be 173cm tall and only 53 kilograms! You should be about 70 kilos!" Hughes spewed out everything the doctors had told him. Roy was very underweight. He couldn't comprehend how the military knew nothing of Roy's health. Shouldn't the military be concerned with the bodies of their soldiers? And such a high ranking one in the least!
"Well I'm alive in front of you aren't I? I am possible."
"Alive? For how much longer, Roy?"
Roy bit his lip and kept silent. He knew this self-starvation meant his electrolytes were always imbalanced, and that his heart could stop anytime. He wondered for a moment how he had passed all those military physicals. After all, he'd fainted only three times in his anorexic years.
"You don't have an answer, do you?" concern crept back into Hughes' voice.
"No, I don't. And nor do I care. I'd rather die thin than live fat. Unlike you, I'm not that lucky to have a nice body." Roy hefted the hospital blanket up to his neck and looked away, embarrassed.
Hughes was stunned. Roy was practically insane. The worst thing was, Roy had full adult rights. He couldn't force Roy into a recovery programme or insist upon therapy.
Roy could only help himself.