It was only a handful of weeks into the school year, and already people were buzzing about homecoming. Granted, the dance was only a month away, but Edward still thought the excitement was unnecessary.

A year ago, I was just as excited, Ed reminded himself, weaving slowly through the chattering sea of students. Of course, a year ago may has well have been a hundred for how different things felt now. The idea of a dance made Edward want to puke, or at the very least slam his head into a wall. Though he wasn't (obviously) a part of any conversation, snippets of excitement surrounded him on all sides.

"Did you hear Kaitlynn asked Mike?"

"—and then she said no, in front of everyone!"

"I was thinking of wearing teal, do you think that's too much?"

It was giving Ed a migraine. Or maybe it was the memories banging hammers against the inside of his skull.

What was even worse was that Alphonse was also so excited. Of course, he planned to ask May to go with him, despite the fact that they'd only known each other for a few days. Edward was happy for his brother, genuinely. It was just that he couldn't express his—well, whatever this emotion bubbling in his stomach was.

Ever since last year, Ed had been pushing his feelings down. It wasn't that he thought that would make them go away; he was quite convinced they never would. The problem was, Edward didn't want to talk to a counselor, or Izumi, or Sig, or even Al. He didn't want to drag other people into his misery. On occasion, Edward would confide in his brother, but it was not something he'd made a habit of. Letting everything fester inside wasn't healthy (duh), it was just what he did. For the most part, that was the easiest thing for Ed to do.

Over the last week or so that had changed. Entirely unsure of what caused the switch, Edward nevertheless had found himself overcome with the urge to say…something. To let someone take away a little bit of the burden he'd carried around all summer. It seemed like an easy way to start, telling Alphonse about how homecoming was reminding him of all the awfulness of last year. But, of course, now that Al had a potential date and a lot more enthusiasm than normal for the event, Ed wasn't going to ruin his brother's fun with his melancholy.

Unexpected and sudden tears threatened to give rise, pooling behind Edward's eyes. He blinked against the hot feeling, looking down at his feet in case any rough wetness should leak out. The dance was just one more thing to shove down into the pit that used to be his stomach. It would have to fit.

Roy distinctly hated leaving work until the last minute. It was a personality quirk that had come to light quite late in his life. In fact, he could remember an English teacher from his years as a high school student reprimanding him rather severely for the consistency with which his assignments were late. Once he entered college, though, Roy found himself working on things he actually cared about, much more so than the subject matter he'd been presented with throughout his own days at CCHS. If it was something important to him, Roy would go above and beyond timeliness.

So grading quizzes that he had to hand back to his sixth bell class during third period was less than ideal. What with the anniversary this past weekend, Roy had found himself a little behind. Ah, well. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Ignoring the slight cramp in his hand, Roy pressed along steadily—up until his eyes lit upon Edward's name. Something about the kid nagged at him constantly, an ever-present buzzing in the back of his mind. Normally, Roy graded with a fairly detached air; students got whatever grade they got. But in this case, he found himself hoping Ed had done well. He seemed to have enough on his plate right now, and though Roy wouldn't fudge a grade for Edward, he also didn't want to cause him any more strife.

Thankfully, in this instance, hope seemed to actually do something. Roy was more than pleased to, after marking only one question incorrect, be able to write an "A" in the top corner of Ed's quiz. Briefly, an image came to his mind of Hughes and his grading methods. After only a moment's hesitation, Roy scrawled a quick note of encouragement under the letter. It was far from his usual style, but it couldn't hurt to make a whimsical exception.

Two more periods. This was what Edward was trying to focus on, rather than the days left ahead before he would have another weekend of less stress. His mood had, predictably, not improved over the course of the day, and so Ed found himself trudging into Mr. Mustang's class. Normally he tried to be as quiet and discreet as is possible when sitting in the front row, but today he didn't even have the energy for that. The teacher, engrossed as per usual at his desk, glanced up briefly at Edward as he threw himself into his chair.

