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maleyanderecafe · 1 year

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Paper Cuts (Webcomic)

Created by: toterpxl_

Genre: Thriller/Drama

Thank you for the people on one of the yandere discord I'm in for this recommendation! This entire webcomic is in black and whilte/grayscale and has a pretty haunting tone to it. As of now, the webcomic has about 11 chapters but I think the art and story is pretty good and gives off the tone of someone who is following you.

The story starts out with May attending her brother's funeral and calling her friend, Nina, afterwards who invites her to a sleepover. While walking there, she bumps into Eliott, her old pen pal. It seems that when May was younger, she had a hard time making friends, so her brother Adam suggested writing to a pen pal, who turned out to be Eliott. She enjoys writing to him until suddenly he stops, and has never heard from him until now. May asks why Eliott stopped writing to her, and he asks for forgiveness for abandoning her. May promises that she will never hate him. While going home, May realizes that her apartment door is open and checks inside to make sure nothing is stolen. There, she finds that the only thing that was stolen was something from Adam's room in a locked drawer, and decides to not report it since she didn't know what was inside. May hangs out with her friend Nina until Eliott pops by, not very happy about Nina's presence. While eating, Eliott asks May for a fork instead of chopsticks, but based on his reactions, she gets him a spoon instead to prevent him from actually harming Nina. Eliott asks May about Adam, to which May is distraught about, causing her to cry. Nina goes home and May escorts Eliott home asking if she hated Nina. Eliott tells May about his distaste in Nina, and before Eliott heads home, Eliott apologizes to May about making her upset. May laments about his death, and even wishes that she was taken too, to which Eliott attempts to comfort her. At home, May continues to cry about her brother Adam until Eliott shows up at the door, bringing her cake. They hang out a couple of times, with May seemingly being more and more suspicious every time. The last couple of chapters ends with Eliott reciting a poem in her sleep, confessing his love to her.

May is actually more perceptive as a main character than I thought she'd be. She starts to notice things like the fact that Elliott is extremely jealous towards Elliot and even giving him a spoon just to make sure he doesn't use it to hurt Nina. There's also other instances like wondering how he knows when she wakes up as well as knowing what happened to her brother. She still doesn't really know much about other things like him sneaking into her apartment and probably killing her brother, but I do think she will find out what he's done soon. Especially from what will likely happen to Nina.

Elliot as a yandere is pretty standard as what you would think of him, but I think it's done rather well. It's pretty obvious that Eliott was who killed or at least was involved with Adam's death and he's likely going to be the one who kills Nina as well. He's jealous, stalks May and tracks her sleep, which is why he's always able to come in and talk to her at all the right times. He seems to feel regret that he suddenly had to cut off May, going so much as to cry and ask if she hates him. I'm kind of curious what will happen when or if May finds out what happened with her brother, and what Eliott's reaction will be afterwards.

It's pretty short so far, but I like the look of the webcomic and where it's headed. I hope there will be more to read soon since it's pretty good!

#paper cuts #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #webcomic #ongoing

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cttncndyiscreamm · 5 months

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TRANS N GRAH!!! (Headcanon that must be written more in Nuzi)

While I work on my animatic, please GUYS write a Nuzi fic where N is transmasc. Like the transmasc headcanon is terribly underrated I literally only seen 6 fics with the trans tag on Archive Reader and most of them are trans Uzi like come on let our boy have some screen time! Keep in mind I am not much of a writer anyways so I just draw lol.

So I have Random/AU prompts which could have been taken from someone else but if it has been already thought of please tell me because I'm going off the top of my head.

Prompts under the cut!

Prompts

- Uzi and N work for the Elliotts and N makes a discovery about himself that leads him to having a weight off his shoulders with Uzi and Tessa supporting him in every way. It strengthens N and Uzi's bond even more.

- N is a popular kid at school but desperately doesn't want the life he has now because it doesn't show who he truly is, he begins hanging out with the outcast as she's the only one who truly knows who N is.

- In the middle of their relationship, N talks about his past and he says to Uzi that he's still the same N she knows but he changed in ways that made him see himself in a better light.

