A/N: This little bit of whatever was inspired by a song called Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy. This song is seriously depressing, but really beautiful all the same. I was listening to it at 4am and my fingers started moving of their own volition. So, don't blame me, blame the fingers (that and the incredible slowness with which my other fic's final chapter is progressing – the damn thing is making me cuss more than Ed *GAH!*). Slight (very slight) AU, post-Promised Day, and obviously not in any way connected to my other (slow as an arthritic fucking snail!) fic.

Aside from that, I clearly don't own FMA or any of its characters, etc. I'm not that cool. I just own this fic *sniffle*.

(Revised 03.09.17)

"Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life." – A Fine Frenzy "Almost Lover"

The toughest shells often conceal the softest centers. We know this in theory. It makes sense. The hard shell is protection for the center that is too soft for its own good. Being tough on the inside is its own protection, so a hard shell would just be overkill. When we try to apply this theory to people, our brains tend to skid off the road. We automatically think of all the tough and proud and seemingly indifferent people that we know and scoff at the possibility that beneath that impenetrable exterior beats a heart that's breaking with every breath. We can't imagine that their hail and hardy smile is actually dredged up from beneath a pile of secret misery, that every ostensibly cheerful word is just so much spackle on the crumbling wall that hides a well of seething anguish.

I figure it's gotta be something along those lines that caused this . . . mess – that maybe he just couldn't conceive of what his hurtful words might do to me, how deep they'd cut. I hide my heartache like a champ. I bury all my guilt and insecurity beneath so much bullshit bravado that it would take some serious spelunking to see even a hint of it. In that way, I guess I was the author of my own downfall. I can't help but wonder if maybe he would have stayed if I had just let him in, let him know that underneath the façade I use to protect myself from the world is the same terrified, hurt, and remorseful child that he discovered all those years ago. But, in my defense, I thought he already knew. That's one of the reasons why I was with him. I thought he saw through my bullshit, the same way I thought I saw through his. Well, just because I'm a prodigy, doesn't mean I'm right all the time – but, damn it, when it comes to the important things, the really big things like this, I wish I was.

But, seriously, he's Roy fucking Mustang! He's the one who always plays it off like he knows what I'm up to even before I do. He acts like he knows everything all the damn time. Why didn't he know this? Why didn't he figure me out before it was too late? For that matter, why didn't I? I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were doing pretty well together. Sure, we never really properly defined our relationship, and hell only knows we couldn't announce it officially. The fact that it's a relationship between two men is bad enough in this day and age, but add to that the fact that he's my superior officer and fourteen years older than me – not to mention the fact that I've only recently just barely scooted past the legal age of consent – and it's sure to send the military that holds our leashes into an uproar. Things like reputation matter to Roy. He can't keep on trying to save the world if everybody thinks he's scum for sleeping with the youngest Major in the history of the military. People may smile and nod at his atrocious reputation as a womanizer, but after one look at his handsome face and entirely-too-sexy smirk it's easy to laugh that off as a given. However, his relationship with me – whatever it really was – wouldn't just push the envelope, it would take over the whole fucking mail room.

But, like I said, I never figured anything was really wrong with what we were doing. It started out as mutual attraction, and eventually evolved into deep affection . . . or so I thought. I feel I was justified to think so. He'd even said as much. I should have realized that all those gentle words, those sweet kisses and warm cradling arms, were just another mask. They arose in the heat of the moment only to cool once the storm had passed. Given how everything turned out, I'm glad I had never told him the truth . . . I kept those three most damning words locked away in my heart. If I had told him, I would have looked like an even bigger fool than I did already. Yeah, I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist, the great prodigy, the Alchemist of the People, blah, blah, blah, but not even I . . . not even I saw this con coming.

