"Van Hohenheim?"
The nameless slave turned to the source of the voice that was a stark contrast to that of the other dwarf in the flask who always seemed to have a crafty way with words. The sky had melted into a breathtaking swirl of colors complemented by cotton candy clouds. The atmosphere had shifted from a crisp blue into a vast combination of purples and oranges, illuminating the grand city in its mellow gaze.
The blonde man still had a hard time responding to the name he was given. He'd gotten significantly better with recalling that the name was his, but there were times when he'd question who was being called when the name left either of the mouths of the Homunculi in the flasks, the two entities floating within the confines of glass- one with the blood from his flesh and the other with the blood of a slave he had no affiliation with or knowledge of.
As number 23 stared down at the latter, he was puzzled. Its essence morphed into a figure that resembled a man, though it was nothing but a transparent shadow of a presence it could somehow warp itself into an image that the golden eyed man could make out as a human being. He was puzzled as to why the Homunculus that had shown him the wonders of the world through literature, speech, math, and arithmetic could not do what this brighter dwarf could not do the same with its form. It was stuck as a round, dark form of matter that was not able to sustain life outside of its glass. Why was the younger Homunculus more malleable than the one he had formed a stronger connection with?
It's shape fluttered, it's active body illuminated in a soft golden aura making up for its lack of sentience other than a pair of transparent eyes that always appeared to be closed. It floated within its flask, which was a tad bigger than the other Homunculus', and faced the confounded man. It took him a few moments to realize that the figure it had shifted into resembled himself.
"It's just Hohenheim," he said stiffly, turning back to the view of the city.
"Of course," it responded serenely. Hohenheim missed the wavering of its form that matched his indifferent emotions. "What troubles you, Hohenheim?"
"What troubles me?" he repeated the question, unsure of what kind of response this uncomfortably preceptive being wanted from him. In many ways, the other dwarf's condescending tone was more comforting than this Homunculus' stoically benevolent voice. Especially since it seemed to enjoy morphing into different shapes whenever in the presence of the slave. "I don't understand the question. I'm not troubled."
"Not troubled?" it asked, tilting what Hohenheim deemed to be its head downward. "But you look over this city with such melancholy eyes."
The young man's brow twitched upon hearing yet another word that he had not been taught by the first Dwarf in the flask. He turned his head slightly over his shoulder, embarrassed that yet another Homunculus had proven its intelligence and therefore his lack hereof. His slim brows knitted together as he looked upon the Homunculus with misdirected displeasure. The dwarf's form shrunk in size yet it remained a resemblance of the slave.
"Melancholy," he frowned, simply stating the word and refusing to ask what it meant directly. He left it up to the Homunculus to pick apart his short statement, which it did with a quickness.
"Longing. As if you are unhappy with your place, even after all that you've learned here. After forming a bond with a Homunculus and attaining companionship with him as well, there's something you still want, isn't there?"
Van's frown deepened as he turned back to the sky, shifting his shoulders closer to his ears as he leaned on the stone edge of the glassless window. A stubborn pout had morphed onto his face as he tried his best to appear unaffected, yet he could never hide how taken aback he was when this dwarf voiced the very emotion he was feeling within seconds of sitting by him. The other dwarf had been able to detect his intent and feelings, but only after asking him a series of questions that had only sprouted due to sheer curiosity. This Homunculus was far too perceptive to even be compared to the dwarf that served as his mentor. In fact, it often surprised him that they were both the same species- though not originated from the same sources.
"Do you no longer wish to be a slave?"
The blonde's lip jutted outward as he lifted one of his hands to gaze at the callouses and bruises that littered across the toughened skin of his palm as a result of constantly gripping stone and wood throughout the day. His nails had grown long, and a few were chipped and split at the ends. His hands were a reminder of his place in society, a reminder that though his master was amazed by his ability to learn, read, and write gradually over time, Hohenheim was still below him. The man was still his master. And the dwarf in the flask was still stuck in a flask. And neither of them had ever tasted freedom.
Van had been content with his position before, but after the one eyed Homunculus described art and literature from across the world to him and filled his mind with dreams and inquiries of a life spent outside of confinement, his opinions changed. His mind grew stronger and his heart longed for freedom. He wanted to make something of himself, to travel the world, to study philosophy, to taste the saltiness of the ocean, to wash his hands in river water, to be free. It sounded selfish, for every slave under his master's command dreamt of freedom. His desire made him no different from the many hundreds of people who were just like him. But he couldn't help but want more. As the first Dwarf in the Flask asked him countless times, who wouldn't want to be free?
"You desire more now that you've gained some knowledge of this world. I see it in your eyes, you want to be needed for more than this. You know you are destined for greater. You want more."
"Is that so wrong?" he exhaled tiredly, turning to the left to look away from the entity.
