Color Theorem

Summary: For someone who managed to become a State Alchemist at the age of 12, Ed sure was dense. A color collection for Fullmetal Alchemists golden couple, Ed and Winry!
Author's Note: This doesn't have many sexual themes but there are hints. It's a bit solemn because I decided Ed is better off being an apathetic drunk. I'm sorry if he is a little OOC, but he is under the influence so you can't really blame me.

This is my version of a drunk Edward Elric having a bad day, folks, and let me tell you, its kind of funny if you can visualize it from another person's POV and not his, like it is here.

Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, Lust and Scar would be dating.

025: Gray

It's a well-known fact that Edward Elric disliked public congregations of people, otherwise known as parties. He sat in a chair, alone, on a table overly decorated with pinks and whites, holding a glass of champagne and internally debating the pro's and con's on getting the moron who planned this party arrested as he was under-aged and drinking.

He shrugged it off, however, when he discovered that the alcohol made most of his anger turn sultry and apathetic. He decided, as he drunk down another glass, that alcohol wasn't so bad so long as it made the feelings of irritation and frustration disappear for a little while.

"Brother, are you okay?" Al asked, sounding concerned.

Ed couldn't have that: Al had to enjoy himself because this was his first party and like hell was he going to ruin it for him with his somber thoughts. "I'm fine, Al." He pasted up a well-practiced grin, one that fooled even his brother for a while. "Hey, why don't you go ask Hawkeye to dance with you while you're here? You've never danced before, have you?"

"No, I haven't..." Al replied, thoughtfully. "U-Um, but won't Colonel Mustang get angry with me if I do?"

"He shouldn't," Ed stated, voice edgy. "You're only sixteen. She's, what, thirty?"

"Brother!" Al hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard. "Don't say things like that! And she's not thirty; she's twenty eight!"

"Same difference," he waved off, sipping his drink. "Anyway, go before the nights over. You deserve it," he smiled, genuinely, but Al still looked hesitant.

"But, you'll be all alone here..."

"It's okay, I can watch you from right here just fine! So it won't really be as if I'm actually alone, you get it?"

"Well...okay, but I'll be back really soon, okay? So just wait here for me."

"Yes, sir." Ed flashed a grin, holding his glass up. Alphonse glanced at the liquid, seeing it already drained to the bottom, and Edward thought he probably assumed it was that apple cider stuff the adults were giving to the real minors. Too bad he'd grabbed the wrong cup and henceforth drunk down alcohol.

It didn't help that the waiters just kept serving it to him afterward.

He sunk into his chair after five minutes of watching Al get sucked into Winry's and Hawkeye's conversation. Alphonse probably forgot all about dancing, given just how excited and delighted he looked about something or the other.

He finished another cup and the last hour became a blur.

Mustang was talking to him now.

He was saying a load of crap about how he should be out there, dancing, making him look good so everyone could see just how well he trained his dogs, but Edward merely replied with a: "fuck off, Colonel, I'm actually having fun for once", to which the Colonel responded with an amused: "you have fun drinking all by yourself, Full Metal?"

"It's apple cider, dumbass; I'm under-aged." But that didn't mean that it would stop him from drinking and the Colonel knew this.

He'd always been a smart bastard.

"Then why do you reek of alcohol?"

"Why do you reek of bullshit?"

"Full Metal, you're not suppose to be drinking; you're only seventeen. Until you're eighteen, you can get hammered all you want, but until then—"

Ed only shrugged in reply, taking a long drink to prove his point, and Mustang said something about that being his last glass for the night. But Ed didn't think so because who the hell did this guy think himself to be; telling him what he can and can't do? He was only important by rank not by person.

"Hey, is that Havoc making a move on Hawkeye?" Edward said, successfully distracting the Colonel, who had been frowning deeply because of how fast he was running through his current drink.

"Damn it! He'll piss her off again," Mustang cursed under his breath. "I really need this promotion if I'm ever going to get my 520 cenz back!"

Edward smirked. "Better get moving, Colonel, I can see her taking out her guns."

He watched him gracefully walk away and Edward thought this would be the perfect time for an escape.

So he grabbed two bottles of champagne from a confused waiter and, with one last glance at Alphonse and Winry, who were by Hawkeye watching Havoc's pitiful attempts at getting her to dance, he proceeded to sneak out of the ballroom that was packed full of important people like the rich and the well-connected.

He didn't like stuffy parties like this, as he had stated before, and he knew the only reason he had been invited was because of his accomplishment in bringing his younger brothers body back from the Gate. He had also been awarded a 'hero' due to his participation in bringing down Father, which had been covered up under the pretense of mutiny within the State Military.

But the most pressing matter was his brother, which many now knew had been encased in an empty suit of armor; for reasons they've yet to uncover but were adamant on digging up.

He supposed he should have thanked the Colonel for his quick thinking. He had managed to add a thick layer of lies to the truth and most of the media had stopped pestering him about his brothers sudden 'humanly appearance'.

But that didn't mean he still had to like him.