- N has been insisting to the other drones he's a boy but they deny his identity and continue to be misgendered and experience transphobia, luckily his friends don't tolerate that. Not even his short tempered girlfriend.

Alright I'm done rambling 😭

#murder drones #murder drones n #n murder drones #n md #transgender #transmasc #headcanon #fic ideas #fic prompt #raz is just rambling here #nuzi #biscuitbites #n x uzi #enzi

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starlitangels · 3 months

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Campfire Songs

Pre-romance. Listen, I was raised by a guitarist. Certain things have to happen when we go camping 2.0k words

—

"Oh—my God!" Elliott exclaimed, swatting at the air. "I swear if I get one more mosquito bite I'm going to lose it."

"I told you to put on bug spray."

"I did, sunshine! It doesn't matter to them!"

I laughed. "Well, you can't blame them for finding you delicious," I retorted. "What was it you said to me a couple weeks ago? You're a... mm... 'legit snack' or something?"

"Shut up," he muttered, dragging his camp chair closer to the fire in hopes that the smoke would drive off the mosquitos. I kept laughing. He rolled his eyes.

We sat by the fire as the last of the sun's rays vanished from the sky, plunging the woods into complete darkness.

Elliott got up from his chair. "Now that it's officially nighttime, it's time for the one last surprise," he said.

I watched him leave the ring of firelight in the direction of his car, my eyebrows scrunched.

He returned with a long, black leather case. Distinctly-shaped. He sat down again and set the case gently on the ground, starting to undo the buckles.

"I didn't know you play guitar," I said.

He shrugged. "I don't play often. My..." He cleared his throat. "My brother taught me how. Our dad had a guitar that he never used. When he died..." Another shrug. "Aaron kinda took custody of it. He taught himself. Then taught me the older I got. Once I was big enough to wrap my hand around the neck." He pulled the acoustic out of its case by the neck and slung the strap over his head, tucking it under his other arm. "I had to learn how to play right-handed though. Because Aaron's right-handed. And it was too much of a hassle to restring the guitar for my left-handedness every time he taught me." A faraway look passed over Elliott's face. "I think he still has Dad's. Took it with him to Dahlia when he moved out for college." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I learned how to play left-handed after I bought my own guitar." He smiled sadly. "And it kinda feels more natural, but it's also not what I'm used to."

He tuned the guitar, keeping one ear toward the body of it, as he twisted the tuning pegs.

"You can tune by ear?" I asked.

"Eh. Kinda. I'd rather tune by ear than have one of the little tuning things clamped onto my guitar's head, telling me what to do." He laughed, and I joined in. "Not perfect, but I make do."

"You should bring that to my parents' place sometime. My dad would love to jam with you."

He scoffed. "And embarrass myself in front of a professional? No thanks."

"Eli," I chided. "You know my dad. He's not like that. He'll be so proud of you just because you're playing at all."

"Well why don't you play?"

"Oh, he tried to teach me. But he's so good and natural at it that he couldn't understand why I was struggling so hard. So ultimately it just never happened. We both got too frustrated with the other." I chuckled. "Still a good memory, though."

That faraway look flitted across Elliott's face again, his violet eyes unfocusing. "Your dad knows I admire him a lot, right?"

"My dad sees you like his own son, Eli," I returned. "He knows."

Elliott chuckled and started plucking out a simple pick pattern. “Your dad is a good guy, sunshine.”

“I think he’s personally offended on the grounds of dadhood that your dad was such an ass,” I remarked. “And he’s determined to dad you better.”

Elliott laughed. “That’s not hard. The bar is already so low it’s a tripping hazard in Hell.”

I burst out laughing. “Well. My dad will raise it for you. He’s the kind of dad that little kids who aren’t comfortable with stranger adults like immediately. He’s just got friend energy. Or dad energy. Like. My neighbor’s granddaughter doesn’t like adult men at all. She was pretty isolated her first couple years of life due to a sickness and never got exposed to many people. She loved my dad immediately at a neighborhood barbecue and was attached to him all night. Her mom was amazed. It was cute.”

Elliott smiled. “I don’t doubt any of that. Including the raising the bar thing.” He shifted his fingers on the guitar’s neck and started a different pick pattern. A particularly famous one. I smiled. “Come on, sunshine. Let me hear that voice of yours.”

