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flameleadsarc · 5 months ago

Text

right where you left me

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Characters: Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes, mention of Gracia Hughes, mention Chris "Madame Christmas" Mustang, mention of Elicia Hughes. Trigger Warnings: Major character death, war, genocide. Summary: You met someone, and she wasn’t me. I should’ve been happy for you. Why couldn’t I move?

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“I’ve met someone. Her name is Gracia. Roy, I think you’ll really like her! She’s incredible! She…”

Your words became background noise with the rest of the bar chatter. The seat cushion underneath me felt stiff when, two minutes ago, I knew it to be soft, and the lighting above us was too bright when I knew it to be dim. My vision clouded in milliseconds as tears threatened to pour out of my eyes like waterfalls, and I thanked a deity I didn’t believe in that I learned not to cry. Out of everything that ever caused me to cry—burns from practicing alchemy on the Hawkeye estate, minor scrapes and bruises when I ran around Central, punches to the face from fights in the schoolyard—this was direct. A heart didn’t have the ability to fracture. It wasn’t supposed to. But, that didn’t explain why I felt pieces of mine shattering on the wooden floor of the bar.

That might take some work to clean up. It didn’t break evenly, and I couldn’t control where it fell. Sorry, Madame.

I should’ve been elated you met someone. You were smiling. I heard it in your voice, how it rose when you describe meeting her at a coffee shop, and she gave you the time of day. I should have congratulated you on having the courage to ask her out, teased you about wanting to buy everything from the florist when you didn’t know what she liked. Pink or white carnations would do. I knew flowers, you said, and I should have felt honored that you trusted me with this information, that you came to me and none of our other buddies from the academy first. I should have been happy.

It should not have taken a sizable effort to smile back at you. I hoped you didn’t see that it took me several seconds into you regaling me with this information for me to smile. I knew what to say, though: get her a white carnation or two since they were relatively inexpensive, they would compliment her green eyes, and they meant, among a few things, innocence. The weather should be fine on the night of your date, but you should bring a coat just in case she gets cold. A little cologne goes a long way, and you don’t need to overdo it. Brush your teeth and iron your clothes before your date so she sees you care about yourself. Ask her about herself, what she likes to do, what kind of music she likes, what she cares about, and spend more time listening than talking. She’ll like that.

“I knew it was a good idea to talk to you. Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Could you pick my heart up off the floor and fuse it back together? I’m not sure how you would do that. Perhaps you could tell me you loved me once?”

I knew better than to say that aloud. No, I just shook my head.

“That favor can be treating her well, all right, Hughes?”

You smiled back at me, and that felt like your boot crunching into the shards of my heart on the floor and breaking it more. When you left, and I stayed in the booth in the corner of the bar, you walked right past it. The second the door of the bar closed, and you were on the other side, I let my smile join it along with the tears I held in. They slid down my cheeks, the salt stinging my eyes, and the bar around me stopped existing. The sound of clicking heels and faint music became silent, and the walls around me blurred. I didn’t hear footsteps approaching, nor did I feel the light squeeze on my shoulder from the Madame. The unfinished drinks in front of me—one of them mine, and the other yours—sat untouched collecting dust. I collected dust.

You met someone, and she wasn’t me.

I should’ve been happy for you.

Why couldn’t I move?

Our clothes changed as armies and time marched forward. Blue uniforms covered by white cloaks to block out the desert sun, I almost didn’t recognize you. Your eyes saw the death that your hands caused, and it changed you just like the fire forged me. Did you see the smoke from nearby sectors? Hear the stories of the demon who left no survivors because his flames left no escape routes? That was what our own soldiers called me, and they did little to hide it. I couldn’t blame them, not when it was the truth.

You didn’t call me that when we met again. No, you somehow found a reason to smile at me, like seeing me alive was a victory and enough to celebrate. After all, so many of our classmates and comrades died on this battlefield.

For a few minutes, I let myself believe that I was your reason to smile, and I was happy to be alive. As death cornered us from every side, the smell clinging to our too-clean uniforms, and sand for miles in each direction, and gunshots, artillery, and screams deafening us, I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in months. My heart, glued back together, beat in my chest like nothing ever happened to it. I could talk to you. I felt like I could breathe.

“There’s a letter for you.” A messenger for you, not me. I tried to ignore the writing on the envelope. It was nothing. It was fine.

“It’s my ‘beautiful future.’”

