Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.

Song: Long Hallway With a Broken Light - Thriving Ivory

You live here in a photograph. . .

It's a snapshot from the past that flutters to the ground when she picks up his jacket.

It's a second before she realizes what it is of.

It's a picture of the two of them from the days when he was her fathers apprentice, years before either of them joined the military. They are both sitting on the front steps to her house, eating cookies. She is eight, he is twelve. It had been the one time his sister Evvie had taken the train north to come and visit him. She'd just gotten a camera for her birthday, and had been delighted to have a chance to use it. He'd received a letter several weeks later full of photos of the two of them. Most of them were taken when neither one was looking, or from a funny angle, or only half of a face is captured.

She doesn't know why he keeps it with him, but this isn't the first time she's seen it. Each time she does, it brings a smile to her face. It reminds her of times when things were simpler.

She hangs the jacket over the back of his chair and tucks the photo into the pocket before leaving for her lunch break.

He returns to the room five minutes later to find the papers on his desk straightened, his jacket draped over his chair and a cup of fresh coffee left out.

He smiles then, because he knows she's the one who has done it.

He settles down to work. The fact that he has to work through his lunch break to make up for being sick the day before doesn't matter so much anymore.