A/N: A slightly fluffy-toward-the-end RoyEd fiction I wrote when I should have been studying.

The smell of ashes nearly makes it impossible to breathe. Faintly in the back of my mind I can remember experiencing this before, and cold, hard dread pours into my stomach.

Opening my eyes, I see what I was faintly expecting; a ruined city. Bricks which might have once been buildings lie in charred piles, and a breeze blows a new scent toward me. Flesh; burned flesh. The people of this city have been burned.

"Who did this?"

There are people behind me, I haven't looked, but I know it.

"You did."

My heart first stops, and then doubles its pace.

"No..."

"Hero of the rebellion."

"Killed them all"

"Did you see that?"

"Nice shot, Mustang."

Maes, Riza, Havoc, Edward, their voices mix and become part of a swarm of voices.

They won't shut up; I need to make them stop talking. I draw a breath of ash-flesh-air and empty it as violently as my lungs are able-

"HEY!"

AIR pours back into me as if my throat had become some kind of black hole; I open my eyes and see the death grip on the desk, and the resulting white knuckles. Blinking doesn't clear my vision much; not at first anyway. After a few seconds I can see who it was that has shaken me awake, leaning to grasp my shoulder in his hand.

"Edward?"

In the flesh; literally. Though it's been a year since he managed to win his real limbs back from the gate, and the blond youth has changed dramatically since then, it is without a doubt, Edward. The same long blond hair and thin, nearly effeminate jawline, and certainly the same smouldering golden eyes I saw burning in a wheelchair, all those years ago. Except now there's an expression I haven't seen close-up before. Is that concern?

"You were hollering in your sleep."

"Oh."

I push myself back into my chair, rolling my shoulders. Ugh, didn't mean to fall asleep on the desk; it's always so uncomfortable afterward. But I guess that's what happens after two all-nighters. I don't even remember getting sleepy. And Hawkeye's too damn considerate to wake me up; trauma by kindness.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"Hmph. You're welcome. Yeah, I need some time off. Gimme two weeks."

My head must still be thick from waking up. "What."

"Look I don't want this time but I don't have a choice, Al won't get off my back. Here." He shoves some paper at me, I take it from him. It's a doctor's note. I look back up; Al had started practicing medical alchemy as soon as he'd gotten his body back, and his skill was hardly less adept than his brother's; he'd not only graduated school early, but with honours. And now is free to not only bug his older brother about his unhealthy living habits, but actually do something about them as well.

On the note of the diminutive alchemist, he's also still adorable when he's blushing.

"Stress leave?"

"Like I said, Al won't get off my back unless I take it easy for a while; and I want to get away from these god-forsaken offices anyway. Just a couple weeks."

"Well, it's easy to see why you would need the time; you move a lot for someone with such a small body."

His angered twitch amuses me, though I still miss his hysterical shrieks which he claims to have matured beyond. I reach for a pen. "All right then; sit at home and be lazy for a couple weeks; that's an order, Fullmetal. I don't need you getting shut down; way too much paperwork."

I've been given myself excuses to cover my worrying for far too long; I didn't even have to think about that one.

Ed essentially tears the paper out of my hand before my pen leaves it. He storms out of the office; the same way he always does.

Stress leave; maybe I need some of that. I barely ever sleep these days; actually I spend my days keeping active so that I can essentially run on caffeine and adrenaline until I have to crash unwillingly. Thought of sleeping drives my mind back to the dream, and I wrench it away.

After all, the return of those dreams is the reason I don't sleep.

---

I manage to make it all the way outside before slamming my head against the wall of Central Command's exterior. It hurts like a son of a bitch, and doesn't help much to make me think straight.

God-damn that bastard colonel! What business does he have getting into my head like that; bad enough he's got to make me worried of all things; man sounded terrified in his sleep, but did he have to stare at me, all 'so-sleepy-woke-up-still-confused'-like, too? It was FAR too easy to relocate that face to another scene in my mind's eye; and that was one image I did not need to be contemplating.

Not at work, anyway.

