Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or the song Remembering Sunday by All Time Low.

Remembering Sunday

—xx—

Christmas fell on a Sunday that year. I remembered that because I had attended a Christmas party that evening with my friends from school, stone-cold wasted. I wasn't sure when exactly I had started drinking that evening as I hadn't been sober for days. However, I did recall arriving. There were ten or twelve people I recognized from my dorm there, a few high school-looking girls, a handful of frat girls, and a group of teenaged boys. All in all, there couldn't have been more than twenty five people there.

One person, however, stood out in the crowd of people. A high school aged blonde I had never seen before was laughing loudly and obnoxiously with his friends. At one point, we made eye contact, and my heart began to pound anxiously in my ears, my blood flowing furiously through my veins. What's more, the blonde flashed a toothy smile at me from across the room.

There isn't much that I can remember. I knew that everyone was already drinking when I got there, and half the people were wasted, myself included. As the party went on, the number of people in the room dissipated—either from doubling off to go make-out somewhere, or leaving to go home. Still, I remained on the couch, a bottle of green apple vodka held in my limp grip, taking occasional swigs of it. I suppose the reason why I was drinking so thoughtlessly was because of the year I had had, dumped by an all time low of seven girlfriends—my last being a week ago. When I finished the last chug of my hard liquor, I looked up, noticing that only the blonde and another girl was left in the room. I watched both drinking, until finally, the blonde got up and swaggered over to me.

Without a word, he grabbed my hand, and with a lop-sided, devilish grin, he pulled me upstairs and into a room. We stumbled inside and onto the bed. I honestly can't tell you what came over me. It could have been that I was so desperate and lonely from the loss of so many lovers, or the amount of alcohol streaming through my system. There was also the possibility that I had an unadulterated attraction to the boy, despite his gender and age.

But I wasn't thinking about all that as I pressed my lips against his. What I was thinking about was how bright his golden eyes were and how soft, small, and almost feminine—if not for the mass of muscles—his body was. I was thinking about undressing him and fucking the shit out of him.

…I think.

Like I said, it's all pretty blurry. I do remember, however, as I kissed his neck, I managed to slur a, "What's your name?"

To which he promptly responded, "Edward Elric. You?"

"Roy Mustang."

Conversation ended. It was either because it was so difficult to create sentences that could be deciphered, or because both of us kind of felt on the edge of throwing up. It also could have been that the desire between us was so high, that talking was merely getting in the way.

Undressing proved harder with both of us being so wasted, and as we, for some reason, couldn't get our hands off each other. I kept trying to remove his shirt, but he kept pulling me down for a kiss; he would try to unzip my fly, and I would hook my hand around his neck to suck on it. At one point, he became frustrated that my pants didn't want to leave my hips, and simply stuck his hand down them.

Eventually, though, all clothes were disposed of and we were pressed up together. I leaned my head on his shoulder to take in his scent, an interesting combination of Red Bull, rum, sweat, and cinnamon. I also caught a whiff of Axe underneath all that, which he must have applied before he arrived at the party.

Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders, pulled me back, and made eye contact with me.

"Fuck. Me. Now."

So, I did.

—xx—

Sunlight bore in through the window, awakening us both. He rolled over and threw an arm around me, and I remembered the night all at once—sort of. Some of it was there, some of it wasn't. All the parts where we touched, kissed, fucked—those were there. The basics—his name, my response, going upstairs, the undressing struggle—those were there, too. Also, for some reason, I remembered that delectable scent, even though as he laid there, half-way on top of me, all the way naked, his perfume was nearly gone.

I had a bitch of a headache. For the first time in probably three days, I wasn't drunk off my ass, and now it was getting me back. I groaned and moved in close to him.

"Agreed," he muttered, resting his head on my shoulder. "Not only does my ass still hurt to high-fucking-heaven, but I've got a headache from all those fucking Raging Bulls… why did I let Russel talk me into that?"

I opened an eye at him, "…sorry."

"It's not your fault I got drunk off my ass."

"Yeah, but it is my fault that your ass hurts." I grinned.

He flushed, but then smirked, too. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

I closed the eye again and wrapped my arms around him for warmth.

"Your name… its Roy, right?" He breathed it into my ear, causing goose-bumps to cover my skin.

"Uh, yeah, yours is Edward, right?"

"Uh-huh," he responded. "Well… Roy," he tasted it, let it roll on his tongue, before continuing, "Whose house is this?"