My heart fell, and I stopped breathing.

“Gracia… Your woman?”

It shattered again on the wooden floor of the bar, the glue I used not strong enough to hold it together. Those words I uttered felt like someone else puppetered my body from far away. It was in the desert in Ishval having a conversation with you while the rest of me sat in the bar, our drinks unfinished on the table. Was the desert heat making it difficult for me to breathe, or was it you rambling about the possibility of another man making a move on your girl? Did the sun temporarily blind me, or were those tears threatening to blur my vision?

No. Not here. You were still in front of me. I had to wait until you left me again.

What words came out of my mouth next? Cruel ones, I’m sure. I learned pinpoint accuracy with fire. I could kill you where you stood in seconds, and no one would find your ashes. The only one who’d know would be me.

Irrelevant. You didn’t die. You lived. I could never hurt you like that, never mind kill you.

You’d survive this. You’d go home. You’d go back to her.

You met someone, and she wasn’t me.

I should’ve been happy for you.

The sand stayed in our boots long after we left the desert. White cloaks went into storage as we received promotions for surviving and causing death, the latter prioritized. At my corner in the bar, I didn’t tell you how heavy those stars and bars felt on my uniform or how the red on my gloves might as well have been blood. It’s not what I originally stitched them with, but, when you’re at war, you make do. I kept those thoughts to myself, drowning them in expensive whiskey my Lieutenant Colonel’s salary could afford.

Besides, you knew those thoughts already. You had similar ones. You just swallowed them in favor of something better.

“Roy, I’m asking you to be my Best Man. There’s no one else I trust more than you.”

I stitched my heart back together like the medics did so many soldiers on the front lines. It was stronger than glue. After all, we had to be sure our soldiers could go back out there and fight. My heart ached at those words, sure, but it didn’t fall apart. I did something right this time.

It was almost easy to smile at you, say yes, and say I would love nothing more. I’ve been an actor my entire life, and this was another role assigned to me. That was all this was. I knew how to play this part with precision. The difference here was that I could use pinpoint accuracy in a suit as opposed to my suit, and there would be no gloves required. No one would die. Instead, new life would blossom, a new family—your family.

I did as much as you let me. Gracia loved the carnation from your first date, so I ensured you had some present along with other flowers such as baby’s breath and roses. You invited her family and yours along with some friends, and I made sure those invitations got out. The cake came from a bakery I knew and recommended in Central while her family was more than gracious enough to take care of the reception hall. We tried on suits together with the knowledge I would be teaching you how to tie a bowtie over and over again. It was another part of my role, and I accepted it. I prepared for it.

Every step of the way, you counted down the days, babbling about how you looked forward to married life with her, and the stitching on my heart held together. I was proud of my work.

I was so proud of my work, in fact, that I thought it meant I didn’t love you anymore. All it took was you on the day of your wedding to prove I was a damn fool. With your bowtie on straight, I started working on mine, and I didn’t notice you staring at me.

“You know, Roy, you better let me return the favor someday.”

I dared to look up at you: my first mistake. Your hazel eyes had a soft glow to them, almost on the verge of tears. I imagined there would be a lot of crying today, which was why I kept a handkerchief for you in my breast pocket right next to your ring. Did you need it now?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I hope I get to tie your bowtie for you one day.”

“That’d require you to remember how.” Was I missing something? I always tied my own. There wouldn’t ever be a time when I would need you to—

“When you find someone you love enough to marry and spend the rest of your life with, I’ll remember how!”

Oh.

My stitching hadn’t been enough. I felt it come undone in milliseconds, and my heart fell out of my chest and to the wooden floor of the bar. Unfinished drinks on the table, a seat cushion that no longer felt comfortable underneath me, the radio playing jazz in the background, chatter from clientele—I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear anything but my heart breaking. My vision started to cloud from what I surmised were tears.

I couldn’t let it. I couldn’t cry. Then you’d ask why, and I’d have to conjure up a lie good enough to convince you, and I didn’t have the heart to do it.

So I didn’t. I forced a smile as I shook my head.

“Don’t worry about me, Hughes. Just focus on your big day. We don’t want to keep Gracia waiting.”

A part of me wondered if you let me shift the conversation. You moved on, and you married your future: Gracia. You did cry that day, and you borrowed the handkerchief I had in my pocket. I stood by, smiled, and I made a speech at some point like a good best man. I kept a copy of it written down in case you wanted it as a memento. You liked to keep photographs and memories of things to hold onto. You could look at it again in a scrapbook as you remember this day, and, maybe then, you’ll see what I meant when I told Gracia she was a lucky woman.

