You'll get used to it. Because you have to.

This new body of yours, it's not going away any time soon. So from now on, you'll need to remember: left leg to kick, right arm to punch. Remember, or sprain your hand again, like that time you sparred with Al and forgot.

You get used to it.

Your hair grows long, and you start putting it back in a braid; and it doesn't matter if that bastard Mustang pretends to mistake you for a girl, because you haven't got the time for haircuts and vanity. There are rumors to follow, leads to track down, and a little red stone to find. So you ignore the itchy prickling feeling against the back of you neck, and the weight on your back.

You get used to it.

You stop by the Rockbells for one of your rare visits, and only because it's absolutely necessary. Sometimes you'll find that your automail is uneven again; but no matter how much it hurts to make the adjustments, it's always a bittersweet pain. Because you have been growing, even if you haven't noticed.

You get used to it.

It hits you, sometimes, late at night. When you're curled up on your side, just about to drift off, and suddenly, suddenly, the feeling of wrongness. The way the smooth, cold metal feels against your human leg. And you forget, for a second or two, you forget that this is normal. this is normal.

It happens a lot more than you'd like to admit. You forget all the time, and you'll fall asleep with your arm pillowed under your neck, just like you used to when you were little and innocent. And then you wake up. You wake up and the side of your face is plastered to hard metal. Your neck hurts so much, and you can barely sit up.

You get used to it.

Then again, there's the way your right shoulder doesn't ache anymore, the way it's not constantly straining with the weight of a metal arm. Or the way you can kick your left leg just as high as your right. Your body's a lot smarter than you, it seems, because now when you walk, it's not that awkward, almost limping gait anymore. And you don't have to drag one heavy leg after the other; you don't leave furrows in the dirt roads anymore.

Some days that's the worst thing about it. Some days you wake up and your neck is fine, your human leg hasn't fallen asleep under the weight of its metal twin, and you're just. So. Fucking. Scared.

Because you've gotten used to it, and isn't that the same as giving up?

you get used to it.