Summary: Roy’s aunt had taken him to a friend’s cabin in the woods for a week one summer, and while exploring the forest he had stumbled upon a family of deer. It hadn’t taken long before he stepped on a twig and sent them running, but he had seen the wild strength in their eyes. Riza reminded him of those deer—a little skittish, but also aloof and tough. A fawn in the body of a ten-year-old girl.
I got stuck on this pair up. I especially love those time travel genre or Kidfic ones. Obsessing them bow is my current pastime. I don’t think they need introduction right? Everyone al leasr know FMA but just in case,
Summary: They say things always come in threes, thirds, trinities, thrice, and now Roy comes in three decades. A three and a zero — that must be quite unbalanced, and he has no idea how can someone expect “three” and “zero” to mean “established”. How could Roybe, when he is a half? Halfhearted, halfway, halfsoul— where is his rest?
He is thirty. And if you are past twenty without ever hearing from your soulmate, you’re as good as a zero point five running around the world. When Roy looks in the mirror, he’s pretty sure he is a zero point three.
Rating: Teen and Up
Warnings/tags:Soulmate AU, FMA03 Post-CoS, Angst, references to self-harm/depression/alcoholism, happy ending, Ed is 18-19
read on ao3: https :// archiveofourown .org/works /18210548
Roy opens his eye to a room that should be his. Nothing ever feels like him, and neither do these four white walls — the warmest covers wouldn’t be able to shake the cold off, the strongest fire wouldn’t be able to brighten the lackluster environment away. Inside of that wardrobe are only masks, those blue and gold costumes he puts on every morning alongside with his eyepatch, to hide something, whatever it is. When he stares out of the window, the dark sky seems more comfortable than his own bed.
The clock on the bedside table says 2 a.m., and he sighs. He is officially thirty now. They say things always come in threes, thirds, trinities, thrice, and now Roy comes in three decades. A three and a zero — that must be quite unbalanced, and he has no idea how can someone expect “three” and “zero” to mean “established”. How could Roy be, when he is a half? Halfhearted, halfway, halfsoul— where is his rest?
He is thirty. And if you are past twenty without ever hearing from your soulmate, you’re as good as a zero point five running around the world. When Roy looks in the mirror, he’s pretty sure he is a zero point three.
The eyepatch is in the drawer, and if he wants to get out of bed he will have to put it on. Lying awake in bed without the garment makes him feel more naked than standing in front of a mirror with all his clothes off — it is odd, when he can’t sense the scratchy edge on his cheek. He sits on the mattress, gathering strength to put his feet on the floor that has been looking suspiciously cold ever since autumn started. He tries to stand up while adjusting the black strips on the back of his head and almost trips on a cover tangled on his ankle, and that’s when he realizes how fucking dark the place is.
No coffee, he tells himself as he stumbles down the stairs, because no one should ingest caffeine at two in the morning. Now, scotch — that sounds like an acceptable insomnia drink. There’s a half-bottle (zero point five zero point five) somewhere in the house, and as soon as he finds it he’s going to pour himself a generous glass and sing happy birthday. Top-notch celebration.
Roy ends up with five ‘generous glasses’ and the couch. He has an unnecessary amount of pillows here, and the cushions feel like butter under his back; too bad he has no blankets, it would be nice to pull one up to his nose. He could probably roll it around himself, like a cocoon — no cold, he thinks wistfully, as he shoves his heels onto the armrest like a child trying to leave dents. If he had blankets, he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs and go back to bed. He could just stay here, frowning at the fireplace and trying to understand why it doesn’t light up when he snaps his fingers.
Looking at the back of his hands, he wonders what went wrong. That must have been something, why would fate leave him alone when everyone else had their halves? Never once he has seen a word on the skin there, just bluish veins and occasional kitchen burns. It’s foolish, but sometimes Roy wants to scratch until he sees blood, maybe he can find something there on his flesh. He can’t be alone, right? This isn’t a possibility.
But perhaps, he muses, the problem here is not the inexistence of a soulmate. That’s so unlike it’s almost impossible — like winning the lottery, except that in this case, it’s more losing. Perhaps the issue is not his soulmate, but actually Roy. What could one say about Roy Mustang that does not revolve around, dammit, war crimes? Political scandals, bloodshed? Womanizing? He built a reputation around himself and has been wearing it over his head like a crown ever since.
So what would his soulmate say, Mustang is a good liar? Considering the things lies have brought down onto him, would that even be a compliment or more like a disdainful curse?
Actually, there’s no way ‘good liar’ could sound good. Thank god it never appeared on his skin.
Debating between going back to bed or not, Roy falls asleep on the couch. In the morning, with a bitter taste on his tongue from the badly-timed alcohol, he regrets his lack of forethought. His neck aches, his shoulders are so stiff he can barely move. When did he become such a picky sleeper? He clearly recalls not having such issues while staying in the North. Or perhaps the cold just made him numb to most kinds of pain.
Thursday is Hawkeye’s day to pick him up. It makes Roy feel like a toddler, but his Major has a schedule passed between her and Havoc to assure someone of trust is always going to take him back and forth, home and work, work and home. Roy is not quite sure if she is afraid of someone attacking him on his way there, or if she just can’t trust him to drive safely — he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but both are equally deadly.
She knocks five minutes earlier like she always does and Roy is thankfully dressed; however, his mind is still only half-way ready and Riza gives him the slightest of frowns when he almost trips at the doorway. Their pleasantries are exchanged with all the professionalism he can muster, and when they lock themselves inside of the car she turns to him with a blank expression.
“Major, don’t—”
“Happy birthday,” she cuts him off, lips curling slightly upwards, “sir.”
He snorts a dry laugh and looks away. Next year it’ll be you, he remembers vindictively, as Riza drives them to headquarters with the shadow of a smile on her face.
Although in the office he still has some respect — one glare, nobody says a thing — he doubts it will be for long. Roy’s long accustomed to unwanted commentaries, but for today he just wished he could tune out all the noise and go lay on the couch again. He feels… odd. Not that he hasn’t felt odd before, but there’s something entirely bizarre of realizing he has already lived a good fraction of the number of years he is supposed to live.