You met someone, and she wasn’t me.

The train departed the next day for East City, and that was where I stayed. My duties as a Lieutenant Colonel weighed heavily on my shoulders, and they grew with each passing day. Unrest in the east since the war ended meant I had plenty to do. The violence only slowed. Once I managed to snag myself a promotion to Colonel, those duties only grew in size, and I could hardly see past the mountains of paperwork on my desk. I promised you that I would climb to the top, and I wasn’t going to stop until I made that a reality.

Still, almost every day without fail, I managed to answer the phone when you called. You babbled in my ear about Gracia and her cooking. Her spinach quiche was amazing, so I gave you that. It was better than what we had at the academy. As stupid as it probably was, I won’t forget when you stole the last one from me in the mess hall. Who would have thought that quiche of all things would lead two people to becoming best friends? Did Gracia learn how to make it just for you?

When she began to glow from pregnancy, I never heard your voice that elated. You were almost singing, Hughes. I tried not to let my heart sink while I listened to your melody over the phone. After all, I learned a new method of putting it back together. Glue and stitching weren’t good enough, so I resorted to what I was best at: alchemy. I fused my heart together with fire, and it endured listening to you tell me about a child I wish I could give you. Unfortunately, all I knew how to do, Hughes, was kill, and your daughter deserved better than that. Elicia was a beautiful name. Thank you for telling me.

This technique endured better than the last two. When you came to East City because of Scar, I didn’t feel my heart break as I looked your way. No, as the rain broke overhead after our dalliance with Scar, you stood next to me, and I felt at peace. I wondered if you missed how I glanced at you while you spoke. For just a few seconds, nothing else in the world mattered. You were there, and you wanted to keep me, the Flame Alchemist, safe from harm. Scar killed several State Alchemists, including Brigadier General Grand, and we all narrowly escaped that encounter. Yet, you stood next to me with no alchemical abilities, and I felt safe.

My heart was fine. Nothing could break it.

“There’s a call for you on an outside line from Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”

Weeks later, I heard those words alone in my office, and I knew I was wrong.

Three things struck me as odd when I heard the phone operator tell me you called. One: you either knew I was working at Eastern Command late, or you hoped I was. Two: outside calls were only for emergencies, and you knew better than to use your family as one. Three: again, it was late, and you were supposed to be home.

Something happened. You let yourself get deep into what the Elrics were researching. You found something dangerous, and you called me. In an emergency, you trusted me first.

I pretended to be agitated when I answered. When you answered, you knew I wouldn’t be.

You didn’t answer.

“Hughes?”

I could hear you breathing. Low, shaky. Why weren’t you answering?

My heart, put back together with stitches and glue before I finally got the nerve to fuse it together with my own flames, beat too fast. Where were you? This was your emergency code? Please—

“Hughes…”

I thought I heard footsteps. Were they… retreating?

“Hey!”

No. I could feel my heart falling. I couldn’t let it. I had to keep breathing. I survived Ishval. I could survive—

“Hughes!”

Those were retreating footsteps. Faint, but I could hear them. But that meant someone left. Those weren’t your footsteps, were they? You wouldn’t just call and leave me on the other line. No, this had to be important. You wouldn’t use your emergency code for nothing. This was… but… that meant… someone left you… Someone—

I couldn’t hear you breathe anymore.

No.

“HUGHES!!”

I didn’t scream your name in the bar like I should have. I should have.

I sat right where you left me, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t in the bar. A phone in my shaking hand, tears cascading down my cheeks. No one squeezed my shoulder to reassure me everything was all right. I couldn’t hear the chatter from women serving clientele nor the music they liked to listen to on the radio. There weren’t two drinks in front of me, one of them yours and the other mine. I was alone in my office, and—

And, when I looked to the floor—

There was nothing there.

This time, not glue, stitches, nor my fire held my heart together. Nothing I did was strong enough. Not a single piece of it remained.

Maes, you broke my heart for the last time.

#i wrote my way out | writing #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #maes hughes #hyuroi #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #first person pov #[ kai back on their unrequited pining bullshit ]#[ look I wrote a thing ]#[ it's been in the works for over a month ]#[ and I finally finished it ]#[ okay to reblog ]

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