lost in sand and dust (FMA, Roy, Hughes, war!fic)
Notes: A short thing inspired a lot by Book In Figure Blue. The dynamic is different from the one I usually write, but this Hughes is still very much my Hughes.
Very, very gen.
Major Mustang is sitting on the ground.
His knees are pulled up, and he rests his elbows on them, his hands forming a knot between them. His head is bowed so that Maes cannot see his face.
"Let's go," Maes says. He doesn't not yell it, the way he would for anyone else, merely states it, like a fact.
Mustang's head comes up, and his eyes are cold. "I want to die," he says. His tone is flat, but the neutrality of it seems forced. Mustang is good at hiding things, but Maes is better at spotting them. Maes can see the cracks that have formed on Mustang's surface, the result of too much death and not enough life. He can see them deepening, widening, leaving Mustang open and raw.
He can see that Mustang just wants a friend.
But Maes can't be that, not yet. He can't be Mustang's friend, because if he fixes Mustang now, Mustang will never be able to fix himself.
Instead, he stares straight at Mustang, and lets his own edge bleed through his affable exterior. "Dying is easy," he says simply, making sure that Mustang is getting every word. He'll make Mustang listen if he has to. "It's living that's the hard part."
Mustang breaks eye contact first, turning to face the side of the olive-green tent. Neither of them move for a few moments. Mustang, because he's considering his words, and Maes, because he's watching Mustang consider his words. He watches as some of the cracks seal and harden.
Finally, Mustang turns back, and the calm on his face doesn't look so forced anymore.
"Let's go," Maes says again in the exact same tone he used the first time.
This time, they go.
FIN.
Very, very gen.
Major Mustang is sitting on the ground.
His knees are pulled up, and he rests his elbows on them, his hands forming a knot between them. His head is bowed so that Maes cannot see his face.
"Let's go," Maes says. He doesn't not yell it, the way he would for anyone else, merely states it, like a fact.
Mustang's head comes up, and his eyes are cold. "I want to die," he says. His tone is flat, but the neutrality of it seems forced. Mustang is good at hiding things, but Maes is better at spotting them. Maes can see the cracks that have formed on Mustang's surface, the result of too much death and not enough life. He can see them deepening, widening, leaving Mustang open and raw.
He can see that Mustang just wants a friend.
But Maes can't be that, not yet. He can't be Mustang's friend, because if he fixes Mustang now, Mustang will never be able to fix himself.
Instead, he stares straight at Mustang, and lets his own edge bleed through his affable exterior. "Dying is easy," he says simply, making sure that Mustang is getting every word. He'll make Mustang listen if he has to. "It's living that's the hard part."
Mustang breaks eye contact first, turning to face the side of the olive-green tent. Neither of them move for a few moments. Mustang, because he's considering his words, and Maes, because he's watching Mustang consider his words. He watches as some of the cracks seal and harden.
Finally, Mustang turns back, and the calm on his face doesn't look so forced anymore.
"Let's go," Maes says again in the exact same tone he used the first time.
This time, they go.
FIN.