As usual, Winry had been right. Sleeping on his right side—with his hair down, nonetheless—had been a terrible idea.

It wasn't like he had meant to—he could hardly control how he tossed and turned while he slept—but the damage was already done.

It had only taken one tug for him to realize that half of his hair was wedged inside the shoulder joint of his automail, and no amount of pulling would get it free. As he sat up in bed, waves of pain emanated from his scalp as if mocking him for his stupidity, and his head had been forced into a forty five degree angle that was certain to give him aches whether he was able to free his hair or not. Great.

"Al!" he called from his pitiful excuse for a bedroom, hoping his brother would be able to fix the mess he'd created.

He glanced down the best he could, and the product looked even worse than it felt. Golden locks were tangled and knotted through the metal so severely that he couldn't see where the strands ended. It looked like some sort of metal monster, ensnaring him in place with its deadly maw.

"What's wro-" Al paused in the doorway, metal joints screeching to a halt. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Think you can help me out of this?"

Al approached swiftly, leather gauntlets freezing over his entangled shoulder. "I'm not sure I have the dexterity to help you… those spaces look really tight. How did you even do this?"

Ed groaned as loud as he could, flopping back onto his pillow. "Sleeping."

Al hummed, bending over him to get a better look. "Maybe Lieutenant Hawkeye could help. You're supposed to report to the Colonel today, aren't you?"

Ed groaned even louder, if that were possible, and slammed the pillow over his face with his free arm. "I do not want that bastard seeing me like this! I'm supposed to have the high ground, not him!"

"You do realize he's your superior officer, right? I don't think you've ever had the high ground, brother."

Ed glared something fierce over the top of his pillow. "Oh shut up, you know what I mean."

Al chuckled, pulling the pillow from his hands. "Unless you want me to cut it off right now, you don't really have any other options."

Ed sat with a start, wincing as the movement pulled at his scalp. "I swear, if you even try to cut it-"

"Oh calm down, I wasn't really going to. If it comes down to it, though, it's not that big of a deal. It'll grow back."

"Still not cutting it," Ed said with finality. He'd pull those damn strands of hair out one by one if he had to. His hair was his identity. He was not cutting it. "Call her here if you have to, but there's no way I'm walking all the way to Eastern Command looking like this."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Al left to use their dorm telephone, leaving Ed alone to glare a hole into his sheets. Okay, so maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. It was just hair, right? Hair was fragile, metal was not.

He glowered out of the corner of his eye as if he could force his hair to break free through sheer force of will. A part of him understood the functionality behind having breathable areas in the automail, but another wanted to scream at the reasoning behind leaving so many crevices in such an exposed spot. It wasn't Winry's fault, or his, but he needed something to redirect his anger to. The automail and hair itself were the only targets that wouldn't get offended by his claims.

He stuck his flesh hand in the gaps, pulling where he could feel hair knotted within them. His eyes instinctively filled with tears as his scalp got tugged, and he continuously blinked them away in frustration. Even as he snapped individual strands in half, they remained in his arm, hindering any functionality.

Deciding nothing more could be done, he flopped against the back of the bed and waited for the Lieutenant to arrive.


By the time Lieutenant Hawkeye was knocking on their door, Ed and Al hadn't made any progress. If anything, Ed felt as if his head was closer to his shoulder than it had been before.

Al quickly rose to let Hawkeye in, and Ed shifted as if it'd do anything to make the situation look any better. Whether he tried or not, there was no way to hide the embarrassing position he'd gotten himself into. At least Mustang wasn't there.

Small mercies, he supposed.

She made no comment after entering, which brought him a small form of relief. Though her expression was as smooth as always, her small sympathetic frown almost made Ed feel bad for troubling her. Almost.

He felt the mattress shift under her weight as she sat beside him, leaning in to get a view of his shoulder. Her fingers were gentle as they wove in and out of his automail, yet she didn't hold back in her attempts to untangle him.

"How's it looking?" he asked, knowing she'd give him an honest response.

"Not good," she said, matter-of-factly.

"That bad, huh?"

Hawkeye sighed, removing her fingers from his arm to look him in the eyes. The furrow of her eyebrows was all he needed to know what she was implying in her gaze.

"Come on Lieutenant, isn't there anything else you can do?" He knew begging was pointless, but it didn't hurt to try. Hawkeye could do nearly anything, and if she had failed, Ed knew his fate was certain.

"I'm afraid not. I don't want to risk damaging your automail."

This sucked. He knew it was a stupid thing to be mad about, considering all he'd been through, but damn if he wasn't upset by it. He liked to believe he was good at adapting to situations without letting himself be bothered by the trivial details. It was a necessary mindset he had to have if he wanted to face his path head-on, and had been drilled into him by his teacher years ago.

This, however, was just enough to make his ever growing tower of inconveniences threaten to topple over.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I promise I'll make it look as neat as I can." She put her hand on his shoulder, and quietly stood to find a pair of scissors.

