How…how had Edward ever been convinced this would be a good idea? School was bad enough, but a school dance?

Ed was, with his fingers shaking so hard he could barely button up his shirt, about 70 percent sure Alphonse had drugged him. How else would his brother have managed to persuade him to go to homecoming? Of course, the constant nagging and begging and repetition of, "It's your senior homecoming, Brother, it's your last chance!" might have had something to do with it. But now…alone as he was, getting dressed, Edward had a much clearer mind. A mind that was practically shrieking in rebellion at his actions, that was telling him this was a bad fucking idea.

Al was just so excited. May had agreed to go with him, and Alphonse had been walking on air ever since. Ed, to his great shame, felt both happy for and betrayed by his younger brother. Of course, it was wonderful that Al was enjoying himself. But a sick part of Edward was so hurt that everyone else was moving on. Of course, they should; that was the healthy and normal thing to do. It still sucked, though, being left behind in misery while everyone around you got to enjoy life. Got to be okay.

He was going to have to find a way to stop thinking if he was going to get through tonight.

"Brother! Hurry up!"

The sound of Alphonse calling for him startled Edward, but he did indeed hurry up. Not that he was overly worried about being on time to the dance. Ed just didn't want Al coming into their room, and seeing…

A flash of silver before the flask hid itself under Edward's waistband. There. He wasn't usually a drinker, mostly because Ed absolutely detested hangovers. But there was no denying that alcohol had a unique ability to numb the pain, and he thoroughly expected to need that. With his secret tucked away, Ed walked out of their room, through the hall, and into the living room.

For a second, everything felt almost normal. Izumi and Sig were beaming, May was grinning like a fool, and Alphonse was holding on tight to her arm like she might disappear if he didn't. The only thing out of place was Edward himself.

"Come on, Ed, we just want to get a picture of all three of you before you leave," Izumi said, beckoning him in. Feeling very much as though he were slightly out of step with the rest of the world, and especially the room he was in, Edward floated forward until he was standing beside Alphonse. Al, bless his soul, spared a reassuring glance before turning his attention back to his date.

"Smile, now!" The command came from Sig, his face hidden behind the camera. Undoubtedly it was meant for Edward. How was he meant to smile, though? Did he even remember what that felt like?

A sudden, terror-stricken thought: I can't ruin Al's photo just because I can't get it together!

And so, because his brother was pretty much the only thing Ed cared about anymore, he turned his head to the side just enough so that Alphonse was in his peripheral vision. And he filled his dumb brain with thoughts of Al's future, of how bright his happiness was, and smiled as best he could.

The duo beside him hardly waited for the camera's flash to fade before pulling him excitedly out the door, May's pink dress swirling around all three of them. Edward found himself hopping on one foot out onto the street, trying to finish putting his shoes on. Even once he was done, he lagged a little way behind the happy couple.

Walking to the homecoming dance felt like walking through ink, its blackness staining Ed with every step. But Al and May served as a light to guide him through.

This was not the sort of thing Roy typically found himself doing on a Saturday evening. Grading

papers, preparing for class, having a drink with Maes…those were his weekend activities, along with helping Riza keep house. Chaperoning the CCHS homecoming dance was quite far from what he'd prefer to be up to.

It had been a short notice happenstance, really. Roy and Riza had been fighting—she wanted him to get reading glasses, and he insisted that he could see just fine. Besides, Roy felt glasses made his face look older, exacerbating the fine lines of worry around the bridge of his nose. The phone had rung, then, and it had been Maes. One of the other teachers who had volunteered to chaperone the dance had come down with a cold, and was there any way Roy would be interested in filling in? And because the last thing he had wanted to do was spend an evening in the same house as his irritable wife, Roy had said yes.

Now…well, he wasn't regretting the decision, exactly. It was that he was vaguely out of his comfort zone. In class, students could range from rowdy to studious, but Roy knew how to handle all of that. And in the halls, a sharp glance was usually enough to stop any inappropriate behavior. But here, with the gymnasium darked and decorated and shaking with music…it was more than Roy was used to.

He couldn't help the wry smile that crossed his face at that thought. Had it really been so long since Roy himself had attended these sorts of events? Even as recently as college, he'd snuck beneath a professor's notice for a quick tryst. How had the years aged him so?

Roy was so lost in his thoughts, he jumped when a hand—quickly revealed to be attached to Hughes—landed on his shoulder. "Having fun yet?"

