My expectations weren't as high for him, but he exceeded every one . . .

TWO. THE MAINTENANCE MAN

I didn't exactly know where this "Mr. Mustang" lived, so listed my options. Maintenance men lived out in the little shacks covered in graffiti with broken windows . Unfortunately, where I stood there were no such buildings. It was not until I reached the bottom step that I realized what a beautiful garden our complex had.

Rows and rows of lilies, daffodils, roses, and violets added a homey and gentle feel. They stretched for miles, accompanied by very expensive looking trees. Birds chirper\d and chattered, their brilliant colors flashing and whizzing around me. There were more birds than I have ever seen in my life time. And this garden looked well cared for, not the sort of dead plants I was used to back home.

I followed my instincts behind a few trees, peering around. A long ways off rested a small, blue shack, look pitiful and cheap compared to the elegance of this garden. Covered in premature rust, the steel roof appeared weathered and ancient. Lowering my eyes, I saw blue paint chipping off the sides of the wooden boards, and I honestly wondered what brought him so low? This must be the place.

After I had gotten close enough, I knocked gently on the splintered door. "Mr. Mustang?" I whispered, knowing full well these walls weren't soundproof. "Hello? Mr. Mustang?"

I wandered past the door, peering into a dusty and cracked window. A man, maybe in his early thirties, sat in a desk chair, legs swung over a table and head placed far back in a relaxed position. His steady breathing gave me the assumption he was asleep. Dark black hair hung limply from his head, though from my angle I couldn't see his face.

Trying the handle, I found it surprisingly to be unlocked. Turning the long handle, I took a step into his so-called "office", my gloved hand successfully muffling the sound of my entry. Then I attempted to tip-toe around him. Though I knew I needed him awake, I wasn't about to leave a bad impression with this man. "Mr. Mustang?" When I had successfully crept an arms-length away, I shook his shoulder, trying desperately to render him conscious.

That seemed to do the trick, but not in the manner I anticipated. He groaned, brushing my hand away and rubbed his still-closed eyes. Then he glared at me through parted fingers, onyx eyes blazing with intolerance, especially for me. It was slightly frightening, but I didn't want to appear weak my first time out, so I continued my presentation.

"Uhm, hi. I need-" He cut me off by flinging his arm over his eyes, paying absolutely no attention to me.

"I'm not working today, Shorty."

Uh, Shorty? Hello? How polite was this man again? I furrowed my eyebrows, clenching and unclenching my automail fist. I wanted to get this over with and leave. "My radio isn't working, and we need someone to fix it." I tried not to let this guy know he was bothering me.

"I already told you, it's my day off." Fine. Fine, have your day off. See if I care.

I shrugged, pushing the wooden door frame agape, and started to leave. "Well," I answered, not interested in this man's biting comments. "We'll give you some money, if that's what you want. But please come up and fix it, 'kay?" With that, I shut the door and started my trek home, only to be stopped by Mr. Mustang's yelp of "Wait!"


As we walked into my apartment, I peeled my red jacket off and threw it in the corner, thinking nothing of it. I then proceeded to peel my water-stained gloves, carefully making sure the white fabric wouldn't tear or rip.

Mustang watched me, his eyes curious, astonishment settling in the murk of black. Sniffing in disapproval, I showed him the way to the family room, pointing to our broken radio as I did so.

"That one. Can you fix it?" Hands on my hips, I raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. He didn't seem very promising…

His answer shocked me, irritation bubbling in my stomach like a premature volcano. "Can you hand it to me, please?" It wasn't really the words that bothered me, but his tone. Curt and lacking any room for considerations. I wasn't used to people talking to me like that. At home, I'd always been the top dog, receiving respect even if it was only out of fear.

I sighed, grabbing the old machine and prepared to toss it at him, but Mustang stopped me dead. "I said, hand it to me." This guy was really getting on my nerves.

No matter, I handed it to him in the most sarcastic fashion I could. He gave a sophisticated nod of thanks, and brought it with him to the kitchen counter. Sighing, I flopped back on the couch, wincing as I heard Mom and Al come barging into my quiet space of oppressed freedom.

"Hi, Ed! Oh," I recognized Al's voice, even though I wasn't facing either. "Are you Mr. Mustang?" I turned my head. The maintenance man nodded, flashing a kind smile. But I know his dark side.

Then Mom proceeded in yelling at me, lecturing how I shouldn't have my clothes just laying around anywhere, and how we had hangers for a reason. I just rolled my eyes. Her comment earlier had stung, and I wanted nothing more to do with her until the pain subdued. "And what is this?" she growled, spying my ebony gloves, inside out, on the table. "You know you're not supposed to leave the room without these, Edward!"

Just add more fuel to the fire, Mom.

I bit back a comment. "I just took them off, okay? My hand gets hot with those on." I had only one that felt, anyway. "What, you embarrassed?" I snapped my head around, meeting Mom's extremely hurt eyes with my own, irritated ones.

The whole time I hadn't noticed Mustang, focused on not the radio but us, onyx hues twinkling in interest. A few tweaks and turns and he announced his accomplishments, handing the old radio back to me. I kind of wish he had thrown it.

"Your carburetors weren't working right," he muttered, showing me the inner workings of the electronic. But his eyes grew serious; hair-raising serious.

"I'd highly suggest keeping a blanket over it when in use." He spoke with his teeth clenched, the words slurred and mottled between his lips. What was with the sudden mood change? I grunted, pushing the machine back in place, and looked back at him.

