OMG, TheNightShootingStar, calm down, it is O.K. This fic is not abandoned and I don't plan on abandoning it. Thank you though, I've never received a sweeter review, so here is the next chapter.

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"I thought you were going to cut your hair," Alphonse, sitting against the window with a book in his armored hands, observed.

"Thought better of it," Edward said, collapsing onto his bed face first.

"You bought a scarf?" Alphonse observed. "It's nice."

"Thanks."

Too weird, Edward decided at night, when he tried to sleep. He was tired, slightly sore from the long run he'd taken before, but his mind refused to comply. You know he likes you and you still want to go.

Feelings weren't supposed to be questioned, they were just supposed to be felt and acted upon, but suddenly Edward found himself second guessing everything. His heart had beat faster talking to Dietrich on the train then it ever had even when Winry was almost half-naked standing over him rambling about automail.

Am I the kind of guy who likes men instead of girls? Is that disgusting? Is that normal? Edward buried his head deeper in the pillow and let out a sigh, pretending he was sleeping for Alphonse's sake. He could hear Alphonse turning pages, still reading by the light of the candle. Alphonse wouldn't admit it, since Edward had done so much complaining about the choice of books Seska had lent, but they both knew Alphonse was enjoying himself. He was wrapped up in some science fiction series at the moment, although before it had been an adventure from an author from Belgium.

Edward's mind trailed off to the scarf. Dietrich likes me, the thought suddenly rammed past his defenses accompanied by a rush of something Edward didn't want to name. Dietrich was handsome, in a bookish, skinny sort of way. He certainly wasn't disgustingly muscular like Armstrong, and he probably didn't even work out, but there was something about the way he just looked, matter-of-fact, past all the lies and stated exactly what was happening. Germany was going to war.

The scarf, Edward thought. Should he wear it? It didn't exactly look any sort of nice with his clothes. He supposed he could just wear his... red jacket.

The jacket everyone knew belonged to the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Somehow, Edward felt like Dietrich wouldn't talk to him again, and he wouldn't even be let into the club-thing he'd talked about, as the Fullmetal Alchemist.

I need normal clothes, Edward decided.

He got up early in the morning. "I'm going out. I'm bored. I'm going to spend something," Edward told Alphonse. "Want me to get you anything?"

"I'm good," Alphonse told him. "I'm going to read down by the training lawn."

"'K."

Shopping in Central seemed easy, Edward decided. And then he walked into the first store.

There weren't signs saying 'this is nice, wear it'. Instead, there were rows upon rows of shirts and ties and pants.

"Can I," a tall man with a slight accent came toward Edward and stopped. "Hello," he leaned down to look Edward in the eye. "Are you lost?"

Edward glared at him, and left.

The next place, when he walked in holding his alchemist watch in front of him, was much better.

It felt like a whirl of fabric and prices, and unrelated things and people talking, and in fact Edward just barely hung on, by the skin of his teeth, and came out with something he was assured looked nice.

Edward had a hat, and he put it over his head, wondering if Dietrich would recognize him without it. He barely recognized himself, with the nice, grey pants, the matching tie, and the black shirt. Edward, just in case, tucked his watch in his pocket, and then he tied his black shoes, checking for the fourteenth time that his socks were long enough it was impossible to see his automail leg, and then slipped on his gloves, rolling the sleeves over them to keep skin and metal from showing.

Nice clothes were different, he decided. Stiffer, and harder to fight in then his regular clothes. "Just this once," Edward said, feeling like a stranger.

He took the scarf, looping it once around his neck, and then took it off. Without it, he tip toed past Alphonse and out the door. He was in the hallway, then the staircase, and by the exit.

"Edward."

Edward turned fast, eyes widening, hands pressed together for alchemy. It was Riza. He didn't let down his guard.

"Going out," she asked. She herself was wearing different clothes, and her hair was down. "I was wondering whether or not you boys were human."

"I," Edward began.

"Good luck," Riza Hawkeye said. She walked by and left.

Edward pulled the address out of his hand and carefully left the building, making sure no one else saw him. He didn't see Alphonse watching him leave from the window.

The place wasn't far, so he walked. He was a bit early anyways. It was a quarter to five when he reached the alley.

The turned the address over in his hands, remembering Dietrich had written something else. 'Say you're with me'.

There was a rather ugly looking, dirty door, with the number barely holding on. Edward swallowed, felt for a moment like he was stepping into a Homunculi trap, and then knocked.