For the year he'd known Lieutenant Hawkeye, he'd never seen her talk so gently before. It wasn't patronizing by any means, but it was far from the stern demeanor she often displayed at headquarters. She'd always been understanding and kind to him and Al, but never sugar-coated things just because of their ages. If anything, it made him respect her even more.

Ever since Ed had become a state alchemist, he hadn't missed her small gestures to make them feel more welcomed. When he was busy arguing with the bastard, she would make small conversation with Al, always ensuring he felt important and valued. Every so often he'd find packaged food waiting outside his door, labeled in neat handwriting that was recognizable even without a signature. When he would fall asleep in the office, he'd always wake to a blanket draped across his shoulders. They were subtle things—that was how Hawkeye operated—but even then they were more than enough.

Ed didn't need to see Al smile to know how appreciative he was of all the little things– it was obvious enough from body language alone. When there was any way for Al to feel like the kid he was, his joy would beam straight from his soul. It was something Ed couldn't provide on his own, no matter how hard he'd tried. Nothing could replace a love given by choice, not bound by things like blood.

Ed supposed he enjoyed it too.

When Hawkeye approached with the scissors, he did his best to remain still. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands unconsciously clenching into fists. He wasn't some kid who got upset about haircuts. Hawkeye was taking time out of her day to help him, so the least he could do was make things easy for her.

"Ready?"

He attempted to nod, but the trapped hair limited his head's range of motion. He opted for an affirming hum instead.

"I'm going to cut the part attached to your arm first, and then I'll even it out around that, okay? I'll try to leave as much as I can."

She moved the scissors to his shoulder and began to slowly snip around it, from the top to the underside. As she worked the pressure on his head gradually decreased, and within no time he was able to straighten out his neck.

Strands were still coiled inside his arm, and one proper look was all it took for him to know that Winry would not be happy with him the next time he'd see her. At least it was better than being stuck to his own arm, he supposed.

Hawkeye carefully moved on to the rest of his hair, and Ed watched as pieces fell to the ground like autumn leaves. It was just hair, nothing major. Just stupid, insignificant, dead cells.

Just hair.

It fell just above his shoulders, hanging loose like he remembered from the first time he tried to grow it out. The waviness from the previous day's braid was much more apparent now, and a part of him just wanted to pull the covers over his head and demand Hawkeye leave before finishing.

Al hovered nearby, sweeping the clumps of hair into a neat pile. "That style really works on you, brother. Not many people can pull it off like that."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're my brother. Bet it looks dumb," he murmured, refusing to look up from the clumps on the ground.

"Your brother's right, Edward. It looks very handsome," Hawkeye spoke up. "You can trust my judgment; I tell the Colonel his hair looks awful almost daily."

Ed didn't try and cover the faint smile that tugged at his lips. "Because it does. Bastard looks like a wet mop." He glanced over at Al, who had remained silent at his remark. "What, no comment?"

"Well," –he shuffled in place, stopping his sweeping– "you're not wrong. It really is bad."

Ed barked out a laugh. "Ha! You be the one to tell him next time. I'm sure it'll hurt way more if you're the one who says it. Maybe he'll get a haircut too."

"I doubt he would change it now if he hasn't since we first saw him."

"Pff, I bet that's what people would've said about me, and look at me now! "

Al sighed, a metallic ring resonating from his armor. "That's different and you know it! You didn't have a choice, and I'm sure if you did, you never would've changed it."

"Whatever," he said with no real bite to his words.

The mood in the air had lightened substantially since Hawkeye had first arrived, and Ed had almost forgotten why he'd been so bothered in the first place. He had found himself laughing and smiling when he hadn't expected to, and the weight on his shoulders felt almost bearable.

Things felt... normal.

"I've cleaned it up to the best of my abilities, but if you want a better cut I recommend a barber in the city." Hawkeye set down the scissors and ran her fingers through his hair, fluffing it and brushing off the spare pieces that tickled his neck.

"Never gone to a barber before, and never will. I already have enough strangers coming at me with sharp objects as it is."

Al grumbled somewhere off in the corner, dumping out the dustpan. "You're so overdramatic, brother. Since when were barbers dangerous?"

"I dunno, but I don't wanna take any chances!"

Hawkeye cleared her throat from behind him, and he quickly shut his mouth and turned to look at her. His head felt light like it had when he was a kid, and even though he missed the comforting weight of a braid, the movement of his hair wasn't as jarring as he had expected.

"As needed as this break from work has been, the Colonel will get nothing done if I'm absent any longer."

"Sounds about right," Ed huffed. "I was supposed to report in today anyways, so I guess I'll tag along."

At least being with Hawkeye would keep the bastard and his team in line. Ed knew that if anyone said something even remotely rude, she'd be throwing them glares that would make even the strongest soldier run for the hills.