I smirked and cleared my throat. “I close my ey-eyes. Only for a moment—and the moment’s gone…” I sang. Elliott’s eyes immediately closed. A small grin tilting the corners of his handsome mouth. “All my dreams… pass before my eyes a curiosity.” I paused for the music cue. “Dust in the wind… All they are is dust in the wind…”

Elliott joined me on the harmony. “Same old so-o-ong… Just a drop of water in an endless sea… all we do… crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see… dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wi-i-ind… ahhh-ah-ah.”

We smiled and swayed gently as he kept picking at the guitar strings. Most of Dust in the Wind was that same pick pattern.

The musical interlude passed and I picked up the next verse. "Now. Don't hang o-on... Nothin' lasts forever but the earth and sky... it slips awa-ay—and all your money won't another minute buy-yyy..."

Elliott grinned at me.

We sang the whole song while Elliott played, just snickering between lyrics. Then moved on to a different song, and another, and another. We went on until night had well and truly fallen. The last few shafts of sunlight vanished and inky black-blue overtook it.

When there was a high sky of thousands of stars overhead and we'd gone through every camping song my dad used to play on these trips, he took a deep breath and sighed. "Time for bed, sunshine?"

I pursed my lips and nodded. "I think so."

He slung the guitar strap off over his head and started to gently tuck the guitar into its case. He handled it with such gentle care. For a single, quick flash, a fantasy shot through my head of his long fingers cradling the back of my neck with the same tenderness as his guitar neck as he kissed me.

Ohhh no, no, no. Shut it down, moron, I thought sharply. Elliott is your Best Friend. Nothing more. No more of those thoughts. No kissing.

We got up from our camp chairs. "You go brush your teeth and get ready," I said. "I'll put out the campfire."

He gave me a sarcastic salute. "Yes, captain."

I flipped him off as he walked off to the tiny public bathrooms down the parking lot from the campsite. He laughed and stuck his tongue out before disappearing behind a tree. I rolled my eyes and started to shovel some dirt and sand onto the fire to smother the flames. Elliott would probably be back before I got finished. I considered staying out in my camp chair until he went to sleep in the tent before turning in myself.

Sometimes I wondered if it was just me, or if Elliott noticed the way our gazes lingered on one another. If he noticed the way he touched me slow and gentle, and I did the same for him. We'd become such good friends in such a short amount of time. It felt like he'd always known me, and yet I'd only met him last week. I'd already memorized most of his details. The strange violet hue to his eyes. The tiny nick of a scar on his lower lip from tripping and hitting a sprinkler head as a child. The birthmark on the bone of his wrist that he tended to hide under his leather bracelets. That one dirty blond curl in the middle of his forehead that hung looser than all the others. The exact shape his lopsided smile took when he was up to no good.

I wondered if he memorized things about me. If he'd taken pieces of me and woven them into his heart the way I'd done for him.

Elliott returned while I was still putting out the fire. But instead of turning in and going to sleep, he stayed out with me and helped me finish up.

We turned in. We'd borrowed my parents' five-person tent, our sleeping pads—not full air mattresses—and sleeping bags jammed into opposite corners, with our bags scattered about the middle. Elliott's guitar case joined the clutter.

"Goodnight, sunshine."

"G'night, Elliott."

—

Several Hours Later...

—

I hadn't stopped shivering since I got in the sleeping bag, huddled up on myself, even in my thick pajamas. I just could not get warm. Goosebumps covered my skin and my toes were numb in my socks. I'd tried everything I could think of to warm up, and none of it lasted.

"Psst! Eli!" I hissed, just to see if he was awake.

I heard him make a noise of confusion. "Mm—wha? Sunshine?" He sounded groggy.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

He smacked his lips in thought. "Not really." He sighed as though about to fall back to sleep. Then a sharp rustle of fabric showed him sitting up across the tent. The moonlight through the trees and tent canvas plenty enough to make out his silhouette. "Why? Are you okay?"

"I'm freezing!"

He swore under his breath. "I'm so sorry. I thought you'd be warm enough."