"Need I remind you that we aren't the ones who are supposed to be having fun, Maes?" Roy's eyebrow raised with the question. Hughes was holding a glass of what thankfully appeared to be water. The last thing he needed was to also be chaperoning his fellow teacher.

"Aw, sure we are!" Maes retorted, turning to watch the crowd of students before them. It was harder than Roy had expected to tell whether they were dancing or dry humping. "Even if we're working, we can't be expected to not enjoy the music!"

It was strange—until Hughes said that, Roy hadn't realized…the music. His house used to be full of music. Riza would sing, or have the radio going. When had that stopped? Of course, the singing had stopped after the miscarriage. But when had the whole place gone so quiet?

Maybe that was why he felt so odd being here. "I suppose you're right," Roy replied, a heartbeat too late. Though he kept his gaze forward, he felt Hughes glance at him.

"You all right, Roy?"

"Oh, I suppose so," he sighed.

"You sounded kinda tense on the phone earlier, ya know," Maes observed. "Everything okay at—hey! I see you over there!—at home?"

Were things ever okay at home? When was the last time they had been? "Same as ever."

The song changed then, growing so loud it was almost impossible to speak over the din. Hughes merely gave Roy an apologetic look, for which he was grateful; the last thing he needed was his over-excited best friend shouting about his marital problems. Clapping Maes on the shoulder, Roy moved away, closer to the entrance of the gym. There, at least, he could hear himself think.

Although, maybe that wasn't such a good thing. Roy had determined long ago that he would stay with Riza until the day she gave up on him, or the day he died—whatever came first. But lately his more selfish side was becoming more insistent that he simply couldn't live the rest of his life like this. Perhaps he would suggest to Riza they see a couple's counselor. She hadn't been keen on the idea in the past, but it was always worth another try…

With some surprise, Roy was brought out of his ruminations by the sight of Edward Elric. He was slinking into the gym, following someone who looked so much like him they could only be brothers. Ed was just about the last person Roy had expected to come to the dance; after all, he seemed so uncomfortable around his classmates. Had something changed?

As the boy glanced around, seeming nervous, his eye caught sight of his teacher. Roy nodded his head in greeting, shocked once again when Edward hurriedly looked away. And was that just the light, or had his cheeks been reddening?

Quite alight with curiosity, on any other occasion Roy would have followed his student and elicited a proper greeting—and an explanation. But tonight he was here doing his job, and so he continued to watch the undulating crowd. And pretended not to be aware of the blonde standing off to the side.

As soon as he walked into the gym, a sick feeling washed over Edward, a wave so strong he really did think he was going to vomit for a moment. This truly had been a horrible idea.

He'd read, in some psychology book or article, about how recollections could be triggered. Smell was a big component, but the other senses played a part as well. Ed felt crazy, but entering the room made memories he'd tried his hardest to bury come flashing before his eyes—

-lights strobing, hands grabbing at a suit jacket, lips busy and gasping—

All kinds of memories. Trying desperately to ground himself, Edward looked around as though playing spot the difference. Anything to remind himself that this wasn't last year's prom again. But he locked eyes for half a heartbeat with Mr. Mustang and—

-Rupert was taller than he was, his fingers tangling in Ed's hair, desperate, so different from Winry—

-Edward looked away quickly. Not that. He could survive reliving the shame and the guilt, those demons he had been fighting every day since then. But not that. He felt his mouth move, telling Alphonse to "Go dance, I'll be fine!" Ha! Fine? As if!

-the door to the men's room opening, closing just as quickly, and what did he care when there was hot breath on his throat—

-Oh, fuck. Ed wanted to leave, he needed to get out of there. But he'd promised Al he would come. Did it really count if he left after less than a minute in the building? Trying to suppress shivers despite how hot the room was, Edward slowly made his way to the far wall of the gymnasium. It was a good thing he spent so much time now pretending not to exist; he was quite adept at avoiding attention, and no one could be allowed to see him reaching for his hip—

-again with the door, this time a scream, and no, it couldn't be, she couldn't see this—

-Ed took a swig too hastily, breathing half of the sharp liquid in. At least the violent coughing that ensued covered up the motion of him replacing the flask. He hoped it would kick in quickly, searing away his thoughts like it seared the back of his throat. Two songs—no, that wasn't enough. Three. He would stay three songs for Alphonse's sake, and then he would have to leave.

Three songs blurred by alcohol couldn't be so bad, right?