I opened my eyes to blink. That was certainly a good question. Maes had taken me to the party, so I had no idea who actually lived here. "I don't know," I mumbled, "my best friend's friend or something."

"Well, that's good," he chuckled, "I'm glad we slept together in a complete stranger's house."

"So you're glad we slept together?" I raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

He flushed again, "what the—you fucking bastard! I never said that!"

I merely laughed and removed myself from our entanglement, to both of our secret disappointment. "Come on," I smiled, "let's go get some breakfast. I'll take you."

—xx—

A fresh layer of snow had fallen the night before. Edward seemed delighted at this—though I couldn't say I felt the same. The sky was a sickly colour gray, and I rushed to my car, waiting for him to accompany me. He took a bit longer, marveling at the fresh white carpeting on the world. Finally, though, he opened the passenger side door, and I drove away.

He talked—a lot—mostly about nothing, really. If he wasn't so damn gorgeous, and I hadn't fucked him the night before, I might've kicked him out of the car, for he was only worsening my hangover. He chatted away needlessly, talking about his school, his future, etc. I couldn't have been more relieved when I pulled into the diner parking lot.

Thing is, though, as annoying as he was, as much as his age should have bothered me… I couldn't stop looking at him, following him. The kid was enticing, and I couldn't have left him had I wanted to at that moment.

We sat at a booth and each of us ordered eggs, devouring them, when they arrived, with light conversation that easily shot back and forth. I felt my stomach flutter every time he made a move, said a word, and took a glance. I felt a connection to him, one I had never felt before—it was strange.

However, I wasn't feeling as though he was that interested in me. He talked to me like a friend, speaking of the "crazy parties" he had been to—all the people—like me—he had fucked at said parties. It kind of seemed weird, how much it hurt that he was telling me about all his escapades. Not to say that I didn't have many of my own, his probably paled compared to mine. The problem I had with it was that, by saying this, he was basically telling me that I wasn't to be anyone special to him.

I stared into his eyes in the least obvious manner possible, trying to get some sign of a bluff, of him lying to me about what message he was trying to get across. Unfortunately, all I was getting from him was his utter, complete disbelief in love. I was hoping to call his bluff at one point.

By the end of the meal, it seemed as though this wasn't going anywhere—disappointingly enough. I was just hoping that he would suggest that we meet again, but when he never did, I made the mistake of doing it myself.

"So, you had fun?" I questioned casually.

"Yeah, it was good," Edward smirked, hands in pockets, "though I can't say I remember everything."

"True, true," I responded. "You wanna do this again sometime?"

Ed stopped and raised an eyebrow at me. "What?"

"Wanna meet up sometime?"

He honestly looked utterly confused, like no one had said this to him before. "Are you… are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Uh… honestly…" He sputtered, "Not really…? I don't want to get involved in a relationship. I don't have time for it and I just don't believe in all that love bullshit. Sorry, you're really cool and good-looking and all, but… no."

"Oh," I responded, hoping I didn't look or sound as shocked as I felt, "alright, then."

"You cool?"

"Yeah," I choked, "I'll see you at another party, I guess. You need a ride home?"

"…nah," answered the blonde, "I'll walk. It's nice enough. Thanks, though. See you around."

And with that, he walked off, down the snow-covered sidewalk, as if we were strangers who had met on the train, not two people who had made love the night before. Perhaps we hadn't. After all, nothing of what we did was love, it was drunken fucking. Only… only that was only for him. I knew at that point, as I watched rejection walk away, the reason I followed him upstairs, the reason I couldn't keep my hands off him, the reason I had sex with him.

From the moment our eyes met, I had begun to fall in love. Now, as it walked away, I felt lost, already, without this stranger.

—xx—

Five days later, it was Saturday—New Years Eve, and there I was, back with Maes at that stranger's house where I had met Edward. Honestly, I couldn't tell you why I went back there. From the moment he walked away after Christmas, until that very moment, my every single thought was somehow related to the blonde. For the first two days, I contemplated tracking him down, debating and weighing the pros and cons of such an action. Finally, on the third day, I began going door to door in my dorm, asking everyone if they knew of a blonde Edward Elric—wondering if they had seen this boy. I couldn't help it. After all, he'd been running aimlessly through my dreams, crazy as it sounds.

Unfortunately, no one had heard of him since. I didn't know the guy who was throwing the party, so I couldn't ask him how he knew him. So, I guess I showed up at the party with the small hope that Edward would make an appearance. At first, I vowed not to drink at all, but as time went on and on—and he didn't show up—I continued to pick up drinks, increasing the ratio of alcohol to soda until I was drinking straight shots of vodka.

