Entry tags:

! fan fiction, ! request!fic, 52_flavours, fma-roy/riza, fullmetal alchemist

[Fullmetal Alchemist] {03/52} (Roy/Riza) Yesterday
Title: Yesterday
Author: Kjata (makrothumia)
Characters & Pairings: Roy & Riza, Black Hayate
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (anime-verse)
Rating & Warnings: G, no warnings, perhaps spoilers for the end of the anime.
Theme & Community: 15. On purpose to confound this scoundrel’s pride, 52_flavours & estrella_blanca
Number: 03 / 52
Disclaimer: Characters, Setting, and Original Content that this fic is based upon belongs to those who own them - Namely, anyone but me.

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He walks Black Hayate whenever she cannot, being burdened with a job to support both of them while he wobbles around on his own with one eyeball and a lifetime full of regrets settled upon his shoulders. Sometimes when the rain drizzles and he keeps his head down and the dog is dancing around before him, he wonders if he could juggle the metaphorical world with some trickery and a tree full of fruit.

Then he realises that he's thinking crazy again and changes his line of thought.


She cooks them both dinner, pours out wine for their weekly relaxation (if that is what it could be called) and smoothes the tablecloth of invisible creases. He isn't back yet from his exercise with her dog, probably because he got caught up in brooding again, and she checks the clock again before ignoring her surroundings to focus on the boiling pot.

Her fair share of brooding is done in front of the pot, and she stabs at the cooking noodles with a wooden spoon, pretending it's someone who did this to them, someone who caused her great commander to become a pod person, emerging only to sulk in the rain.

The front door opens with a click and shuts with a slam, and his voice drifts through the living area to where she is mirroring his mood. Enough of that, she tells herself, enough of that.


They pick at their food only after the first three glasses are drunk, and then it is interspersed with murmurs of times gone past and chuckles over antics by most probably dead people. Him, the flailing adoration of his squad (his squad minus her, she always managed to stop his posing with paperwork). Her, the calm times during the war when he would include her in a card game with other dead people and they would tease her just to see her fluster.

The dog snoozes at their feet, and they work on the equilibrium.

So far, it is balancing just fine.