I start walking. It's that or scream; I can't help it, my mind's been running in circles like this since I'm not sure exactly when. All I know is I can't get that stupid cocky aggravating, depressingly good-looking colonel out of my head. Damned if anyone will catch me admitting it, though. Bad enough, liking men; that screws my social life up just by itself. There's no way I can tell Winry, let alone Al, though maybe he might feel freer to pursue his obvious crush on my mechanic if I did. I can't flirt with people where anyone might see, or risk losing my job and non-social-leper status, that's bad enough. But of all people; of all the men in Central or anywhere else, why the blue bloody hell do I have to be going out of my skull over THAT man? Undeniably straight, and my boss, not to mention fourteen years my senior; totally untouchable. Not to mention that goddamn SMILE.

He should get that smirk trademarked; he could call it the "I-know-you're-acknowledged-across-the-country-as-being-much-older-than-you-look-mentally-and-physically-and-you've-spent-just-about-a-third-of-your-life-with-me-in-or-around-this-office-but-you-don't-understand-so-go-home" smirk.

God that smirk pisses me off; the man's as readable as an open book, even someone who didn't have the world's knowledge poured into their mind at a hundred kilometres an hour could tell what he was thinking.

Hell, WINRY could probably tell that something was bothering him, and aside from mechanics and things that could be thought of in mechanical terms, woman honestly isn't that bright.

Forget it, I think, storming past the gates with my hands plunged deep into my pockets. I'm going home, going to sleep, and not thinking about him or anything else for at least the space of a few hours. That seems to be the best way to avoid it, these days.

---

~*~

---

The next day I opted to walk to work instead of driving. I still don't know why; it just seemed like a good idea. Walking is a good way to get over things, I find, and since I accidentally caught some sleep last night, I need distractions to take those visions out of my head.

Distractions like the gold-haired youth working the mixed-martial training hall. Wasn't he supposed to be taking it easy? I can see Ed as the type to find kicking and slamming the living hell out of a ring of posts relaxing, but even as something of a masochist I can say that it can't be good for him.

I glance at my watch; I've still got plenty of time before work; too much, actually. Can't hurt to drop in; I haven't trained in forever anyway; setback to being a pencil pusher.

It's cool in the building; the drone of air conditioning is rather unwelcome as it's too early for it to be warm out yet, and on the eastern side of the street, this building is still in the shade.

"What are YOU doing here?"

I shouldn't feel like I've been caught spying, really, but that doesn't make the accusing voice any less startling. Edward has stopped fighting the synthetic-leather enemies, and is standing, breathing slightly hard, facing me.

I sort through a few masks in my head and choose a smug expression. "I could ask you the same question. Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy?" I briefly consider threatening to tell Alphonse, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood for banter.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?"

Well, turnabout is fair play, I guess. Still, he's not as good at avoiding a subject as me. "I left early. It's not good for you to be pushing yourself, Ed."

"What do you care?" he turns back to the nearest post and slips back into action as if he'd never stopped moving. The blows he delivers to that poor thing can be heard even where I am; has he been fighting that hard the whole time? How are his hands not bruised?

"I just know its not good to just push yourself to exhaustion, I'm not going to stand by and let someone I know do that, much less my subordinate whose wellbeing is at least partially my responsibility."

I'm losing my touch; that excuse is barely even viable.

"Says the man who fell asleep on his desk."

Ouch; maybe he is getting better at this. I don't even know how to argue that one; he's got a good point. Driving myself to exhaustion and then crashing has pretty much been my lifestyle for the past half a year.

"You did that once before, too."

He caught me off guard. "Huh?"

"Fell asleep on your desk" He's not looking at me, and he fits his words smoothly between movements; somehow forming working sentences instead of the usual detached clusters of grunted words that come from talking when fighting. "Lieutenant Hawkeye woke you that time."

Oh yeah, I remember that. It stands out because usually she lets me sleep and just lectures me for being lazy later. "It's not that unusual for paperwork to put a guy to sleep, you know." A flimsy excuse at best; transparent at worst.

"She woke you up because you were hollering."

Damn.

"Do you have a point, Fullmetal?" My tone is a little harsher than I intended, but it is not exactly an ego-booster to be caught in a state of vulnerability, and being reminded puts me in a bad mood.

"Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to take better care of himself. You get night terrors, don't you?"