She nodded with a smile, and as they began to leave, Al called out from behind them.

"Try not to get too defensive, brother. You look great!"

"Yeah yeah," he gave a curt wave without turning back, hoping Al didn't see the slight curve of his lips.


The walk to Headquarters had been… nice. They hadn't really conversed, but Hawkeye wasn't one to make pointless small talk if it wasn't necessary. Their silence alone was comforting enough, especially when paired with the cool and crisp air of autumn.

Ed had savored the feeling while he could, because he knew that once he entered Mustang's office, the energy would be far from peaceful.

It would most likely be because of his own doing, but still.

As he stood outside the door, his stomach had the genius idea of weaving itself into knots for no particular reason. This was Mustang of all people, and the sudden bouts of anxiety blooming inside of him were as unwelcoming as facing the man himself.

Instead of acknowledging it, he ignored his body's signals and kicked down the door with more force than necessary. Hawkeye made a noise of disapproval from beside him, but didn't comment as he stormed into the room.

He hardened his expression as the members of the team turned to welcome him, eyes moving straight to his hair.

"Hey chief, digging the new 'do!" Havoc said, spinning his chair to the point where it looked seconds away from toppling over.

Fuery joined in, thick glasses making his eyes look comically large. "Woah, I almost didn't recognize you without your braid! Is there a reason you cut it?"

Ed froze, trying to think of an appropriate response. It wasn't like anyone would know the embarrassing reason his hair had to get chopped off in the first place, so rather than worrying, he instead opted for confidence. Things were always easier that way.

"Just felt like it. It's no big deal," he shrugged off with nonchalance.

"I find that hard to believe."

Ed knew that smug, stupid voice anywhere.

Mustang had emerged from his office, his face somehow looking ten times more punchable than it usually did—and that was saying something.

"The hell's your problem? It's just a haircut," Ed snapped.

"That's not what you seemed to think last week, when you almost bit someone's hand off for even touching your hair."

Damn, Mustang was infuriating. Ed knew he could see right through him, but he wasn't about to drop his guard so easily.

"Yeah well, it's different if it's someone else messing with it. Can I not just want to change things up? What's it matter to you, anyway?"

Mustang raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "You wear the same coat every single day, Fullmetal. It's not like you to change something so major. Something must've happened to have made you cut it."

He was not making this easy, but Ed should've expected as much. Hawkeye was still remaining silent, watching the conversation with piercing eyes and ready to intervene if one of them went out of line.

Ed wanted to shout that it was none of his damn business, but he knew that would result in nothing but relentless questioning until he finally caved. If Mustang wanted a story, then he'd get a story.

Al wasn't here to spill the truth, after all.

"Fine, if you're so curious. I got in a fight—and won, by the way–-but the dude's knife managed to nick my braid. Happy?'

Mustang didn't look impressed. "This fight wouldn't happen to be documented in your report, is it?"

"It was irrelevant!" he all but shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

"When you're involved, a 'fight' usually means ten more damage reports on my desk and an article in the paper. The only destruction being your hair seems unlikely."

Ed moved to shout back, when Hawkeye stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, I'd suggest you leave it alone. What's important is that he's unharmed."

Mustang paused to exchange a look with her, raising his eyebrows slightly before regaining the same smug expression he'd worn just moments earlier. Ed craned his neck back to see what she'd done to make him shift emotions so quickly, but he saw nothing beyond her professional countenance.

Weird.

"I suppose you're right. You're lucky it's only your hair that got shorter, otherwise I wouldn't be able to see you over the desk." Mustang glanced at Hawkeye once more and sighed. "It suits you, Fullmetal. I'm glad you're alright."

There was absolutely no way Hawkeye hadn't done some sort of dark magic on the bastard. In the last year, he couldn't remember the last time Mustang had ever said something that wasn't condescending in some way. It was as weird as if he'd willingly gone outside in the rain, but… Ed supposed it wasn't awful to hear.

"Bet you just don't wanna file the paperwork otherwise, huh?" he scoffed, ignoring the obnoxious warm feeling that'd settled in his chest. "C'mon, I wanna get this report out of the way. I have places to be."

Mustang rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath as he returned to his office, gesturing for him to follow. Ed moved to do so, wanting nothing more than to return to Al and the library, but the warm presence at his back reminded him of why he'd been able to come to headquarters to begin with.

He turned to face Hawkeye, noting how her lips were upturned slightly as her eyes shone with warmth. She nodded for him to carry on, but that did nothing to stop him from mouthing a quiet "thank you" over his shoulder as he left.

After everything, it was the least he could do.


this is a little oneshot i've had sitting around for literal years, so i decided to finally clean it up and post it! i love the image of ed with a bob so this had to be done,,,, imagine he does little braids on the sides that meet in the back or something,,, amazing

thank you for reading! feel free to leave a comment and share your thoughts :)