Hey guys!

A couple of things since I was literally too focused on trigger warnings in the first chapter to remember to clarify:

Ed and Al have their normal bodies in this AU.

It's not modern day. I would say it's...an ambiguous timeline. While I'm writing based on the current US HS system, otherwise I imagine this set in the same Amestris as Brotherhood. That means no modern tech.

That's all, hope you enjoy!

For the most part, Edward was able to get through the next chunk of the day with minimal issues. Thankfully, it seemed Winry was—so far—only in his English class. That meant that while he'd heard some whispered slurs and been tripped in the halls once, he was able to more or less ignore what was going on around him. While that completely sucked, it was better than being actively antagonized.

The classes themselves didn't seem too crazy. Ms. Armstrong, whom Edward had taken Latin from the previous year, was still strict as ever. Mrs. Elliot was pretty rigidly opinionated, but Ed had an unfortunate amount of experience dealing with that. To be fair, Mr. Tucker seemed kind of…off, but that was the least of his concerns.

Lunch was the hardest part. Up until this year, Ed had maintained a modest friend group. But now Winry hated his guts, and so did Paninya (who had always been more her friend, anyway). Russell and Adrien had written him off. Rose had told him, privately, that she didn't in fact hate him, but anyone who was seen hanging out with him was also a target, and she had to save her own skin. And this year he and Al weren't sharing any classes and as such had different lunch periods. So, Ed was left alone.

Out of habit, he'd gone to the cafeteria, which was a huge mistake. He should've thought that one through ahead of time, but alas. Edward had made a note to himself; lunch would have to be spent in the library from now on. As it was, Ed had refused flat out to sit at a lunch table by himself. It would only draw more attention to him, and he was doing his best to just go under the radar. Luckily for him, CCHS had its cafeteria on the first floor, and there was a small outdoor seating area connected to the main room. It had been easy enough for Edward to vault the half wall barrier around the picnic tables and eat his lunch in peace on the other side.

Still, that had only solved the problem of being watched and mocked. It did nothing to ease the pang of loneliness that lunch brought. Edward had been only too happy when it was over.

Period five had been calculus with Mr. Falman. He was less abrasive than Ed's other teachers, and he'd rather thought it would be an enjoyable class. Besides, math had always been one of his strong suits.

Now, Edward was walking into AP chem. He'd aimed to sit in the back of the class, as he'd done for all the others that day, but it seemed this Mr. Mustang guy was the only teacher Ed had that had opted to make a seating chart. And, figures, Edward was right up front.

Settling in, Ed examined the rest of the chart that had been drawn on the chalkboard. It was only upon nearing the bottom that he saw the name he'd been dreading. And speak—or rather, think—of the devil! There she was. Winry walked into the room, tugging the hem of her skirt down (she always hemmed her skirts to a more "flattering" length, and as a result was constantly on the verge of being dress coded). As such it was a moment before she noticed Edward, but when she did…a scowl flitted across her face, before she gave a little hmpf! and decided he wasn't worth her time. Good.

Trying his best to look on the bright side, Ed reflected that she was at least seated on the opposite side of the room as him, towards the back. If he could stop himself from feeling the daggers she was bound to stare at him, he could pretend she wasn't there.

Seconds later the bell chimed, and the man Edward presumed to be their teacher strode into the room.

Fucking shit.

It was worse, this time, than it had been with Mr. Hughes that morning. Mr. Mustang, who was now standing at the head of the classroom, wore a simple combination of khakis and a white button up, as well a small smile, glimmering dark eyes, and a disheveled head of blackest hair.

Izumi and Alphonse had done their best, all summer, to tell him these thoughts, these stupid fucking feelings, were normal. That everyone else in CCHS was the problem, not Edward. He didn't believe them.

So, Ed simply continued the day's trend of ignoring things, averted his eyes to focus on the chalkboard and only the chalkboard, and listened as the teacher began to speak. "Good afternoon, everyone. I hope your first day back has been going well. My name is Mr. Mustang, and for the rest of this year I'll be teaching you all the finer points of chemistry."

Huh. Sounded like this guy was actually going to talk about something that mattered. All day (with the exception of Ms. Armstrong's class), Edward had been subjected to get-to-know-you speeches, or dumb syllabi that were more about being respectful, paying attention, and attendance than they were about the subjects at hand. Intrigued, now, Ed allowed himself to look back at his teacher.

"As a prerequisite, all of you have taken regular level chemistry," Mr. Mustang continued, hands in his pockets. "While that is a good building block, I must warn you that this class is an AP level, and will be considerably more challenging. Chemistry is a delicate mix of science and mathematics, and while extremely rewarding, it also requires focus. This will not be a class you can waltz into and expect to pass without dedication." Wow, Ed thought. Someone takes this a little too seriously.

"So!" Mr. Mustang withdrew his hands, clapping them together. "Let's not waste any time, shall we?" Turning and leaning over his desk, the man pulled out a stack of papers. He spun around once more to face them, deftly hand the pile to Edward. "Pass those back, would you?"