In more precise words, he feels old. Gross.
He presses a knuckle to his left temple. There is a pulse there, or perhaps the beginning of a headache, and he puts even more pressure on the spot. The words on the paper in front of him make no sense, he tries to add them together (subject verb object dependent clause) but the cluster of them keeps getting lost somewhere, as if he can only focus on the shape each dark-inked letter creates above the white. He mouths the word ‘reassigned’ and what the fuck does that mean again?
Thankfully, his schedule is clear of meetings for today; there is one tomorrow but since it’s with a lower-ranking officer, Hawkeye could probably get rid of it for him? Not that he is brave enough to ask.
A knock on the door interrupts his internal debate, and Roy almost lets out a relieved breath.
Nowadays Edward Elric announces his arrival, but still doesn’t wait for permission to come in. Somehow, the action seems even more insubordinate than the obnoxious door-banging he did as a teenager, almost as if he does it out of spite. See, I’m polite now, so I guess you can’t complain anymore, Colonel Bastard. Roy can almost hear the impervious snort.
Another thing Fullmetal has changed after his otherworldly stay is his clothing choice. As far as Roy knows, the muted browns are only discarded for the blue military uniform — which still catches Rog off guard. His mental image of Edward has always been vibrant and, although it is certainly a good sign that he turned soberer as he grew, the lack of red and shiny leather feels unknown.
But it is good — Edward on his own, golden and contradicting graceful, is already attention-catching enough. Any more and it would be too much.
Edward Elric smiles devilishly at him, which is unusual for a soldier and usual for Ed. “Slacking off again, old man? Hawkeye is only a few steps away, you shouldn’t trust your luck that much.”
With his elbows on the tabletop, Roy rests his chin over his crossed fingers, smirking all throughout the whole movement. Fullmetal is— refreshing, at least. Roy could use many other words, ranging from the lowest insults to the most endearing terms, but he tries to not think about those much. At this point, he probably shouldn’t go around complimenting people, especially those who have so many reasons to be complimented.
Old. He almost flinches.
“And neither should you, Fullmetal,” he mockingly warns, “if you are here, making up such perilous allegations, it certainly means you have an awful lot of free time and I should put you to good use.”
Ed lets out a dry laugh.
“Free time?! Even if I did have any free time I wouldn’t spend it with a bastard like you.”
Ouch. Roy knows it was not meant to hurt and it really doesn’t. It’s just a small sting, like a needle poking the inside of his elbow — ouch, and it’s over, brushed aside with unsurprising ease. He tilts his head to the side and broadens the teasing smile.
“I happen to know many who would disagree with you on that.”
“Sure, but I’m not one of them.”
“Touché,” Roy shrugs, “but your insistent denial inevitably raises some suspicions.”
The blush spreading over Fullmetal’s cheeks might be of annoyance, but still ridiculously endearing.
“Shutup.”
Roy does, for the sake of savoring his small victory. Edward pulls a file from what seems to be the thin air — that, or Roy has been too occupied observing the line of Ed’s jaw to notice whatever he might be holding in his hands. Which by the way he is noticing now. His hands — and throws it over the desk, adding more papers to the already overflowing stack and making Roy wince internally. Scowling, Ed crosses his arms and looks at the raven-haired man from where he stands.
“This was you.”
And Roy has no idea what he is talking about.
Tentatively, he pries the folder open and reads a few scattered words — he can barely concentrate, and with Fullmetal’s heavy gaze on him, his brain is all over the place. Tringhamandorganic matterandresearch space and some disjointed syllables.
“I see you took the day to accuse me without any solid proof.”
“Mustang,” he growls, “this ain’t an accusation, I know it was you working behind the curtains like you always do. I told you he needed money less than a month ago.”
Roy’s eyes flicker away from his and that is probably enough to give him away. He has some fault indeed, but if Edward thinks he did anything more than pull a few strings, he is very mistaken. Russell Tringham has his own impressive abilities and curriculum, all Roy had to do was give him a spot to show off. He opens his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘work’, but I suppose you caught me this time.”
“You need to stop—”
“I didn’t do it because of you.” Which is true. Eighty percent true at least, and for a politician that is exponential honesty. “There are many other things I could do to fall on your good graces, Fullmetal, and giving a job to a man you so emphatically despise surely isn’t one of them.”
Edward squints and Roy’s confidence is back where it belongs, so his smile turns even more malicious. “Unless, of course, this happens to be another case of you displaying your affections rather aggressively.”
He can see the traces of the familiar anger heating the blond alchemist, but at some point along the back and forth between worlds, Ed seems to have learned to not fall for his traps — at least some of them, Roy still liked to think he was a master at pushing Edward’s buttons.
“Fuck you,” he says, like no soldier would ever be able to, “and why the fuck would you need someone like Russel Tringham working in the military, uh?”
“Oh, I don’t need him, specifically, he just happened to be there.”
Lie. If the man had not applied for State Alchemist Roy would have done whatever it was necessary to have him. No other botanist would catch Ed’s attention and wasn’t that the other twenty percent of his reasoning? Roy leans back against the chair, crossing his legs and preparing himself for a bit of self-exposure.
“The previous alchemist had his hands dirty with… let’s just say it was something other than soil,” he explains, “Botanical alchemy is not a widely studied field but Mr.Tringham has interests aligned with those of the military. All that took was a little shove, and anyone could see that he was a much better alternative.”
Edward stares at him — an intense, distrusting stare; the one reserved for when he knows Roy is flourishing stories, pulling him away from the true meaning of his actions. Roy, who has clearly lost the fear of death after being the at the receiving end of Hawkeye’s stares, doesn’t even flinch. Surprisingly, Fullmetal decides to not press the topic any further.
“Whatever,” Ed groans, “I guess you know what to do with even the fucking smallest pieces of information.”
“Obviously.”
“If you weren’t such a sly bastard,” he says as he turns back and walks to the door, “I would say you’re pretty smart.”
Oh.
Before Ed can slam the door shut, he looks over his shoulder with an uncharacteristic smile. “And by the way, happy birthday.”
The backs of Roy’s hands are burning so hot he barely registers the blond’s obnoxious exiting. He knows those will be empty, oh he swears he knows, but not even the most logical and clear argument could stop from ripping his gloves off as soon as Edward leaves the room.