"I'm trying. I just don't have a lot of heat to hold in."

A long silence broken only by the noise of the wilderness stretched between us.

Then Elliott's sleeping bag unzipped. "C'mon. Come share with me."

"What?"

"I'm not going to let you get hypothermia. We're adults. We can be mature about this. Just come share my warmth, yeah?"

I thought about it. "Don't tell anyone about this."

"Of course not."

I slipped out of my sleeping bag and dodged across the tent as fast as humanly possible, letting Elliott welcome me into his. I burrowed down, relishing the warmth that he'd already filled it with, but trying not to touch him. No matter how much I wanted to.

If I let myself touch him, I'd never be able to get enough ever again.

He scooted back down beside me, that crooked smile visible in the darkness. "Better?"

"Mmhmm," I grumbled.

"Can I have your hands?"

"Sorry. I can't detach them from my wrists."

He scoffed in a way that sounded like he was rolling his eyes. "Let me see your hands, sunshine," he insisted.

I shuffled enough to hold them closer to him. He took each of mine in his own. His were warm, throwing my frigid skin into sharp contrast.

He hissed and swore. "You weren't kidding. You are freezing. Come here." Before I could protest, he'd let go of my hands and pulled me flush against him, holding my head to his chest.

I could have cried in relief at his body heat.

"Thank you, Eli," I whispered.

"Of course, sunshine."

I was so exhausted from shivering that I slipped into sleep within moments.

And I dreamt of Elliott. That crooked smile lit by firelight and his curls shining in the light of thousands of stars overhead. Plucking at his guitar strings and sitting on a picnic table in an open field with a fire pit right there, while I sat on the bench of the table near his leg, looking up at him. Singing old rock songs together like there was no one else in the world to see us but each other.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl

#my husband is a mosquito magnet i had to start this that way lol #Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Elliott #Redacted Sunshine #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

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artimisi · 2 years

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As the umbrella goes tip-tap-tip-tap, rain pellets beat off it continuously

Despite its gentle nature, I can hear the sound of rain pattering on my umbrella all too loudly. The rain was not gentle today, and it made sure I knew.

A simple sound, rain is. But today, the rain thundered on in my head, any other sounds completely drowned out by the water.

Can someone tell me why is it so loud, everywhere all at once I hear my name? The silence filling the empty darkness eating away at the corners of my vision. Every time I try to reach out, I find myself in the same place, as if my mind is constantly looping.

“Elliot”

I'm so far away, why is it so close by? One hand after another is grabbing at me. Every time I feel their grip on me tighten, they pull me along with them minute after minute while I repeatedly scream, "Help!" Why does it seem like no one is concerned? My throat feels as though it is being scratched by glass throughout. The sensation of blood and its warm, coppery taste, which drips from my tongue from a trickle to a torrent of it, why... Why do I feel deserted, just like a child who has lost his mother?

“ELLIOT!!!”

I suddenly find myself back in reality, which had previously felt vibrant and exhilarating but now feels drab and lifeless. "Elliot, do you have any closing remarks?" ... ”Huh?”

“Do you want to say something Elliott before she leaves?” Concern can be heard in Renèe's inquiries.

"Yes," I say. My mother, ah, uh, Even when circumstances were difficult, Eleanor Witt proved to be a good mother, finding a solution. Rain was a common occurrence when I was a child. Each individual pellet would strike the home harder and harder as it continued to rain down on it. Thunder in particular has never really been to my taste in rain. She always made me a cup of hot chocolate and brought me a cover when those occasions arose, and we would sit there and chat.

“Regarding her feelings, where she believes my father is, and whether or not my brothers are still alive.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve never really cherished her. I never really realized how time moves all too fast. One minute they're here, the next dead, sometimes I wish I was there to say goodbye to her.”

This is really it. The last time I’ll ever see you face to face is the last time I can talk to you.... The last time I can say I love you.

That room is silent out of respect. The same quietness started to seem a little too quiet, as if everyone was staring at him. This time, he didn't want everyone looking at him; instead, he wanted to vanish and be left alone. After a calming but uneasy silence, he started speaking with a hint of grief in his voice.