I open my mouth, but I should probably know what I'm going to say first, because I just end up closing it again. He could have stopped with the comment of taking care of myself, though that by itself was unusual enough.

"I used to have nightmares every time I closed my eyes; those years ago, after my brother and I tried to bring mom back."

He's still fighting, not looking at me; it's been long enough that he can name that attempt without flinching or looking like someone had set a weight on him, but it's hard to say if it's still the reason behind the increased force he directed as he continued. "but I didn't run from sleep, I found a way to confront those fears and I fought them. I may be small-" I'm surprised that post didn't snap in two -"but at least I'm not a coward!"

OUCH

I feel like he threw that last blow straight at my chest; did he really just... no, no I'm hearing things. Ed's always been a smart-mouth, but he's not so stupid as to try calling ME a coward, is he? And besides that; when the hell did LOGIC earn itself a place in his line of thinking?

Without air, I can't really say anything at this particular juncture, and I don't know what I would say if I could. So instead I just watch; Ed is being just as quiet as me, though the glare he's directing at one post after another could crack a stone statue, and the blows he's still throwing out are making me wonder what the hell those things are made of.

It strikes me that I've never watched Edward fight before. Somehow it's just never come up; Edward works alone, and I have a desk job so it's not like he accompanies me anywhere for work, and while we got caught in a few scuffles during the fight with the homunculi, I was a bit too caught up saving my own skin to enjoy the show.

It's certainly a good show, it almost drives that 'coward' comment out of my mind. Almost.

---

He's staring. He's staring. Mad? Glaring? No, just staring. Staring at me. My face feels hot even though this place is entirely too cold. I try decapitating the next pole; these things are entirely too sturdy.

He IS staring. Staring much too long. Or am I overthinking it? Damnit! Another extra hard hit, driven by sheer frustration. The same Mustang-brand frustration that kept me up half of last night.

It's my own fault for saying so much; I should have just told him to get lost.

Thing is, I don't really want him to leave it alone. It's not a good feeling, watching him walk about with those obvious bags under his eyes, half-awake half the time, knowing some terror plagues him behind his eyelids. I know from experience what its like to be afraid of blinking.

"Is that so?"

Smug, as always; a challenge presented in a smoky voice. I stop.

He doesn't explain himself; he just changes the damn topic. "So who are you fighting? Anyone I know?"

I spin to face him; I cannot possibly be that obvious; lots of people fight their anger away and look like they're just training; so how the hell can he tell? Anyway I can hardly say it's that 'you-don't-get-it' smirk of his that I'm aiming at.

"I- I'm fighting the post... dumbass" The insult is belated, lacks punch, and I think we both know it.

"I don't think you are."

He turns away before I can insist; silently ending the conversation. But of course he has to get the last word. And it has to send a shock through my veins and force me to stomp hope back into its corner.

"Take care of yourself, Ed."

---

~*~

---

I toss over just one more time before getting out of bed and getting dressed again. Damn that bastard Mustang and being on my mind so damn much! I can't even sleep; my best haven locked off by a pair of coal-black eyes that only blink slowly. He WAS staring at me earlier. Or was he just shocked that the steel-hearted Fullmetal had admitted such a personal thing as suffering from nightmares before? That WAS kind of unusual of me; or was he offended that I'd called him a coward? I've called him names before, but coward WAS kind of a low blow; what if he's mad at me for real this time?

It takes concentration not to slam the door behind me and wake Al across the hall. But what if he wasn't mad? What if he was...impressed? No, of course not. My face burns with the stupidity of just thinking such a thing. But... what if... can I even dare to dream it?

I'm quiet on the way out of the house, on my way down the steps I even go to the length of avoiding the squeaky stairs, but I'm still pissed off, and I make it a point to stop my way down the street. If sleep won't take over my mind for a few hours, I'll let alcohol do it.

It's a fifteen minute walk to the pub down the street; when you're walking in the dead of night that seems a lot longer, but the distance does nothing to abate my mind running around like it's on some kind of narcotic, and when I find myself pushing open the front door, I'm still nowhere near ready or at peace enough to relax into oblivion.

Shit.

I don't need to see the face of the dark-haired man in military uniform, heavy jacket dropped across his knees, dress shirt un-tucked, sitting with his back to me to recognize him. And I don't care why he's there at one in the morning in this backwater all-night place that doesn't even have a dance floor. I just wish he wasn't.

