When You Get Home (Fullmetal Alchemist; Fanfic)
Title: When You Get Home
Rating: T
Pairing: Roy/Hughes
Warnings/Notes: Angst, Ishbal War, Character dealing with depression
Summary: Roy is numb after a particularly bad day during the war. He just has to fill out a report. Hughes helps distract him as best as he can.
Author Notes: Written for the Kissathon hosted by @undeadrobins. The prompt was from @cornerofmadness. I hope this story suits! ^^
Roy rubbed his fingers gently together, creating small sparks. He was seated on a random piece of debris, ignoring his can of beans. Rations grew so tiresome after awhile. It was much easier to get lost in the hypnotic flames he could create. Much easier than filling out a casualty report.
When he first learned this alchemic ability, he’d been excited; he’d thought of the fire as protective, healing. He’d had romantic notions about renewal and life. He’d felt the gravity of the situation, but there had been hope there.
The war had done a lot to make him rethink that.
It’s just work, he reminded himself numbly. When I get back, I can change things.
He barely acknowledged Hughes as he slumped next to him.
“Talk about a long day,” he sighed as he gently bumped shoulders with him. Roy nodded but said nothing. Even though they were in camp, the scent of gunpowder and death hung heavy in the air. He opted not to look at his surroundings too closely; he already knew what he would find.
“Hey,” Hughes said in a softer voice, “how are you holding up?”
“I’m tired,” Roy admitted. He felt relatively safe in admitting it; most everyone else had gone to bed or was too wrapped up in their own personal misery to pay his own much mind.
“I can tell. Maybe you should get some sleep.”
Roy didn’t deign that with a response.
“The cold shoulder now,” Hughes said with a forced laugh. “Well, what are you doing out here?”
“Filing a report.”
“Work?” Hughes glanced at the blank paper next to him. “I can see you’re making excellent progress.”
“Mm.”
“And when is this report due?”
At that Roy finally paused in making those little sparks and his brow furrowed. When was it due?
“Roy,” Hughes began with the infinite patience that had always characterized him, “didn’t you already finish that report? I believe I saw you turn something in earlier today.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Now that Hughes mentioned it, it sounded familiar, but…
“I can’t focus,” he finally admitted. “I just keep thinking about how this,” he gestured to his hands, “has become a weight and I keep seeing all their faces.” He didn’t have to clarify whose.
He heard distant explosions, felt a mild breeze, and wondered how long it would be before he was sent back in. He needed to sleep, logically he understood that, but he also knew it wouldn’t come.
“This war,” Hughes murmured, “is truly doing some awful things to us, isn’t it?”
“I’ll fix it,” Roy said mechanically.
“I know you will,” Hughes replied without hesitation before leaning in. Roy didn’t resist when he gripped his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. He could feel the calluses on his fingers and for a brief moment that seemed more real than the whole week had.
“You need to get some rest,” Hughes instructed gently.
“I know.”
“You can’t let this break your spirit.”
“I know that, too.”
Hughes let out a deep, weary sigh, and drew him close. Roy closed his eyes; he’d gotten used to this almost, but it was still strange to feel Hughes’s chapped lips press against his own, the stubble of his beard brushing against him. The scratch of it brought him to his senses ever-so-slightly.
The strange thing with Hughes was that he could hold Roy so gently and kiss him so honestly, and not expect either of them to want to continue it if they returned home.
When he withdrew, Roy finally took a moment to study his hazel eyes and the sorrow therein that he tried to cover with a wavering grin. Unconsciously, Roy clung to his uniform. If Hughes stayed maybe he could have the distraction he desperately needed.
“Come on, you can work later. I’ll even help you with the report if you actually have one,” he said with false cheer. He stood and extended a hand to him. Unthinkingly, Roy took it.
“What are we…?” Roy couldn’t bring himself to finish, couldn’t bring himself to question the odd relationship they’d formed because if he pointed it out Hughes might stop, and Roy didn’t have a whole lot going for him right now.
Unfortunately, Hughes was all too good at reading him. He knew exactly what he was trying to ask. “When you get home,” Hughes began, “this will feel like ... like a dream. Or maybe, more accurately, a nightmare. It won’t be the same.”
Roy opened his mouth to protest, but when Hughes shook his head he fell silent once more.
“It’s best not to think about it too much. This is war, Roy.”
There was nothing to say to that. It was war. He was bathed in it, couldn’t escape it, not fully, not even with Hughes. But he could ignore it.
He didn’t resist when Roy brought him in for one more kiss--a kiss filled with desperation because he needed something--and he didn’t resist when Roy gripped his wrist tightly and gestured to his tent.
“You’re really going to have to work on this insomnia of yours someday,” he laughed as he was all but dragged toward it.
Roy didn’t say anything and the paper was left abandoned without text. Even if Hughes couldn’t change what he was, couldn’t erase the war, he could still distract him from the work of it all, if only for a while.