Did he imagine that the faintest smile also passed across Mr. Mustang's face? Maybe he really was going crazy now.

The ringing of the bell brought the man to his feet, stopping to gather a stack of papers before walking to stand just in front of Edward. It was a very…unfortunate position, and Ed cast his gaze firmly down to the unassuming top of his desk. Funny how sadness made him feel hot and sick, but proximity to his fucking teacher's crotch made him just as warm.

Why was he like this?

"Alright, everyone, I've graded the quizzes from last Friday," Mr. Mustang began. Great. "I must say, I wasn't expecting so many of you to forget that the letter 'K' represents potassium on the periodic table. Regardless, take a look at your results and we can go over any questions you may have."

With that, the teacher started to call out names. One by one, students filed up and took their papers back. Edward didn't deign to look up, but he imagined a mix of satisfaction and disappointment on his classmates' faces. When Winry's name was called, Ed held his breath as thought that would somehow make him disappear.

Edward's quiz came last, with Mr. Mustang placing it on the desk himself. This time a cruel magnet seemed to pull the crown of his head back, and Ed found that he couldn't resist looking up. His instructor really was smiling at him this time, though the expression came and went quickly. The next thing he knew, Mr. Mustang was lowering himself back into his chair, saying, "I'll let you all have five or so minutes to look over everything."

Right. Bracing himself for a fat, red "F," Edward focused on the papers before him. Shock widened his eyes. An "A?" Seriously?

What was more surprising were the few worst written beside his grade, slanted and loopy and encouraging. Ed mouthed the sentence to himself, the silent shape of it warm on his lips. "Exceptional job, Edward."

Given the fact that the school year had only just begun, Edward hadn't received too many papers back from Mr. Mustang. None of the others had had encouragement or praise come with them, and somehow Ed didn't believe it was his instructor's habit to write such things. Mr. Mustang was fair (mostly) and more importantly firm, his teaching style no-nonsense. It certainly didn't include personalized notes to students.

Hardly daring to breathe as he did so, Edward looked up to study his teacher. Mr. Mustang was looking down at some more paperwork, seemingly oblivious to Ed's stare…and yet something gave him the impression that the man knew what he was thinking.

Biting his lip against the smile that had bubbled up, Edward looked back down at his quiz. Fuck, he was acting like some lovesick middle school girl. All up in a tizzy over a few words. But…it felt like it had been so long since he'd had positive educational feedback. And even longer since he'd felt like someone was proud of him. Sure, his family supported him, but in Ed's mind Izumi and Sig and Al didn't have much of a choice. They were blood, or as good as. Mr. Mustang was something else entirely.

"Alright, everyone, let's get to questions!" Speak (or think) of the devil. The teacher stood, clapping his hands once as he spoke. Bizarrely, Edward was briefly tempted to pipe up and ask—in front of everyone!—what was up with his note. Why was Ed singled out? Or…was he not? Did Mr. Mustang in fact write something to everyone?

That hint of doubt, along with his last shreds of common sense, prevented Edward from making a sound. Instead, it was someone from the back row who spoke, asking about question three. Surely Mr. Mustang answered, but Ed had stopped listening.

What was it with Mr. Mustang? Lying to Principal Bradley for him, offering his support, writing on Edward's quiz…it seemed strange, or maybe that was just in his head. Maybe Ed was imagining that someone cared for him. Maybe because he was a dumb faggot who thought he was worth caring about.

Well, no. Edward didn't really think that highly of himself.

Still. If he wasn't going crazy, if Mr. Mustang really was reaching out a kind hand to him…what then? Up until recently, the answer would have been simple: ignore it. Stay submerged in his darkness and hope that he could make it through the year. But if his teacher really cared…

Ed wasn't sure he would ever be brave or stupid enough, but the idea of confiding in Mr. Mustang, which he'd shot down not long ago, suddenly seemed vaguely appealing.