It was a woman he opened the door, which surprised Edward. She had fat, naturally red lips and dark skin. "This is a private residence," the woman said in monotone. "Private property."

Edward looked at the address again, flipping it over. Is this the wrong place...

"Let me see that," the woman snatched the paper out of Edward's hand. She nodded at the address, and turned the the other side. "Who wrote this?" She asked.

"Uh... Dietrich." Edward said. "Dietrich Wolfgang... Thorsten?"

The woman's eyes softened. "He's coming?" She opened the door, and her large lips fell into a wide smile. "After Lukas... it's been awhile. And who are you?"

"Edward," Edward answered. "El..." He froze before finishing his last name, remembering the name 'Elric' was famous.

"Edward El," the woman rushed Edward inside. "You look very nice." Inside, the house was better then the door had led him to believe. The door led into a parlor, with bright, though slightly dirty wallpaper, and some old but comfortable looking chairs. There was a stairway to the upstairs, but there was a door with a lock halfway up, and Edward came upon the impression that the woman lived up there. Below, he could hear the faint sound of music. There was a voice, singing in another language. English, Edward guessed. The sound though, swinging trumpets and a clarinet, sounded American. American English, he corrected.

"You can sit here and wait if you like, or..." the woman made a gesture for Edward to follow her. "Come down stairs. I'll get you a drink while you wait." Edward went down the stairs behind her. "I'm Marcie by the way, I'm from France. My husband, Steffen, is downstairs, so if you want anything."

Edward got the impression that Dietrich was very popular here.

There was also something else, something darker. This 'Lukas' must have been the person Dietrich was talking about, the one who had died. Edward wasn't sure if he should feel jealous or sad, in fact it was a mixture of both that came to mind.

The basement had been emptied out and turned into some sort of miniature ballroom. There were toilets at the far end, for boys and girls, and a bar on the other side where Edward could smell some breads cooking. Tables, small with a few chairs, were on the side of the walls, but the majority of the room was taken over by a huge empty space. A record player, in the farthest corner, was playing music as loud as it could, but the sound was quiet. In the center of the floor, there were only two people, a boy and a girl.

The woman with the red lips went up to talk to the man standing behind the bar, and then she left. Feeling awkward, Edward sat in on one of the farthest chairs.

The couple was young, a boy and a girl, and Edward couldn't figure out why they would bother coming to a place as dirty as this when their genders would make it easy for them to dance anywhere else. Then two things came to his attention, the girl's eyes looked up at Edward for a moment, red and in tears, but the red wasn't from crying. The teenager, a solid looking young man, buried his face against her hair and was holding her. They danced, not keeping time with the American music.

Remembering what Dietrich had said about the brothels, Edward looked away, feeling shame clenching his stomach tight.

"Eddie, that right?" The man from the bar, a thick man with a large, pepper and salt beard, young eyes, and a heavy belly, set a drink of water down on the table and then, wiping his hands with a cloth in his black, servers apron, sat down in the other seat.

"Edward," Edward corrected.

"Now, Ed," the man said, shortening Edward's name even further, "Dietrich told you about keeping this place secret, didn't he?"

It was inferred, so Edward nodded.

"It's just that the government wouldn't approve of our music, or the people who come here. But since you're with Dietrich I suppose you know that."

The government doesn't allow foreign music? Edward thought. That was news to him, but he wouldn't put it past them.

"Now, I'm sure you know about how hard it is being how you are in Germany," the man continued, "and everyone else here has it bad. We don't discriminate, no matter what, understood?" Edward nodded and the man, Steffen, continued, "And if you see any faces here that you recognize, or recognize later on the street, you haven't recognized them, understood?"

It was a lot like Edward's last twelve missions, he decided, and Roy Mustang's debriefing afterward about secrecy. He nodded.

"Good," Steffen grinned somewhere under his beard. "Now, keep your food on the table, trash cans are in the bathrooms, all business is done in the bathroom, and by all I mean 'all private' business."

Edward flushed at the implications, accented by the man's awkward hand gestures.

"You're a good kid, Eddie," the man said, and he clamped his big hand down on Edward's metal hand. Edward tried to pull it away, but the man, sensing something odd, held on. "You're not wearing a wire..." He frowned.

Edward pulled off his glove, and showed the man the metal hand. He tugged the glove back on quickly.

"Sorry, kid," the man said, "we have to be careful." Edward shrugged. "How'd you loose your hand?"

