Title taken from Tori Amos' song "Beauty Queen/Horses," which was on repeat the entire time I was writing. Very spur of the moment fic. Unbeta'd, you know the drill.

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"Do you ever have those nights," Roy began, and Ed put down his coffee, "when you wake up and can't decide why you're alone?"

Ed didn't look at Roy when he lied through his teeth. "No, and that's a fuckin' weird thing to say."

They were alone in the office without even the light of day to keep them company. Ed buried himself in another stack of paperwork, productivity a shield against Roy's questioning gaze.

"Maybe I'm just looking for conversation," Roy said after a beat. "It's past midnight, and you think I can stay awake with nothing but the sound of my own breathing?"

Despite being sorely tempted to respond then quit breathing, Ed signed his name across another form, his signature a shaky scrawl, and said, "I'm not talkin' about stupid shit with you."

"Everything is stupid to you."

"Hm."

"You've not changed much, over the years," Roy observed.

"Look, will you quit bothering me?" Ed asked, annoyed. "I didn't ask you to stay overtime with me."

"And I didn't ask you to leave your work until the last possible moment," Roy snapped back. Ed stared at him.

His commanding officer looked harried, looked tired and ready to lie on the floor and pretend he was somewhere else. Ed could sympathize and would have willingly vocalized that had it not been Roy Mustang sitting two desks away, his scowl a physical presence in the distance.

"You're one to talk," he muttered, but his ire was dampened. Roy's haughty expression didn't even twitch.

Another page dropped into the 'complete' file, and Ed wondered how long until they both blew.

It wasn't until four in the morning, as Ed stretched his arms above his head, basking in the momentary glow of finally finishing that he realized that Roy had fallen asleep.

He could leave him there. Ed could get up and walk out and Hawkeye would find Roy asleep at his desk when she arrived. No harm done.

Ed glanced longingly at the door before standing up, his legs stiff from hours of being stationary, and stumbled over to Roy's desk, shaking out the unpleasant pins and needles stinging his muscles. He reached out a hand—and froze.

A step backwards.

He couldn't just shake the man's shoulder because—because he couldn't, that's why, and Ed didn't have to give a goddamn reason beyond that.

But his internal dilemma was cut short as Roy snorted, rolling his head to the side and colliding painfully with his stapler. He sat up with a loud yelp, hand flying to the tender spot on his head. Roy's eyes couldn't have gotten any wider. "What?" he asked, irritation bleeding into his tone. "What is it?"

"I'm done," Ed said, standing not even a foot away from Roy, frozen like the ground had attached itself to the soles of his shoes. "I—we can leave."

"Leave," Roy echoed. He'd finally noticed Ed, really noticed him, and Ed could see the question in his eyes, so he jumped back before Roy could ask.

"Yeah," Ed said tersely. "Leave, as in getting the fuck out of here. Mind?"

Roy seemed stuck in that sleepfog, his mind still catching up with the physical parts of him. His mouth was slack, shining like he'd been drooling in his sleep. Ed wouldn't have been surprised. "What time is it?" Roy asked, the hand at the back of his head sliding over his eyes, rubbing furiously.

"Late," Ed said, then to correct himself, "early. It's about four."

"Four," Roy said with wonder. "Why am I here?"

"Those kinds of questions are more two in the morning, Mustang," Ed joked. But the man wasn't together enough, because he didn't laugh. He just—watched Ed, like he couldn't quite place what he was seeing.

Shifting nervously on his feet, Ed said, "Well, I'm outta here. See you around."

"Fullmetal." Roy's voice stopped Ed in his tracks before he even had the chance to turn around. Roy seemed to wake up, then, because he blinked rapidly, looking down at the cluttered surface of his desk. "Have a nice day," he said mildly.

Ed walked out of the room calmly, as collected as he'd even been, but the moment he turned from the doorway, he broke into a run.

Ed cracked an eye at the sound of the door opening, a long slow creak. It opened with just enough room for someone to squeeze in sideways, if they really sucked their stomach in—but no one appeared. He would have discredited it to his imagination had the bed not suddenly dipped as a large furry presence made itself known on his back.

He could've ignored the cat, even when it started kneading at his back and purring loudly, but once the claws came into play, Ed bellowed, "AL, GET YOUR DAMN CAT OUT OF HERE," at the top of his lungs. Then he shoved his head under his pillow.

The day was still far too young for Ed.

The soft pattering of feet down the hall, the door opening fully, and then his brother was standing beside the bed, carefully pulling the offended feline off Ed's back, murmuring gently. "You know," Al said, stroking the evil furball's head, "if you just closed it all the way, this wouldn't happen."

"I wouldn't get any air," Ed responded, peeking out from beneath the pillow. "Now go away. I'm sleeping."

"It's almost two in the afternoon," Al said. "Get up, or I leave the cat in here."

"Asshole," Ed grumbled, and threw off the sheets, pillow knocked to the side. "No decency, that's what your problem is! I worked a long hard night of—"

"A long hard night of doing work that should have been done weeks ago, I've been told," Al said dryly. "You're getting as bad as the General."

"Don't compare me to him!" Ed snapped.

"Don't act like him, then," Al returned.

As much as he wanted, Ed couldn't say a whole lot to that.

He didn't have to work that day. Ed could've stayed in bed for hours longer, given half the chance, but Al would've pestered him. You're wasting the day, Al would've said. Go enjoy yourself.

Apparently, he wasn't allowed to enjoy himself in bed, asleep, so Ed went with the next best option and fled for the safety of the library. Only he never even made it in the front door. Ed made it as far as the front steps before he caught sight of Mustang walking out, looking every bit as shitty as he had when Ed had left him in the office the night before.

Roy looked surprised to see him. He shifted his book under his arm and smiled, squinting Ed's way against the afternoon sun. "Ed," he said.

Ed's heart thundered in his chest. He wanted to correct him: It's Fullmetal, moron, I never said you could say my name— "Mustang."

"I'm surprised you're awake."

"I should be saying the same to you," Ed said. Roy actually laughed at that, much to Ed's surprise.

"I did sleep," he said finally. "In the office. I never left."

"Oh," Ed said. It was awkward. They were awkward, and he wasn't sure if Roy felt it. The other man certainly didn't let on if he did. "Well." Good seeing you, he should say. I have to go. Shit to do, people to see…

But Roy, the idiot, had to interrupt him, had to skew the entire moment by saying, "I was going to get lunch. Hungry?"

It was completely normal, two coworkers eating out. Probably at some inexpensive place where no one looks at anyone else and the check comes faster than the food. It should be normal.

Ed shrugged, hands jammed in his pockets. "Sounds good to me."

But it wasn't.

There was nothing normal about them—not in the way Roy would stand so close, not in the way their hands would brush as they walked. It wasn't right that Ed felt like he glowed when Roy was there, that the moment they stepped together, the world felt lighter.

It was them, in a restaurant, sitting at a table with days-old grease stains, and Ed thought, how fucking romantic is this?

The sad part, of course, the single worst thing about it was that he really meant it.