I almost turn around and leave, but it took only a second for the door to THUD shut behind me, dragging his attention up to glance this direction.

'don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me don't-' all my mental pleading is for nothing, recognition flares in the narrow black eyes and his posture changes, unfolding his arms from the bar to raise a hand in greeting.

Shit.

---

Somehow working and radio weren't cutting it for fending off sleep. Because for once, I'm actually undecided as to whether I want to or not. On the one hand, if I'm asleep, I can all-but guarantee that I can stop thinking about the side of Ed I saw earlier that today; when did that twelve-year-old-boy he recruited all those years ago transform into a man? Handsome, powerful, strong, intelligent, passionate... what the hell? No. No, absolutely no. Bad Roy, Bad. Ed is off-limits; he's still way too young. Waay too young. Not to mention your subordinate, not to mention straight.

Though, considering how much time he spends around Miss Rockbell, who walks about in little more than pants and a bra, and manages not to notice, that's rather debatable.

A yawn forces my eyes shut, and I slump forward before forcing myself back to sitting straight. It's not worth it; I can live with the new view of Edward stimulating my brain; it's better than facing those memories again. Gods it's better.

Still not good, but better. I need more liquor.

The drink burns its way down my throat, and I revel in the rough pain as it fades. That helps. Still, I can't help that my eyelids are dragging downward. What time is it, anyway?

Half past one; the night's barely even begun. Regular places aren't even closed yet, and I'm still fending off sleep? This cannot bode well. I flip it back shut and eye the state alchemist emblem on it. It seems to suck me in; I can smell ashes.

I shove it back in my pocket a little too violently. How did the others ever deal with this? Just my luck to be such an introvert.

Movement by the door, followed by the dull thudding sound of it dropping shut pulls my attention upward, and my eyes widen as I realise who it is.

Now what on earth is Ed doing here? Still, there's no denying it's him; no one else would have the audacity – or alternatively the lack of shame – to wear that tacky red coat in public. That and the height; I'm not so drunk that I can picture anyone but Edward that short.

I wave him over, not quite sure why. It occurs to me that if nothing else conversation can keep me awake; even if it dissolves into me insulting his height and him inventing new expletives on the spot, the way a conversation with Edward usually does. It's weird about that, though; there have been a few times I could have sworn I saw a smile creep onto his face as he was storming out. And I don't really mind the insults; even if his reports are always addressed to 'colonel (Bastard) Mustang', it's better than no communication at all. Its bad enough people don't bother letting me know when he ends up in hospital half the time, I think I'd probably worry myself to an earlier grave that I already do if Ed himself never spoke to me.

Ed hesitates, glancing over his shoulder, before heading over to me. "What, no warm milk to make the bad dreams go away?" he asks, grating the words out as if taunting a small child. Well that stung, but at this point, I don't really care. He called me a coward for avoiding my dreams earlier; why should I expect that trend to change? But I'm too tired to defend myself; if we're going to fight then I need it to be him losing his cool, not me.

"That's supposed to make you tired, Ed. Last thing I want right now."

Ed is silent, looking distrusting. What, no comeback?

I am saved by the awkward silence by the bartender sauntering by with a pleasant smile for the blond alchemist. Ed drops his watch on the bar for ID before being asked. The barkeep raises his eyebrow but doesn't question it; shame. I love seeing the look on people's faces when they find out he's for real probably as much as Ed does. But he doesn't really look like a child anymore; not after first glance anyway. No more baby fat, his jawline, though still slim and curved, no longer has the rounded look of a small child; there's a determined set to it that matches the hardness behind his eyes. All the same, he still manages to surprise me.

"What can I get you?"

"Scotch, straight up."

I stare. I can't help it; hard liquor? Since when does Ed drink alcohol? I guess he's been legal since about half a year ago, and even so backwater places like this often served minors if they were close enough;

"What?"

Damn, I was staring again.

"Tough stuff for a little guy."

"Don't call me small."

That was awefully quiet.

"Eh?" I poke his shoulder in case he's falling asleep or something; "You realise I just called you short, right?"

"I'm tired. I want to sleep."

