Work Text:
The first time, it is the height of summer. Sleeves are rolled up, and the team is sitting at some bar or another. Roy honestly cannot remember, except for the details pertaining to the way that the bare skin of Ed’s arm nudges his as they sit side by side, laughter bright rain amongst a halo of gold, and Roy lets himself indulge in the warmth just this once. After all, he can simply pretend it is the summer sun, and that everything in his heart that he had long denied is just as fleeting.
The second time, it’s Roy’s fingers gripping Ed’s wrist. “Do not be so reckless,” he hisses, because Ed returned bruised and bloodied and battered, and does he think for a moment that Roy didn’t feel that pain? That rage doesn’t snap and scorch like a forest fire, rampant and wild at the thought of Ed hurting once more?
Apparently not, because his touch is gentle when he rests his hand on top of Roy’s. "I know,” he says, as though he truly does. “I’ll be more careful.” And his promise thaws the cold fear.
The third time, Roy is lost. Roy is hopeless, helpless, drowning in the poison he uses to ward off stress and anxious shadows, which only come back ten-fold when he reflects on how pathetic he is. The third time, Ed’s hands are rough as they haul him from where he’s slumped in his office chair, drag him to the couch, and throw a soft blanket over his shoulders. “Sleep, Mustang,” is what Roy slips away to, with the words try not to think any less of me tying up his tongue, and Ed’s fingers across his cheek the only warmth that he can feel in the dark.
The fourth, it’s right before the election. Ed presses his lips quickly to Roy’s. “For luck,” he mumbles, before he rushes off to get lost in the crowd of Roy’s supporters, as though he didn’t just set fire to all the foundations that Roy had ever laid. As though he hadn’t reduced every last vestige of Roy’s willpower to ashes, poured gasoline over every assumption that Roy had had about the world and where he stood in relation to Edward Elric.
Inviting Roy to strike the match.
The fifth is mere hours later. Mere hours, and the people have voted, and they have chosen Roy. Now, now standing in front of an apartment door the colour of a clear spring sky, Roy hopes that he will be one last person’s choice. He knocks, the door open, and his breath flies away as it always does when he sees Ed: brave, intelligent, and so damn beautiful.
“There’s someone who I love very deeply,” he blurts. “Someone who I really admire, and who I’d be hoping to build something with. But...” He hesitates, but then he sees the hopeful light in Ed’s eyes, and steels himself. “But I was afraid to tell him for so long. And now I think I may have the courage, though it’s terrifying.” Trembling, smiling softly, helplessly, he lifts one hand to cup Ed’s cheek. “You last good luck charm seemed to work quite well. Do you think you might be able to wish me luck with this task as well?”
Ed’s smile is like spring come to bloom.
When Ed meets him breath for breath and heart for heart, Roy lets the fire burn high.