"Only if that dream of freedom begins to turn into your mentor's."
With brows furrowed with confusion, Hohenheim turned his head slightly. "What did you say? My mentor's? You mean the other Dwarf?"
The Homunculus' form grew back to its original size, no bigger than half of a hand. Its transparent hair swayed behind its body, reminding Hohenheim of how his hair swayed whenever he ducked down to clean floors or turned around to respond to the call of his master.
His nose scrunched slightly as he turned back to look at the small figure, tilting his head to the side in sync with the form's mimicked action.
"Why would you say something like that?"
"Simply because we are both confined within a glass does not mean we are the same," it responded.
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"We share different motivations. He wishes to touch the sun and I only wish to bask in the light it beams."
His lips curled upward. "I still don't understand."
"I may be the second Homunculus but I'm far from what a Homunculus is supposed to be. The dwarf that mentors you is an artificial life form created with your blood, Van Hohenheim. I am an artificial life form created from a slave that is no longer a part of this earth. Two different human beings' blood samples create two different forms of life. This is only possible because we are the very first," it said, and Hohenheim tried his best to keep up. "This is my warning to you. You may allow him to teach you, to fill your heart with dreams of a better life, but do not let him confuse your desires with his own. His downfall will be his growing lust for greed, which will fester into wrongful intentions. He's brought you this far, but do not let him drag you any farther. I am not responsible for his actions. Only he is."
Van Hohenheim did not understand.
He didn't understand how a being the same as the one who showed him the beauties of life could talk about him as if he were terribly malicious behind his back. He didn't understand how this Homunculus posed itself as so different from the one eyed shadow in the flask. He didn't understand why it could so easily portray itself as him, morphing itself into shapes that correlated with his thoughts and feelings- how it radiated an aura similar to the gold of his eyes while the other remained a dark obscure circular form. He didn't understand anything about this newer Homunculus, nor its open minded empathy.
He did not understand, therefore he did not listen. And oh, how he wished he had.
Hohenheim woke with a start. His glasses had fallen crooked upon his frame, and it took him a good few moments to comprehend where he was. His dreams had been rather vivid lately consisting of nothing but distant memories and his mind battling against itself- one side in favor of his immortality and the other in favor of humanity- humans who would only meet their end in just over one week.
The long strands of hair that hovered over his eyes and nose were becoming a nuisance as he sat up to look around. He lifted his chilled hand to fix his glasses properly upon the bridge of his nose. His eyes squinted as a ray of sun peeked through the large crevice of the aged stone above his head. Hohenheim hissed as a subtle crick in his neck echoed throughout the space when he tilted his head to the said to relieve a few stiff joints.
He stood with a hint of caution as the familiarity of the ruins registered in his brain. Differentiating reality from his horridly active mind was only becoming a harder task as the Promised Day neared. The immortal finally remembered where he was as he stepped outside of the decaying door frame and into the pockets of sand that touched his dress shoe the minute he left the building. Scattered bits of debris and faded floors that resembled signs of life inhabited centuries ago only made Hohenheim feel worse as he made his way out of the abandoned structure and into the light of the early morning.
How had he allowed it all to come to this?
All of his past regrets seemed to catch up to him and pellet him like the hail of a single overwhelming storm cloud. How had he let it come to this? How hadn't he listened when he was warned about the Dwarf in the Flask, the entity that gained his trust over time and managed to steal his very identity as a twisted form of respect or gratitude? How had he allowed himself to fall in love when he knew that he wasn't able to properly provide? How had he allowed himself to have a family, when all that the Dwarf had planned to take into action would come to light- when he knew that he would never be able to be there for them though he desperately wished that he could? How had he allowed himself to leave that day, to stare his beautiful children in their confused, sleep ridden faces and turn his back on them within a matter of seconds? How hadn't he returned to Trisha when she was dying, though he knew that he couldn't?
He would tell himself he left to protect him, but it never diminished the stinging pain that remained at the thought of how he had to leave.
Hohenheim felt nothing but regret every waking moment of his life. He was a man who lived in the past though the near, devastating future was hurling toward him at full force. Back in Xerxes, before his blood had been used for an experiment and before he'd met the first Homunculus, he'd been perfectly content with his life. He'd spend his days with a smile on his face, whistling a soft tune as he spent the next eight hours carrying out his tasks with blissful ignorance. He was a simple man back then, and now that he'd gained more than he could have ever wanted back when he discovered his desire for freedom, he was miserable.
He was a sad old man, he'd always tell himself. His own sons hated him and he rarely mustered up the courage to visit an old drinking buddy or the grave of the only woman he had ever loved. The Dwarf would reel him in soon enough, or more accurately he'd walk into his grasp, as he had planned to when the time came. All those years of careful strategy and travel around the country had led up to this- what had been inevitable for four hundred years. His children, his friend, the world he knew would be gone in a split second if he didn't return home to face the being who ruined his life. All of this because of one Homunculus' desire to touch the sun rather than bask in the light it beamed down.