His skin is so clean he wants to tear it with his nails.
Throughout the whole day, Havoc keeps subtly trying to convince Roy to go to a bar with them after work. It has the potential to be touching but Havoc needs to work a lot on manipulative skills — he simply keeps mentioning drinks and women to Breda, trying to get Roy to join them in the conversation — and the situation is only laughable. At some point, Roy does consider tapping him on the shoulder and saying that, yes, Roy can put one round on his tab and all this scene is not really necessary. Precisely because Hawkeye wants to go, but she will only if he goes too, and Roy supposes he needs to be the good friend from time to time.
By lunchtime, Edward agrees to join them and Roy’s mood improves a little bit.
He tells himself that he should stop indulging hopes that are nothing but— well, hopes. Roy likes to think he has some self-control left around Ed as to not let scraps of affection tear an action out of him — in other words, he is terribly afraid of confessing, or thinking that Ed likes him enough that he can say more than he should and get away with it. Which is unlike, and he is aware of that. But feelings can cloud even the most righteous reasoning, and Ed has the awful habit of making Roy believe he can do things.
Alongside with surreal infatuations walks shame. He has been feeling it ever since his heart decided to do a tap dance while he was looking at Edward, and the timing couldn’t be more off — Ed was young, and Roy was embarrassed at his youngness, and since then he has been trying to find an excuse for it. Maybe if they were fated, he could get away with wanting to monopolize Edward’s attention whenever they are both in the same room.
But of course, this is a petty dream. Roy is somewhat arrogant, yes, but he wouldn’t think so highly of himself to believe the two of them could be soulmates. Edward deserves much better. Roy is the fraction of a fraction and he is… whole. Smart, beautiful, fierce, trustworthy. Ed needs another one so they can form two and be harmonic. If Fate is really out there playing matchmaker, it wouldn’t be so cruel as to put somebody like that with Roy, for God’s sake.
And yet, he wishes. A frail character, really.
In the end, who can judge him? Maes hadn’t, even if Edward had been embarrassingly teenagery back then — and Roy is grateful for his, what, understanding? Compassion? Mercy?
The truth is, anyone in their right mind would admit both the Elrics are blindingly attractive. Alphonse is everything one could ask for: good-looking, polite, charming, with intelligence beyond most minds — and Roy has seen Ed complaining before, with thinly veiled pride, that out of them, Alphonse is the one people would gladly spend their lives with. Edward, however, has a different type of lure to him. Alphonse is approachable, and Edward is pulling. People are dragged to him like elements to Fluorine, and just like that they are stuck, happily sharing their electrons with that unimaginable force.
And Roy, like a small Hydrogen, orbits him through and through. What a shame all they form together is corrosive destruction.
Roy dedicates what’s left of his attention span to the last documents of the day, feeling that usual laziness striking. Stay at home, it says; then, with a jolt of electricity, Ed is coming. With the final signature, he lets out a loud sigh and stretches. Happy birthday!
There is a small commotion behind the door, and as Roy leaves the inner office he sees Breda and Falman trying to organize who will drive who and Havoc complaining about their destination. Riza looks professional even with her jacket unbuttoned, which is not that impressive anymore, and Kain Fuery seems more interested in his wristwatch than the discussion taking place right beside him. When his eyes find Edward, the blond shoots a warm grin that breaks Roy’s brain a little bit more.
“Here comes the birthday boy!” Ed shouts.
They let out some loud greetings that Roy is a bit too glad to receive and he smiles at all of them, his cheek brushing against the edge of the eye patch and probably making it move ridiculously. He wants— to hide, or something alike, but at the same time bask in their cheerfulness.
With everything settled, Roy ends up in the most empty of the cars and he almost gives up the comfort of the passenger seat to sit next to Edward in the back. Kain rides there instead, and Riza drives because Roy was a disaster driver even with two perfectly functional eyes. The bar — probably Breda’s picking — is on a loud street’s corner, vibrating with happy clients and partially acceptable music.
Inside, the noise of the other patrons makes him feel a bit more optimistic — all these people are joyful, so he could be too, right? His heart clenches a bit when Edward chooses to sit next to him, and he has to resist the sudden urge to put his hands on the arms resting crossed over the table top. Breda orders beers and Kain’s timid suggestion for onion rings is taken very positively by everyone. With those settled, the conversation picks up ranging from cursing paperwork to did I tell you about that time a man tried to hit on Hawkeye, and Roy is truly grateful. If there’s one thing he is good at, is pointless chatter. But when he has these people around him, it feels— not pointless, because they are his friends, aren’t they?
Even Edward, who seems to scowl at anything he deems to be moving for too long, seems genuinely invested. It gives Roy an odd sense of satisfaction, to know he feels comfortable around them — or him, but maybe that’s reading too much into it. Ed, throwing his head to the side with a toothy grin. Ed, telling stories of his own that sound way more impressive to his peers than to himself. Ed, scoffing at Havoc’s stupid ex-girlfriends. Ed, and Roy wonders at which moment exactly he became the center of the universe.
When they talk, the two of them, it feels like one of the cheesy moments in novels where everything halts. Under Ed’s inhuman focus, Roy feels like he matters — this person, Edward Elric, truly believes that Roy is is more than a bunch of cells with low levels of serotonin. They argue, it has always been their favorite pastime, and Ed looks about to throw him across the room for disagreeing with him about some stupid symbol and Roy is overwhelmed with a delicious feeling of completion.
“God, Fullmetal, I’m just teasing you,” he says, between a soft laugh, “you don’t need to fight this hard, I already think you are brilliant.”
However, he doesn’t get the expected reaction — a snarky remark or well-worded fuck off; instead, the blood freezes, eyes widening as color quickly leaves his features. It resembles fear, and Roy is frantically reviewing their entire conversation because Ed is not one to crumble with simple rhetoric. Then, Roy makes the mistake of averting the blond’s eyes, and he looks down and—
Ed jumps out of his seat and runs for the door.
The second he is out, Riza turns to him. “What did you say?”
