[A/N: This was written a while ago and recently I've done an overhaul, fixing some of the things that maybe didn't work as well as I thought they did etc. etc., this could possibly have another chapter. So anyways, enjoy... or not. Note: Hawthorn flowers mean Hope in flower language.]




Red hair was plastered to a sweat-slick forehead and every word was punctuated with a dish shattering across the walls or floor. There were bits of ceramic shrapnel everywhere by now- his own personal war-zone. Roy wasn't sure what lead to this exact moment, something about there being no nachos. The stress had been building for weeks, stress and a slight melancholy. He ignored it, telling himself he was fine. It was fine. Then there were no fucking nachos… There was salsa, but no chips and suddenly nothing was fine. His stress erupted into a full-on dish assault and the slight melancholy was suddenly a rampant depression. Roy could it feel it; the itch under his skin that he could never scratch and he wanted nothing more than to take to the streets, to follow his old instincts to those seedy streets populated with shady people. That thought alone made him angrier at himself, at the world, at whoever ate his nachos… at the goddamned dishes.

Roy had another dish in his hand ready to fling against the furthermost wall, a stupid chipped gravy boat he hadn't even known existed. Why did he have a gravy boat? He didn't even fucking like gravy. Roy drew back his arm, he wanted to throw away all his stress, and pain, and want. He grit his teeth, gripped the dish hard enough his knuckles turned white, then - he just stopped. Red strands fell into his eyes as his head lulled forward and he placed his arm at his side. Suddenly it was as if someone had turned the gravity up in the room. He slouched his shoulders and let out a deep sigh, and something that could have been a choked sob, had there been anyone around to hear. He just felt so tired- tired of existing, tired of trying so hard everyday to prove himself to people who hadn't given a fuck about him since… since then. Roy clutched the dish in his hands, as if that lone gravy boat would somehow save him from falling into the abyss he was facing or as if the cracked ceramic, with it's pale pink hawthorn flowers stretching around it's oblong opening, held some sort of precious magic. The man took a few stumbling steps backward until his back pressed firmly against the flat, cool surface of the fridge, his sudden weight causing magnets to tick against the floor, the assorted lists and notes they once held fluttering free. Roy welcomed the cool, and slid down into the floor slowly, the few magnets that were left on the fridge were trapped behind his back and made an awful scraping noise on the way down but he couldn't be bothered to care.

All Roy wanted to do was find the one thing that made the swirling thoughts in his head stop. The one thing that quieted the voices in his mind, the ones that told him daily he wasn't good enough, that he would never be good enough, that it was his fault she wasn't here. Roy's throat tightened and he shut his eyes. He wanted- so desperately wanted- that poison that would rush through his veins and make everything okay, make him forget for a while that everything had fallen apart. Make him sleep a sleep that wasn't filled with screams of "Daddy- please. Daddy- help. Daddy- why?" What was the point of feeling when all the world had to offer him was pain? It was hard to admit to himself how bad he missed the warmth in his veins and the cotton in his mind as he drifted away.

Roy wanted it all again, but he had made a promise- granted, it was to a person who probably didn't give a shit either way- and for some reason unbeknownst to himself he didn't want to let the bastard down. No, that wasn't true and Roy knew it. Jason was the only one that told Roy he could kick the stuff, told Roy he was better than the life he was living. He was the only one who gave a shit enough not to let him get away with any bullshit. Jason was the only one who drilled it into his head that it wasn't his fault Lian- Roy choked back a sob at the turn his thoughts took, part of him wished Jason was there at that moment to at least give him a reason not to sob openly, alone in his apartment. The other part of him was glad the man wasn't there to mock him. Wasn't there to tell him to get off the damned floor, clean up the mess and for fuck's sake put down the damned gravy boat. Roy clutched the gravy boat a bit tighter, to spite the smirking Jason in his head. Mostly, he was just relieved the man wasn't there to be disappointed.

Roy let his head fall back hard against the fridge... again... and once more. Each time a little harder than the first causing the contents in the fridge doors to rattle and clink with the force.


Roy screamed at nothing, his voice echoing slightly in the empty apartment, then sat there in the still waiting, as if for his appliances to give him some sage advice or perhaps for his gravy boat to stop sitting there and to guide him already because he sure as hell was lost. He went to put his head in his hands but was met with said gravy boat, sitting innocently, quietly in his hands where it had been. Roy growled and flung the receptacle across the room where it landed some place unseen with a delicate tinkling.

Roy leaned back against the fridge, letting his arms fall to his sides, suddenly feeling much more alone without the gravy boat, and stared straight ahead of himself without really seeing.

"Fuck…" he mumbled bitterly into his empty apartment; he was just so tired.

[Irrelevant A/N: My younger brother was angry with me for "killing off" gravy boat :|]