Hohenheim frowned as he marched out of the abandoned, demolished city. He wished he could say that he was walking away from the memories of the day he had woken up to discover a vacant town where people had once thrived and flourished, but instead he carried the burden of those memories with him. Just as he always did.
Where was the second Homunculus when he needed it?
He had been too young and ignorant to understand the importance of what that Homunculus had always told him, how it had always morphed itself into shapes and figures resembling himself to show that it was not an enemy- to show that it recognized his frustrations and served as his equal, not something above or below him. He thought of the moments with that transparent entity often, and how things would have turned out if he had spent his time with it rather than the Homunculus that now roamed the earth with his body. He probably would have lived and died as a slave back in Xerxes, and from time to time he often wished he had done just that. But if he did, he wouldn't have fallen in love. He wouldn't have met Pinako, nor would he have had two sons. The bittersweet path that life had carved out for him was far too much for him to handle, for his endless years of suffering had indeed led him to a single light that he would carry with him as long as he could- and that was the love that he found in human beings years after the fall of Xerxes.
Life was strange. Humanity was far stranger.
He wondered what had truly happened to the Second Homunculus, whether it had simply lived and died after Xerxes or had become something that he couldn't possibly understand. He remembered distinctly what it had said to him when he asked it if it could sustain life outside of a jar. It responded, "Only as someone else."
Again, he hadn't understood then and he wasn't sure if he even understood now. He tried not to think about it too much as he headed further West to Resembool, telling himself that it was futile to think of something that only existed when he was still a mere simple minded slave.
-
(Y/n) woke up early.
She wasn't necessarily sure if it was the way the natural light poured into the room Granny had given her, the smell fresh autumn air wafting room through the cracks of the door, or the sight of goats grazing far in the distance when she peeked out of her window, but the atmosphere that the Eastern countryside had brought about was so refreshing that it made her enjoy hopping out of bed.
The past few days had been much better than the week prior. The morning following the events that ensued out in the yard in the middle of the night was extremely awkward. (Y/n) had managed to sleep a little more, and when she woke up she was met with the clarity of what she had done. Her mind had allowed her to take in every detail of that moment, and the poor girl wished she could bury herself into the ground.
Lack of sleep and grief made people do funny things. In Roy's case, it was anger that drove his actions while in (Y/n)'s case, it was this consuming need to feel affection. That very need was what possessed her to try and kiss Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist and her best friend, even after he leaned away. God, words couldn't even begin to describe how embarrassed she was and how often that moment continuously haunted her when she was doing laundry or feeding Den. That moment was something she could never take back, and though it was excruciatingly painful for her to think about it did still raise a few questions on her behalf.
The word love seemed to drift back into relevance. Alphonse had told her that he loved her before she and his brother left for Resembool, and (Y/n) uttered the phrase back because she knew she loved him just as much as a friend or little brother. (Y/n) constantly told Roy that she loved him because he was her Father, and she couldn't begin to describe how much she looked up to him as an officer as well as the man who saved her life- the first man who showed her kindness. Her love for him was unquestionable because she was his daughter. Winry was in love with Edward, and that love for him convinced her to let him go- to let someone else love him the way that she did. Winry had also told (Y/n) that the said boy was in love with her, which she was having a significantly hard time believing. As for her feelings for Edward, before she would have said that she loved him as her best friend- that the love she held for him was simply platonic, formed over time by the trust they put in each other and the dangerous missions they'd embarked on together. She had strictly loved him as a friend, nothing more and nothing less.
But after that night, she was sure that she loved him as something more. (Y/n) had gone back and forth with the concept of love, convincing herself that she was too young to understand what it meant romantically. She'd been an eye witness of Roy and Riza's unspoken yet mutual love, and though she admired it she was sure that she'd never experience that kind of fondness for anyone else. She was a fifteen year old dog of the military, far too busy with keeping herself and her friends alive to concern herself with those emotions. She thought back to when Edward brought up her brief crush on Kain Feury when she was a preteen, and she was sure as hell that the small schoolgirl crush she harbored on her favorite sergeant was far from love. And she had been equally sure that the crush she had discovered to have on Edward was not love either.
If that were the case, then why was her mind constantly consumed by him? The image of his face had been burned into her brain as if she never wanted to forget it- the soft blond hair that reached his shoulders whenever he let it down from a braid and those gorgeous golden eyes that she could never seem to stop thinking about. The way he held her face in the darkness, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person that existed in his world. The way he pressed her hand against his chest, the way his heart fluttered beneath her fingers tips. The way his warm lips brushed so lightly against hers, and the way the same pair of lips met her cheek moments after.
