Of all the classes to be worried about on his first day back at CCHS, Edward should have known to place gym at the top of his list.

When he first entered the gymnasium, tossing his bookbag to the side and taking a seat on the bleachers, Ed's biggest concern had simply been the teacher. Mr. Armstrong was nothing at all like his sister; instead he was energetic, outgoing, and almost flamboyant. Somehow, despite his obsession over masculine physique, he'd avoided the same stigmatism that was currently haunting Edward. Though, to be fair, Mr. Armstrong wasn't necessarily gay, he was just…enthusiastic. Besides, the teacher had a strange ability to seem to appear out of thin air whenever his name was mentioned, so maybe that stopped the student body from speculating about his sexuality.

Edward had been taken gym (as a "health requirement") each of the previous three years of his high school experience, so he'd encountered Mr. Armstrong before. He knew full well that the teacher didn't believe in wasting a single second that could be used to enhance the body, so they'd be dressing down for gym today despite it being the start of the school year.

It was only when that realization crossed his mind that Ed understood how much shit he was in for.

As predicted, Mr. Armstrong scarcely waited for the bell to ring before striding out of his office. Shirtless, because his musculature was "the perfect way to inspire the students." Frankly, Ed had no idea how the instructor got away with that. A few stragglers were still making their way to the bleachers when Mr. Armstrong's booming voice redirected them.

"Oh ho! Welcome, everyone—no need to sit around being lazy, you all go ahead to the locker rooms and get dressed! Today we will assess your beginning fitness levels so you each can set goals for the year!"

Standing up again, Edward thought vaguely that Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Hughes would be great friends, seeing as they both appeared to have boundless energy. Shockingly, he made it all the way to the door of the locker rooms before someone objected. Loudly and physically.

Ed knew of the kid—Klaus—who had just stepped in front of him, blocking his way through the doors, though he didn't know him personally. Apparently, that didn't matter to Klaus, because he was half-shouting in his face, "Nuh uh, nope, you are not coming in here to creep on everyone else."

There was that burning sensation again, in his face and down his throat, all the way into his chest. Edward really, really wished he believed in a higher power, because praying would have been nice right then. As it was, Ed had no real choice other than to try to logic with his classmate. The chances of that panning out were small, but Klaus was a big kid. Edward wasn't going to get around him without violence, and he didn't want to be just as unpopular with the faculty of CCHS as he was with the student body. "Listen," Ed sighed, not looking Klaus in the eye lest that be even more offensive than his mere existence. "I'm just trying to do as I'm told and get changed. I'm not going to 'creep' on anyone."

Just as suspected, that got Edward absolutely nowhere. Klaus curled his upper lip, disgust coloring his tone, "Right, like you expect me to believe that, you fucking fairy. No one here wants to be part of your spank bank."

I don't have a spank bank anymore and even if I did, your bigoted ass wouldn't be in it. I just want to change, do some pushups, and go home. Ed opened his mouth, not knowing what words would emerge—but he didn't get the chance to find out. Voice echoing around the gymnasium, Mr. Armstrong at that moment noticed the conflict and decided to intervene. "Boys, what seems to be the problem? We don't have time to dilly-dally when fitness is on the line!"

Klaus was quick to answer the teacher's question, speaking openly and brazenly. Why wouldn't he? Consequences apparently didn't exist for homophobes in CCHS. "Ed's a faggot, Mr. Armstrong." A nice, simple statement, as though that explained every problem he could possibly have with Edward.

Mr. Armstrong, however, was unimpressed. His mustache quivered with the passion of his response. "So? Every race, gender, and sexuality can exercise!" Amazing, how one track the man's mind was. Edward wished fervently that the gym floor would just crack open and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, the universe cared very little for his whims, and the ground stood solid.

Seeming similarly exasperated with their teacher (though for very different reasons), Klaus only dug in his heels further. "We don't want him, y'know, looking at us," he complained, casting a venomous look in Ed's direction. "C'mon, Mr. Armstrong, we shouldn't have to be harassed just because he's a freak."