It was a great honor to have you all attend my mother's funeral, so yeah, umm... I just wanted to say thanks. I know she would be very grateful for y’all coming out.”

Out of nowhere a cold but familiar touch grazes my skin. Giving me goosebumps all over, including the back of my neck where my hair stands up.

Upon closer inspection, it is Renèe, her ghostly appearance in the sun contrasting with her jet black hair and eyes like wisteria.

"I hope you feel better soon, Elliot. I too have lost a loved one, but don't lose yourself, okay?" She pats his back and disappears before he can react.

Large family and friend groups mysteriously disappear from the room like ants. One by one, they vanish until there is ultimately just one left.

A 5'9 Asian man with a faded bald head and a good head of hair stands nearby. Over his ear, face, and hands were implants.

If you pay careful attention, you can see him solving a Rubix cube. Upon reflection, I realize I've never truly seen him without it.

"Well well well if isn't the terrifying loner Mr. Kim. So... This doesn't seem to be your kind of scene, whatever brought you here. Or "Wait, did you come see little ol' me?"

He tries to bat his eyelashes like a puppy.

friendliness: +0

“Witt, don't become too egotistical now. I merely come to offer your mother my sympathies. It was too crowded for me to show my respect.”

When you first hear his thick, calming Korean accent, it can turn off a lot of people. Although something about it makes me feel better, reminds me of the sounds a gentle wave washing against the shore makes… well something like that.

“With the passing of your mother, I wanted to know if you are taking a break from the games.”

“I'll be fine, Crippy, I'm the biggest Mirage the trickster The best apex legend you've ever heard of, Witt, I'm serious. Maybe it's too soon to jump back into the games after a loss like that.” "Recovering from it can be difficult."

He puts in the sincerest way he could still having a sweet but bitter delivery.

“That's accurate. "I-I ah-I understand,"

“I was curious as to what led you to decide that you cared. This is from the man who nearly tried to break my arm, right? Witt I'm just looking out for you, all right?

My face has a perplexed but grateful expression. Of all the legends to reach out, it just had to be you.

“You see Witt. I shouldn't have made the trip here. I merely wanted to help a little, but it seems you are in charge of that.”

”Cryp-“

He leaves the room abruptly but quietly before Elliott has a chance to speak. As he leaves his wake, there is an enormous amount of exhaustion and annoyance in the air. causing the atmosphere I'm in to seem stuffy or so it feels.

“I guess I'm the only remaining Witt, huh?”

#apex #apex legends #apex mirage #fanfic #apex fanfic #fanfic angst

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by-nina · 3 years

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A Cordial Invitation

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 4 – Communiqué Rating: K+ (light drinking) Genre: Comedy/Fluff Word Count: 2,840

A/N: This fic takes place when Roy and Hughes are both still stationed in East City, before Hughes is transferred to Central—or in an AU where that happens, if that wasn't the case in canon. Brain empty, no thoughts but Royai. Screw canon. What's important is that Hughes is here. 😂

There is the briefest pause as Hughes leaps back, startled by the outburst, then he laughs again upon seeing the look on Roy's face. Roy can only shake his head in horror—what the hell does the man find so funny? Well, he might have laughed at this little comedy of errors himself if the situation weren't so ridiculously flustering for him. Instead, he is left to imagine it in sheer panic. R. Mustang. Riza Mustang.

His face is burning red.

———

MAES HUGHES, son of Thomas and Evangeline Hughes,

and

GRACIA EVANS, daughter of Rupert and Georgina Evans,

are delighted to announce their blessed and loving union come Saturday, the 25th of June 1910. The ceremony shall take place at Charlotte Hill, attended by their immediate family and beloved friends. Comprising their entourage are Mr. A. Armstrong, Mr. and Mrs. H. Elliott, Miss S. Garber, Mr. and Mrs. C. Marshall, and Mr. and Mrs. R. Mustang.

———

Five different people have congratulated Roy—two of them expressing mild surprise at his previously unknown marriage—by the time he comes across the root of his very confusing Friday morning. He reads the announcement in the paper thrice, flipping the page back and forth as if doing so might correct the error. When it doesn't, he picks up the receiver of his office phone, then replaces it and instead decides to see the man himself.

