Five more minutes.

In five more minutes he'd get up and get ready, but for now, for five more minutes, Ed would let himself be hugged by the sleeping octopus that answered to 'Roy' during the day. At night, once asleep, Roy turned into a mess of limbs that wound around Ed, squeezed him, hugged him, clung and wouldn't let go. And Ed loved every minute of it.

So he'd give himself five more minutes.

Then he'd try to find a way out of the arms wound around his waist and the legs tangled with his own. Roy's head rest on Ed's chest, and Ed took the opportunity to run his fingers through the black hair, brushing it, playing with it in a soft, gentle way that he only did when Roy was too distracted, or tired, or unconscious to comment.

Roy shifted, his arms tightened before relaxing again, his legs settled more, one nudging Ed's automail. They'd managed to regain Al's body and Ed's arm, but not Ed's leg. Despite what Al may think, Ed considered it a win.

Al was too focused on the fact that Ed no longer had his left foot. As far as Ed was concerned, his foot had always been blank, and he'd lived a perfectly good life without seeing his words. He'd continue to do so for the rest of his life.

When Ed was a kid, he'd had a solid black line across the top of his foot, just waiting to be replaced with the thoughts of his soulmate. But he'd lost his foot before he'd ever met his soulmate. Before his soulmate had had a single thought about him for Ed to see written across his skin. If he'd met them since gaining the automail, he didn't really care. He didn't need their thoughts.

His hand slid easily from Roy's hair down his arm to begin loosening his grip enough for Ed to slip out. It took some wiggling and a few pauses to make sure that Roy wasn't about to wake, but Ed managed to get free. Then he stood next to the bed and looked down at hands that were grasping at empty sheets.

Idiot, he thought as he slid his pillow into Roy's arms and watched the octopus limbs curl around it. My idiot, he corrected as he ran his fingers through Roy's hair one more time before taking a step back.

The sheet had shifted while Roy was imitating an octopus. It had fallen to hug Roy's hips in a loose, precarious way that seemed to blatantly contradict Roy's tight grip. A hint of black, just barely visible, peeked out over the top of the sheet.

Ed turned away before he could get distracted, but as he got dressed, his thoughts strayed to the black line he knew ran across the sharp edge of Roy's hipbone. Unlike Ed, Roy's line had once held words. His hip had once showed thought after scrawling thought that Roy's soulmate had had about him. Not that Ed had ever seen it. He hadn't seen Roy's hip until the words had turned back into a line. Until his soulmate had stopped having any thoughts, not just ones about Roy.

Ed wondered which was worse: having never had any words or having those words taken away. He suspected Roy had it worse. Ed didn't know what it was like to have words so he couldn't really miss it. Roy, however, had not only had words, but had realized that while he had Hughes's words, Hughes had someone else's. He'd had to keep his marks to himself so that Hughes could happily, blissfully, obliviously run to Gracia, the two of them perfectly matched the way most people were.

Maybe Ed would have been a mismatch like Roy. Maybe his soulmate didn't have his words, which was why no one had ever approached him about the thoughts written on their skin.

Or at least, maybe that's why no one approached him before. Now, no one would when they were too busy assuming that he and Roy were soulmates. They both wore enough layers that people just assumed their marks were in places that weren't usually shown. It wasn't uncommon. And no one judged their relationship or argued against it when they thought that the two were meant to be. So neither Ed, nor Roy, ever corrected the assumptions. Let everyone think the older Elric brother was just as lucky as his brother to have found his soulmate.

And as Ed, now dressed and holding his suitcase, turned back to the bed, he thought that, words or no, he was just as happy with Roy as Al was with Mei.

Roy must have moved while Ed was getting ready. He was completely twisted around the pillow now, and the sheet had fallen more, exposing Roy's pale feet to the cool air.

Just a week. A quick trip to check in on teacher and Winry, to stretch his legs a bit, and then he'd be back, ready to be held by his idiot octopus again. Roy knew how long he'd be gone. He wouldn't mind Ed not waking him. But Ed wanted more this time, wanted to leave Roy something to remember him by.

After grabbing a permanent marker off the desk, Ed sat down carefully on the bed. He'd avoid the hip, that wasn't his place, but the foot…Roy's foot was all his. Taking Roy's left foot as carefully as he could in one hand, Ed wrote a message with the other. This way Roy would know Ed was thinking about him, rooting for him, supporting him always, no matter where he was.

Leaning back, Ed looked down at the dark words written in his handwriting across Roy's foot.

Fuhrer yet?

He knew if the words were real that they'd change constantly. They switch between wondering what Roy was doing, how he was doing, was he at work, drinking his coffee, missing Ed, but this was better. This would help keep Roy focused, and honestly, would just be less embarrassing. So with a grin, Ed capped the pen, tossed it onto the desk, and made his way out of the room with only one glance back.

He hoped the permanent label on the marker meant his words would last until he got back to rewrite them.