When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the twinkling city lights in the distance.

Seas of dark weave gracefully between certain patches, giving the image an illusion of a night sky. Smaller specks of glowing dots glide across, disappearing into the endless darkness. Visible trails are left behind. They look like shimmering bits of dust, pulsing with a certain liveliness. In a more different approach, they also leave the impression of tear stains stretching to places no one could even begin to track.

It's absolutely gorgeous.

The second thing I notice is the wetness of the ground, the coolness of dewdrops clinging to my raw, faintly stinging skin, and the slight tickling of soft grass tucked below my sticky back. In a state of grogginess, I ponder the reasoning for this both uncomfortable and soothing conditioning and why I was lying down in such a place. Of course this leads me to my third realization of not seeing the city lights after all, but the watchful eyes of Amestris' stars. Snippets of memory comes into focus and so the explanation for the sticky, wet ground arrives as the dancing flashbacks of rain. This only puts me into the quizzical wonders of how I'd come to such a beautiful spot beneath the open air.

I blink confusingly, mind reeling, but all I can hear are the distant beats of footsteps dashing from behind me and the pitter pattering of droplets hitting the pavement. I'd been running from someone, or rather someones, but again, why? From where or to where had I been sprinting off from or to? Perhaps it was just about time for me to attempt at my own answers and getting up was a start.

With a preparing gulp, I lift up a few milimeters off the cool greenery, splaying my fingers firmly amongst the blades threading between my throbbing gaps. I'm not able to progress any farther however as a sudden movement I hadn't picked up on earlier decides to choose that opportunity to shift.

I yelp, grip slipping, and brace for impact on my already pounding skull, but to my surprise find none to follow. Instead I collide with something oddly soft, cushioning my lousy fall and sparing me from anymore bothersome throbs. It's enough to plant another wave of reminders like the fact that I had been running away from the city and encountered a group of ruffians in the alley on my way to visiting the Usual Place - which I had yet to understand what exactly that was - and collasping from exhaustion and pain and emotions of a sort. Glad to have at least some more of the events leading to this moment being cleared up, I breathe out and concentrate on the peculiar shape of whatever it was I'd fallen into.

The outline seems strangely staged for my brief collision. It has a long, muscular feel and with enough stillness - I hold my breath for experimentation - I note the slightest of movement passing along the upper area of my head down to the base of my neck. It's almost notably alive; a pulse.

I'm so deeply entranced with my deductions and explanations that it completely slips past me that two spots in the sky are out of place, blinking with a mixture of concern, anger, and -somehow- humor.

"And you say I'm the idiot," the night says, earning another spasm to erupt from my sore, aching body. Unfortunately this time rather than react in a downward fashion, I jerk sharply towards the figure, slamming temple against temple and triggering an explosion of swears. Knowing that skies simply didn't speak (or curse for that matter), I quickly go into a stressing process of recognizing that particular voice, searching and discovering to my dissatisfaction that it belonged to none other than the Colonel. Of course by figuring this out, the final clump of memories come jabbing into me at full speed, stealing every ounce of energy I might have had left. The chasing, the running away, the dreadful flurry of self-warring confliction. It all returns its mark and brings me back to the reality of being a horrible fugitive trying to avoid bringing more catastrophic to the best of those who had been kind enough to take me in.

I rub at my forehead, wincing while trying my best to glower at the hissing man before me. Hopefully I will be able to push his buttons and have him leave me to my misery rather than re-attempt at the fleeing. It would be less straining for the both of us.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, going for an aggressive growl but instead ending with a weak whimper of a dog that'd been kicked down. My eyes dart around to verify that we were indeed in the midst of the Usual Place which I finally remember to be the Hughes place of peace. Guiltily, I think of the dots of blood I'd brought with me, staining it's purity with my hideousness. Once again I've tainted the territory of people undeserving of it. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, unfazed by my faults, but as usual, the act comes like a needle to the chest. I feel absolutely filthy and not simply by physical terms.

Roy continues to cradle his face, grumbling. I suppose there really is no need to hear his reply anyways, so I re-try my acts to getting up to my feet for a more controlling feel of the situation. Vulnerability by resting below my opponent never ceased to embark paranoia, and that was definitely something I didn't want right now or ever for that matter.