He should be offended by her readiness to point him as the wrongdoer, but his brain is still dwelling on the fact that Edward just ran away after Roy said something that… really couldn’t be taken as flirty, right? Or could it? Ed is brilliant — it wasn’t a compliment or flattery, it was just stating facts. And even if could, there have been moments when their interactions have sounded way less platonic.
“Nothing!” He defensively blurts out. “We were just— it was a heated discussion but I didn’t— I don’t know what happened!”
All eyes fall on him, and Roy feels the breath being punched out of him. He fucked up, and he doesn’t know why, and it’s only after Riza’s glare that he takes initiative to find out. Roy gets up, crosses the bar in hurried steps, and opens the door to the cold breeze of the night.
Unexpectedly, he finds Ed hidden in an alley just around the corner. He is pacing back and forth, like a lion locked inside of a cage. For a few seconds, Roy observes from the distance, scared of the beast he could set free with an inappropriate choice of words. “Fullmetal?”
The blond startles, and his first reflex is to snap at Roy. “Get the fuck away from me.”
This — anger, volatility — this is what Roy knows. He can’t understand Ed, deer-in-the-headlights-Ed, with his face pale and shoulders slumped. But just because he knows, it doesn’t mean that he likes.
“No,” he says, “what happen—”
“Don’t you dare to pretend to care!”
“I do!” Roy does — more than he should. They are friends, or at least Roy thinks so and he would be immensely glad if Ed could think that too. “But I can’t apologize if you don’t tell me what I did to—”
”Fuck you,” he barks, “you’re so full of shit, all the fucking time, I don’t even get why we— fuck you!”
“I never meant to offend you!”
“Offend me?!” Ed stares at him with bloodshot eyes, frowning as if he is experiencing some kind of physical pain. Roy is desperate to reach out, pull him closer and run his hands up and down his back, but there are so many boundaries. Ed wouldn’t let him. “You don’t need to offend me to screw with my head, and you know that very well.”
Roy feels the very first sparks of anger heating his chest and he snarls. “Why are you always so keen on accusing me? I don’t have a single clue what you’re talking about!”
“Stopacting!”
“I am not!” Roy shouts back. “You go around saying that you are not a kid anymore, yet when someone tries to talk to you, you throw a—”
“Of course! I’m the child here, and not the grown ass man who can’t even show some respect for other people’s feelings!” Edward raises his hands in mocked defeat, “I wish we could be at least friends, but you have to go a pull a stunt like that in front of everyone—!”
“What stunt?! I was just talking to you, we’ve done that countless times before! What are you talking about?!”
“You really don’t know?”
His voice is like a whisper, weak and frail and once again leaves Roy bereft. Edward blinks, looks down and then back at him, breath hitching and coming out in a shaky puff. Then he sighs, shaking his head and smiling, relieved of a burden that Roy has never known he was carrying.
“Your really don’t know.”
“Fullmetal,talk to me, so I can understand.”
“It’s okay,” he says and sounds more truthful than it should, “I’m sorry for this, sorry for acting like a fucking crybaby in the middle of your birthday celebration.”
“It’s alright, but please—”
Ed lets out a dry laugh. “It’s really not, but of course you’d say it is.”
“Fullmetal…”
“I think I’m gonna head home for tonight,” he whispers. They are close enough for Roy to see the wetness on the corners of his eyes. “It was nice though, being here with you and everyone.”
“Are you sure you can’t any longer?” Please stay, Roy wants to say, but he already reached his daily quota of saying things out of impulse today.
Edward shakes his head and then looks away. He doesn’t move, so neither does Roy and they stand silently in the middle of an alley in Central. There is something surrounding them, that usual tension, but it doesn’t burn; it feels more like ashes in a fireplace, warm but useless, and Roy really wishes he could blow it away.
Arms wrap around his shoulders suddenly, clumsy and awkward. Roy’s heart can probably be heard from miles away, and his brain-body coordination must be severely damaged. He is so shocked he can’t hug back. Ed lets go of him too quickly though, taking many steps back as if Roy had burnt him, and shoves his hands inside his pockets. “Happy birthday, bastard.”
Roy stupidly stares at his back as he leaves.
He frowns, trying to make sense of what just happened. Edward is such an outspoken person, but he has this strange dichotomy to him — he makes a lot of sense and is very predictable, but at the same time he makes little sense and is not predictable at all. He is pretty much like a bomb; you can grasp the concept (it blows up) but the practicalities are a bit confusing if you don’t have a clear explanation (whenandhow).
Roy’s right hand feels weird. The back tingles, as if a tiny needle is running against it; not really painful, but definitely annoying. It itches and it doesn’t stop even when he scratches. Must be an insect, he curses and peels his glove off, turning it inside out so he can pat the tiny beast away. He glimpses something on his skin and freezes.
No, he thinks, even as he read and rereads the word temporarily tattooed to his skin in a scribble.
b a s t a r d
For a few seconds, his cognitive functioning is interrupted. The world around him is oddly dense and fluid, like water surrounding him from all sides but without enough strength to make him move an inch. He takes a deep breath, and his brain slightly acknowledges that, yes, he is a physical being and he has lungs and he is not going to drown in the middle of an alley and that he really needs to talk to Ed. Now, his brain says, and Roy wholeheartedly agrees.
He has half a mind to go back inside and shove some money into Riza’s hands, then he leaves under concerned exclamations that he is too distracted to answer in a polysyllabic manner. Right now, the only thing he can think of is getting to Ed (Ed Ed Ed) and doing his best to—
Running down the street, Roy feels without brakes. He can do this, Edward has never been so close to him before even if it is not physically; this once, this once, this once it is going to be them, and Roy begs all the gods he can remember that he will be able to hold the self-doubt at bay for just this once. So what if Ed hid it from him? So what if he obviously had no intentions to tell him now? Surely he has plans to do it one day, doesn’t he? Roy needs a chance, deserves a chance to—
Edward hates him. It must sound like punishment to have somebody like Roy as a soulmate, and he has all the rights to deny it and hide it and play tug of war with Fate for as long as he wants. Roy understands now, oh he does! A soulmate is not a bracket, but a liability. The universe gives him a half, but humans are empowered with their own choices and feelings and judgments and— in the end, free-will supersedes all sorts of cosmic acquaintances. Roy is entitled to a soulmate, not love — if that is what he wants, he needs to convincethem,convince Ed he should stay.