He passes by Breda and Havoc on the way out, but he isn't quite sure if they’re watching him because they know what's going on, or if they're just as puzzled as he is.

Two floors down, Roy raps away at the door of the Intelligence Division office. "Hughes," he calls out. "Hughes, I need to talk to you about—"

He cuts himself off, rubbing his temple as he realizes the pointlessness of his visit. It's at this moment too that Maes Hughes opens the door with that old, damning grin, the one Roy has known from Hughes' courtship with Gracia and all through their engagement. It's the grin that precedes the talk, as Hughes has annoyingly come to call it. Roy is ready with any of several retorts, such as—

"I don't have time for this, Hughes," or;

"Go bother someone else," or;

"Stop telling me to get married, I'm not looking for a girlfriend, leave me alone—"

But to Roy’s surprise, he doesn't find reason to say any of these today.

"What brings you here, old pal?" Hughes chirps in a tone that hardly suggests he has Roy's romantic prospects on his mind at the moment. Of course he doesn't—his wedding is just around the corner, and it's not like he's marrying Roy.

Roy opens his mouth, closes it, and sighs as he enters the office. He heads straight to Hughes' desk, where he drops his copy of the East City Times, folded open to show the incriminating page.

"Oh, you've seen the announcement!" Hughes is beaming. "I would've taken out an ad every single day after the proposal, but here we are! Can you believe I'm getting married tomorrow?"

"Thanks to your constant reminders over the past three months, yes, Hughes, I can," Roy says dryly. "But how come your announcement is printed like that?"

It's only then that Hughes realizes that an error, not excitement, brought his best man to his office. Roy manages to remain patient as Hughes leans over the paper, a finger trailing the announcement word for word until he reaches the end. Hughes then grabs the paper right up to his eyes and blinks incredulously, and his expression quickly changes. It’s somewhere between incredulity, hilarity, and exasperation—as much as a cheery man like Hughes is capable of, anyway. Hughes breaks into laughter and shakes his head.

"It's not funny, Hughes,” Roy snaps, but not quite. He isn’t so upset as to be eager to start an argument. “I've spent the entire morning wondering what the hell people were congratulating me for!"

"Oh my goodness, Roy, I am so sorry that this happened. I truly am." Hughes rubs at the side of his head, tutting in good-natured disbelief. "I can’t believe it, and on the day before my wedding, too! Ah, but I think I know what happened."

"Mm-hmm?"

"I went to the newspaper office yesterday over lunch, right? It was a last-minute thing because my beautiful bride-to-be doesn't really want too much of a fuss over our wedding. So, at their office, I fill out a form—"

"Mm-hmm."

"—and these announcements are usually short, so there wasn't much space on the form. I write down the date, the location, and then I start to run out of space towards the end as I'm listing the guests."

"Mm-hmmm."

"So, the names are squeezed into the little space I've got left, there's the Marshalls, the Elliotts... and I suppose they assumed that you were a couple with Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"WHAT?"

His face is burning red.

"No, no, no," Roy sputters, "this—this is serious, Hughes! Hawkeye is my adjutant, and if anyone from the top brass hears this and thinks—"

"Okay, slow down, Roy. Deep breath," Hughes says, gripping Roy's shoulders. "Let's be real. They're not actually gonna think that you would just carelessly break military laws. Ambitious youngster rising up the ranks after becoming the Hero of Ishval, who would suspect you? You know what else, they also think you're some kind of heartbreaker going on dates all over East City, up to Central—and her name isn't actually on the paper next to yours, is it?"

"But what—but—so why was it written like that anyway?"

"You’re right. Lieutenant Hawkeye is an important guest. I owe her an apology.” Hughes pauses in thought. “But while we’re on the topic, maybe you two should go together, considering how much she’s actually helped with your best man duties. You know what I mean? It shouldn’t be a big deal. Take her along as a companion, save yourselves the trouble of finding dates—don't play cool, I know you haven't invited anyone—it'll be more convenient for the two of you!"

Roy runs a hand over his face, now nearly out of things to argue about short of something more personal, something more selfish, more... honest. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hughes," he sighs sharply, interrupting his own thoughts. "All right, the announcement—it’s not your fault, we can let that go. And I’ll extend your apology to Lieutenant Hawkeye—”

“And take her as your date?”