Possibly the most nonsensical thing I've heard today. "Then why are you here and not at home in bed?"

"I can't sleep. My mind isn't tired yet. Thanks." He pulls the drink toward him and studies it. "To train the mind, you have to train the body. Killing your liver and suffocating your central nervous system aren't very good ways to train the body, but..." he took a drink from it, and I watched him cringe, eyes watering. "Shit, that's hard. But it's better than going crazy thinking too much."

"Running from your problems again?" I can't resist; if he's allowed to insult me for staying up, I can toss a few barbs his way, as well.

"Well what about you?"

"Fair enough."

I get to my feet, and pull my coat on as Edward eyes his drink with a certain amount of dread.

"Walk with me?"

"W-what?" Visibly mature or not, he still sends out this aweful desire to hug him, or at least ruffle his hair or something, when he blushes. Really, it's not fair for someone to be allowed to switch from handsome to huggable in such a hurry.

"Well, I don't want to sleep, and you want to be more tired, let's walk. It's better than just drinking yourself into oblivion." I reason, dragging my thoughts away from Ed's appearance.

Well, those reasons and I seem to be seeing a few other sides of Edward that had been closed off before; though how I could be around him so many years and not know him inside and out was beyond me. I wouldn't mind seeing more.

He looks confused, but I still hear his clunky boots following me as I exit the pub.

---

What is he up to?

I watch him carefully through the corners of my eyes as we leave the building and reenter the cold night air, and start walking along the street. He walks with his back straight, hands in his pockets, and anyone who couldn't see the circles under his eyes or the weariness behind them would think hew as alert as if he'd just woken up. But still, walking? Is he making fun of me, or just trying to help, like he said, or teasing me? Possibly making a pass of some kind?

I feel my pulse speed up at the thought, but quickly shush it back down. I really need to stop being so unrealistic, even if this massive, mind-consuming, insomnia-producing THING going on in my head and heart is real, Mustang likes women. Only women; that's obvious to anyone who'd even heard of him. Ladies man; it was practically his second name.

Roy Mustang: the Flirty Alchemist.

Heh.

Looking aside at him, though; he doesn't really look like he's in the mood for fun of any kind. Secure after a few minutes that I won't be caught staring, I notice his hair's a mess, like he's been pushing his hand through it the way he does when he's irritated. And he's staring at the ground, not straight ahead, even though he faces forward.

Shit, he caught my eye again; to avoid explaining the blush that covers my face at the contact, I speak before he can.

"You really should sleep."

"I really don't want to at the moment."

I should have commented on the weather or something, but my mouth is running on autopilot and concern and my filter has been destroyed at this hour. So I go ahead and ask. "What do you see?"

"Paving-stones, why?"

"Don't be a smartass." God, I'm stupid. I need to stop talking; talking too much is what got me feeling so confused and awkward and up late in the first place. But I've started asking now and I can't stop; getting control over what I do gets hard when Roy is around anyway, but I seem to be doing worse lately. "I mean, what is it you dream of that's so aweful?"

Silence. Okay, that was going too far. What right did I have to know, anyway? I bite down on my tongue; hard. Ouch. He had no reason to tell me anything beyond my latest orders; why should I expect him to confide something so-

"The war."

Now it's my turn to be quiet. Well shit. And I'd gone and called him a coward and insulted him and.... shit. Damnit. How unfair of him to actually have a viable reason! Somehow it seems like a personal insult, though I know it isn't one. I don't know what to say to that, so I just walk quietly and wait for him to continue or change the subject. He continues.

"I haven't been running from this forever; I know what I did; I know it was wrong, but I was going to change the way this country runs, to atone for it, even in part. That was enough; to have something to live for. Gave me peace; let me sleep at night, if literally nothing else."

I swallow, hard. First I couldn't stop talking, and now I can't start. He's not done, anyway. And as I listen, the cold ball of regret in my stomach changes into something else; it's definitely twisted in more ways than one to be wondering such a thing at such a time but... is he actually treating me as a confidante? Had he told anyone else about this? Roy never talks about the war; not that I've heard, anyway. He wouldn't tell me about it when I asked, those years ago, and I've never heard anyone say something like "Mustang told me" concerning it. I know what happened; his part in it. I kind of had to; he was part of the campaign that had killed my best friend's parents. I'm long past forgiving him for that, too. So is Winry; it wasn't directly his fault; he didn't even know about them, and if he hadn't been on that campaign, someone else would have been. Still; uncovering that much had taken some doing. Even though I want nothing more than to drag him down to my level so I can hug the broken spirit that leaks through his words, I can't help feeling special that he's telling me all this.