And Edward is, by all means, convinced that he shouldn’t.
But Roy holds the power to change that right here in his hands.
When he sees Ed’s back — broad, blue jacket, ponytail instead of braid, oh god, did Roy just shiver? — he almost turns away. His steps turn significantly slower with the heavy feeling in his gut, like an anvil attached with a rope to his waist, forcing him to stop and just sit down here on the sidewalk. He won’t be able to keep walking like this, and the distance between them seems to stretch for kilometers, so he does the only thing that will inevitably catch the blonds attention before giving up becomes the only option:
“Edward!”
In a whip of golden hair, the man turns to him with a wary frown on his face. Roy realizes with an impending sense of doom that now there is no way out of this, not anymore — he ran all the way here and screamed Ed’s name in the middle of a street, there is no way the blond could let him off the hook. His feet move on their own accord, forcing Roy through each step even although his mind keeps chanting stop turn back this is a trap trap trap— Ed is walking in his direction too and they end up meeting way faster than Roy would like. He tilts his head to the side, a single string of blond poking his cheek, and raises his eyebrows in a silent question Roy has no idea how to answer.
He doesn’t seem to have been crying, but that is nothing close to a reassurance; in fact, this is the most calm he has seen Edward in quite a while, and that says enough in Roy’s opinion. Hence, the growing anxiety over their mutual silence leaves Roy with an intense need to apologize. Well, hello, good evening, I’m really sorry there is this invisible rope tying us together even though neither of us had been planning it, or something along those lines.
“Full—Edward, I—”
Roy cannot finish a sentence he couldn’t even come up with. He lays his hand in front of him so Ed can read the odd term of endearment on the back.
With a taste of guilt on his tongue, he must admit he expected more of Edward — lashing out, burning embarrassment, wry laughter, more — but after the entirety of this night, he should already have realized predicting Ed is way harder than it seems. The blond’s eyes widen for a nanosecond, then he looks more sad than surprised. His expression hits Roy like a punch to the guts, he barely stops himself from wincing and doubling over, but there are many things Roy regrets more than being honest with both of them.
Edward extends his hand as well, their fingers brushing for a moment before Roy has time to read the lone word on the flesh:
b r i l l i a n t
Roy can’t bring himself to stop looking.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
It’s a strange picture, the one they make. Their hands contrast on size and tan and the nature of what is written on their skin. Conflicting — his word is more of a curse than a loving language, yet it fills Roy with a warmth that bubbles from his chest all the way up to his lips and forms a smile. He is not happy, not yet, but it has been a long time since he has been this close to it.
“I’m sorry I’m compelling you to tell me now.”
They don’t move, which makes their whole scene even more pathetic. Edward snorts. “You’re not compelling anyone, idiot.”
Unfortunately, the word idiot does not appears besides bastard — at the same time, Roy is objectively grateful for it.
“I’m kinda glad actually,” Ed shrugs, “I really thought you knew all along, but just… didn’t want me.”
Roy’s breath hitches in surprise and he stands confused for a few seconds before lacing their fingers together with an unexpected amount of strength. “That’s— no, I am the one who should be saying that, Edward. You are—”
“Please, don’t…”
“—so much more than I could ever deserve. Beautiful, clever, strong, loyal, diligent, passionate…”
The words are being drawn over the skin of Ed’s hand and Roy observes mesmerized as the lines twist and curve. An intense blush spreads over the blond’s cheeks.
“God, you’re a fuckin’ sap,” he groans, rolling his eyes, “quit your self-deprecating bullshit already.”
“I’m not self-deprecating…”
“You just said I’m more than you deserve!” Ed takes a step closer, never letting go of the raven-haired man. “Don’t say that, you know it’s not true, I’m— you’re idealizing me. You’re just…”
He waves his automail in a vague gesture that has Roy frowning in confusion. Sighing, he arches a brow at Roy and bites his lip anxiously.
“Are you really gonna make me say it?”
“I don’t understand what you—”
“Yes, you are. Fuck you, honestly.” Edward pulls their hands, angling them so Roy can see the back of his own, and his cheeks redden even more. “Okay, asshole, so the truth is I think you’re…
s m a r t
p e r s i s t e n t
h a n d s o m e
c o n s i d e r a t e
r e l i a b l e
“…a good person. You’re way more than I could ask for, and I know it must suck to be stuck with me, I’m not really—”
Roy is emotionally incapable of letting him finish, so he squeezes Ed’s fingers and blurts out in a sudden wave of bravery:
“I have been in love with you for years now.”
Admitting it takes a weight off his shoulders he hasn’t known he had been carrying — what felt like a silent crime he could only confess to the four walls of his bedroom, is now just a cluster of words floating between them like soap bubbles. He is fully aware of the power he has surrendered to the man in front of him, and his insides are fizzling with both fear and a pleasant warmth he can’t recall feeling before.
“God, Mustang,” he breathes out, “how the hell do you always know what to say?”
Edward lunges forward, detangling his fingers from Roy’s and tugging him down by the lapels. Truth is, Roy has imagined it so many times, dreamed about it so many times, that this kiss doesn’t feel like a first — and that is okay, more than okay actually. It fills him with an indescribable sense of belonging. They match like this, with Ed’s hands to the sides of his neck — cold and warm, cold and warm — and Roy’s curling around his waist, feeling the precious heat seeping through the wool of his jacket.
It’s a slow kiss, shorter than anyone would have wished it to be, and when Ed pulls away, it feels like his soul is being dragged out of his body alongside, his lone electron gravitating towards the man. In a sudden spur of faith, he understands he doesn’t mind sharing it. Even if it burns him, corrodes him, blinds him, over and over again — Edward is Fluorine and Roy is a mere molecule of Hydrogen, it was bound to happen since the beginning. Their compound is destructive in the best scenario, and Roy doesn’t want to think about what it could do to him in the worst. Especially because now it seems it couldn’t be any better.
