KATAOMOI

OkonomiyakeUcchan

Three weeks ago:

Somewhere between a surge of hormones and a growth spurt that never really happened, Edward Elric, the Full Metal Alchemist, realized he liked men.

He was sitting on a train, his butt having fallen asleep hours ago, when looked over to the strangely familiar, tall dark handsome stranger asleep in the seat across the aisle, and realized that he found this man attractive. Not attractive in an objective "his-features-are-arranged-in-a-very-aesthetically-pleasing-fashion-and-if-I-was-into-that-sort-of-thing-I-might-care" kind of way, but rather in the way that made Ed wonder how that little spot two inches below that guy's ear might taste and what kind of sounds the guy would make if he tried to find out. Dark hair falling over closed eyes and a slightly parted, well formed mouth created in Ed a familiar sense of forward momentum. Like he wanted to reach out and take something, but he wasn't sure until just now what that something was.

The realization didn't completely floor him. It was a logical final conclusion drawn from a wealth of prior evidence, rather than a bolt out of the blue. It was a formal title placed on something that had long been present. And it did explain a few things. It must have surprised him enough to register on his face, though, because the next thing he knew Al was asking him if something was wrong.

No, Al, everything's fine.

Gay, but fine.

He didn't actually say that last part. Al had enough problems traipsing across the country as a giant suit of armor. He didn't need to know that the brother who put him in said armor was not only short, guilt-ridden dog of the military but now a sexual deviant as well.

By the time they reached their destination, after many more ass-numbing hours, Ed had reached equilibrium again. He filed his newfound revelation about his sexuality in that area of his brain reserved for "shit I'll deal with after I get Al's body back." Romance, with women or men, was so far out of his sphere of concern these days that it didn't really matter what he was into.

The train pulled into the station of some crap town he had been sent to by some crap Taisa to investigate a lead that was mostly likely also crap. He stood up in the aisle and tried to remember how his legs worked. It's kind of hard to walk when you can't feel your ass. His strangely familiar tall-dark-and-handsome got up too, smiling at Ed in the way that fellow travelers always do. The smile that says 'Isn't it great to get off this train, man my ass hurts, have a nice life, and by the way what the hell's with the suit of armor?' Ed smiled back at him; 'Yes it is, me too, you too, none of your business and thanks to you I'm gay.'

Ed filed off of the train and onto the platform, grumbling to himself about his numb rear end. He never grumbled to Al about it. He made the mistake of doing that once and Al had gotten this sad look in his eyes and a slump in his metal shoulders. It was then Ed remembered that Al's everything was numb, from ass to instep, thanks to him. And he would travel to a million crap towns following a million crap leads in the hopes that one of those would lead him to the means to correct his mistake.

Today:

Ed took a deep breath, and braced himself for one of his least favorite duties on earth. It ranked lower than fighting for his life, and might actually be a tie with the excruciating pain he endured whenever Winry reattached his arm and leg. At least with the arm and leg he was allowed to pass out. In a minute he would be swimming in a sea of liquid sarcasm while trying to deflect barbs about his height, his knack for blowing up small towns, his height, his utter failure to find the philosophers stone after years of trying and his height.

Goddamned Taisa.

Ed's metal hand tightened around the roll of papers detailing the latest failure. Days on a train and nearly two weeks in some backwater Podunk, and the only thing he had to show for it was one very sloppy report that was about to get picked apart and him along with it. Maybe he could just slide it under the door … or find Hawkeye and give it to her. But then he wouldn't get his next mission … if there was one. That and purposely avoiding the man chafed on his pride.

Ed firmly declared himself a chikenshit and knocked on the door with his flesh and blood hand. Two quick raps and wait. And wait. And wait.

Maybe he was out?

Then he could leave the report and count himself a lucky alchemist.

He twisted the knob on the heavy wooden door and stuck his head inside. Prepared to scowl or smile respectively depending on whether the Taisa was there or not.

"Excuse me," he announced, not for the Taisa's benefit, he told himself, but for anyone else that was in there with him. "Mustang Taisa …"

Was snoring.

Loudly.

He was surprised he hadn't heard it from the other side of the door.

Roy Mustang Taisa was leaned back in his chair, feet on his desk, gloved hands dangling, with his head resting on one blue uniformed shoulder. And snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Ed was now in a quandary. He could leave his report, haul out, and count himself lucky that he had been spared the scheduled tongue lashing. Or he could take advantage of the unique, possibly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that had been bestowed upon him.

He thought about transmuting a pair of cymbals, or maybe a trumpet. Or a bucket of water. If he got the Taisa's hands wet he might be able to run like hell before being immolated. And Ed was pretty sure he could outrun the man.

He walked across the office as quietly as someone with a heavy metal leg could walk on a wooden floor, not bothering to close the door behind him in the event a quick getaway was necessary.

'How the hell did this guy make Colonel?' he asked himself as he looked at the officer in all his snoring splendor. His procrastination skills were legendary, as was his reputation as a skirt-chaser and he had a personality that could peel paint.

He looked like a different person when he was asleep. Ed had convinced himself that the Taisa's condescending smirk was a permanent feature; something that was present even in sleep. When it was gone it actually rendered him a human being. That air of haughtiness was gone. This wasn't the Taisa. This was Roy Mustang. Relaxed, peaceful and vulnerable. Suddenly Ed had no desire to dump a bucket of water on the man, because he got the feeling that he would be dousing the wrong person.

"Bastard Taisa," he muttered to himself, scowling. This was a side of him Ed wasn't supposed to see, and had no desire to see. He didn't need his definition of the people around him called into question. Not when he was already questioning his definition of himself. He unrolled his report and tossed the stack of papers on the desk. Let someone else wake him up. Hawkeye Chu-i maybe. Knowing her, she'd probably use her gun as an alarm clock. Good thing her aim was never off.

Ed turned to leave and the floorboards loudly protested his metal foot. Ed flinched and jerked his head back around to see if he had woken up the Taisa. He didn't relish the idea of getting caught sneaking out of the man's office. Ed held his breath. The Taisa stirred, and picked his head up. Ed held his breath. The head flopped back down. Ed held his breath. Dark lashes fluttered against pale skin, and then stilled. Something between a moan and a sigh escaped slightly parted lips.

When he looked back on it later, Ed would conclude that it was the sound that did it. So unlike anything he had ever heard out of the older man. Suddenly he was taken back to a moment almost three weeks ago when he was staring at a dark stranger who he now realized resembled nothing so much as the man in front of him. Then, and now, he felt like invisible strings were pulling him along towards a destination that he did not choose, but rather that chose him.

It was only when he felt a pain in his chest that he realized he was still holding his breath. He let it all out in a whoosh, like someone punched him in the gut, which was pretty much how he felt. A thought formed that he was totally unwilling to lay voice to, even in his own mind, because by acknowledging its existence, it might become real.

'Crap,' he thought to himself as he whipped back around and bolted from the room, not caring how much noise he made now, because after a revelation like that he was beyond caring about such things.

'Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap…' He slammed the office door behind him, and started running down the hall as fast as his undersized legs could carry him. His metal leg and flesh leg made a cacophony that announced to the world at large that the Full Metal Alchemist was running for his sanity. He narrowly missed Hawkeye Chu-i and her dog whose name Ed knew but couldn't think of right now because thinking too much could only end badly. He didn't even utter an apology as he took off again, racing down the stairs and out the front of the building into a sunny world that had just been turned on its ear.