Zinnsoldat, they named it, the Tin Soldier, in reference to their former service and in acknowledgement of their current uselessness.
It was well known around Central headquarters that Roy Mustang was lusting after the visiting Major-General.
His vision was misted...almost comfortingly so. His hands were slathered in salve and bound with gentle gauze.
The blond shook his head lightly, probably in amusement, "I'm really sorry but he's normally not like this to strangers but your resemblance? is very striking, Roy."
Half the apple pie was still on a cracked plate on the windowsill, covered with a bowl so it didn't go stale before tomorrow, because it was all he had in the house.
"You and I? Sleeping together?" Hughes snorted disdain, and spared a hand to push his glasses back up his face. "Ridiculous!"