Edward heard a screaming in his ears, and a sudden flashback of pain rattled his mind. "Got into an accident with a car," he lied.

"What happened?"

Sweating slightly, Edward elaborated on the spot. "After my mother died, my brother... at the funeral, ran out into the street. There was a car. I pushed him out of the way and got hit."

The man nodded, smiling. "Good kid. Like Lukas." He stood up. "Everyone normally starts getting here at sixish. Is Dietrich coming soon, I wanted to talk with him."

"Five," Edward answered.

There was a clock at the bar, and the man glanced at it. "A few minutes, but you know Dietrich, always late for everything."

Edward didn't know. He drank the glass of water, slowly, thinking about nothing in particular. One more person came down, a heavy girl with beautiful eyes, and she stood by the record player, just listening the the music.

Teenagers, Edward thought. Without warning, a stab of pain shot through him and the unbidden thought rose up, I wish I had a normal childhood.

A few minutes later, Dietrich came down the stairs. He talked to Steffen for awhile, passed a few bills, before he made his way to Edward. He was wearing rather tight black pants that stuck to his legs, a long brown shirt, and a thick blue scarf around his shoulders. His hair seemed wet, and there were droplets of water on his glasses to prove it. When Dietrich got closer, he even had a distinctive, almost wood-like smell. He swallowed nervously, rubbing a hand on his handsome face as if there would be some mark on his skin. Dietrich sat down.

"Nice to see you, Edward," he said. His voice shook slightly, but when he added, "You look nice," it was normal.

"Thanks," Edward said.

"I ordered something," Dietrich told him, "the food is good here."

He'd said that yesterday, but Edward didn't mention it. His heart fluttered, as if one wrong word and he would die. It felt like a battle, but somehow, it seemed much worse. Edward knew battle, he had no idea what this was.

"I was thinking a lot, yesterday and this morning," Edward said.

"Yeah," Dietrich leaned forward.

"I thought, maybe 'this' kind of makes since of it all." Edward looked carefully at Dietrich. "Maybe, I might like it."

Dietrich smiled. "That's good." He held out his hands. "So, why don't we start with getting to know each other? My name's Dietrich, I live with my mother over her bakery. My aunt is my only other relative. I like history, and I read a lot. Basics. Your turn."

"I'm Edward," Edward replied, "my brother and I have an apartment. I work, but I'm on vacation right now. We don't have any relatives. I don't like to read."

"What do you like?" Dietrich asked.

"Alchemy," Edward answered honestly.

Steffan came over, holding something that looked like breath with beef and cheese inside. He set it down, along with a water in front of Dietrich. "Boys," he nodded. And he left.

"This is great," Dietrich said, "best food you can get for cheap, except at my mom's, but I have to say that." Taking a knife and fork, he cut two pieces and, taking the first in hand, pushed the second toward Edward.

Edward, cautiously, took a bite. He nodded. It wasn't bad, he'd certainly eaten better before, but he'd had far worse. And it was a lot better then the sweets and nonperishables he always bought for himself. He smiled at Dietrich, who was watching him, and then took a drink of water.

"So, do you want to be like Full Metal?"

Edward choked.

Dietrich, kindly, handed him a napkin and let him cough it out.

"Sorry," Edward apologized, trying to shake away the tears that had come to his eyes.

"It's okay, I just figured, Full Metal is the youngest alchemist ever, right? Wasn't he like eighteen when he joined the army? And he's legendary, at least skill wise, so... you know, like my mom looks up to these chefs from France, she's always buying magazines," Dietrich explained.

"I think," Edward decided, "right about now, I would really like to be just like Full Metal. Without the whole 'Full Metal' part."

"Doesn't he wear a suit of armor," Dietrich said, "and bring his little brother, this small kid in a red jacket, wherever he goes?"

"Um..." Edward blinked. Then, he smiled. "Yeah," he lied, "I think that's right."

"Must be crazy to be as strong as that." Dietrich asked, "So how good are you at alchemy?"

"I'm really good," Edward said, "it's my hobby, when I'm not working or taking care of Al."

"Al? You're little brother?"

Edward nodded. "Yeah," he said, "Al's this scrawny little, hyperactive kid. We used to get in fights all the time, and actually, we still do. He had... the biggest eyes you've ever seen... He looks up to me so much." Edward swallowed. "I'm always afraid I'm going to disappoint him. That I won't be able to take care of him."

