When I look into the distance I see only who I am not.

How do we define distance, is it really from one place to another? Is it how far we are from where we want to be or don't want to be? Is distance place between places, or is it a place between people? Sometimes I think it isn't a place at all, but a void. There is nothing there, so to define it, we say it is a place between. Does that make me a place between too? It isn't like I am a person, just a monster filling a bottomless void.

I can't help but wonder why it is I want to be human so badly. It is a driving obsession that grinds me into reality like an unforgiving boot on the back of my head, my nose rubbed into the world I can never have and never be a part of.

I find myself looking into windows as of late. Inside is always a scene I don't understand but can't help but crave. What would it be like to eat dinner among family, better yet, to have a family? I don't even know what it means to be a friend or have one. After all, I am just a place between.

Running my hands through my long green hair I press my forehead against the cool glass. Was it so different now that I'm inside looking out instead of out looking in? I don't feel changed but I don't feel the same as before. The Central before me is such a huge place; it is easy to get lost in all the streets. The skin on my forehead grows numb and I absently miss my head band.

"Your name really suits you. Envious of everything, aren't you?"

I turn and look at the man in the office with me. Furher Roy Mustang, leader of the free world and he was doing up the buttons on his previously discarded shirt. He straightens the cuffs in a graceful movement that I can't take my eyes from. The white fabric ripples and obeys his every command, changing shape to suit his will and fit him arm. I find myself longing to be that shirt. I could hug and hold him close to me for a day at a time and never be told to stop. I could be the shirt and not have to be anything else. No one ever asks a shirt to stop being a shirt or to be another shirt. I envy the simple life of that shirt.

"Get away from the window Envy. Before someone sees you and put something on."

I glare at him and turn back to view the city from his office. What does it matter if anyone sees me? I am no one. I have less identity than that glorious shirt. I run my finger along the sill before turning back into the expansive office. I never got to leave anymore. The new world had no place for the last homunculus. I tried travelling but in the end I was left with no answers, no hope, just an endless sea of nothing.

Anyone who knew my face was dead or gone and I didn't know if that was good or bad. I was bored, reckless and without purpose. So I revealed myself to the new superpower and offered my services. At first I thought of the Fullmetal Squirt when I first stepped into the lobby of the State but that changed too. The chibi was always out on missions, never here longer than a day and no longer looking for the stone. He didn't need it anymore. The shrimp got his brother back another way. I don't know how I am going to get the stone now. Perhaps I don't even want it.

"I told you to get dressed. What if someone walks in?"

No, I definitely want it. My shirt and bottoms are thrown at my face. Cold and indifferent eyes look into my own purple ones and I wait for what always comes next. Every time. Every time. Every time.

"Why did you switch back? Hurry and change into someone else. Green hair doesn't exactly blend in."

I can feel the rage welling up inside of me but I keep silent, slipping my legs slowly into my outfit, savouring the soft touch. If I close my eyes I can imagine they are something else, like sensual hands. This body had never felt such a thing. Mustang always had me change into someone, anyone other than this. He wants me, but never as me. Am I even anything? What would my life be like if I could just be like everyone else? Could I go to a café in the morning before rushing to work? Would I have bills to pay and a car to wash?

If I were anyone else, he wouldn't be interested in me. I am ashamed of my own pitiful addiction. Sine when I have ever been dependent on anyone. But it is in that brief moment of ecstasy that I feel and I know he forgets who I really am, lost in a fantasy I have created. That's all I'm good for isn't bastard? I'm your pet that can do all the tricks the neighbour's pets can only dream of. And I do it all for just that pat on the head. I'm a good boy… or am I just your bitch?

"Today you have to do the paper work on the Marshal file and also call Graham in research for those updated profile shots of the ambassador. Got that?"

I nod and fix the twist in my shirt. Sometimes I think my own body is a prison. What I would give to be able to walk out of here just like this and buy an apple at the market. But then I would be useless and he would cast me aside. I don't even like Roy Mustang but I can't leave him. He is the only one who likes me for what I can do instead of hating me for it. Who I am isn't even a factor in the equation.

I place my headband on and flick my hair in a cascade of green silk. Who am I? I'm no one.

I change and feel my fake heart sink. Blue sleeves spread and bind to my arms, confining my skin from its beloved air. The same occurs to my legs. The stuffy uniform covers me in a sky-colour mask of thick polyester. I rise up slightly and view the room from a higher angle than my own. My head is lighter as my hair shrinks and brushes against my forehead. I fix his jacket and sit at his desk. I know it is his onyx eyes, not mine, that are surveying the room and I can't help but hate myself again and again.