With a tight grimace, I push myself up again. The attempt is excruciatingly uncomfortable, especially on my legs, and seems to last a lifetime just getting to a low crouch. Once I'd achieved that position I no longer had the desire to go on to the next stage of getting up. All I craved was a nice, long nap and maybe a warm cup of tea.

Tears threaten to spill and I stubbornly bite my lip. How dare I expose myself to such a vulnerable state? Weakness is not a thing I should be willing to demonstrate. Ever. Yes, everything is unfair. Life is cruel. Boo hoo. I couldn't just sit idly by and feel sorry for myself as badly as I wanted to. The least I could protect was my pride, as little as I had remaining, and with that spirit in mind, I stretch out my limbs and reach, reach, re-

I exclaim, crumbling into a broken heap, cradling my scorching leg. From behind there is a heavy sigh. To my surprise a flicker of light appears just in front of me to reveal a nasty gash below my knee, the source of my suffering. Lodged messily and deeply inside is a large chunk of what I could only determine as glass from the boys' alcoholic treasure. It would have been bad enough to leave it as something I'd stumbled upon accidentally, but to add the fact that I'd been running and stumbling madly in the dark...Well, I had to put twice the effort to quench the rising howls attempting to push from my dry, dry throat.

"Shit," I groan through clenched teeth. I can't seem to look away from the gore even though I know I probably should. The sight only leaves an ugly tingling in my gut, ready to spill out.

"Yeah. Shit."

Roy extinguishes the flame he'd put up in a quick wave of his hand before lowering the other from his still covered nose. Curiously, I wonder why it was he was covering that specific part of his features when I was sure I'd slammed into his head. It was as if he was purposely hiding another injury or being oddly insecure about a mark -which simply couldn't be the case- but despite the looming darkness under the pale, luminescent moon, I could distinguish the rising glare in his piercing eyes, spearing through my pathetically obvious expression of pain.

He keeps his distance, never taking his gaze off my own. I sense a storm of fury about to be unleashed and I brace for impact, thinking of means of escape. None come to mind. I'll just have to deal with whatever he throws at me.

"Do you have any idea how worried I- we were?" he snaps at first but gradually fades into a quiet mumble.

This was nothing I had been prepared for. I'd expected acidic words to pour from that grimace of his. Not these - this flowery gibberish.

I take a quick look around for any extra company, answered by the gentle chirps of crickets.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask hoarsely, watching him start to pace about in a frenzied manner. "Why should you even care about how I am? You can't stand me."

Roy froze in his tracks, turning sharply to flash a ferocious, rage-drenched glare.

"Is that it? Is that the reason you took off in the middle of the night, alone, without anything to defend yourself with?" At my attempt to protest, he cut in with a stomp forward at the angriest I'd ever witnessed. "You thought I hated you?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Even if I did, how does any of this seem like a good idea to you?" He takes a second to gesture madly at my ghastly knee. "Was it worth running away from my hatred?" At this, he throws out his arms in a motion inviting me to answer, leaving his entire face exposed, but still shrouded in the dimness of the night.

"Do you?"

When the question comes out from my own lips, I quirked a brow in confusion. Even the Colonel goes tense, caught off guard. There was no reasoning for my outburst, no previous thoughts circulating my brain except his own finishing touches to his rant: "my hatred".

Those two words kept clouding my mind, thickening and dampening, yelling and demanding to be paid attention to. It hurt more than anything I'd experience, even though he never actually verified whether it was true.

But why should I even care? Why did I want him to say no and alleviate this stab of pain digging in my chest? Didn't I hate him?

"What-" he spoke, pulling me from my internal bickering, shaking his head and combing fingers through his scraggly hair, "-about our conversation earlier today struck you with the idea of me hating you?"

"You-" I start but then stop at the logic in his point. Where indeed? Hadn't he and I shared a relatively enjoyable conversation? There hadn't been any actual quarrels, and the few we did have had always been resolved. Besides, hadn't he wanted to visit me again tonight? Now?