The blond doesn’t slip out of his grasp, however; he tilts his head to the side rests his cheek on Roy’s shoulder, breath running slow and warm over the skin of his neck. Roy’s arms slide around Ed’s waist, and it’s with a type of satisfaction that would certainly doom him that Roy realizes Edward is small enough to fit neatly between the tight circle. Sighing, he presses the side of his face to the silky strands of hair and basks in the relief — of being held instead of pushed away, of being hugged in a way he hasn’t been for years now.
“This is…” Ed starts, but never finishes.
And Roy gets the feeling even if he too doesn’t know the right word.
read on ao3: https :// archiveofourown .org/works/ 18033833
In the morning, it took Roy a bit longer to wake up. The day was warm and the sun on his back felt really nice, so the first time Riza knocked on his room’s door he pretended to be asleep. However, now, as they crossed the street to the library, he really wished he hadn’t answered the second one.
They had plans today. Riza had research to do for her new novel, and like a good make-believe husband, Roy should accompany her to the library. Then … well, then he was free. Today was his — and he would probably end up doing what he usually did on breaks. Walk around the city looking for new painting spots, sit at a café, maybe go to Jean’s flower-shop and pester him a bit. It sounded monotone even in his head. Maybe he could skip his day off somehow…? Riza would kill him if he didn’t get enough mental rest, but he certainly could do that in the morning and then sketch throughout the rest of the afternoon.
Their steps clicked against the marble stairs leading to the library’s gate. Roy was getting ready to say his goodbyes and confirm which time he should pick her up, but a sudden shiver made him halt on the first steps.
Someone was watching him.
He looked around, trying to pinpoint where his peripheral consciousness had identified this supposed threat. There was this … boy? Young man seated at the bottom of the stairs, resting with his back against a marble piece. He was obviously a foreigner; Roy had never seen anyone like that before. Blond— no, saffron hair tied up in a ponytail, shining like gold under the sunlight, tanned skin and with a grace to his body that was rare on this part of the continent. Roy was mesmerized… His eyes, boring deep into Roy’s as if trying to pin him down through wit alone, had the strangest shade — like amber but more precious — two pieces of jewelry that couldn’t be as easily stolen.
In these fractions of a second when they saw each other, Roy could understand. This foreigner, sitting with a suitcase on the library entrance, he was a revelation — Roy’s entire being was pulled towards him, and he knew the man was pulled towards him as well. Time was suspended, and they were just two souls playing tug of war amidst the universes. They were something, they meant something, and Roy was ready to beat his head against it until he finally got— whatever it was that he was supposed to get.
“Roy?”
Suddenly pulled out of his thoughts, his head snapped up to look at Riza, who stood a few steps above him, then back to the blond on the bottom of the steps, then back to her. Feeling dizzy and at the same time bursting with renewed energy, he watched as Riza’s lips curled playfully.
“Well, he is your type,” she said, running her hands through her hair to tie it up in a bun. “Don’t worry about me, Maria and I are going to have lunch together.“
“Are you sure you don’t need me—”
“Hanging around while I have a date with my beautiful girlfriend? No, thank you.” She waved him off, turning away to enter the library. “Go get him before it’s too late.”
Roy sighed. Now, the young man wasn’t looking at him anymore — but in the end, he didn’t seem approachable even while blatantly staring at Roy. Too intense, his eyes and his posture, like he was ready to throw himself into a fight if Roy dared to make the wrong move.
This is based on @rie ‘s alternate Hanahaki: you get a flower design imprinted in your skin, and the deeper you fall in love the further the flowers cover your body. The first lines in bold were written by her!
Ship:RoyEd
Summary:Old myths say that the flowers used to appear in the lungs and grow until they killed its host. The first time Roy saw the blossoms appear over his heart, he thought that all myths had some amount of truth. It felt like a death sentence.
read on ao3:https :// archiveofourown. org/works /17947631
Old myths say that the flowers used to appear in the lungs and grow until they killed its host. The first time Roy saw the blossoms appear over his heart, he thought that all myths had some amount of truth. It felt like a death sentence. Now, the branches twist over his chest, draw patterns on his ribs and color the hollow of his neck — they curl around it too, like a rope; sometimes, Roy is so sure they are perfectly designed to tighten, that one day they will and he will choke until all the oxygen leaves his body.
Ed’s cold fingers slide over his collarbones and he has to suppress a shiver. He has imagined how it would feel before, the automail on his skin, but for some reason, the touch is more surrealistic than his dreams. Edward is way worse than him, his petals grow from his flesh foot up his calves and thighs and up up up to the point he could barely hide them even with a turtleneck. But as he traces the ones on Roy’s upper body, he seems completely unbothered by them; instead, there’s a gleam to his eyes, like sunlight through amber.
“When did you—”
“Since forever, can’t you fucking see it?” Ed snaps at him, and Roy would flinch away if he didn’t want to get closer. “Ever since day one, since you held me up in the air and gave me hope again, you bastard.”
“I saw it only on the next day, growing out of my little toe, which is a stupid fucking place, and it was so, so small but it still felt like it was branding me like hot iron.”
Roy’s eyes roam through Edward’s exposed torso. Beware. Such a strange word to be all over one’s body, not that strange if associated with the Fullmetal Alchemist. The begonias talk about Roy himself and tell Ed to proceed with caution, but at the same time, they feel like a warning.
Edward Elric will tear you inside out. Beware.
“And yours?”
“Hm?”
“Roy.”
His heart skips a beat. This time he does shiver, and he is sure Ed can feel it through his metal digits. He circles one of the yellow buds with his index finger, brows furrowing together in puzzlement.
“What are those?” Ed asks, in an uncharacteristic whisper.
Roy swallows dry.
“Narcissus.”
Ed’s head tilts to the side, “I’m not narcissistic.”
“I know,” he sighs, “but that’s the flower’s myth, not its meaning.”
“Then what does it mean?”
Roy looks at him. In fact, he’s been doing that for quite a while now, but at this precise moment, his body decides to release all of the heart-clenching hormones it can produce. He looks at Ed, laying naked on Roy’s bed, tangled in the sheets Roy sleeps with and it seems— distressingly natural. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Neither like a turning point in life, even if it is. Edward fits here; or rather, fits with Roy, because if this had happened anywhere else it would still feel like the most deliciously ordinary experience he’d ever had.
