Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.

Theme: 049. Cold Hands

Dedication: x. lithium, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy's sex would be on fire (yes, I did just mock Kings of Leon.)

Angles

049. Cold Hands

"Riza, answer me. Please."

His desperate voice was close to cracking, tired and pleading. It was begging him to let it die out, to give up and stop the croaking it must have been pretty sure would be endless. It was a living thing, just like he was, but he would show it no mercy. The bloodshot eyes of the blonde woman met his quickly before looking away once more. Instead, she looked into the shattered depths of the broken mirror in front of her, seeing her face reflected in the twenty-something different shards. The bullet embedded in the center had been the cause of it no longer possessing any usefulness. It seemed that just as bullets ruined humans, they could also destroy objects with a fair amount of ease.

"What do you want me to say?" She answered, still staring at her reflection as her hands ran across the wooden vanity table, searching for certain items of the makeup contained in pots and tubes that were splayed messily across it. She was always ordered, always correct and had the finesse of a watch maker. Every little thing was usually in the exact place she wanted to be, always consistent and perfected to the point where she no longer had to alter anything because it was put together exactly how she wanted it to be. But this was not always. This was not right. This was so wrong he could not quite put it into words.

"This is wrong. This is not supposed to happen." Roy stated fiercely. She finally found the object of her desire, clasping her fingers around a thin tube of shining red lipstick before removing the lid and flinging it over her shoulder without a second thought. She lifted the coloured stick to her lips, coating them quickly before dropping it to the table. It landed the wrong way up, striking the table and staining the mahogany colour of the wood brightly. He looked at it, sensing her disorientation and knowing that no matter how much she was trying to cover up her panic and apprehensive thoughts it could never work. Not with him.

"I am only getting married, Colonel. What is wrong with that?" She asked, snatching her mascara up and lengthening her already thick, volumised eyelashes. He had always pegged her as the type wanting a simple wedding, even when she was young. But her dress was beaded and extravagant, barely covering the black burn marks that were carved into her back. Her hair was in corkscrew curls, the silky curtain cascading down her back softly. He could swear that he had never seen her looking more gorgeous a day in his life if he wanted, but it was not true. She was not his from this day onwards, and never would be. However, he knew he could still try and remember the days when she really was the best thing he would ever know. Those almost impossibly rare mornings when she had been late, and he had let himself in. Those mornings, when she had been tangled in between bedsheets, her hair messed up and almost resembling a birds nest, and she was in her pajamas with her mouth ever so slightly open. That was when she was the most beautiful.

"I love you." It slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His selfish words. She was breaking his heart. Her hand roamed upwards in between her broken reflection, and pulled out the bullet embedded in the wood. She held it in her calloused palm before she turned around and cautiously held it out to him, like some odd sort of peace offering. She could not meet his eyes. Her lips were turned downwards as he took it. She was leaving him something to remember her by, just in case. She hated that she was going to cry. She hated that she could not help it. She hated that her words to him were so bitter.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" She whispered, staring at his fingers as they closed around the small chunk of metal. He blinked slowly, breathing in the suddenly lessening amount of air he felt was around him as he felt his heart sending sharp pangs through his system. He was going to black out in a moment, if she kept torturing him as exquisitely as she was doing right then. Then he felt it. Her cold hands grabbed him, and pulled him towards her. Their lips crashed together, her fingers running through his hair and holding him there just for a moment. She needed his warmth. She needed him. He pulled away quickly. Her skin was so icy, sending small shivers through his body. He doubted it was possible, but he had to try. Just in case. On the smallest chance she loved him, on anything. He would take any scraps she threw him.

"Is your heart frozen, too?"

I suppose I am being rather depressing after New Year, probably because I hate it. But on the good hand, I am almost half way through this collection, and this time last year I think I was nowhere near to feeling like I had accomplished something with this.

Preview: They crawled over his skin.