I look back at the glass in my skin, frowning. It's suddenly all so incredibly silly. Here he was, apparently worried about me, watching me almost protectively. He'd really wanted to revisit? He wasn't just trying to come up and speed up my recovering process? What had me thinking about all this in the first place? Why was I so prone on running away?

"Gracia and Maes should be here in a bit with a medic," Roy says with a strained attempt at controlling his tone. It's obvious he's still pissed. From what little I knew of human emotions, that would mean he was really concerned, which didn't make sense sin-

"Medic?!" I suddenly yell, feeling the color drain from my face. Fearfully I shake my head, sliding back with my more decent leg steering. Even with careful and gentle pushes, I cringe at the slightest of pressure applying towards the material stuck within my joints, preventing effective movement.

Roy jolts up to my side, crouching to grab ahold of my shoes, keeping me from moving any further. Immediately I begin to squirm, reaching to bat at his broad, muscular - oh. This answered the question of what I'd landed on earlier.

"Stop moving. You're causing more damage-"

"I don't care!" I scream, writhing around in a panicked state. Roy makes sure to duck at my hand lashing out to swing at him. "No medic! No! No! I will not stay around for someone to inject me with needles!"

"This is a frien-"

"I don't care!" I repeat, settling for my hands covering his knuckles, scratching and clawing frantically. "No medic! I will not deal with any doctors or anything!"

"Okay!"

I went motionless, sure I'd heard wrong. The glass shimmers, reflecting back lines of light into my vision. I blink dumbfoundedly. Exasperated, the Colonel exhaled.

"Okay. Fine. No medic. When they get here, I'll send him away," he assures, looking extremely unhappy. The muscles of his jaw twitch and I gaze at him in awe, shifting down to notice that he had yet to pull away.

"Okay?" he presses, raising a brow. Hesitantly, I nod, watching as he eventually retracts to a respectful distance. Though I've yet to calm down to my personal liking, the spots where his hands had been hold a comforting warmth. It's somewhat of a relief. It's also a disappointment. How this could be, or why - I didn't know.

Or - why should I even care?

With a sigh, he tilts his head to get a better angle at my injury as new, disturbing thoughts circle my brain.

Human contact.

Why is it whenever he found an excuse to make contact with me, it always left an interesting, lingering curiosity? It always drove me with a sense of security. Perhaps a feeling of admira - AH!

I dig into my scalp, lowering as close to my knee as I could manage. Unfortunately this only triggers a concerned reaction from Roy who decides to put the tips of his warm, electrical fingertips against my lower chin, pulling me to look at him. In a panic stricken move I shove him away, or at least try to.

"What? What is it?" he asks in a hushed tone. "Is it starting to hurt?"

'Starting to hurt'? It'd been hurting for a while now, although I had no urge to point this out to him. Really, I had no desire to have anything to do with him as I was suddenly terribly confused and confusion only led to frustration.

"No," I mutter, drawing back as if truly repulsed. Roy, however, is strangely reluctant in leaving me alone. His touch finally fell away, but the closeness of him in general wasn't the least bit comfortable. In fact, he was so incredibly near, I could practically see the bruises beneath his eye as well as the almost indistinguishable dots of red-

Red? Blood?

Yes. Indeed, there are significant amounts of dry blood flaking his face. Dark, purplish spots line his eyes, and his nose appears to be crooked as if someone had driven something heavy with a large amount of force into it. Even his clothes, when seen this closely, are littered with tiny bits of glass. Concern racks my body as I slowly recall the time where I'd been pursued by those boys and return to my wonderment of where they had gone off to and how Roy had suddenly appeared out of the blue.

I felt myself grow pale, traces of heat lingering along my body, clutching me closely in the midst of the rain. Whispered reassurances weave and tangle in my mind, telling me it was alright. Everything would be alright. I didn't have to be brave.

I reach out to his injuries, but then quickly draw back as if afraid to cause more harm. Roy's eyes widen, and I'm not entirely sure, but he even seems to go red, looking away with a disdainful look. I knew for a fact this was completely out of his character. With a dry swallow, I settle back into a less straining posture, wincing at the flickering bursts of pain igniting my knee.

