Something was not right. She felt something stir beside her in the bed. Judging by the faint slunlight filtered through her sleepy eyes, it was early in the morning. Roy was not at her side. He sat in the stiff chair near the dresser. The light pitter patter on the roof drew the conclusion. Sun and rain never sat well with him.

After dosing off, her eyes eased open a few hours later. Roy was still in that chair. She folded the covers over and went to check on him, but as her hand was extended to his shoulder, she realized his eyes were closed. Not sleeping, but screwed up in pain and thought. She dropped her hand and left.

The soft drizzle morphed to an all-out downpour by the afternoon. Without saying a word, Roy went immediately from the chair to his desk in the next room. He locked the door behind him.

Riza became worried; she'd not seen Roy since the morning, and it was now late afternoon. It was not unlike him to bury himself in work to avoid post traumatic depression, but he hated paperwork nonetheless. It was still raining.

She went to the office door – she hated calling it that. Wasn't there enough office at work? - and knocked twice. "Roy?" No answer." She repeated this, and upon no reply, she pulled a bobby pin from her hair and deftly picked the lock. When the door opened, the back of his chair faced her. Slowly, he turned around and his face became visible. Tears dug canyons along his cheeks and left scars before they dropped to their death on this tip of his chin. His empty eyes made a sick attempt at a smile while his lips remained straight and tortured as he said plainly,

"I hate the rain."