Rating: T
Pairing: Roy/Hughes
Warnings/Notes: Angst, Ishbal War, Character dealing with depression
Summary: Roy is numb after a particularly bad day during the war. He just has to fill out a report. Hughes helps distract him as best as he can.
Author Notes: Written for the Kissathon hosted by @undeadrobins. The prompt was from @cornerofmadness. I hope this story suits! ^^
Roy rubbed his fingers gently together, creating small sparks. He was seated on a random piece of debris, ignoring his can of beans. Rations grew so tiresome after awhile. It was much easier to get lost in the hypnotic flames he could create. Much easier than filling out a casualty report.
When he first learned this alchemic ability, he’d been excited; he’d thought of the fire as protective, healing. He’d had romantic notions about renewal and life. He’d felt the gravity of the situation, but there had been hope there.
The war had done a lot to make him rethink that.
It’s just work, he reminded himself numbly. When I get back, I can change things.
He barely acknowledged Hughes as he slumped next to him.
“Talk about a long day,” he sighed as he gently bumped shoulders with him. Roy nodded but said nothing. Even though they were in camp, the scent of gunpowder and death hung heavy in the air. He opted not to look at his surroundings too closely; he already knew what he would find.
“Hey,” Hughes said in a softer voice, “how are you holding up?”
“I’m tired,” Roy admitted. He felt relatively safe in admitting it; most everyone else had gone to bed or was too wrapped up in their own personal misery to pay his own much mind.
“I can tell. Maybe you should get some sleep.”
Roy didn’t deign that with a response.
“The cold shoulder now,” Hughes said with a forced laugh. “Well, what are you doing out here?”
“Filing a report.”
“Work?” Hughes glanced at the blank paper next to him. “I can see you’re making excellent progress.”
“Mm.”
“And when is this report due?”
At that Roy finally paused in making those little sparks and his brow furrowed. When was it due?
“Roy,” Hughes began with the infinite patience that had always characterized him, “didn’t you already finish that report? I believe I saw you turn something in earlier today.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Now that Hughes mentioned it, it sounded familiar, but…
“I can’t focus,” he finally admitted. “I just keep thinking about how this,” he gestured to his hands, “has become a weight and I keep seeing all their faces.” He didn’t have to clarify whose.
He heard distant explosions, felt a mild breeze, and wondered how long it would be before he was sent back in. He needed to sleep, logically he understood that, but he also knew it wouldn’t come.
“This war,” Hughes murmured, “is truly doing some awful things to us, isn’t it?”
“I’ll fix it,” Roy said mechanically.
“I know you will,” Hughes replied without hesitation before leaning in. Roy didn’t resist when he gripped his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. He could feel the calluses on his fingers and for a brief moment that seemed more real than the whole week had.
“You need to get some rest,” Hughes instructed gently.
“I know.”
“You can’t let this break your spirit.”
“I know that, too.”
Hughes let out a deep, weary sigh, and drew him close. Roy closed his eyes; he’d gotten used to this almost, but it was still strange to feel Hughes’s chapped lips press against his own, the stubble of his beard brushing against him. The scratch of it brought him to his senses ever-so-slightly.
The strange thing with Hughes was that he could hold Roy so gently and kiss him so honestly, and not expect either of them to want to continue it if they returned home.
When he withdrew, Roy finally took a moment to study his hazel eyes and the sorrow therein that he tried to cover with a wavering grin. Unconsciously, Roy clung to his uniform. If Hughes stayed maybe he could have the distraction he desperately needed.
“Come on, you can work later. I’ll even help you with the report if you actually have one,” he said with false cheer. He stood and extended a hand to him. Unthinkingly, Roy took it.
“What are we…?” Roy couldn’t bring himself to finish, couldn’t bring himself to question the odd relationship they’d formed because if he pointed it out Hughes might stop, and Roy didn’t have a whole lot going for him right now.
Unfortunately, Hughes was all too good at reading him. He knew exactly what he was trying to ask. “When you get home,” Hughes began, “this will feel like ... like a dream. Or maybe, more accurately, a nightmare. It won’t be the same.”
Roy opened his mouth to protest, but when Hughes shook his head he fell silent once more.
“It’s best not to think about it too much. This is war, Roy.”
There was nothing to say to that. It was war. He was bathed in it, couldn’t escape it, not fully, not even with Hughes. But he could ignore it.
He didn’t resist when Roy brought him in for one more kiss--a kiss filled with desperation because he needed something--and he didn’t resist when Roy gripped his wrist tightly and gestured to his tent.
“You’re really going to have to work on this insomnia of yours someday,” he laughed as he was all but dragged toward it.
Roy didn’t say anything and the paper was left abandoned without text. Even if Hughes couldn’t change what he was, couldn’t erase the war, he could still distract him from the work of it all, if only for a while.