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: 061. Diary / Journal

Dedication: Bizzy, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would contain fifty per cent more iced gems.

Angles

061. Diary / Journal

It was not her fault.

Riza wrote it first, one line on a single blank page in neat black writing that showed no emotion. But the words were enough. They were five words, thirteen letters and an I do not love you, but it was something. It is the most bent, impossible and illogical confession he has ever seen. But he liked it nonetheless, because it was her and it was typical that she could lie. Plus, writing in his diary was only showing that she was always there. She left her mark on every part of his life; with biting, scratching and ink so that one sentence made no difference. She already had his soul, so why not give her everything else?

"Take an umbrella." She had said plainly, the first words she had even bothered to come out with since he read it. It was raining, and she knew he was useless in the rain. But for once, she could not go with him. Because she was leaving when they got out of the front door, and rather than him going to a place she could not reach it was she who was becoming a hostage. She guaranteed he would not step out of line. She was the boundary, the crushable item that neither side could keep for too long. She would always be taken away again soon, be it by force or by her attachment to him. Dismantle, repair. She would be back, he knew, just as well as he knew she would take one anyway if he did not. He did as she said anyway.

As she gracefully slid into the cab, he knelt down and took her wrist. He did not care who was watching, they would never know what happened. It was a long goodbye, one nobody would hope for, but no words were spoken and the clear affection creeping on to his stoic features was enough. In permanent marker he wrote I love you. It was not enough. In a week, his barely decipherable scrawl was washed away. Rain came, and took more from her than it ever had from him. Suddenly, it was her weakness too. Not that he knew that.

When he got her back, he wrote it over and over. On her diaries, his journals and anything that only they would see. She laughed when he clumsily left the window open, and the paper became sodden and the words were washed away again. Because you could say do not leave me, I need you, I love you over and over but people still rarely meant it. Then finally, it happened.

"I love you." Roy whispered, holding her hand in some God-forsaken gutter. In a romantic world; they would have been explorers, travelers, dreamers – anything but this – but she did not care. This crooked version of life which belonged to them spoke volumes about their relationship, and she would not have it any other way. Because they were not part of a romance. They were ash and gunpowder and leftovers, remains which could always be removed with ease. Like ink. But he had finally spoken, and although his words did not hold a permanent guarantee, they were enough.

Then she kissed him, throwing away her life with reckless abandon and giving him her heart without a second thought. Because words meant more when they were spoken, and she never meant her harsh words she had started it with, and because she could not think of anything else to do because she loved him so much. Words meant little, but they were worth more. She would never find ink permanent enough, but his words she could always remember.

No ink guaranteed 'forever.'

My final exams are next Monday. Science retakes, but I got As in both and I am too far of an A* to be bothered about them. So expect an influx in writing, my chicklings. Even if it is slightly exhausted like this piece.

Preview: "Never."

Reviews are loved. :)