“It means ‘regard’.”
Ed squints at him. “And?”
“Some other things.”
Unrequited love. The sun always shines when I’m with you.
Groaning, Edward shoves him lightly on the chest. “You’re full of shit.”
And Roy— can smile, apparently. So he does, and he would spill out every single translation he has found for yellow narcissus if it would make Ed smile back. He doesn’t need to, though, Edward’s lips curl upwards as if on instinct and Roy can feel all the loose pieces in his life fitting neatly against each other.
“You’restaring,” Ed accuses.
“And what’s the matter?”
“Stop staring.”
He wants to laugh — not because he thinks their current situation is funny. It isn’t: they still have so much to discuss, to figure out and to heal. But Edward is here, by his side, and he’s just had very good sex with the person he has been in love with for years. He wants to laugh because he is happy, because his insides are melting and he feels like a teenager, wanting to hide and at the same time to tear himself open so Ed can analyze every single piece of him. “It’s not a bad thing, you know, when someone stares at you.”
“I know that, idiot, it’s just that there are better things to do then staring.”
They have been here for so long, the first rays of sunlight are spilling through the slits in the curtains. When they hit Ed’s skin, they become beautiful — because Ed is beautiful, and that gives him the power to turn the most mundane things into dazzling creations.
The words bubble out of his lips before he can contain them: “I love you.”
Edward’s smile finally gives way. But on his eyes, it still shines like the sun.
This is a weird mix of ABO, chimera!Ed, and the werewolf!Ed, I guess.
Ship:RoyEd
Summary: “You were on a mission,” Ed turns to Alphonse, who carries on with the explanation, “There was this alchemist messing with chimeras, Brigadier general Mustang sent you there to check, and apparently you got caught up in a transmutation.”
Oh. That would explain why Edward can’t remember the basement.
Rating: Mature (chances of turning n/s/f/w)
Warnings/tags:AU, Post fmab, Pining, Scenting, Taller!Ed jhagdcfjh, werewold-chimera!Ed
The first two weeks, Edward stays inside voluntarily, which is a surprise. Winry brought with her a provisory prosthetic that makes him ache in disgraceful places, so he refuses to ear it — and hopping around the streets is not exactly comfortable. Alphonse is, as always, the best brother ever and brings him books from the Central’s library. Someone from the team calls him from time to time. Not much else happens.
The rest of the month, however, with a new and fitting automail leg, is a constant struggle to adapt. Not that he’s resigned to his current transmuted form — a few extra centimeters don’t hurt, right? — but outside of his and Al’s flat exist many challenges. The overwhelming mix of scents is one, and his newly found hearing sensibility proves to be another. He can hear Alphonse’s breathing from the other side of the room and car horns make him flinch like a frightened animal.
Of course, there are a few other noteworthy changes. His reflexes are sharper — he’s become a master of picking falling things up before they hit the floor — and acquired a weird taste for undercooked meat. Sleeping is a mystery; either he sleeps too much or stays wide awake for days in a row without much trouble. Even the new height isn’t perfect after all, since he’s still not used to the new balance point and fuck spending money on new clothes.
And his discomfort isn’t taken seriously apparently, because no one lets him see the goddamned array.
It takes Mustang a bit to give Alphonse any information. One morning Hawkeye shows up at their doorstep and drags the younger Elric out. Since then, the two arseholes have been working on the alchemy alone, not even bothering to share any of their research. That obviously angers Ed to no end, that he is being kept in the dark even though he’s the only one who was affected by the transmutation. It’s not really safe for him to be around the General, yes, and he will not get into much details about that, but it’s not justifiable. Alphonse could at least give him an update. Or Mustang could stop being such a controlling freak and just pass the whole thing onto Edward — he could surely work it out way faster.
Instead, they leave Ed to his own devices — which are, basically, trying to not get angry at people for how they smell. He begins to catalogue scents to try to avoid that precisely. He’s mostly looking for a pattern: what he likes and what makes him uncomfortable, those that calm him and those that leave him on the edge of a rage outburst.
Winry’s is a bit like dark chocolate — bitter, but sugary. Edward would never admit to her that he enjoys it very much, or that it brings a protective feeling to his chest as it does. It’s pleasant, not as calming as Alphonse, though it never fails to remind him that, yes, he does have a place to call home.
Hawkeye, the only member of the team he’s seen besides Mustang, smells like apple pie. Shocking, too shocking, so shocking Edward lock himself up in his room to laugh for a good half-an-hour. He expected so many things for her, but the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods was not one of them.
Most of the neighbors have what Ed started calling background scents — like street noise, perhaps; it’s there but not enough for you to care. One day, while collecting the correspondence, he bumps into the lady that lives next door: he sniffs at her, notices the perfume that is inherently hers, and forgets it as soon as he gets home. Background scent. Not that they even meet enough for Ed to remember her name, for god’s sake.
But he must thank her because it’s that fateful encounter that helps him gather the courage to leave the building.
For the first attempt, he begs for Alphonse to accompany him. There’s no way to know how far the heightened olfaction fucked up his already fucked up social behavior, and Al has to help him with that since he refuses to explain him the transmutation. It’s only fair. They go at night — fewer people, less noise, fewer chances of sending Ed spiraling down into an anxiety attack.
And everything goes well.
Edward can barely contain his relief. Yes, he can smell drunkards almost a whole block away and can partially comprehend conversations taking place across the street, but so what? It’s a beautiful, breezy summer night and Ed is not even bothered in the slightest. From time to time, Alphonse frowns at the sky, but Edward brushes it off as the usual worrying.
The following morning Ed feels bold, so he goes alone and only a few hours before lunchtime. There are cars everywhere now and he flinches a couple of times, and by the third block, the scents start mix curiously. He no longer detects each specific smell, but rather a mix of many things, which he probably won’t ever be able to explain to Alphonse. Street scent, perhaps, as if city and inhabitants are an entity in and of itself, — and Ed feels it all at once.
Like a machine or a body, he muses, a bunch of pieces that can’t be separated ‘cause they’ll just stop working.