He walked outside the ballrooms side exit, in the yard that was chock full of flowers, trees, dew-slicked grass, and a few benches strategically placed here and there. He knew that sitting on a bench was asking to be caught so instead he sat down in a dark corner, behind the first bench he saw, where he was safely kept out of sight

The night was dark but dotted with stars and the moon was hidden behind a thick veil of fog. There was a cold wind that blew his bangs to and fro and he briefly contemplated chopping them off for good when he recalled his mother and how brightly she had smiled when she had noticed how long his hair had grown over the years in his childhood.

For her dead sake, he'd keep his hair long.

He poured himself another drink until eventually the cup lost all its meaning and he was chugging it directly from the bottle. Black thoughts rolled in his head with every swallow; rousing the buried guilt, digging up the shameful memories. He finished one bottle and was half-way through with the second when he heard his name being called.

He blearily touched his trouser pocket for his watch and flicked it open. He saw distorted numbers but he was smart enough to know that it was around midnight and the party was over. He hauled himself up, unsteady on his feet, and he heard a gasp come from around him. He rolled his neck, to straighten out some kinks, and drunk out of the bottle one last time.

He managed to stay straight as he looked at Winry, who was looking very pale and shocked. He didn't question why; he'd probably be shocked, too, if he saw himself. He was very aware that he had drunken himself silly tonight.

"E-Ed! Don't tell me you've been out here this whole time drinking?"

Edward shrugged, helplessly, and raised his bottle. "I told you I hated parties." He drained the bottle before she could snatch it away and dropped it next to the last one. He heard a sharp intake in breath and he assumed she found the first bottle.

Whoop-de-fucking-do.

"Let's get the fuck out of here already so I can get started with my hang over." He slurred somewhere in that sentence, he knew it, he just didn't know where, and he took a few steps before barreling sideways. The funny part was he didn't even notice he was falling until Winry was holding him up, making a little noise in the back of her throat that voiced her disgruntlement.

He always pissed her off, what was the difference this time? Well, maybe there was a difference: he was sick wasted and he didn't give a flying fuck why he got so damn drunk. He just felt like it, if it made sense.

He'd been having a crappy month: with the parties, the interviews, the reports and exams to renew his State Alchemist certification. Not to mention discovering that, with a brother that was half-starved and weak, he had to care for him on a daily basis, which he didn't truly mind as he adored his little brother, but henceforth needed to stay leashed to the goddamn military for Truth-knew-how-long.

And war.

If there was a god out there, he sure hated his creations.

Edward had only found out a few days ago that he was to be drafted for the war taking place out by Briggs because their own soldiers were numbered due to the coup de teat they had staged just little over a year ago; the whole Promised Day fiasco that had, thankfully, come to a close but had its own sets of repercussions. The numbered soldiers being one of them.

If he had any say, he'd tell you he deserved those drinks.

"Colonel Mustang is going to be so angry with you when he finds out, Ed!" Winry snapped, and he only thought that he needed to hit the sack soon to regain his head. "Al has been looking for you, too, and he'll be furious when he finds out what you've been doing!"

She hit a sore spot. Edward stopped and dropped his arm from around her shoulder. "Then I guess I just won't let him see me," he said, surprisingly sober, and he began to turn when he felt her hand grasp his own.

"Ed, stop it!" Winry shouted angrily. "You're coming with me! You're drunk and you can't be out by yourself!"

"I know I'm drunk," Edward stated loftily. "That was the whole point of drinking three fucking bottles, wasn't it?"

Her eyes started to glisten in what he assumed was pain and he felt that same winding guilt start to eat at him from the inside out. He cursed under his breath and, with a wobbly step forward, roughly brought her into his arms. He supposed he used too much force but she hadn't said a thing so he dropped it; instead focusing on the warmth from her body and how it felt nice to embrace someone you've liked for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled and he squeezed her tightly. She squeaked and he loosened his grip a little. He mentally noted that girls were delicate and squeezing them too hard was meant for other, nightly, activities: where it didn't matter if you bit so hard you drew blood or if you were crushing the life out of them since it felt too good. "I'm being an asshole, aren't I?"

"Ed, just come home with me," she said, wearily, and he busted out into laughter. "What's so funny?" she frowned and he only laughed harder.

"Come home with me..." he snickered. "That's rich, Win!"

Her cheeks burned red and he decided that he liked the color on her. That is, until her fist slammed down on his skull. It disorientated him so badly he didn't know where he was going until his vision cleared up enough that he saw that they were walking through the emptying ballroom already. His suit, he realized, still felt stiff and choking and he grabbed his tie and pulled it down, enough to let him breath a little easier.

So that had been what had been bothering him all those hours.

He realized his arm was also slung around her neck and, as they grew closer to the exit, he stopped and squeezed her neck a little. A complain was at the tip of her mouth, he knew it, but he had a better idea than going home like a bunch of good little kids.

He blamed the alcohol; it was making all sorts of things look like a good idea, like devouring her right then and there and then maybe going out for some food afterward.

He just knew that couldn't be right!

"Hey, Win, let's go home by ourselves," he stated and she gave him a look that clearly said 'not happening'. But he had his ways, as he whined: "C'mon! Live a little! We're going home just...not with them."