“No, because she’s already invited anyway, so there's no reason for me to do that—and if I do, then I'd have to explain to people that I'm not actually married, and she—"

"Come on, it'll be no trouble. No one’s gonna think much of it!”

"I’m thinking much of it! It’s just not a good look.” Roy begins his way back to his own office, stopping at the door just to finish saying, “And I’m not dragging Lieutenant Hawkeye into your crazy ideas!”

———

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, would you like to go to Hughes’ wedding together?”

There is a brief pause when, all at once, Roy bristles with panic for the impulsive utterance, and mild surprise breaks through Lieutenant Hawkeye’s typically impassive face, and Lieutenant Hawkeye regains her composure as Roy watches and wonders what she actually thinks of the invitation, hoping that it’s welcome.

“I don’t think I could, Sir,” she says, deadpan, “Mrs. Mustang would be devastated.”

“What the—Hawkeye, you know I don’t have a wife—”

“Damn it!”

Breda bursts into laughter behind them, drowning out Havoc’s frustrated groan as the latter reaches into the pocket of his trousers, then drops a few coins onto the table where they have been working. Roy scowls at them, partly perplexed and partly exasperated by having to deal with the ridicule twice over. When Breda recovers somewhat, he explains, “We had a bet. Havoc was so sure you really were secretly married.”

“I was counting on it, okay?” Havoc grumbles. “I haven’t had a proper girlfriend since I started working with Mustang, no one will even look twice at me—”

“There you go,” the Lieutenant says as Havoc and Breda banter on. She continues sorting the reports on Roy’s desk into dated envelopes, having been momentarily distracted by his surprise invitation. “Any of Havoc’s girlfriends would be happy to be your date to the wedding.”

“Well, I just thought—I mean, Hughes suggested that maybe it would be more convenient for you and me—for the two of us to attend together.” Roy clears his throat when he realizes that his voice is quivering slightly. What is he so nervous about? He affects a smile to regain a casual confidence. “As colleagues, of course. Friendly companions in the entourage. That’s how all of this happened, there was a mistake with our names when they printed Hughes’ wedding announcement.”

The Lieutenant remains quiet, focused on her work. A moment later, Roy asks over the sudden, quiet thumping in his chest, “Are you… already bringing someone with you?

“No,” she promptly replies, eyes remaining on the reports before her. “I was just wondering what brought this on. You don’t owe me a favor for helping out with your preparations.”

The nervous thumping subsides, only to be quickly replaced by dull dismay. Never mind the idea of being each other’s date to a special occasion, or the imaginary scenario of being a couple. He and Riza—he and the Lieutenant have been working together for over a year now. He would like to think that in that time, they would have broken down enough walls between them for her not to think that everything they do or say to each other can only be strictly pragmatic. Roy certainly sees her in a warm, friendly light, not unlike the way he did as a boy. Surely she could at least not hold him at arm’s length after a year.

Roy finds it easy to be honest when he says, “It’s not that at all. And it’s not just because of what Hughes said.” A careful pause. “I think I genuinely would enjoy your company.”

He watches Riza carefully. No expectations, he reminds himself—and then he childishly proceeds to imagine all the ways that she could react to the whole situation. Roy lingers a little too long on the scenario where she might have imagined him with some mysterious Mrs. Mustang, then felt the relief of disproven jealousy when he explained what actually happened. No—it’s far too complicated an expectation for the time being.

She looks up at last.

“All right then, Sir.”

———

The Hugheses’ wedding is the happiest, most beautiful thing that Roy remembers witnessing in a long time. The ceremony proper and the reception beginning at sunset both take place in a pavilion overlooking a lake, awash in shades of gold from the table draperies to the twinkling lights and the flowers swaying in the breeze. There isn’t anyone in his opinion who deserves a day like this more than his best friend, which is why when Roy prepares to give his best man's toast that evening, he finds himself easily turning sentimental. He drains his glass of wine, then pours himself another just before beginning his speech.