"After what happened, with the stone, the homunculi... Military power alone can't protect the people I care about anymore; they can't even protect the people I DON'T give a damn for. Not only that, but people I looked up to; people I respected, turned out to be totally untrustworthy; people I would have sworn on the honour of turned out to be capable of horrors. My dream, no, my Goal; it's not enough anymore. Even if I can take this country; I can't take its people. I can't guarantee anyone."

The silent night was the loudest thing I'd ever heard, and I study my boots as I walk.

"Maybe..." My voice sounds alien, even though I feel it coming from my own mouth. "Maybe you don't have to be sure of everything; maybe... maybe you just need one thing. A lifeline. One thing."

One thing; one driving force. Wasn't that what anyone needed? One thing, one person, that you could depend on.

"Maybe."

And just like that, it was over, his voice was sealed up, polished and velveted, and utterly unreadable. No longer Roy, just the Colonel.

It was a few minutes before he broke the silence, trying to sound lighthearted and failing.

"So what about you, Ed? What's so aweful here in the waking world?"

Damnit; I feel my face getting hot again, and I try to lean forward a little so that my bangs will hide it. I can't exactly tell him that he's the reason I don't want to be awake. But I can't just say 'nothing' at this point, either; not when he went and bared his goddamn soul like that. Damnit. Well, maybe I can just avoid it somehow.

"Just...confused." I offer; hoping that will be specific but vague enough. He waits for me to go on, then presses. Son of a bitch.

"About what?"

"...someone." that ought to be enough to satisfy his curiosity, right? My face feels like it's going to burn off.

"Anybody I know?"

I almost laugh at the irony; maybe I can just drop a hint.

"Yeah, pretty sure."

"Must be pretty important to be turning you narcoleptic." He observes, watching me carefully through the corners of his eyes.

If he doesn't stop watching me I am going to say something stupid again.

"Heh, yeah, I guess so."

Silence. Is he letting it go? I look up again, and once again the accidental eye contact floods red across my face, smouldering at my ears. I hastily return my stare to my toes. My brain has been officially liquefied; I don't even want to try to decipher that expression. I don't dare.

Yet somehow, I dare to be incredibly stupid, or brave. I actually go ahead and volunteer information. Because that is what a person does when his brain has been turned into useless goo.

"I can't tell them though. That's the thing; I can't ever tell them I care, not even when I think they really need to hear it."

I don't see the frown so much as hear it.

"She's spoken for?"

"No."

My heart is pounding in my ears; have I made a mistake? Or is this a chance? Hell; we're alone, we're actually talking without honourifics; when else can I get a chance? If this goes sour I can just say it's someone else, right?

It's difficult to form a cohesive counterargument with my puddle-brain, so I press on ahead. I steal a side glance at him; yep, he's still watching me, waiting for an explanation.

"Person's a guy."

I say it faster than I intended; actually I more like blurt it out.

He's startled; it's obvious.

"Oh."

Nothing else, nothing readable; just 'oh.' This was a mistake. Just saying that much was a mistake. Damn my goo-brain to it's euphoric 'Roy-is-interested-in-my-problems' hell.

"You gonna tell anyone?"

"No. No I don't think so."

Figures. "Keep that for blackmail later, huh?" Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid-

"No, I just know how that goes firsthand; it's never fun when people start figuring it out."

I blink. Once, twice, and then I turn and out-and-out stare.

"What?"

His smirk looks just as tired as the rest of his face; it's letting a little bit of real-smile leak through. I can't tell if it's on purpose or not. "You gonna tell anyone?"

"N-no..."

WE both face forward and continue to walk, quiet.

And somewhere in the pit of my stomach; that cold iron weight has dissolved. I have to be dreaming; I can't believe it. It's not impossible. Well, it may be, but... not as impossible as I thought it was; and as peace unfolds over me, I dare to think maybe... just maybe...

