Happy Valentine's Day, Mustang!
Disclaimer: I own no one from FMA. I might own the park. I'm not sure.
Roy Mustang sighed in resignation and plopped down in his office chair, his hematite eyes glazed already with boredom.
"Why do I always have so much damn paperwork?" he asked no one in particular. "I don't have time for this!"He picked up a fountain pen, rolling his eyes. Well, it's still better than a bullet in the arm.
As he began to go through the rather substantial stack of forms on his desk, a small cream-colored envelope slipped out from the middle of the stack and fell on his lap.
What's this? He picked it up, curious. Opening the envelope, he found a sheet of white office paper with several lines of efficient and yet oddly lovely handwriting on it. Smiling slightly at this find, he began to read:
My dearest superior officer,
I have tried so hard to get you off my mind, to be the professional that you expect me to be. But I can't pretend any longer. I'm crazy about you. Everything you do inspires me to be the best sharpshooter I can be.
I know you'll never ask it of me, but I want you to know that I'll always be there to defend and protect you. You're not as strong as you like everyone to think. I hope, someday, when you take the time to look around, make the effort to show me your weakness, that you will finally notice me and the love I have for you.
If you want to take a chance with me, meet me in the park on 5th Street tonight at seven. I'll be waiting there for you with a white rose.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Roy exhaled cautiously, unaware until that moment that he had been holding his breath. H? It couldn't be. . . He grinned. Well, who else could it be? She put the paperwork on his desk every morning. It must be her! He licked his lips gleefully. About time, Riza.
After work, Roy stopped by the park, his heart pounding. Why is she the only person who does this to me? he thought, sighing in frustration. He balled his fists, fighting his emotions. I have to regain my composure, damn it! This isn't me!
He sat on a park bench overlooking the main walk and waited, watching the passers-by.
A little boy with a red balloon scampered down the sidewalk, giggling with joy as his mother snuck up behind him and scooped him into the air.
An old man with a cane hobbled slowly away in the distance, his white head nearly covered by a threadbare tan fedora.
An awkward young officer with light brown hair meandered distractedly down the patch, looking every which way for someone. . . wait.
Jean Havoc was so nervous that he barely even noticed the black-haired colonel staring at him. When he did, he yelped, leaping backwards.
"Oh! Hi, sir!"
"Hello, Havoc. What are you doing here, exactly?"
The tall, scrawny man blushed awkwardly. "Well, I-I. . ."
"Why do you have a white rose in your hand?"
"Um. . . um. . . It's for someone," he finally replied, now beet red.
"Jean, is it for me?" Roy asked, visibly annoyed by this. "I thought you knew I only liked girls."
Havoc suddenly grew pale. "No, sir! No! I swear! It's for a woman! Honest!"
"Then can you explain this note to me?" He handed Havoc the envelope.
The second lieutenant's cheeks grew pink as he read the letter, recognizing the handwriting. "I wrote this, sir, but it wasn't for you."
"Then how. . .?"
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER
"How many times do I have to tell people I'm not the Colonel's secretary?" muttered Riza Hawkeye in anger and frustration. She clutched the offending document in her hand. "This is the seventh one today! Seriously. He should answer his own fan mail."
She placed the cream-colored envelope on top of a stack of paperwork she was delivering to his office in a few minutes. "This one doesn't even have a name on the front. What's wrong with people? I mean, other people work here too!"
She walked into his office, leaving the pile on his desk, then stormed out. This would be a good day to take a long lunch break and go to the shooting range, she decided.