The way her heart burst at the sensation, arousing colors that had not been someone else's but in fact her own- a swirling mass of pink and light red that filled the night sky and her vision of Ed that only seemed to brighten before her very eyes. Her fingers trembled when she returned to her room that night, her neck and ears were warm and the tears that fell down her face were hot- but not painful. Edward Elric was her best friend, and there would never be a time when she'd refer to him as anything other than her best friend, but she knew the colors she saw, the warmth she felt, the tingling in her skin. She understood what it all meant, though she'd never experienced it before and the very feeling frightened her. Even though she was only fifteen and she had no time to busy herself with petty feelings, she knew exactly what the spark that ignited within her chest meant when her head hit the pillow that night.
She was in love with Edward Elric.
(Y/n) and Ed talked about everything, but they hadn't talked about what happened that night. It wasn't because they both knew what they were thinking, in fact they had no fucking clue what was going on in the other's head for the first time in their lives, but because they had no idea how to go about addressing it. They were teenagers who had spent their lives studying science and alchemy, how in the hell were they supposed to talk about the glorious feeling blooming in their chests that occurred whenever they saw the other walk by? Edward was oblivious enough before he concluded that he liked (Y/n), but now that they'd almost kissed and now that he'd hinted at his feelings for her, he had no clue what to expect. He was supposed to be worrying about the Promised Day, his brother, and Winry, not whatever this was.
Now every time he'd take a moment to look at (Y/n) in between their conversations, his heart would hammer loudly and his cheeks would tint pink. He wasn't sure if he loathed or liked the feeling, but all he knew was that it was new and terrifying. The blonde wasn't sure if he had crossed a line by pecking her cheek, or if he made a mistake by inching away from her as she leaned toward him. He was so confused, and he wasn't sure if (Y/n) was just as confused as he was or unaffected by the whole thing. What if she could sense what he was feeling? What if she had detected the way his heart rate increased around her and thought he was weird? What if she was wondering why her best friend was acting so oddly around her, why she felt this strange aura of anxiety and desire surrounding his presence. He really hoped not, because despite everything she was still his best friend. Whether he liked her or if she didn't like him, he'd always be there for her- to protect her, to comfort her, to laugh with her, to tease her, to love her. Nothing changed that bond between them, and that was evident in the way they had been interacting after they had gotten past the awkwardness of seeing each other for the first time after that night.
(Y/n) had managed to start smiling again, not the sad smile that didn't reach her eyes but the smile that crinkled her face and shined in her doe (e/c) eyes. Edward had managed to make her laugh for the first time in a long time as well, and he'd never been more proud of an accomplishment in his entire life. He wasn't sure if her change in mood was because of what happened that night, but he was glad that he could see her somewhat back to normal.
The pain of loss was far from gone. (Y/n) had just been more accepting of it two weeks after the death had taken place. She still cried, but she didn't blame herself anymore. The talk that she'd had with Ed about death had actually made her feel better, especially after everything that he had told her. She hadn't done anything wrong. She couldn't have done anything about the situation. She was sad, and that was that. She would always feel sadness from the loss of someone she loved, but that was a part of life. Something inevitable that came with the existence of human beings. She prayed that Maes Hughes was finally resting.
Though (Y/n) had made some progress, she was not sure how Roy was handling the situation. Actually, she was sure she knew what was happening. Roy was racing down a path to vengeance. The Flame Alchemist had always been stubborn, and far too passionate about the people he loved. Sometimes, he'd get carried away with his emotions, and this dark part of his life was only an emphasis of how much he could work himself up.
Wrath was a terrifying thing, the Fuhrer was a perfect example of that. It was an emotion that blinded people, much like how the other six deadly sins of mankind did. It ate away at you, took away your ability to sympathize and to think logically. It burned inside you like a wildfire and burst when you were finally unable to hold it in any longer. It led you down a longer path of resentment, one that replaced any purpose in your life to protect or serve with nothing but hatred. Scar had found himself down this path, and though (Y/n) was quite unsure of the details, she knew that the Ishvalan man was too far gone to return to a time when he chose to protect and love rather than to kill. If Roy didn't get help soon, if somebody didn't knock some sense into him, he'd be following in Scar's footsteps. Mimicking the actions of a man that he disliked for the very same reason- his hatred.
Roy hadn't called. (Y/n) knew far too well that his lack of communication was a sign that he'd taken a turn for the worse. There was nothing that she could do about it at the moment, for everyone was kind of just sitting around and waiting, but she swore that she would help him once she was able to see him again. He had saved her, so now she knew it was her turn to save him.