"I've always wanted siblings," Dietrich confessed, "but my dad died when I was so young. My mom never remarried."

"Mine too. My dad was always gone," Edward told him.

"Well," Dietrich cut himself another slice of the food. "Let's toast."

"To what?"

"To hopes that America ends the Fuhrer's coming mess before it gets out of hand," Dietrich said.

"I'll toast to that," Edward agreed, but he couldn't see what was so special about America.

The food was good, and by the time they were done the room was more crowded then ever. Twice people stopped to talk to Dietrich, to ask him where he'd been and to be introduced to Edward, but Edward was sure a lot more people here knew Dietrich, they just didn't want to interrupt. At some point, the music turned up louder, but it was still quiet enough to easily talk. They were probably forced to keep the music down to keep people outside from hearing.

When the food was done, Dietrich stood up. "Let's dance," he decided.

Edward flushed. "I don't..." he began. Dietrich grabbed Edward's flesh hand and forced him to his feet.

"Neither do I," he laughed, "but there's nothing wrong with barely trying."

The dance floor seemed to be, by just the way things worked, divided into the two sections, those who mostly stood around, a larger crowd, and those who were actually dancing and doing it well, a smaller group. Dietrich brought Edward right at the edge.

By now, there were more people dancing who were the same gender, two girls were kissing in the corner as they moved, so at least Edward felt less awkward. But there were others, interracial, rich and poor, Ishvalan and normal, and any other pairing of teenagers and young adults Edward could never imagine even holding hands in the open.

Dietrich put his arms on Edward's waist, and suddenly he was closer, so close Edward could see everything. "Put yours arms around my neck," Dietrich whispered helpfully, and Edward did.

The music wasn't American now, it seemed like French, and Edward understood that better. They were singing something about roses and hearts, and it was a soft, gentle song. If Edward had been feeling different, he would have laughed at it, but at the moment he stared at Dietrich's brown eyes and thought it was nice.

They swayed, moving in time, Edward clumsily following Dietrich's every step and Dietrich kindly didn't say a word.

At some point, his sleeve started to fall and Edward, trying to bring his flesh hand around to pull up his sleeve to keep his automail showing, was nose to nose against Dietrich. Dietrich's eyes were the kindest, most knowing eyes Edward had ever seen. Dietrich's hair fell gently around his softly masculine features, and his glasses brightened his pale skin. Dietrich's lips were even whiter then his skin.

"So," Dietrich said softly, "are you always 'Edward'?"

"I can be Ed sometimes," Edward told him.

"Some people call me 'Deet'," Dietrich said, "I like my full name better though."

"Hm," Edward answered. His face this close to Dietrich, he was shockingly aware of how easy it would be to... to stand for a moment on the tip of his toes and press his lips against Dietrich's.

"You have golden eyes," Dietrich whispered, leaning down, his lips brushing the edge of Edward's nose like his train of thought was going the same way Edward's was. "That's what I first noticed when I saw you. Golden eyes and golden hair." At Edward's smile, he moved so they were almost kissing. "You're a good person, Ed."

"Thanks," Edward answered breathlessly.

The track ended, and there was a pause as someone took out the record and began to look for a new one.

Their bodies still, Dietrich muttered, "You're brother must be worried with you out so late. It's almost nine."

"I do have to go," Edward said. Their faces were so close now he couldn't even see Dietrich's mouth anymore, and his eyes stared just into Dietrich's, the tip of his nose touched the edge of Dietrich's slipping glasses.

"We should," Dietrich started to pull back, "I had a good time. A really good time."

"This was a date, right," Edward said, his hand stopping Dietrich from moving farther.

"Yeah."

Edward swallowed. "I thought date's ended with a kiss."

"Some do," and Dietrich was closer again. "Some don't. Have you been on many dates?"

"None," Edward answered breathlessly.

"Then allow me," Dietrich said. His hand pressed against the back of Edward's head, his long fingers trailing into Edward's braid. Dietrich pushed their mouth's together.

Edward closed his eyes. It felt like, like there was something soft against his mouth, something slightly wet and oddly angled, but his beating heart and a rush of new sensations said otherwise. Dietrich pulled back, just slightly, their lips still touching, and then kissed him again, harder, and this time air rushed into Edward's head so fast he felt like he was falling. Dietrich's hands on his back, and his arm now wrapped around Deitrich's neck, held him in place.

Dietrich pulled away and Edward, too disoriented to do otherwise, let him.

...

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