Ed did as he was bid, grabbing one sheet and then handing the rest off to the guy next to him. Looking down, Edward saw that he was not holding a syllabus, but a safety contract. "I know you've all likely seen these before," Mr. Mustang explained, "but unfortunately I am required to have you all read and sign them. The basic gist is to not be an idiot in the lab, but I'll give you a few minutes to go over this. If you've any questions, feel free to speak up."

The contract itself was quite short and bare bones. Must wear closed toed shoes—easy, considering the uniform—must wear goggles and gloves, must not ingest chemicals, must not throw chemicals at other students. Just like Mr. Mustang had said…don't be an idiot. Science was dangerous, and all that. Edward scrawled his signature across the bottom of the sheet, the scratching of his pen echoed by those of students around the room.

Perhaps a minute later, Mr. Mustang requested the papers be passed back up. Slowly the stack made its way around the room, back into Ed's hands. He was about to place his own contract on top, when he was distracted by a sticky note that had been added to the topmost paper. Or rather, the crudely drawn dick that was etched upon it. Heat rose into his face, but before he could do or say anything, Mr. Mustang had taken the contracts from him.

Surprisingly, the teacher did nothing more than raise his eyebrows at the drawing before tearing it off and crumpling it in his palm. Mr. Mustang threw the ball into the wastepaper basket beside his desk, and then carried on as though everything were completely normal. "Thank you, everyone. Now, I've never seen the sense in a syllabus—you all will just throw them out, in any case. But I do want to establish a few things about how I run my classroom."

It dawned on Ed, then. This guy got it; he knew that bringing attention to the drawing would only fuel the fires of whoever had drawn it. If Mr. Mustang discussed the doodle, it became a whole thing. But by ignoring it entirely, the man diffused the situation almost before there was one. Plus, though Edward doubted his teacher was aware the dick was directed at him, it minimized his embarrassment.

Okay. Respect.

"I am fully aware," Mr. Mustang began, "that very few—if any—of you will end up pursuing a career in chemistry. They aren't entirely common, and I've learned that for the most part students take my course just for the sake of the credit. That's perfectly fine by me. Whether you are passionate about chemistry in particular, or you'll need to understand the basics of it for another career, or you just want the GPA boost an AP class can give you…it doesn't matter."

Edward found himself losing focus quickly. He tapped his pencil rhythmically against his arm, trying to keep his attention from wandering entirely. After all, seated right in front of Mr. Mustang as he was, it was a little harder to get away with zoning out than in his other classes.

"What does matter is that you get what you need from this course," the man went on, pacing slowly back and forth at the head of the classroom. "That's where I come in. Some of you may have heard that I can be a strict teacher, and that's true. I believe that discipline aids in understanding. That being said, I also like to think of myself as a compassionate instructor. If you don't understand something, I want to know. If you have questions or need to go over a concept again, I'd like you all to feel comfortable telling me. I expect that you put in the work for this class, yes, but I'll meet you halfway."

The respect Ed had felt moments ago was quickly slipping away. Sure, Mr. Mustang sounded like he meant well enough…but he also sounded so painfully full of himself. And he was still talking.

"You can expect a decent amount of lab work from my class, since a practical application helps most students learn more effectively than merely reading a theory. I'm sure you'll all be happy to hear I assign little homework compared to my colleagues; that's not to say there won't be any, just that my goal isn't to completely overwhelm you. If it's necessary, you'll have homework. If not, you won't. Simple as that. So…any questions?" Mr. Mustang looked around the room. Edward might have been imagining things, but it seemed like those dark eyes didn't miss a beat, like they were a little too observant.

No one spoke up. Really, what were a bunch of kids supposed to say to a weird speech like that? Unbothered, the teacher only nodded. "Right then. You've got a few minutes left this bell, so feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Be ready to begin learning tomorrow."

With that, Mr. Mustang stepped back to sit at his desk. He pulled a few papers towards him and began examining them, glancing up every once in a while when someone spoke particularly loudly. Edward leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Some were stained, and others were full of holes. The rest of the school was, surprisingly, quite neat and tidy. CCHS didn't like to give off the impression of anything other than a perfect academic setting. But the ceiling tiles had been forgotten, or else no one ever looked up long enough to notice them. They gave away the school's age, the messy parts of it that were better left unnoticed.

Ed was getting good at this whole not-paying-attention-to-the-world thing. It seemed like mere minutes before the bell sounded, signaling to them all they should be heading to their seventh and final class. Unhurried, Edward allowed everyone else to exit before standing up, his chair scraping the floor. He'd made it to the door before Mr. Mustang spoke behind him.

"Edward."

It struck him as immediately odd that the teacher would know who he was. Although, he had made seating charts; Ed supposed the man could have learned everyone's names while doing so. Still, compared to the other teachers in the building who would need two months to get their student's names down, it was…different, to say the least. Edward turned his head, body still facing out the door. He had only one period left, and he was more than ready to get the day over with and go home. "Yeah?"

Mr. Mustang peered at him over his papers, stare still feeling more comprehensive than Ed was prepared for. "Your tie is quite loose. You ought to fix that before someone more rigid than myself decides to say something." Having said his piece, the teacher looked back down to whatever it was he was working on, thoroughly dismissing Edward.

Letting out a snort of derision, Ed reached a hand up to his neck and undid his tie altogether. Amongst all the things that that had changed, Edward still did not like being told what to do.