(Y/n) skipped into Edward's room without knocking, slamming the door open and causing the said boy to jerk up from the bed. She snorted and padded into the room to jump onto his bed, causing him to yell out dramatically. The fifteen year old stood tall on the foot of the comforter and leaned over to open the blinds to let in some morning light, leading to Ed cursing at her under his breath as he turned over and buried his head into his pillow.
She nudged his foot which was hidden underneath the blanket and sighed. "Can you get up already? It's already 8:30, I'm not gonna let you sleep all day," she scolded, jumping up until Edward sat up again and glared at her through the mess of his hair, which hid the soft blush on his face.
"Are you a lunatic? What possessed you to come in here and wake me up like that?" he groaned, pushing his bangs back to rub his eyes. (Y/n) had to prevent herself from cooing at the sight of the stubborn strand of hair that stuck out from his bangs no matter the time of day.
"I'm tired of waiting for you to trudge out of your room at noon," she beamed, placing her hands on her hips. "I thought I'd make breakfast for Granny this morning since she's always cooking for us, so you're gonna help me."
Edward let out another groan as he flopped his bed back onto the pillow, throwing his arm over his automail arm over his face. "No way. 'S your own fault you made that decision, don't drag me into it."
"Just because you suck at cooking doesn't mean you can't help me out a little."
The blonde shot back up to bark at her. "I don't suck at cooking!"
(Y/n) giggled slightly. "Right right, of course you don't. Why don't you come prove it in the kitchen."
The Fullmetal Alchemist gave her a bored look that faltered the longer he stared at her smile. "Do I really have to do this?"
"Yes! Come on, we're stuck here and I can't just sit around waiting to hear from Central. I need stuff to do and I'd rather have you keeping me company, so get up," she huffed as she leaned down and tore the blanket aware from his legs after she climbed off of the bed. "Please," she begged, folding her hands dramatically and batting her eyelashes like a toddler.
Edward gritted his teeth and looked out the window to avoid her gaze. "Fine."
"Great! Get dressed, I'll go get started," she smiled before turning to leave the room.
The boy let out a long sigh as he stretched his arms backward.
Edward finally wandered into the kitchen to see (Y/n) pulling out a carton of eggs from the fridge, bare heels lifting off of the ground as she leaned into the compartment. She hadn't bothered to finish buttoning up the loose collared shirt that she'd rolled up to her elbows, so the first few buttons were left open and the hem of the shit tucked messily into her sweatpants. As for Ed himself, when (Y/n) told him to get dressed he hadn't put in much effort to do so either. He left his hair down and threw a sweatshirt over his tank tap. That was about it.
"Took you long enough," the (h/c) haired girl sighed. Edward stuck his tongue out at her as a response. The blonde walked around the dog that was wagging her tail at (Y/n)'s feet as he made his way into the quaint kitchen to lean on the counter by the sink, uninterested in actually contributing to the process of making breakfast.
(Y/n) noticed the way he had gotten comfortable as he leaned against the cabinets. "Hand me the pan and the cornmeal."
Edward tilted his head back and groaned sleepily, nevertheless complying with the request. It was clear that Edward never had to do any real type of housework in his childhood, and though it was more typical for women to take place in the kitchen and the house in general, (Y/n) wasn't fond of the idea of letting Edward lounge around while she cooked for him. Maybe someday she'd have to suck it up, but certainly not now.
Ed placed the pan on the stove and held the cornmeal out to (Y/n) as she gathered the rest of the ingredients for pancakes. She turned to see the boy holding the ingredient out to her with an expressionless face and scoffed. "Can't you see my hands are full, idiot? Just get it open and pour it in a bowl yourself." When the boy turned away from her, grumbling incoherent sentences, she cocked a brow. "You've never seen anyone make pancakes before?"
"Shut up, I've never had any reason to make them," he bit back, setting the bag on the table and opening counters, reaching up for a mixing bowl and a whisk.
(Y/n) tried not to laugh. "It's just pancakes. Think of it like a scientific formula, that's basically what cooking is- science."
"Yeah, yeah. I get that. That doesn't mean I'll be good at it," he huffed, placing the whisk into the glass bowl he had just sat down.
"Here, let me show you," (Y/n) said, moving to stand beside Edward as she placed the other ingredients beside the bowl with the cornmeal. Her shoulder brushed his as she stood by him, and when she turned to glance at the boy out of the corner of her eye she noticed that his shoulder was a tad higher next to hers than it usually was. She furrowed her brows, turning completely to look to Edward's eyes that directly met hers at eye level. She looked up at his hair in panic, and sure enough it stood a significant few centimeters taller than before. It wasn't terribly noticeable to anyone who'd take a glance at his appearance. He was still small for his age, but (Y/n) noticed the subtle change in height. Normally he'd have to look up at her slightly, but now he was staring right at her, if not a tiny bit down at her.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" he asked, cocking a brow.
