Disclaimer: I don't own FMA... or these pants. Well actually I MADE these pants. Fuck yeah!

DAY 3, July 2nd 1905

Dear Diary,

I feel so stupid writing that each time. I know it's only been twice now, but 'dear diary' makes me sound like some twinkling tweenie... WHICH I AM NOT! I have four chest hairs now! FOUR! That makes me practically an old man. Old Man Mountain would come to ME for a spare razor blade. That's right.

But that doesn't make sense. What makes him Old Man Mountain is the mountain of hair on his face and head... So if his hair was that disgustingly long, he wouldn't need a razor for it. Then what would he need the razor for..? Well he wouldn't slit his wrists so it must be to shave something else. Oh god! I refuse to loan him anything that are touching those! What man would ever shave his balls? My imagination!

Topic change, topic change!

So anyways, I decided you need a name, diary of mine. What should I call you...wait that's it! Dom shall be your name. So to start this off properly:

Dear Dom,

I feel like an idiot. Yeah, I know I usually am, but today I feel like one more. I was really curious about that blue/black guy everyone treated like he had the plague, so I followed him around. Not the best plan, but I have too much free time and no one breathing down my neck. Not a good combination for a soldier boy-MAN like me.

Anywho, after sundown I saw him walking towards the edge of camp, so I thought up my brilliant stalker plan and ninja'ed after him. He was like a ghost, floating through the camp, all sullen and mysterious. He finally noticed me after what felt like forever. I feel strange saying this, but he took my breath away, honesty.

What the fuck is that?

So what if his blue/black hair is only comparable to his matching eyes that are all slanty and stuff. I, as a man of four chest hairs, should not care. But I do. He didn't say anything as I babbled like an idiot about how I was new and it was dark and that he looked lost too.

He merely quirked an eyebrow at me and smirked.

Once again, why do I care? Why the hell did I feel like I melted into a pile of pudding when he spoke for the first time? He only said that it would be hard to be lost, considering how long he had stayed there. I was instantly curious but felt too tongue tied to ask for how long.

The only decent normal human sounding thing I managed to say was my name.

He said he was just another dog and it wasn't good to get mixed with him. I say why not? We are all dogs anyways. Tomorrow I am going to ambush him at breakfast and not let him leave until I get a real name! I am a man on a mission. If my pa ever found out the extent I was going through to get a 'guy's' name he would probably disown me, or beat me with a sock filled with soap. I wonder what would be worse. Soap hurts. A lot.

I'm leaving with what's left of my sanity.

A/N: It's been a while, again. I honestly forget about this fic until I see my havocmustang doujins and get the urge to read them. So, my die-hard fans, if a few years go by without an update, feel free to PM me. If I get a PM tomorrow telling me I forgot this fic, there will be missing family pets and slaughtered stuffied animals to deal with. You have been warned.

On a less menacing note, this was fun. I love Jean Havoc.

-rix