He goes back home an hour later and by the doorstep he is certain of what they’re having for lunch.
“You shouldn’t go out today.”
Edward glares at the only other person in the room, “And whythefuckyou’re—“
“I mean it, Brother,” Alphonse lowers his notebook to properly look at the older Elric, “maybe you should keep it low this week.”
“‘M not tired.”
“I can see that but that doesn’t mean you’re fine,” Al snorts, “it’s pretty clear that you’re not fine.”
Which is true. All Ed has been doing since yesterday is walk around the flat, fidgety and hyperaware. He didn’t sleep a minute, instead going for a long, mindless walks — during one of those he almost attacked a cab driver; the guy was asking for it when he mistook Ed for a woman and catcalled him. He wants to go out again, his whole body is itching for it, he can’t stand being inside anymore, he’s been inside all day already
“Iam fine,” he smiles, trying to reassure the other, “I’m great, actually. I feel like I could run a marathon.”
“Thank you for proving my point, it’s almost night, please, don’t leave the apartment.”
And Ed does agree with him, partially. He shouldn’t leave, not when he’s feeling this skittish — who knows what reactions a busier environment could bring. But the prospect of staying in makes him feel like a caged animal, and he can’t have that. So he brushes Al off with a half-assed promise that he’ll be back soon, and exists their home a bit too eagerly.
Lacking a destination, Ed is once again a wandering man. Not that this is a bad thing, no: Edward is more at home when he’s wandering. Be it a short circuit around the block or a trip across the country, his home has always been the path and not the destiny. There’s no better feeling than shoving your hands inside the pants’ pockets and looking for a thing that you don’t really know you need until you bump into it.
He buys an apple from a street vendor and eats in large, fast bites, cleaning his hands on his shirt afterwards. His feet take him far away from the flat, and Edward is a mere spectator who watches as streets pass by and are left behind. At Av. Marston Court, he takes a left, and that’s when the idea of checking a bookshop pops up in his mind. With surer steps, he makes his way to the one on the crossing, which sells used books for a very interesting price — ideal for when Ed plans to stock up reading material.
The place is filled with dusty boxes and dustier shelves, and Edward breathes in the delicious smell of mold and old books. In this specific store it’s stronger, and not because Ed’s newly found olfactory prowess, but rather because it is. Naturally, inherently. He leisurely strolls through the stacks, his eyes falling on covers and titles and author’s names but not searching for anything in particular.
And then his nose picks up—
—that.
It’s not as strong as the first time, but it still makes him freeze up mid-way through reaching for a book. The hairs of his nape stand on end, his back instantly goes straight, and every muscle of his body tighten. He can almost hear the loud thud of his heart, beating heard and fast as if trying carve a way out of Ed’s chest.
Roy, his brain provides uselessly, Roy Roy Roy—
He sniffs, trying to pinpoint the man’s location; in the store, yes, but where. Stumbling through the aisles, he has to refrain from running towards the alluring smell — but he does follow it, like an eager puppy, looking into each corridor aisle hopefully every turn he makes.
As Edward gets used to the scent, the intensity of his reaction decreases significantly. He halts, scolding himself for his behavior; what gives him the right to stalk Mustang like this, especially when his feelings are… platonic? Feeling his face burning, he lowers his head and slumps against a shelf, shame building up and insisting for him to leave as soon as—
“Fullmetal?”
“Not an alchemist anymore…”
Roy is over there, and then right by Ed’s side because of course he would have to get closer. The blue military jacket hangs from his forearm and he is holding a book with a grey paper cover — a novel, probably, and, although Ed has never been one to read fiction, he still wants to ask about it. And he looks good — even if he’s in those clothes Edward always sees — since there’s probably not a single moment in the man’s life he doesn’t.
“Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
”It’s been years now,” he snorts, “I know your old man memory makes it all harder, but it’s time for you to catch up already.”
The raven-haired man opens his mouth, and rapidly closes it again — instead of words, what comes out is laughter. A small huffed sound that Edward takes a moment to admire.
“What’s so funny, Mustang?”
“Nothing, it’s just— I was going to make a joke about your diminutive height, but I’m not entitled to that anymore.”
Ed’s grin is larger than the Drachman border, “Fucking finally.”
They’re eye to eye now. In fact, Edward is even a bit taller, but that might just be the angle — or biased by Ed’s strong desire to one-up Mustang in something. The blond breathes in deeply, letting that overwhelming scent warm him up deliciously; his knees go a bit weak and he blinks at Roy in an attempt to regain his focus.
“Do you feel well enough to go back to work now?” Roy asks, with worry furrowing his brows.
“…”
“It’s been almost four weeks now.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, it’s just things have been kinda… complicated.” Ed has no idea if the slow nod Mustang gives him means more days off or simply acknowledgement, so he adds: “but I can go back whenever.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m feeling good and all that.”
Roy bites the corner of his bottom lip, “Yes, but I mean are you sure?”
Oh, Ed shivers, he’s talking aboutthat.
To say Roy knows a thing about that, would be a blatant lie — Ed had been very quick to shout for Mustang to get out that day. Still, the thought doesn’t stop the spike of fear, and neither the annoyance burning its way through his throat. He has to remind himself to stay calm, that Mustang probably thinks Ed just gets uncomfortable with his scent, that Alphonse would never expose him in such way.
Ed sighs, and this time the warmth that comes with inhaling settles in his chest, cocooning itself like a small animal underneath his ribcage.
“It’s alright, I’m getting used to the whole hypersensitivity thing, it doesn’t bother me so much.”
For the smallest second, Ed is sure he sees—
—that flash of disappointment.
Yeah, that’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?
Their following exchanges’ themes orbit around work, as they always do. Mustang tells him about Havoc, who was in charge of all paperwork involving the infamous Major Elric and couldn’t wait for said Major’s return to get rid of it. Edward chimes in when he supposes necessary, which is almost never — and his answers are mostly monosyllabic. As they exit the shop, Roy offers him a ride home in one of the military cars and Ed refuses, leaving the man baffled when he says he’ll walk back home.
He hangs around him until the car arrives, and he tells himself it is to keep Mustang company, but…
No one would really blame him for being selfish just this once, right?