A smile cracked onto her face as she shook her head. She wasn't going to say anything about it, due to the fact that he'd likely start bragging about the smallest inclination of his growth. So she kept it to herself, grinning at the thought of Edward finally growing up a bit.
"It's nothing. First things first, we need to do something about your hair. I'm not serving Granny food with your greasy blonde strands in it."
"My hair is not greasy," he hissed, pinching (Y/n)'s cheek.
"I don't care, just go pull it up."
"And walk all the way back to my room?" he whined, removing his fingers from her cheek causing (Y/n) to groan.
"Why are you complaining so much this morning?"
"You're the one who woke me up by jumping on my bed, don't expect me to be happy about it."
The (e/c) eyed girl learned over and nudged his head to the side in annoyance, to which he gently swatted her hand away. "Okay Edward, I'll do everything myself," she huffed as she left to find a hair tie.
"If you insist!" he called out, causing her to scowl.
The Mustang returned with a tie she had found in Edward's room on the dresser. She stomped up behind the unsuspecting boy and reached out for his hair. His shoulders noticeably tensed the second her fingers met his scalp. He turned slightly over his shoulder to question her, and she shushed him as she got to work.
Grasping the soft hair in her fist, she stretched the hair tie between her dominant fingers and looped the alchemist's strands into a low ponytail. Edward remained terribly stiff throughout the short process, his face ablaze upon finding himself in a situation where (Y/n)'s hands were in his hair once again. Granted, the action was platonic and only done to get the boy to shut up, but he couldn't help but search for some kind of hidden amorousness in the way her fingers wound through his hair so naturally.
(Y/n) told him to turn around so she could do something about his bangs, for they always seemed to fall directly into his line of sight which meant that it was possible for it to grow irritating as he mixed ingredients together. When she looked up at him, a soft pout was formed on his lips as his eyes stayed glued to the side. (Y/n) shook her head at the childish expression and lifted her hand to smooth his bangs back against his head, trying to figure out how she could pin them out of the way without the proper accessories.
Edward blinked suddenly as the hair that always shadowed his face was pushed back, allowing him to get a clear vision of everything around and in front of him. He took this moment to steal a glance at (Y/n)'s face, which was twisted cutely as she tried to figure out whatever was going on in her head. He wasn't sure if she realized that they had found themselves in another intimate position, her warm hand holding his bangs back as he watched her intently- with Den staring up at them excitedly as she watched the entire thing play out.
With a soft sigh, (Y/n) let go of Ed's hair and allowed it to fall back into his face. "Maybe tuck your bangs behind your ears or something. I don't really have anything to push them back," she explained, moving around him to wash her hands. Edward watched her with his mouth slightly agape, confused as to how she had just touched his hair so softly without a second thought about it. Meanwhile, (Y/n) was screaming on the inside, rejoicing in her successful attempt to find an excuse to touch his hair again. She honestly couldn't help herself, and she hoped that Ed would just brush it off so that they could get past it.
"Okay," she clapped her hands together, changing the mood of the room as she approached the bowl. "I used to watch Mrs. Hughes make pancakes all the time. I know these probably won't be as good as hers, but I still want to give it a try. It's pretty simple."
"Right," Ed mumbled as he turned back around, pushing his thoughts deep into his mind to be addressed at a later time.
"First, pour in two and a half cups of cornmeal," she instructed. Edward nodded, following her instructions. "Okay a half teaspoon of salt. Good, then two tablespoons of sugar. Alright- hey, I said two tablespoons!"
"Relax," he coaxed as he poured in more sugar than instructed. For an alchemist, Edward was rather opposed to following the exact recipe for a batch of pancakes. It took (Y/n) a moment to realize that he was just messing around with her out of spite.
"You know what asshole, hand me the bowl."
"No, I've got it," he replied with a shit eating grin. "Tell me the next step, I'm listening. It needs baking soda, right?"
"I hate you, you know that?" she deadpanned, handing Edward the table spoon and the contain of baking soda.
"I know."
This went on for a few minutes longer than it was necessary to put together ingredients for pancakes. Edward would mess around with the mix after all of the ingredients were placed in the bowl, pretending to fumble it in his hands to see the terror arise on (Y/n)'s face. The shithead had managed to splatter some of the batter on (Y/n)'s shirt, which resulted in the teens giggling quietly as Edward blocked her hands from whacking him in the face whilst gripping her wrists.
Eventually, the batter made it into the greased pan and Ed watched in childlike amazement as (Y/n) flipped the cakes into the air, allowing them to fall gracefully back into the pan. She was much more amazed with her own ability to do so, for she had thought they'd all end up on the floor rather than back into the cookware. Edward thought he'd try his hand at flipping some, and two out of three of the pancaked ended up splattering onto the ground. (Y/n) consoled him when he leaned against the counter grumpily, arms crossed and head tilted into the opposite direction.