For one brief millisecond, Edward actually thought that maybe—just maybe—this time someone would stand up for him. Of course, he was wrong. Mr. Armstrong blinked twice, before shouting out his gleeful reply, "Well, then! Edward here can change in my office, problem solved!"

Not my problem, Ed thought bitterly. At least Klaus seemed satisfied; he nodded and turned back into the changing room, from which whoops and laughs began to echo. This sort of treatment didn't surprised Edward, not anymore, but it did hurt. Mr. Armstrong was turning away, considering his job done, when Ed skipped in front of the teacher's path.

"Mr. Armstrong. Listen. I know fitness is important." Step number one, suck up. Sympathize. Edward was going to have to lay it on thick to get what he wanted, but if he had to stay in this stupid building for one more minute he was going to scream. "I run every single day, just for fun! But I really, really can't do this sh—this today."

His teacher, somehow, seemed shocked that Ed could even be considering anything other than getting ready for gym class. "Now, Edward, being healthy is imperative! Besides, you'll feel better once you start sweating!"

"If I promise to run an extra mile tonight, can I go? Please?" Ed added, voice cracking just a little. An unintentional touch, but hopefully it would help his case. "I'll be back at it tomorrow. Please."

Evidently, begging was the way to get through to the man. Mr. Armstrong shrugged his massive shoulders in defeat. "Alright, Edward. But only this once—after today, you can still use my office to change. And then we can put some meat on your bones!"

The last words went almost unheard by Ed, who'd spun around and started jogging out of the gymnasium as soon as "alright" had left his teacher's mouth. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just go home, but Edward did still care about one thing: his little brother. And they'd promised to meet out front at the end of the day.

Peering through empty halls, keeping an eye out for any teachers who might question his wandering, Ed detoured for an emergency exit. A quick glance to tell him the coast was clear, and he pushed open the heavy double doors. That first breath of fresh air, of wind and sunlight and not being inside, almost made him cry.

Leisurely, now, Edward meandered around the side of the hulking CCHS building. After all, he had an entire period to kill. Before long he'd made it to the front of the school and sat himself down in the grass beside the stone stairs leading to the entrance. Ed leaned his head against them, closing his eyes. The sun shone red through his eyelids, keeping him awake. Good. As appealing as the idea of sleep was, the reality of it was nothing more than nightmares.

Being awake was just as bad, though…so what was the difference, exactly?

Edward sighed. He'd not even made it a full day. How in the world was he going to survive the rest of the year? And to have two classes with Winry! That just wasn't fair. Mr. Hughes's class was bound to be torture, with its "open forum" format. He'd rather just sit and take a boring quiz any day. Of course, last year Ed would have been ecstatic at the idea that he had a class where he could debate theories. Now, though…well, he'd just have to participate as little as possible.

Then there was Mr. Mustang's class. Really, that was a toss-up; if he didn't have to do any lab work with a group, he'd be fine. Edward could handle working alone. Even if he had to partner up with anyone other than Winry, it would suck, but he could get through it. But if Ed had to work with her…he shook his head at the thought. In a class of almost thirty people, the chances of that were small. He'd learned he couldn't trust people, but hopefully statistics wouldn't fail him, too.

That just left gym. Really, Edward reflected, being barred from the changing room had been humiliating. It made him feel unwanted (which he was), like trash (ditto). But now he'd just have to change in Mr. Armstrong's office. Not ideal, and he was bound to take some ribbing for it, but Ed had heard worse. And that at least meant he wouldn't have to be surrounded by naked guys…

Nope! Edward cut that train of thought off almost instantly, opening his eyes and clenching his fists into the soft grass. It gave way easily; if only his mind was so effortlessly moldable. You don't think that way anymore, Ed reminded himself.

On edge once again, Edward pushed himself back into a standing position, and began to pace around the front lawn of CCHS. "Lawn" was a generous word for it, but that's what it was called. Really, it was a ten-foot-wide strip of grass between the stairs and the sidewalk, and a tree on either side. Close enough, right?