"Ed! You're insane! You've drunk yourself stupid!"

"Hey, that's kind of insulting. I remember you drinking yourself retarded one day," Edward told her, the words slipping out as if they were discussing the weather. He saw her cheeks colored red again and, since he liked the color, he decided to keep adding to this topic; he wanted to see her cheeks grow redder and redder. "And then you got this real smart idea of rubbing against me. Your really slow, you know, if you thought I didn't have to whack that off later!" Edward felt his ankle give when he tried to step forward and she steadied him, her face tomato red.

"I like red," he commented absently and she shot him the meanest glare she could muster.

He whined: "What's with the scary face? It makes you look weird," before her fist connected with his head and he teetered backward, knocking his head against the ballrooms tiles and promptly losing consciousness.

When he came to, she was hovering above him, looking very worried, and he groaned: "Woman, you're gonna' kill me one day."

"Oh...you're okay," she sighed and he snorted.

"Tch, what 'he hell," Ed slurred, touching his spinning head. "You've gotta' be kidding me, Winry; if a bunch of immortal bastards and one bearded geezer couldn't make me kick the bucket, what made you think this damn shiny floor would?"

Winry giggled and he rolled his eyes, propping himself up. Like he said before, the alcohol was talking, not him. That was why when he said: "You have a really nice laugh," he didn't really blame himself so much as he blamed those damn bottles he'd previously consumed.

But he guessed it was his fault, too: those bottles didn't drink themselves.

"W..what?"

"You've got a nice laugh," he repeated. "And smile." He gazed off into the ceiling, loosing himself for a moment, then adding: "A lot of things about you are nice." He didn't know where the hell he was going with this but something deep inside his chest was tugging; yanking and pulling and it was hurting him so he decided, as more words spilled into the open, that if spilling his guts to this woman would help ease the pain, it was alright.

"I think I love you but I can't be sure – you piss me off too much sometimes," he finished, after a few minutes of mindless rambling. Her face was his favorite color again and the corner of his lips twitch upward in response. "I like red," he repeated. "It looks way better on you. I think Ling is right – red looks retarded on me. Don't tell him I said that, though..."

"E...Ed, what...you..." she stammered. Her eyes were really wide, almost doe-like, and he was pretty sure it was because of his tactless confessions. He had always been tactless: his brother had told him, Hawkeye had told him, Mustang had told him, she had told him. But he knew, from personal experience, that it was hard to withhold your comments when they just really, really needed to be voiced.

He didn't like sugar-coating the truth.

He didn't like lying to people to make them feel better; safer; more anchored down to their wrongful beliefs.

So why would he keep quiet when some things just needed to be said?

Cowardice, maybe.

"Do you really mean that?" she whispered, voice shaky.

"Yea'." He shut his eyes, as the lights overhead became too bright for him. His head was throbbing spectacularly; his body numb to the core. His automail leg was completely out of commission and his flesh leg was following.

"So you..you..." She choked up and Ed frowned. He didn't like lying for no reason: why would he lie about his feelings? Because he was a total coward when it came down to it? Probably, he thought seriously. That was probably the only reason he hadn't said it before.

And because before he had a bunch of maniacal monster-slash-human's after his hide.

"I love you," he repeated. The words weren't mouthfuls like he'd thought they would be. They came out easily, almost well-practiced, and he still impulsively added: "But you piss me off a lot," for some unfathomably reason; maybe his sober self kicking in to secure he didn't make a total wussy out of himself.

"Edward..." she whispered, tone laden with an emotion that reminded him of the adoring tone his mother often used with him when he was young. He liked it. "You piss me off too...but I think I love you anyway."

Ed blinked slowly, words sinking into his consciousness. Rejection. That was what he had been lacking in that moment. The fear of rejection. In other circumstances, he would have been too afraid to ever voice such intimate thoughts with anyone – much less the object of his affection – but somehow, someway, the sweet poison thriving through his system had numbed his awareness enough to let him say it without any regrets.

At least this was something he could do right.

Even if the bottles had helped him along the way.

And even if they just made the somber thoughts inside of him fester, because the gloom and gray hovering over him was beginning to look like it would eat him whole if he didn't get rid of it soon, at least it also helped carry his confession onward into the open.

But he was speaking too soon because said gloom and gray was leaking away and being replaced with the tidal waves of warmth and compassion.

"Oh." Was all he said to her confession. A simple 'oh'. Because what else could he say? That the dull ache in his chest had suddenly been cured? That he felt better than he had in all his years? That the month wasn't seeming too shitty anymore because of those three words?

Well, he would have probably acknowledged all of that if his hand hadn't slipped from under him when he caught sight of Mustang's laughing eyes and Al's sparkling ones. He cracked his skull against the ballroom floor again, causing him to back out instantaneously albeit with a small smile on his face this time around.

At least the next time he had awoken, bleary-eyed and sickly hung over, he had remembered every single word he had said.

He sometimes cursed his perfect memory.

But he supposed that seeing her glowing face, discovering just how soft her lips really were and just how passionate they could really be, was actually a blessing he owed to a goddamn bottle of alcohol and an honestly bad month.