The most fucked up part about this whole thing, is that this was my very first relationship. I had always been too busy learning alchemy and researching the stone so I could bring my little brother's body back from beyond the Gate. Plus, I had to help the military clean up the bullshit mess they made of the country. There was hardly any time for sleep let alone romance. But after everything we went through on the Promised Day, after that hard, painful struggle yielded the end result I had put my whole childhood on hold to strive for, I decided that it was past time I learn what it's like to have a life. I wanted to finally reach for something that was for me alone. I should have known better. My sins aren't the kind that can be so easily swept aside with a bit of blood and a few tears. I should have known I hadn't atoned enough yet to deserve happiness. The fact that I still have to lug around two automail limbs should have been proof enough of that. Well, if I didn't know before, I sure as hell know now.

The question that haunts me the most now is how much longer will I have to pay for my sins before I can be at peace? Al's gone off to Xing to study Alkahestry. Winry's in Rush Valley perfecting her craft. I could have gone with either of them and finally left the military behind, but I stayed here, in Central. I stayed for him. I thought he might need me, and to be honest I'd been crushing on him for a long time, and thought I had a shot at making something work with him. I was so naïve. Now, I'm trapped, my hands tied by a silver chain, the silver pocket watch on the end of it pinning me in place. I don't have Roy or my brother or my best friend. I just have my unwanted military commission and the name and reputation I've grown to hate that marks me as the military's pet. Who knows? Maybe he actually slept with me just to convince me to stay. At this point, I wouldn't put anything past him.

My eyes sting constantly these days. I've been fighting back tears for days now, and so far it's a fight that I've won. But every day, it gets a little harder, the victory not as clear. Everybody knows that Edward Elric doesn't cry. What they don't know is that it's not because I'm strong; it's because I'm scared of my own weakness. There's a heavy darkness building in my chest, yawning and hungry and desperate to devour me. The dark days after my mother's death gave birth to it, and it's been fed and nurtured by every hardship, every sin, every failure, every scrap of despair or hint of defeat. I know I can't let it win. I can't succumb to it, because I know that that way lies death. But it's hard, you know? No matter how hard I work, how many desperate fights I win, or how many impossible goals I achieve, in the end, I'm always the one to come out with nothing to show for it all but a few more scars and a deepening of the all-devouring darkness in my chest.

I'm getting so damn tired. I can barely drag myself out of bed these days. Food all tastes the same, so half the time I don't even bother with it. And every fucking time I have to walk into that office and listen to his flippant fucking tone as that smug-ass Bastard sits there like he has not a care in the god damn world, I just want to scream until my lungs collapse. But I don't. I can't. I can never let him see me flinch. I never let him see me fall. He gave up that right. It's almost better that he hasn't tried to show me any sympathy. If he did, I'd cave his fucking face in – hell, I may just do it anyway for shits and giggles. And every time I have to watch him flirt with whatever dumb girl that's caught his eye, or hear him chatting with the guys about his many conquests, I die a little more inside. So I run away. What else can I do? It's not like the Bastard has had any real missions for me lately, so I claim "research" and make myself scarce.

I spend as much time in the library as I can – not the main branch which holds bad memories despite being recently reconstructed, but rather the university library which has never been destroyed by homunculi nor represented shattered hope, and, most importantly, is not teeming with uptight State Alchemists. The quiet of the university library is soothing. I like listening to the soft rustle of pages turning, breathing in the scent of the dust and leather and old paper. I can almost feel the weight of that accumulated knowledge, and it grounds me, centers me, gives me something to cling to so I don't drown in the flood. Forget churches and Gods and angels and religions or whatever. This is my temple. This is my place of worship. It's my only sanctuary.

"Hey, aren't you that guy? That Alchemist for the People? Um . . . the Fullmetal Alchemist or something, right?" asked a young man in a whisper, suddenly interrupting my fucking communion, the bastard.

Like all sanctuaries, this place has a downside. I've spent so much time here that everybody knows who I am. Yeah, I'm famous, I guess, but this is home for scholars, and they all know what a fucking miracle it is to pass the State Alchemist exam at twelve years old. Since I don't wear the red coat anymore, people in the outside world mostly don't recognize me – thank fucking heavens for that – but I have no such luck here. I may as well be wearing a sign on my neck and selling myself as a side-show exhibit. But since it's the library and nobody is allowed to shout or even talk above a whisper, their attention is easy to ignore – and if I get tired of them staring I can get myself a reading room and hole up like the mole I am.

