Ed stared at the ceiling.
Amber met white, stuccoed emptiness. Empty to empty. He sketched the small grooves in the paint, and couldn't help noticing the intentional flaws. Why would anyone purposely put in imperfections?
Everything was supposed to be perfect. The world was supposed to be perfect-it was what humankind strove for. Humans sweat, cry, bleed, eat, sleep, and breathe the reason of their existence, the advancement of their own race and the world around them. Their achievements were all meant to perfect something or other, whether it was transmutating a broken vase to make it perfect once more or cars so that their stamina and comfort can stay at perfect levels.
Ed was all about perfection, being the creation of the opposite.
He tried to be perfect. His alchemy was rivaled by no creature, living or dead, and of this he was certain. His knowledge was supreme; he was a prodigy. His muscles were built to perfection and his body was in the best shape it would probably ever be in.
And yet, he had flaws, just like this ceiling.
His wit and charm were backwards and twisted, yet still managing to be entirely adored. He had a funny way of needing everything. He needed love, attention, care, devotion, and everything else he felt like he deserved to have. He needed his brother, Alphonse, to be his little brother. He needed to be needed. He needed his lover, Roy, to give him all that he desired. He needed to be loved, and he needed to love in return. Because, dammit, didn't he go through enough?
He stretched up his right arm to hang between his eyes and the imperfect ceiling. Perfection in engineering, a miracle for the body-it was just like him. Perfect and broken all at once. While it was, in essence, better than flesh, it was still lacking. It was never hurt; it didn't cause him pain, unless he had to have it attached. It was stronger than flesh and bone and certainly more durable. To some people, like Winry, it was even more beautiful than what it had been created to replace.
And yet;
It was cold, alien, and unfeeling. Ed couldn't feel the caress of his lover; only when the skin managed to brush other skin did he react to the tingling, warm sensation. It rubbed up against him in the night and he cringed away from the cold metal. It was dead without his nerves. Whenever he was parted from his automail he couldn't bear to see it. It was like his arm had indeed been severed, but turned into a pile of inanimate scrap metal that he still expected to move at any time.
He relaxed; the metal arm fell once more to his side.
He continued to look into his mirror.