Author's Note: Yes, this is far too long to be a drabble of any sort. I fail at life. xD Anyhow, ZOMFG EDWARD I'm confused at what you mean by wanting to 'pimp' me. o.o IM me/email me for clarification. But also, I happen to love this particular piece... well the first part a t least. The rest is rather patheically despicable...

Defining Oxymorons

Each last of his nerve endings were slowly becoming dulled by the monotony of the chaos that consumed his life. Though that was a complete oxymoron the more Cain Fury thought about it. Monotonous chaos seemed to be defining everything in his life, making everything seem to be an oxymoron; work, home, and love even.

Work wasn't so much as work but a time where his mind strayed to points which they didn't belong. Daydreaming whilst he was supposedly fixing all of the items that were 'accidentally' broken by him. Though fixing mechanical items never was work as he enjoyed it, until Colonel Mustang came into the equation that was (he seemed to be utterly useless when it came to repairs, he on countless occasions attempted to fix his own broken items. But ended just breaking them further making more work for him). More than once he dropped his screwdriver onto his foot whenever his inattentiveness was brought to his 'attention'. Not only was his attention brought back to his work, but also to what he was paying attention to. The images in his head. Of course, he would never let any of his surrounding military personnel know what exactly he was thinking about no matter how adamantly they asked; or threatened. This cycle of going to work, and dreaming during the day (instead of during the nights which he spent lying awake not dreaming), was becoming quite disruptive.

Defining him now as the dream worker,his colleagues nowhad another reason tomockhim. Bringing that to the top of the oxymoron list. Dreams never worked out.

His home, evidently was not a home. It was rather just a place, a roof, where he slept and kept his belongings. Though he owned not much more than his clothing and a few pieces of furniture scattered in disarray. A dwelling where he should have made it his own, but did not because he spent as little time there as he could. There was no way he could even call it a home as his heart belonged somewhere else, with someone else. And home was where the heart was supposedly as he was taught at a young age by his mother and father. The emptiness kept him from wanting to be there. With nothing to come home to besides a cold empty bed, darkness, and the nauseating sense of loneliness he could never think twice about calling his house a simple house. He supposed, though it could have been better if his Land Lord had allowed pets. A pet would have made it the house at least worth coming home to, and not so pathetic.

Second on the list was his definition of his 'home', full of emptiness.

Love, Cain had to say was not the worst part of his chaotic monotonous life. He was in love, but it could never be complete as he kept it secret. In the depth of his soul he kept it hidden. For love was something not readily acceptable to him, as he was shown little love other than siblings and parents. Interest was never shown by anybody in him, and he always knew that it took mutuality to have a relationship. His fanciful love was purely lust driven, he wanted to think. For if it were simply lust, he could just move on. It would always be the same: whomever he showed any interest in always knew little or nothing about him because he kept everything to himself. It was not so much that he was shy, but more like experienced. One bad sharing of his most inner thoughts wrought only pain and relentless tears. He had learned to suppress those thoughts after a few years. But now, it was back. Those same feelings of love, but for someone new. Someone he knew well, but they had no idea. He had no idea. That in itself brought out the chaos in the monotony, the thoughts of being in love with a fellow man shocked the young man.

Thusly bringing his short list to a close with number three concerning love, wishful thinking. His wishes were never granted no matter how hard he wished, or how many times the wishes were repeated. And wishes were rarely logical not much unlike love.

---

Sighing, Cain placed his pen down upon the simple list he had constructed exposing the words work, home, and love in striking red ink. The image of the words were impressed on his eye lids as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes trying to just stop thinking altogether. For a minute, it worked. Just sitting and breathing with his eyes closed got his mind to stop dwelling in his soul. But as everything was bound to do his mind was once again thrown back into chaos, monotonous thoughts never leaving his cerebrum.

Taking the pen back in his hand he hastily scribbled the words 'dream worker' next to work; full of emptiness next to home; and wishful thinking next to love. And in a brief moment of bitter creativity he tied those thoughts and words into a simple sentence.

A dream(ing) worker is full of emptiness without wishful thinking.

As Mustang called out Cain's name in frustration, he abandoned his paper carelessly to check out what kind of trouble Mustang had wandered into now. Not thinking that a certain someone, much less anyone, would bother seeking him out and end up reading his skewed thoughts.

---

He had done it again, folded to Mustang's persistent orders to fix all that was even marginally wrong within the Eastern Head Quarters, sacrificing that special time in which he went to his house to lay in the darkness and sleep. It had been exhausting, and he had no other expectations for the night other than being able to sleep in his cold bed.

But he found that he couldn't even go to bed as he saw a light on in his front window from his position in the street. A wave of panic rushed through him as he ran towards his front door and even found it unlocked. Pushing the door with his shoulder as he turned the knob Cain looked frantically through his spectacles around the room. What he saw completely shocked him.

Jean Havoc, was sitting on his coffee table. His usual cigarette sitting comfortably between his smiling lips, though unlit. It moved carefully as he spoke, "Full of emptiness eh?"

---

It was then Cain realized that he was wrong about the monotonous chaos being the definition of his current lifestyle. It was more like peaceful havoc. He no longer had to dream at work, as he could comfortably dream at home. Home, where he no longer felt was full of emptiness as two bodies rather than one occupied the space. And his bed was no longer cold with another body sharing it. His thoughts even were no longer wishful as his wish had been granted. It had taken his life so long to right itself because he had been so withdrawn that he could not see that his dreams, emptiness, and wishes were shared by another. His sweet Havoc.