quick drabble
This was done for an anonymous kink LJ.
Post Episode 25 Roy x Hughes
The sun had already started to dip down in the sky, bathing the graveyard in beautiful shades of oranges and reds.
He had been there for how long now?
Two hours?
Three?
Time always seemed to crawl when he visted the grave of his best friend and lover.
Half crumpled pieces of paper littered the grave of Brigadeer General Maes Hughes- yellowed with age, ink smeared from both rain and tears.
Roy took another letter out of his pocket and started to read. It had been months, and he visted this grave almost every day, if he could. He had read the letters so many times that he could quote them all, word for word.
But it wasnt the words that touched him. It was the delicate, practiced script of the person who wrote them.
As Roy put the paper to his face, he could imagine Maes sitting at his desk in the office of his house, Gracia in the kitchen, baking cookies. He imagined that he could smell the cookies wafting from down the hall, and he could smell that particular cologne that Maes loved to wear- it was so strong and it would give Roy a headache- and that was exactly why Maes loved it.
He read the letters until the sun had dipped so low that he could no longer see the letters, and his eyes ached from reading- red rimmed and moist.
When it was finally too dark to even read the headstone, and the cool breeze permeated his thick wool military jacket, he reluctantly stood, stepping in place to get the circulation back to his extremities.
He took one last swig of the whiskey in his small flask, then sat the remainder on the edge of Maes' grave.
"I miss you, buddy."
Colonel Roy Mustang picked up the letters that were strewn about the ground and with one last, plantive look, he turned back and headed towards the world of the living.
Post Episode 25 Roy x Hughes
The sun had already started to dip down in the sky, bathing the graveyard in beautiful shades of oranges and reds.
He had been there for how long now?
Two hours?
Three?
Time always seemed to crawl when he visted the grave of his best friend and lover.
Half crumpled pieces of paper littered the grave of Brigadeer General Maes Hughes- yellowed with age, ink smeared from both rain and tears.
Roy took another letter out of his pocket and started to read. It had been months, and he visted this grave almost every day, if he could. He had read the letters so many times that he could quote them all, word for word.
But it wasnt the words that touched him. It was the delicate, practiced script of the person who wrote them.
As Roy put the paper to his face, he could imagine Maes sitting at his desk in the office of his house, Gracia in the kitchen, baking cookies. He imagined that he could smell the cookies wafting from down the hall, and he could smell that particular cologne that Maes loved to wear- it was so strong and it would give Roy a headache- and that was exactly why Maes loved it.
He read the letters until the sun had dipped so low that he could no longer see the letters, and his eyes ached from reading- red rimmed and moist.
When it was finally too dark to even read the headstone, and the cool breeze permeated his thick wool military jacket, he reluctantly stood, stepping in place to get the circulation back to his extremities.
He took one last swig of the whiskey in his small flask, then sat the remainder on the edge of Maes' grave.
"I miss you, buddy."
Colonel Roy Mustang picked up the letters that were strewn about the ground and with one last, plantive look, he turned back and headed towards the world of the living.