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" It's work to drag my thoughts out of this reverie, and I don't feel like doing it.

"ED!"

A sharp grip on his shoulder pulls me literally out of my train of thought seconds before a horn heralds the passing of a car.

I notice it only detachedly, as his pulling me back from the street has landed me with my face pressed into his shirt. He's warm; he smells like gunpowder and salt and steel and faintly of alcohol.

He says something, but it barely even registers. So comfortable, so warm...

---

Edward has fallen asleep standing up.

Not only that; he has fallen asleep, standing up, leaning against me.

I'd ask what the hell, but he's asleep, and I don't think that question would quite cover it. He just about got hit by a car and he fell asleep? Whoever he was thinking about sure had him exhausted. He doesn't even seem to hear me tell him the obvious; that we should probably turn around and get him home.

And now that he's asleep, well... I'm not sure I ought to wake him. Shifting to support him with my arms instead of my chest – a decidedly less exhausting posture – I decide I'm lying to myself if I say I even want to wake him up. His weight is comfortable, his steady, warm breathing is not a bad sensation.

I swallow hard. Of course I really ought to wake him up, but I don't even know where his house is, and he's SO tired; it'd be cruelty to wake him up and then make him walk. No; I don't know the way to his house, but I know the way to mine, and it's not far. Not so far that I can't take back-roads the way there, anyway.

It's not as difficult as I thought it would be to carefully lift him; it's a good thing he's so small.

I start walking; well, he sure threw me a curveball. Who would have thought Ed liked men? Well, who would have seriously thought it and not briefly considered it in a highly illegal ghost of a dream of a fantasy?

That train of thought makes me mentally smack myself; Bad Roy. Ed is off limits; he can crash on your couch as a common courtesy if you don't fall asleep, yourself on the way there.

I let myself in through the tiny patch of ground I considerately refer to as my backyard. Getting the door open is awkward, but I manage to do it without waking the sleepy blond in my arms.

I manage to get to the sofa and lay him down across the cushions before sinking to a seat, myself. I'll just sit for a minute before grabbing a blanket from the closet for him; for a little guy, he sure got heavy after a while.

I lean my head back against the back of the couch; so tired...

---

~*~

---

I woke up to gray early morning light on my face. Blinking myself awake, I find myself on a couch; the light is coming from an unfamiliar window, the blinds of which are open. It looks like it's still way too early to be awake.

Sitting up to try and figure out where I've ended up, I nearly have a heart attack.

Roy Mustang has fallen asleep in his clothes on the end of the couch, just at my feet.

AND my mind starts running in crazy circles again. This must be Roy's house; the last thing I remember is him pulling me back from the street. Did I fall asleep on my feet? I must have; I don't remember walking anywhere after that. And that means he must have carried me here.

Should I go? I should find some way to thank him, if nothing else. Why hadn't he just woken me up after I fell asleep? He had every excuse to.

Slowly, an idea dawns, and I slip off the couch as quietly as I could, and cross the room to close the blinds all the way. I remove my boots while I'm near the door, and tiptoe to the closet that I can see in the hall. I strike it lucky; it's full of a million and two random things that he probably just randomly shoved in, but among them is an old blanket.

I sneak back, take a second to push my heartbeat back down, and draw the blanket around my shoulders, tossing the corner up over the colonel – no, over Roy's shoulder as well before curling up by his side. The blanket's warm, but he's warmer, and I can hear his heartbeat pulsing slowly. Idly, I wonder if he'll throw me across the room or just burn me to a cinder when he wakes up. Either I'm too tired to care, or too stupid, or my mind has once again been rendered unusable and it doesn't matter.

It's probably a huge, left-field assumption to think that he won't mind; hell, that he won't kill me upon waking up is a lot to hope for, let alone that he might be receptive, of all things. But I'm too sleepy to care, and too comfortable to move now. And even if he does get mad, I don't think I'd trade this for gold.

It takes a minute for me to realise, and when it does, I look up at him, breathing steadily, and find myself actually trying to keep my eyes open so that I can keep looking.

For the first time in I don't know how long, I don't really want to sleep.

It claims me anyway.

