DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I am in no way affiliated with the author(s), producer(s) or publisher(s). I am writing strictly for entertainment purposes with no material or monetary gain.
Edward stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest against the chill of the corridor. He wanted to enter the room, go sit near the roaring fireplace and soak in the heat that it promised for him and his chilled metal limbs. But this was Roy's house, had always been Roy's house, and as much as the man tried to make him feel welcome there, it would never be somewhere Edward really felt he belonged. His own house in Resembul, yes, and even in Winry's house, he belonged; he was born there, played there, loved and was loved there as a child. That was his past, and definitely somewhere he had belonged.
But this was Roy's house—Roy's life. Mustang was born, grew up, became a man and built his own life long before Edward had even known he existed. He had his own friends, his career, and this elegant house. Edward was simply an intruder to all this, a foreign object Roy had picked up by accident along the way. He didn't fit, and he knew it. The odd piece to the otherwise perfectly assembled puzzle.
The winter wind whistled loudly around the house as it blustered and raged outside. Edward shivered and hugged his arms more tightly to him as he watched Mustang, sitting still as a statue in the chair before the fire. He seemed so far away, so distant, black eyes and expressionless face trained on the flickering flames in the grate. Edward wanted to go to him, pull him out of that aloof distance and back to their little world with him, but he was trapped there, the outsider forbidden entry by an invisible threshold. Even if Edward could break it, what would he do upon entering? Roy was far away now and unreachable to him. Edward was only an observer.
Edward suddenly felt a tell-tale tickle in his nose, and he took in a quick breath to try to stave it off, but it was too late—he sneezed, and it sounded loud as an explosion in the silent room. Roy broke from his deathlike stillness and turned to look at him. Edward froze, staring back in apprehension at his unyielding eyes, the only part of him that still seemed to be made of stone. Then he blinked, life and awareness seeming to begin to come back to him once more.
"Edward," he said. Ed didn't move; he didn't belong in this house, and couldn't move about as he liked. "Come here," he beckoned, holding out a hand. "Aren't you cold?"
With mixed feelings of relief and uncertainty, Edward walked through the doorway and into the room. He didn't know what to do; he had never known what to do when he saw Roy like that. When that other person who sometimes lived in Roy's body appeared.
Edward put his own hand within reach of Roy's outstretched one, and the colonel took it, pulled Edward to him, encouraged him to sit with him in the chair, between his knees. He fit there easily, and Roy's warm, solid arms wrapped around him as though that were their natural place. Heat from the man's body and the fireplace washed over Ed, easing his tense muscles and the ache in his Automail.
"Ed," Roy said quietly, over his shoulder. Edward could hear something in it, a strange depth. The very surface of that deep, frozen water Roy had been drowning in as he watched from the door. "I'm so glad you're here."
Edward squeezed Roy's arms back tightly, a small smile touching his lips. And so they sat, Roy's broken edges fitting perfectly the shape of Edward's odd puzzle-piece.