A/N: Just a little drabble that's been floating around in our heads for a little bit. Written at late-o'clock at night – so excuse the roughness! Enjoy?
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He had always hated this time of year, Ed mused, staring out the window and into the black.
When the mystifying blue sky suddenly disappeared, hiding behind a thick blanket of gunmetal gray. When sleet and rain caused the streets to ice over, making his already uncertain footing even less dependable than usual. When the approaching storms caused a dull, throbbing ache in his shoulder and thigh.
Yes, winter truly was Nature's cruelest of plots.
He grimaced and absent-mindedly massaged his thigh with his good hand, firmly rubbing the heel of his hand against the inflamed skin. He didn't want to bother his shoulder even more by jostling it.
The pain itself wasn't so bad - goodness knew he had certainly endured worse - but what truly bothered him was the simple fact that though the ache might fade, it would never truly go away.
That thought drew a dark chuckle from the young alchemist. How true it was.
The pain of losing his mother.
The pain of severing ties with the one place he truly called home.
The pain of having nearly killed his brother, and instead submitting him to a steel prison.
The pain of every single day, walking down the street and looking in through the windows and seeing happy families gathered around the fire, laughing and joking and demonstrating exactly what it was that Ed was missing. What he would never have again.
And it hurt.
But still he fought against it, stubbornly putting on a brave face, massaging the wound, covering it up with pretty words and endless lies. Lying and lying until he finally had himself all but convinced.
Until another storm arose, and the ache rose to the surface again. Ebbing and flowing, predictable as the tides themselves.
But every pang, every throbbing, pounding ache was another tiny reminder that he was alive. That he was human; that he could feel. And his brother could not.
And so he pressed onwards, struggling past the pain and onto his ultimate goal. Taking it one moment at a time. One heartbeat - one step closer to the truth.
They were slowly but surely moving forwards. That was the thought that comforted him in the wee small hours, when it was all he could do to keep from vomiting in self-revulsion, from falling into a darkness as penetrating and unescapable as that of the icy December night.
But though the ache might fade, it would never truly go away.
He had always hated this time of year...