---

It must have been noon by the time I finally wake up; the light behind the closed blinds was strong enough to warm the room, and upon realising this, I almost panic before I remember that it's a Sunday; no work.

There's a weight by my side, and looking down to investigate surprises me only mildly until I do a sleepy double-take. It's Edward; it's not so much that he's fallen asleep on me again – the thought of 'again' puts a small smile on my face – so much as that he now has a thick blanket tucked around his shoulders which extends over me, as well. His boots are sitting lined up and dust-covered by the door, where I'm sure I didn't remove them.

"...Roy..." I look down, unsurprised at the use of my first name. He never calls me by it, but somehow it would seem weirder if he referred to me by my rank in this situation.

But his eyes are still shut, the name mumbled on his lips; he's dreaming.

Dreams!

I can't remember dreaming anything. Not even when I force myself to try. In fact, I can't remember the last time I'd felt as relaxed and at peace as I did last night.

His bangs are a mess, and I free one hand from the blanket to brush them aside of his face. His amazing gold eyes flutter open and stare sleepily back at my own. I'm almost afraid to blink; he might disappear.

But he doesn't disappear; something has; a wall, maybe, but he hasn't.

Idly, I allow my hand to trace down his face. He closes his eyes again, and tilts his head against my hand.

If such tiny gestures can make my heart rate increase that much, it's a wonder I haven't died of a heart attack yet.

I let my fingers continue to wander; tracing around his face, through his hair, trying to memorise every line and curve. Any minute now, I'd wake up; and damned if I wasn't going to remember this dream.

His arm is warm looping around my neck; a nice compliment to his warm breath against my lips; but the sensation lasts only a moment. And I barely have time to wonder what he's up to before the feeling is replaced.

Ah, the sweet taste of fire. How on earth have I managed to live without it all this time?

The kiss lasts only a second; maybe three before he slips away from me, and I have to breathe out, slowly. I rest my forehead against his, wordless.

"R-Roy, I..."

I move one finger to against his lips. "Shh..."

It's easy; far, far too easy to be real, to slip my arms around him as he buries his face in my shoulder. The air is still cold at this hour, but he's warm. So warm.

"You didn't dream last night"

Ah; he noticed.

"Mhm." The nightmares, ghostly shadows of ashes haunting my nights seem so... detached from this pleasant awakening with the welcome weight against me and the golden head of hair leaning against my shoulders that it's difficult to even think about one when immersed so completely in the other. Still; not close enough, and I nuzzle his neck in a half-vain attempt to close a little more distance, before making an observation of my own.

"You stayed."

"You gonna tell anyone?" I feel his head lean sideways against mine, and I hear the smile, and it's all I can do not to tighten my grip on him because if he disappears or I wake up now I'm sure I'll just fall over and die.

"No, just...stay awhile, please."

I surprise myself, adding the 'please' on there. It's one of those words I don't say while wearing my uniform, and while I technically still am since I fell asleep in my clothes, I'm off duty and I'm with Ed and damned if I'm going to let this get awkward and formal now that I've got him without his tough-guy mask on.

"Okay."

Relief; followed by a gentle tug as he pulls me down, leaning backward. It's a pleasant surprise to find myself lying next to him, gold hair falling across my arm, fantastic eyes burning into mine, a faint blush across his cheeks, soft lips so very, very inviting.

But.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" it's a stupid question, but I have to be sure. It's a nice change of pace, if it is a dream, but gods I hope it isn't.

He pinches me. Hard. On the arm. So fast I didn't even see it coming.

"OW!"

He giggles; it's possibly the cutest sound I've ever heard.

"Smartass!" I accuse, laughing also, all the more entertained by the squeak he makes when I manage to pin his shoulders against the couch cushions. Mine now.

What, did he think I'd be content with just a chaste little kiss like that?

I only break away when I'm sure I will suffocate if I don't get air. Edward shifts under me, and I find myself provided with a wonderfully comfortable place with my head resting on his chest, heart beating a soothing rhythm. I feel his arms wrap around me as I snake the fingers of my near hand through his by-now loose hair.

"Edward... please..."

"I won't leave, Roy. Not if you don't."

"Mm..." I shut my eyes.

It's the best sleep I remember for a long time.