But he wasn't watching me anymore. He was staring at my right arm, fully exposed Automail shining under the inspecting lights. I felt like a bug under a microscope, and discomfort surged around me.

"Uh, I think I'm alright now, Mr. Mustang." Wait, why wouldn't he take an interest in my Automail? He was a mechanic, after all. Nonetheless, he nodded and bid us good day.

I met up with Alfons a few minutes later, happy to see another boy my age after the perilous account involving Mustang. "Want to go to the beach with me?" he asked, his bright smile beaming like a flashlight in a dark room. Nodding, I followed him to his car. It wasn't a fancy one, not at all. An old Ford, it's broken head lamp jumped out almost automatically; I noticed it instantly. However, I wasn't going to risk loosing a ride because I didn't like the car.

His fingers drummed against the leather steering wheel, assertive blue eyes never tearing from the road. However say I may be, it wasn't anything exciting, being in a car with him. Filled with boredom, I leaned against the window and attempted to count the number of grass blades. Eventually, I gave up, because we zoomed past them so fast there wasn't enough time to recollect them all.

"So," Alfons started, and I jumped in surprise at hearing another voice, "you met Mr. Maintenance, did you?"

I nodded. "Yeah…" I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell Alfons what he told be about the radio. Questions were for later.

"What do you think?" was this a trick question?

I shrugged, propping my feet up on his dashboard. "Grumpy, moody, and creepy, but otherwise a nice guy, I guess." Alfons shrugged, turning back to his driving.

Another ten minutes later, we arrived at Central Beach, though you hardly could call it that. There weren't any oceans where we lived, or anywhere else. The "so-called" beach turned out to be a lakeside, and not a very big one, in fact. From where I sat I saw a string of boys playing volleyball, all looking a tad bit like Alfons.

I assumed these were his "friends".

Leading the way, Alfons introduced me to each and every one of the four boys. Josh, Tristan, Hans, and Adolf. They seemed pleased to meet me, so I smiled and nodded, trying to come off as a nice guy.

The Adolf asked me a question, and as I looked back on it now I realize I should have denied his request. Things would have been so much simpler if I had. He held a volleyball in his hand, spinning it on a finger like a professional basketball player would. "So," he started, tossing the ball from one hand to another. "Do you play Volleyball?"

"Actually, I do." Volleyball wasn't my favorite sport nor was it my best, but I was so desperate to gain these boys' respect I'd submit to anything.

"Well, you'll be on Tristan and Hans' team, and Josh and Alfons, and I will play against you. 'Kay?" Nodding, I jogged over to Hans' side of the field, eager to show these boys I played well.

The game began, and It was intense. Obviously Alfons and his friends were professional Volleyball players. They slammed and jumped and cheered like there wasn't any tomorrow coming around the corner. I was left, defenseless, in the middle of the sand with my jaw hanging open, staring.

O . M . F . G .

That is all.

We sat around a campfire, laughing and telling jokes until tears streamed down our eyes. A close distance off, another group lit their own bonfire, and us boys soon realized them as girls. One specific girl, a brunette with beautiful pale pink bangs, turned towards me and smiled. I felt hot, and smiled back stupidly.

Alfons nudged me in the side, winking. "She's pretty, eh?" I nodded dumbly. In response, the four other boys shoved me in her direction, chiding and daring me to go and say hello. I met their challenge with false confidence, knowing all too well I did not want to introduce myself.

So, brushing the sand off my blood-red cloak, I made my way towards the group of ladies, giving them a reassuring smile, looking nervously over at my new friends, who only giggled and assured me I wouldn't get slapped. Nice, guys. How thoughtful.

As I drew closer, the brunette lowered her head, stealing glances every few seconds. I took up a seat next to her, extending my flesh hand as a greeting. "H-Hi. I'm Edward… Elric." Shit, Ed. Regain control. She took it, smiling shyly.

"Rose."

Rose… The name sounded like honey on my tongue. I hadn't realized I was smiling like an idiot until she giggled, blushing heavily. 'O-Oh, I'm so… so sorry," I muttered, pink tracing my cheeks as well. I checked back in with my mates.

After giving Josh a high five, Alfonse stopped dead in his tracks, not moving a single muscles. His eyes, wide and fearful, had the most expression I ever saw him put forth, as if danger were coming…

"We gotta go. It's… them." I cocked my head.

"Them who?" I asked, not wanting to leave. "They can't be that bad." Wasn't everyone in Central calm and kind? Or was that just the soldiers…?

Damn. Wrong thing to say. All five boys turned their heads towards me, looking as if I had just shot myself. "What?" Alfonse stomred over and grabbed my arm, Fury burning in his eyes.

"Do you have any sense whatsoever? What do you think you're doing hanging around Fletcher's ex girlfriend?" he spat with malice, glaring over at Rose and then returning his fiery blue orbs to me.

There wasn't enough time to reply. I hear the sound of Motorcycles not too far off, and was left behind as Alfonse and his friends took off running. I stood there, not understanding the situation at all. What got them so riled up?

How soon I would find out I wish I had realized.


A/N: i love thos story so much! thank you for your reviews and favs. but i'd rather have a review than a favorite, and i need more reviews so i know it's worth updating. how do you like mustang? let me know in a review, and the kind of interaction he and ed should have.