"Yeah, so what?" I replied irritably. "What's it to you?"

"S-sorry . . . I-I-I mean . . . I didn't . . . I, um, I didn't mean to, um, interrupt your research," stammered the guy, his whole face turning beet red. I almost kind of felt sorry for the guy, so I let him off the hook and softened my expression a little before he had an aneurism or something. "I know you're probably really busy, Mr. Elric, sir, but you see . . . I, um, come here every day, pretty much. I'm a student at the university, you see – in the alchemy department." He does have that sort of university student look to him – tousle-haired, tired, and generally disheveled. He's not bad-looking though. He's got short but shaggy auburn hair and the biggest most guileless brown cow-eyes I've ever seen set in an olive-toned slightly rounded face. He gives an overall impression of "friendly". "I noticed you a while back . . . way before I knew who you are. 'Cause you come in here almost as much as me, but I never see you at the university, so I was kind of curious. Then I found out that you're the Edward Elric. I heard you started alchemy pretty young, and I did too, so . . . I just figure you probably know how it is, being a young guy in an old man's field. Um, forgive me, if this is too forward, but um . . . would you be willing to . . . g-get coffee with me? And maybe, you know, talk shop? I don't get to meet many alchemists close to my own age, so . . . I don't know, I thought maybe . . ."

I'm not too macho to admit that I seriously gaped at him for what must have been a solid minute. Did this adorable, dopey looking stranger just ask me out? Did I really just hear that? Nobody's ever really flirted with me before, so I really don't have a frame of reference for "flirting". I mean, I get it academically and thanks to Roy Rat-Bastard Mustang I've seen it plenty. I've just never been a target of it. And it's also entirely possible that this guy just wants to hang out as fellow alchemists and possibly friends. Either way, I couldn't find it in my heart to say no. I could really use some friendly conversation and I always love talking shop, I just don't get many chances to. Like he said, alchemy is an old man's field, and most of those geezers are either off their rockers or have no respect for me because of my age. I guess that's why, even in the depths of my current misery, I felt a faint stirring of excitement at the prospect of idly discussing alchemy with somebody close to my age – someone besides Al, that is.

"Sure," I said at last, viciously yanking my composure back in place. I dredged up a friendly smile for him – from where, I don't even know. "There's a café just up the street where I usually go relax when I need a break. They've got awesome pastries."

"Perfect!" exclaimed the guy, and he grinned like I'd just given him a brand new car. "I'm Leon, by the way, Leon Stanley," he said, offering me his hand to shake.

"Call me Ed," I told him, my smile turning fractionally more genuine. "Good to meet you." And, surprisingly, I meant it.

I gathered the books I had been reading, Leon grabbing half of them for me without prompting, and we carried them up to the desk for the librarian to hold for me like she always did. I offered the middle-aged woman a grin and a wave which, for some reason, always made her blush, then lead Leon toward the door. We stepped out into the bright sun and the softly lingering warmth of the early autumn day, squinting and grumbling about the blast of blinding brightness in our faces and yet thankful for it all the same. I knew that suddenly finding a new friend – or maybe something more? – wasn't going to mend my broken heart or pull me out of the bureaucratic prison that was my military career, but maybe it might at least make today just a little bit better. It wasn't anything big, nothing all that life-changing, but, you know, it was still something good. And maybe that could be enough. Maybe I could make it be enough. I had plenty enough bad shit floating around me, past and present, so I know how to appreciate a rare spot of goodness when it appears. I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe there might still be a glimmer of hope for me after all. Stranger things have happened . . .

"Goodbye my almost lover. Goodbye my hopeless dream. I'm trying not to think about you. Can't you just let me be? Goodbye my luckless romance. My back is turned on you. Should've known you'd bring me heartache. Almost lovers always do." – A Fine Frenzy "Almost Lover"