Finally, a glint of blonde and a familiar laugh filled my eardrums, and my eyes searched the room. The front door was open, and in came Edward, dropping his red jacket to the ground. He was boasting about something—but, honestly, with all the alcohol already in my system, I couldn't tell you what it was. I restrained myself from getting up and instead chose to watch him from across the room as he made his way through the house. He skated through the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, and then sat on the couch, right across from me.

Then he noticed me—I know this because we made eye contact. He did not look thrilled. What can I say? Did he not think I would come here? He stared for a while before he moved towards me. As he approached me, he opened his mouth to start what I was sure was going to be a lecture, but before the words could leave his lips, a large crack of thunder interrupted him. Suddenly, nothing was visible through the thick, pitch black. I assumed that the power went out. I could hear the murmur of people around me as several opened cell phones or began to light candles. As I opened my own phone, I lit the area in front of me. Edward was gone, and the front door was slammed open, allowing the sound of the downpour outside to reverberate through the room.

I hadn't noticed that it was raining, really. It hadn't meant much when I had arrived, but it was starting to make sense as the events all came together. I dropped the cup in my hand and stumbled through the candlelit room, out the door, and after the blonde who was now across the street. He was soaked, and as I stepped out under the sheets of rain, I soon was, as well. The rain was icy, being that it was a chilly forty-five degrees here in Miami. I didn't care, though. As I stared at the boy across from me, in the rainy darkness, his golden eyes flared. He was shivering slightly, and as I moved towards him, I heard his voice travel, muted by the storm.

"Stop!"

I stood there, shocked. The cold water had stunned me halfway sober, and every bolt of lightning in the near distance was pushing me farther away from being drunk. Not listening to what he said, I moved slowly, but surely, across the street until I was feet from him.

"Stay away," he murmured, his voice barely meeting my ears. "Just stay away. I told you no! Get away from me, you stupid bastard!"

"W-why," my teeth chattered, "w-w-why s-s-should I?"

"Th-th-they t-t-told me," he was screaming now, words brittle and choppy. "Th-th-they t-t-told me that you were l-l-looking for me. I t-t-told them though—t-t-told them that I'm not calling! I'm not calling!"

"I wasn't going to come back… but I'd done something so terrible—and I was terrified to speak! I let you get away, without a word." I gushed, talking so fast my words didn't have a chance to be interrupted by my chattering teeth. "I guess… I guess you'd expect-t-t that from me." I slowed, "I've never been turned down, Edward."

"Well, I don't want it! I don't want that love bullshit! It's fucked me up once and I sure as hell won't let it do it to me again. I'm not going to give into these fucking feelings."

"F-f-feelings?" I blinked, as the rain picked up. Another bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, closer than the one before it. "You hav-v-ve f-f-feelings?"

"I'm mixed up." Edward admitted, not answering my question. "I'll be blunt—I came out here in hope that the rain would just wash you out of my hair—and out of my mind." He bowed his head, "but it's not working."

"I can't forget you. You're driving me crazy, it seems." I moved in closer. "I want you, Ed. I want you by my side."

He looked up and stared into my eyes. "I don't want to get hurt. You look like the kind of bastard that goes through partners like tissues."

"Thanks," I growled.

"I can't trust you—I can't trust anyone. I don't even know you. You're a stranger!"

"Then why not get to know me?" I grabbed his wrist and pulled him close, "Let me get close, and I'll let you trust me. Trust your instincts—they may be right."

Without answering, without even a word, he grabbed my soaked collar, and our lips met. At the moment the kiss was engaged, my watched beeped loudly, alerting me that it was midnight—and the start of the new year. I hardly noticed, as his lips moved against mine, soft and wet. My hands untangled his braid and my fingers laced through his hair. The rain slowed from the downpour into a light shower, and the lightning seemed to move from us gradually. Finally, as our air ran out, we separated, gasping for breaths.

"Okay," he smiled, "I will."

Remembering Sunday—it always brings a smile to my face.

—xx—

A/N: Neat. I think I actually like this one. I really like this song… a little too much, so I decided to write a story about it. Thanks to Kara (NeoDiji) for all the support, and for basically creating the last sentence. Well. This is my second Holiday fic, even though it's not very Holiday-ee. Therefore, it's not being added to Stubborn, which will now stand alone and not be with a whole bunch of Holiday fics. At least not this year.

Because they're my stories and I'll do what I want xD.

Anyway. Please enjoy. I hope you like it.

maria