Towards the end of the toast, he says, “Gracia, I have no words for how grateful I am that Maes met you, and that you’ve loved him through some of the most difficult times of his life. You showed him that it’s possible to be truly happy even when it might appear to be difficult or impossible.”

He draws a quick, sharp breath as emotion wells up in him. Laughing to conceal it, he quickly adds, “I’m sure he tells you that enough, of course, but I’m saying this now because you’ve also made the rest of us believe it. We all see it in him. And the two of you give us hope that it can happen for anyone, with anyone who can break down our walls.” Roy raises his glass towards the newlywed couple. “Maes, Gracia, may you be a home for each other for the rest of your lives.”

The modest crowd erupts in applause, accompanied by the clinking of glasses all around the pavilion and sweet, light music for the Hugheses’ first dance. Between the spirits he consumed during his speech and the infectious joy that fills the venue, Roy soon starts to feel lightheaded. He steers clear of the dance floor as the guests pair off and weave around one another, and it’s easy to spot Riza in the crowd from where he stands.

Riza sits at the far side of a table occupied by some of Gracia’s friends, chatting away good-naturedly with a drink in hand. She’s laughing, and what a sight she is on this night away from work, so relaxed and carefree, wearing a honey brown dress that brings out the color of her eyes. She should be dancing, Roy thinks; she should be enjoying this night, not just sitting back to watch it go by as if she had come here alone.

Well, some date he is.

It’s even more outrageous now, the idea of being Riza’s date to this wedding. Not that he knew what he was thinking even when he asked her to go together, but he never actually planned as far ahead as dancing or dining or anything they can do together now that he has completed his duties as the best man. Above all, this isn’t how he had pictured Riza to look tonight, so warm and friendly and beautiful—no, different from the one he invited to be his date yesterday. This is closer to a Riza he hasn’t seen in a long time, not since he left for Ishval, anyway. How does he even strike up a conversation with an old friend from a lifetime ago? What is he supposed to do?

Roy knows one thing—he will mind seeing her dance with someone else right now.

Gracia’s friends rise from the table after a while, leaving Riza by herself. By this time, Roy has helped himself to one, now another glass of brandy, and he isn’t sure whether he’s still on his feet despite the drink or drunk enough to be bold. He takes the long way around the venue to Riza. She turns her head when she hears him approaching.

“That was a very beautiful speech, Sir,” says Riza as Roy sits at the table, leaving one empty seat between them. “It’s a shame Mrs. Mustang isn’t around to hear it.”

Roy laughs, only now realizing that no one has brought up that gaffe since yesterday. “Well, shame it isn’t my wedding. But thank you. I’m glad you think so.” He breathes a deep, thoughtful sigh. “If I’m being honest, this is perhaps the happiest I remember being in a long time.”

Riza nods slowly. “I see.”

Without directly looking at her, Roy can tell that Riza is watching him, deep in thought. She takes a sip of her wine. After a long silence, she admits, “I haven’t been to a wedding in a while, myself. I’d forgotten it was possible for people to be this… happy. It hasn’t been easy to find things that make everything we’re doing worthwhile.”

The look on her face now is different from her usual quiet expression. There she is again, Roy thinks—perhaps she suddenly looks so much like her younger self because her thoughts have wandered to a much simpler time, before all the pain they went through together. Or could she perhaps have carried those thoughts in the back of her mind all along, never allowing herself to pay attention to them, but hoping she might find a place for them in the complicated circumstances they have found themselves in?

And in this moment, Roy realizes that more than remembering the Riza from his past, what he wants is to care for the Riza he knows in the present. To be a companion to her, and for her to return the favor; goodness knows how much they have needed each other all this time, and how much more they will need each other moving forward. Above all, she is someone he knows well enough to want to know better.

So, after a while, he quietly asks, “What are you thinking now?”

Riza smiles. “That what you said in your speech is true.”

Roy raises his glass, and she clinks hers against it. This is the first time in a long time that he has seen her smile like this, that Riza has smiled at him. It feels now as if he has been newly welcomed into her life, that at last—once again—she could trust him as much as he does her.

He rises to his feet.

“I’d hate for you to have just come to watch a speech, Hawkeye. Would you like to dance?”

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