Once pancakes were done, Edward suggested they'd make bacon. (Y/n) rolled her eyes, but complied nonetheless, agreeing the bacon and eggs would complement the sweet cakes nicely. When everything was done and plated, Edward was inches away from running from the kitchen to sit down and eat when (Y/n) caught him by his hoodie, holding him in place and telling him to wash the dishes while she took the dog out to do her business. Edward was stubborn about it, but their short argument about whether the dishes should be done before or after they'd eat ended in Edward aggressively scrubbing the pan and mixing bowl under hot water.
After (Y/n) took out Den, Granny walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see that breakfast had been prepared- and even better, the kitchen hadn't burned down. Seeing Edward standing bashfully in the kitchen as (Y/n) handed her a full plate happily struck her with shock as well as a warm feeling in her chest upon seeing the blonde boy growing up so quickly. It was nice to see him in a domestic setting rather than watching him trudge up the hill with a missing limb only for him to disappear again after a day or two. The grey haired woman thanked the girl kindly, grateful for what she had done for her.
Ed and (Y/n) ate out on the porch steps, separated by two steps. (Y/n) sighed in content as she ate, looking out to the vast countryside as the sun rose high in the sky. She looked down at Edward, who was sitting with his back against the railing and his feet lounging before him, plate in his lap. She noticed he hadn't bothered to let his hair out of the ponytail, and a sense of delight swelled in her chest at the thought that he'd kept it because she had done it for him.
"Hey, (Y/n)," he started softly, his voice blending with the soft breeze that touched his hair and prickled (Y/n)'s skin. She hummed in acknowledgement. "I've been thinking a lot... about what you said a few nights ago. About Maes... and my mom."
(Y/n)'s face grew softer as she examined the thoughtful expression on his face. "Yeah?"
"It's just..." he sighed, closing his eyes. "I really wish you'd been able to meet her, that's all."
The empath blinked, flattered by the words coming for the Fullmetal Alchemist's mouth.
"The stuff you said kinda sounds like something she would have said to me a long time ago. About people living on to watch over and protect. And I- I know for a fact that she would have loved you."
"Ed," she began, unsure of how to respond.
"I guess... that's my way of asking you if you'd come with me to visit her grave today," he said gently, turning his head to look up at her sincerely. "The incident with the General has brought up a lot of memories, and I've been putting off going for the past few days. But I think today would be a good day to finally go see her. And... for you to meet her."
(Y/n) had never been to his mother's grave, though she would watch him and Alphonse head into that direction whenever she visited between the time Edward first accustomed his automail and the time he had become a state alchemist. She didn't want to intrude on that part of their lives, for she understood that the loss of the chestnut haired woman weighed heavily in their hearts. She never would have imagined that Edward would want to bring her into that part of his life. Though she was involved with the aftermath of her death and the mistakes they'd made in a desperate mission to hear her voice one last time, she'd been hesitant to ask about life with Trish before October 3rd happened.
Edward noticed her silence. "If you're not comfortable, I understand. But I um... I really want you to come with me. If you don't mind..."
"Ed, of course I will," she smiled warmly. "You don't have to say anything more. Of course I'll come with you. I'd be honored."
Edward gazed at her dumbfounded for a moment before returning the smile. "Thank you."
When the two teens set out to the cemetery later in the day, they could not have prepared for what was there waiting for them at Trisha's grave. Edward walked slightly ahead of (Y/n), his shoulders tensing and relaxing every now and again as they got closer to the site. His eyes were casted downward as he lost himself in thought, and (Y/n) stayed close behind him- serving as a warm presence but also keeping her distance to give him some space with his thoughts.
The sound of their shoes crunching against the dirt path was the only sound that filled their ears as they passed some neighbors that Edward seemed to recognize. They greeted (Y/n) kindly, introduced themselves, asked Edward if she was his girlfriend, laughed when he denied the claims with a bright blush, and waved goodbye as they walked off. Everyone was much friendlier out in the countryside, (Y/n) thought to herself as she walked away from the kind pair of men. In the city, people were a bit more paranoid around each other- always in a rush to get from place to place and coming off as unintentionally rude when someone would brush past them or accidentally step into their paths. Out in Resembool, people smiled contentedly at you and apologized to you if you were the one to mistakenly bump into them. They were understanding, forgiving, and (Y/n) didn't like the way her stomach twisted at the thought of these good people getting wiped away in about a week.
(Y/n) noticed the way Edward froze in his tracks the second they approached the cemetery. Her attention had been on something else, so she wasn't sure of what had caused the boy to stop so suddenly. At first, she had believed it to be his hesitancy to continue forward into the cemetery simply because he was nervous about visiting his mom, but the sudden irritation and anger she sensed from him told her otherwise.
She moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder, gazing at his hardened face in concern- confused as to what had just changed his mood so quickly. He was trembling now, and his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like he could break his teeth. (Y/n) furrowed her brows, and when she turned to look forward she saw a single figure standing before a lonely grave in the midst of the empty field.
Familiar blonde hair pulled into a ponytail swayed with the cool breeze behind the figure's head, his brown trench coat waving gently. Their hands were in their pockets and a single briefcase sat at his feet. (Y/n) tilted her head, scrunching her nose as if to try and figure out why this person seemed so familiar.
When the figure tensed upon sensing somebody behind them, they turned around to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. Edward's shoulder trembled even more and his hands formed into tight fists. In that moment, (Y/n) figured out who was standing at Edward's mother's grave.
"Hohenheim," he hissed shakily.
(Y/n) stood uncomfortably as the man who she discovered to be her best friend's father turned completely to take in their appearances. He looked to Edward with subtle surprise mixed with a hint of regret and despair. When he looked over to (Y/n), a confused expression crossed his face upon seeing someone he was not familiar with. He then looked at her curiously, as though he was trying to figure out where he had seen her before.
Why did it feel like (Y/n) had already met this man?
-
It was no surprise that the Homunculi had been rather pleased as of late. They had no petty, annoying, persistent human beings that could ruin their plans for Promised Day to worry about. Granted, they had bigger issues that had made an appearance as a result of that, but those were a small price to pay for an uninterrupted week.
The first problem that was more so Envy's burden to bear rather than anyone else's was the Flame Alchemist. Currently, Envy was in the west, following Pride's sloppy trail of dead bodies along the border. Granted, he didn't need to worry about Colonel Roy Mustang making a move on him while he was in a separate part of the country, but Envy wasn't one to take any chances. He looked down upon all humans, and there was no exception for the hatred and disgust- but he knew full well of the power within Roy Mustang's chest. Back in Ishval, he'd watched the man diminish crowds of people with a single snap of his fingers, bringing down homes and workplaces with a single movement of his hand. It was seemingly effortless how he'd murder hundreds of civilians with nothing but one single hand, and though Envy found amusement in it he knew that he'd never want to be on the receiving end of those flames. He was sure that Roy couldn't kill him, but Envy was fully aware that the sensation of fire blistering his flesh wouldn't tickle either. The Homunculus would much rather spend his time tracking down Father's second failed experiment.
This led to their second problem: Pride. Where could any of them begin with Pride? Due to Lust's lack of judgement, Pride had been set free onto Amestris, resulting in at least ten people falling victim to its grasp in the midst of the night. Pride was a difficult case to understand. It comprehended the idea of human sacrifices, therefore the idea of leaving them unharmed as well, but that was the limit to its ability to conceive other basic ideas that made the other Homunculi so similar to human beings. Pride was much like an untamed caged animal, one that lived its life within bars and had no experience with the outside world- with human interaction. One that was forced to spend its life blindly obeying orders until it finally couldn't handle the captivity any longer, one that broke from its cage and destroyed whatever stood in its path in a haze of anger, confusion, and desperation. Pride knew nothing other than to kill and to avoid the human sacrifices, therefore that was all it did. Wrath liked to describe Pride as a devil, a motionless body possessed by a clueless demon. Because Father was unable to properly control Pride, he kept it within a jar- only to be used when deemed appropriate. The moment Pride touched darkness, it spiraled out of control- attacking and thrashing wildly against unfamiliar sights. The less control the Homunculi had on Pride, the more intractable it became. That was why it was so crucial to get it back within Father's grasp. Its lack of cooperation was a great nuisance.
The final problem that the Homunculi faced was something that Wrath brought to their attention. He had snuck into the Elrics' hotel room and stolen the notebook that the teens had found in the library that had been completely forgotten- the book that led them to investigate the Fifth Laboratory, which had become a pile of ashes while the teens were in different parts of the country. He had just been executing a routine check of the boys' room, searching for anything suspicious that would pose as useful to Father when he stumbled upon the notebook tucked under the couch. When he discovered it to be a Laboratory scientist's notebook, he grimaced in distaste. There was no reason for something like that to be lying around in a library, hidden terribly enough for (Y/n) to stumble across it. For the record, none of the other Homunculi were as concerned about it as he was. In comparison to all of the other shit that was happening around them, the notebook seemed like a minuscule topic. Wrath was told to leave it be, but still, he couldn't help but wonder if the notebook was planted there in the library for (Y/n) to find.
Ten days. The Promised Day was ten days away, and there was still too much to be addressed and uncovered within that short amount of time.