This is my life now. I act out my part as being Furher Roy Mustang and he lets me taste what if may be like to be real. A taste is all I get because I'm no one. Even a taste is more than the nothing that is my life. I start in on his paper work and he leaves without a word through a secret exit so no one would ever suspect he left the office. To all the world he didn't because here I sit, wearing his face.

"Sir, I need you to sign this."

I sign his signature.

"Sir we need a new picture of you for the Centrilium Paper."

I sit for his photographs.

"Sir, what's you opinion on the dams breaking in the west?"

I answer his questions.

"Sir, Molly called ask if you wanted to go to dinner on Thursday."

I cancel or confirm his dates.

I am the no one that everyone has seen and heard but never knew it.

"Sir, the Colonel is yesterday morning from his mission. Would you like me to call him in for an earlier debriefing than tomorrow?"

I say yes and continue with my papers. I know more about this foul country than I ever wished to know. The place I wanted so baldy to burn is now my every day concern. Mustang does whatever he wants during the day while I run his country, following his instructions. I've been doing for so long now that I could probably do it without him. I cringe at the day Mustangs runs out of fancies for me to perform and throws me away. What will I do then?

"Hey bastard! Pay attention when a person enters the room."

I harness my anxiety and pull on my smirk. It was time to for the only fulltime actor in the world to give another performance. I rest my head on my hand in a much mimicked gesture and looked at the blonde with bored eyes. On the inside I take in the person before me. The Fullmetal Shrimp, he's changed a lot since I last saw him. I try to remember when his last mission was completed and reported to me but his debriefings were always those days when Mustang decided to actually do his job. I haven't actually seen him myself for years.

"Stop staring already. I don't care how good last night was. Try and be professional. At least pretend to looked shocked to see me here EARLY."

My stomach dropped at those fateful words. Mustang was already tired of me. I can feel reality being torn into small stripes all around me but it never shows on my face. I am the ultimate actor after all. Edward gives me a weird look before putting his file on my desk.

"Fullmetal, I have enough to do at the moment without spending hours trying to depict the hieroglyphs you call writing. Have a seat and give me a summary."

I watch him in apparent boredom as he goes through the song and dance of a meeting. I want to scream and run but I can't. I have no where to go. I need to feel.

"Who are you?"

…

"I know it must be hard to see from down there but let me reassure you that I am none other than the devilishly handsome man who rules over these lands."

I want to choke myself and die. I guess that is another reason I desire humanity, so at last I can have an end.

"Ok, whatever. I have things to do. Are you working tonight?"

I want him gone. The sooner he leaves the sooner I can smack my head on the desk or something equally self-destructive.

"Unlike some people, a Furher's work is never done so yes, I will be here."

Those golden eyes stare right through me. I can almost feel my long hair touch my lower mind back but I know it isn't. I'm Roy Mustang. But I can't escape this golden tunnel. I can't breathe. I'm falling. And now I am awake again, his golden eyes turned aside.

"What kind of muffin do you like?"

Fuck! I search my memory for anything even remotely relevant until I recall Mustang saying he didn't like muffins.

"I don't like muffins."

The blonde decides something and then gets up. He walks over to the door and then walks back. I put an amused face on.

"Miss me already?"

He only looks at me before leaving again. Finally I can loathe myself in the open. I spend the rest of the day as I do every day, signing, smiling, talking and nodding. It is getting dark out but I give the moon no heed. I don't really need to sleep. I don't really need anything. I am no one and need nothing.

I don't even bother changing into myself as I pick up another useless book. I have read every single book in this office now but they never gave me any form of satisfaction. Political history and military theory were boring subjects to study. But I have nothing else to do.

The door to his office opens and I see the blonde again. His older body moves to sit on the chair across from the couch where I am sitting. He roots around in his backpack until he finds his desired object, a muffin. He sets it on the coffee table and makes to leave. I watch in silence as he puts his hand on the doorknob, pausing.

"I thought you would like a banana muffin as a late-night snack, since they grow on palm trees and all. I'll bring in the rest of batch tomorrow."

He smiles at me and disappears with quick flick of the knob, closing the door. I can't help but be speechless. But instead of letting my mind overload with all the possible meanings of his statement, I pick up the food item. It was a simple homemade snack with a slight burn on the bottom. Hours pass and all I can do is look at my, MY treat, finally, something of my own. I hug it and curl up on the couch. I can feel my eyes leaking warmly and suddenly tomorrow is too far away. I'm not a place between to everyone, even if it is just for a moment.