He'd not realized how much time had passed, and the chime of the bells within the school made Ed jump. The day was over, then. Quickly, Edward walked over to one of the trees, leaning against it. Alphonse would know to be looking for him, but with any luck at all the shade from the leaves above Edward would keep him from drawing too much attention to himself.

It worked, for the most part. As first a trickle, then a tide of students exited the building, only a few rude gestures were thrown his way. And then Al was there, heading his way with less pep in his step than Ed had expected.

"Hey, Al."

"Hello, Brother." Alphonse didn't even stop walking, as Edward fell in with him effortlessly. "How was it for you?"

Ed considered the question carefully. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that his being fucked up really bothered Al—Izumi and her husband, Sig, too. After that, it had taken even less time for Edward to decide he needed to be a little less than honest about his feelings. "Not good," he admitted, "but I think today was the worst. Now I at least know what I'm walking in to. You?"

Alphonse sighed, grasping the straps of his backpack. "Also not good. I thought after the summer, people would have stopped asking me about you. I was wrong."

The words hit Edward like he was getting punched. As if it wasn't enough for him to suffer, his brother had to be dragged into it as well. He had a good idea of the sorts of questions Al was being asked. "How do you feel safe around him?" was probably the worst one. Like Ed would think that way about his own brother. And of course, besides the questions was the ever popular taunt of, "You must be a fag, too!"

Taking a deep breath to stabilize himself, Edward murmured out, "I'm sorry." There was nothing more he could say, and nothing he hadn't said last year when this all started.

"It's not your fault, Brother." Al's response was prompt as ever. It was amazing that a piece of shit like him could have a brother that was so steadfast and caring. Edward often thought that if he loved himself half as much as Alphonse did, he'd be able to do anything.

They didn't speak on the topic any further, as the brothers made their way back home. Al prattled on about how he already had homework, but it was all nonsense. Edward teased him about being overeager for real work. Almost like normal.

That is, until they made it back to their house. Izumi lived modestly, so it wasn't a large home, but it was cozy. Unless their adoptive mother was on the warpath. To be fair, when Alphonse unlocked the door and walked in, Edward in tow, it wasn't like they were in trouble. But Ed, at least, was being interrogated.

"My boys! How did everything go? Was everyone civil? Edward, you didn't get in any trouble, did you? I don't need to report anything to the principal, do I?"

That was Izumi. Overbearing. She did her best, and Ed loved her more than anyone (besides Al, of course). But he did not need to rehash the day he'd just had. Escaping with a mumbled, "One sec, I have to pee," Edward dropped his bag on the hallway floor and fled to the bathroom.

Once there, Ed did not, in fact, head for the toilet. Rather, he stood, bracing himself against the white porcelain of the sink. Slowly, ever so slowly, Edward raised his head to look himself in the eyes.

They were gold, as always. But they had a haunted edge, now, that Ed had gained over the last year. Looking back at old pictures, it shocked him, how alive his eyes looked. Now, when he saw at himself, Edward seemed like a zombie. Ed wondered if Izumi and Sig and Al could see it, too.

When everything had first gone down, Edward had thought about killing himself. But that would have hurt his family too much, and they didn't deserve to be punished for his perversion. His next thought had been to cut himself. The only thing was, that wouldn't solve anything. Where do you cut yourself to change your sexuality?

His fingers pushed against the solid weight of the sink. Unbending, unbroken. What was that like?

"Ed! Are you alright in there?" Izumi's call was probing. She was no fool, and likely could tell—despite his best efforts—that Edward was not, in fact, alright.

"Fine," he called back. Breaking eye contact with himself, Edward leaned over and flushed the toilet, then turned on the sink for a few moments. He gathered what strength he had left and turned back to the door.

What happened, he wondered, when that strength ran out? How long did he have left?

Time to put on a brave face for Izumi and stop thinking.