Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.

Song: Poke - Frightened Rabbit

But there's one thing we've got going and it's the only thing worth knowing.
It's got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon.

...

And now we're unrelated and rid of all the shit we hated,
But I hate when I feel like this and I never hated you.

It has been three years. (Three years since the Promised Day, three years since everything they thought was certain had ended, three years since the foundations of their lives crumbled into nothing and three years since he finally decided he was willing to give up everything else if he could just have her, if he could just kiss her once.)

Three years of something, three years of everything, three years of nothing. (He doesn't look her in the eyes anymore; he hasn't since that day when he lost his sight. She thinks that maybe he lost something more than his sight that day, but she doesn't know how to fix it because she doesn't know exactly what is broken. All she knows is that she can't do anything right anymore because he is stubborn and independent and hates being reliant on anyone.)

Three years of things falling apart, slowly, piece by piece until there are too many harsh, angry, cruel words between them for things to ever been the same again. (When they're angry, they both say things they don't mean, things that are meant to hurt that they regret the moment the words fly free of their lips but it's too late to take it back, too late to apologize, even if they could bring themselves to say the words I'm sorry.)

Three years of something that could have been great becoming something that neither of them want but can't seem to escape. (Three years of neither of them saying what they want to say, three years of her leaving late at night after they've shouted at each other for an hour and a half, leaving to go stay with Gracia who never asks questions because she knows what has happened and still remembers what Maes saw in the two of them and hopes that they will fix things this time.)

Three years of wishing she could leave and forget it ever happened, wishing she could still remember him as the boy he had once been, the young man he grew up to be rather than who he is now. (She can see him, only eleven years old with wide eyes as he watches the sunrise in the mountains for the first time, only seventeen as he watches her undo the buttons of her white shirt and he sees the black lines tattooed across her back, only twenty one as he promises her that he'll make a difference and turn this country into something better.)

Three years of cold silences, empty beds, eating dinner alone. (Three years of hearing her sobbing in the room next door but unable to comfort her because he is the cause and he knows it and the guilt is eating him alive because he knows she is just trying to help.)

Three years of realizing that however badly things are going, however angry they get with each other, they could never live without the other. (There are times when she doesn't come home for three or four days and even though he's seething with anger at the beginning and says it's a good thing she's gone, he's glad to be rid of her, by the end of the fourth day he misses her; he misses her warmth beside him, misses hearing her voice as the last thing before he falls asleep. He misses her and by then it doesn't matter what they've fought about; when he finally hears the front door open and she is standing there with her suitcase in her hand and her eyes rimmed with red all he cares about is that she's home.)

Three years of realizing that she needs him, as much as he needs her. (She isn't really sure if it's love anymore because in her mind, love will always be what she thought it was when she was still a child - sweet, tender, comforting. Still, it doesn't stop her skeleton from melting away when he kisses her.)

Three years of watching them destroy themselves. (Sometimes it hurts her to look at him because he seems so broken, just the shell of the man he was before. Sometimes it hurts him to know she's there because he knows he's a broken man and she could do so much better.)

Three years of finding it's hard to remember the good bits anymore because the things closest to the surface of their memories are the bad bits, the bitterness, the anger, the hurt. (There are moments, when things are peaceful when he smiles and she can see a shadow of the boy she once knew because it is the same shy, bashful smile he had then. There are moments, when she has just woken up and is still sleepy that he steals kisses from her and he knows she still loves him, no matter what she says because he can feel her tremble when he touches her cheek.)

It has been three long years.