"They left a mark on you, I see," I find myself speaking, sounding surprised. The gentleness of my words come as a shock. I never would have guessed my voice capable of such soothing. Of course, even so, his body grows rigid. He shrugs uncaringly.

"It's nothing."

Obviously a lie. The man had blood visibly caking his face.

"Yeah," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "And this is only a scratch." My head gestures to the atrocious knee and I shudder at the thought of extracting those dreadful shards one by one. Pieces of stringy muscle clinging to the edges, unraveling like-

I take a deep breath. Clear my mind. No need to freak out. Don't think about the worst possible things. Focus one step at a time.

I exhale, hardly noticing the Colonel's silent gaze on my own. Once I finally do, after an embarrassingly lengthy amount of time, I shoot him an almost irritable scowl, narrowing my eyes. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, his lips firmly placed in a line. He throws a scorching stare.

"You're an idiot."

The repeated insult causes a flash of heat to rise in my cheeks and I shoot out in a rage filled hiss, "As if I need to be reminded."

Roy snorts humorlessly, pulling at the hem of his pants. Uniform pants.

I wonder if he'd began his search for me as soon as he'd left work? Maybe even during? Just when exactly did he and the others realize I'd gone missing?

"It's strange hearing you finally admit to your stupidity, Miso," Roy says, blinking back distorted reflections of the city glow from behind. With a stubborn grunt, I look away at the ground and nonchalantly brush the hair from my face. I barely register the fact he's gone and called me by his ridiculous nickname. Not that it should have mattered much.

"Yeah," I whisper defeatedly, copying his shrug from before with an additional deadness. "Well, even I have to come to terms with the mistakes I've made."

Once the words fall out, I immediately regret them. They reveal too much of myself and leave me at a much more vulnerable state. I had now succumbed to this weak, pathetic, shriveled up mess of a survivor. Heaven forbid that I should be struck down at this very moment, spared to suffer through my eternal humiliation. It was true though. If I were in his shoes, perhaps I too would be somewhat shocked by my sudden lack of bite, but enough was enough. I'd finally reached the breaking point of even trying to conserve any respect for myself. Why entitle myself to something that I absolutely could not ever believe to be deserved? Why not let the boy win with his teases and simply lay down like an obedient dog?

"That's no fun," he scoffed.

My ears perk up at his single statement. I observe him curiously, mindful of his closeness.. I don't dare to move.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

It's oddly fascinating the way his pupils seem to disappear altogether in this dim setting. Gaping holes almost inhuman. Remarkably deep. They remind me of lonely nights sitting by the crackling fire, on the look out for pursuing Aerugonians. Those seemingly endless routes between the trees, leading down to more and more darkness. Some littered with horrendous surprises, others with waiting luxuries like ponds and lakes. Having eyes like those, being one with nature and its sinister secrets as well as its remarkable discoveries, I wouldn't mind going back. I wouldn't mind too terribly much the waiting in the dark for light. I wouldn't mind being me again. The other me.

The corner of my mouth twitches and I curse myself yet again about my ridiculous set of mind. Of all things to be concerning over, I was being strangely and rather creepily drawn to the boy's eyes. If anything, I needed to worry about how I was getting out of this situation. Was I going to make another attempt at leaving when I had the chance? Would I ever have the chance? Am I being held here against my will? In order to be kept here, they'd have to...want... me around...

I blinked astonishingly at the Colonel, tasting the dryness of my throat. Surely he didn't - they didn't...

"It may not seem like it to you but I've-" he halts for a moment, reconsidering, "-we've all been enjoying your company these past few days."

Almost timidly, he slicks back his messy clump of hair. It reveals the slightest of scratches, still raw and glinting in the dimness of the city life pouring from above. It's bizarre how well the lowly gang seemed to harm the man considering his profession. Was there something more to who they had been?

He continues to speak in a soft approach, mindful of my curious stares. The hair falls back over, hiding away the red line and highlighting his flecked nose.

"Now, I don't know what you've faced, and quite frankly I could care less about what you may or may not have done." He pretends not to notice the wide, shocked gleam in my eyes or the sudden tenseness of my body. Instead he takes in the bloody stump of my knee with a solemn look, going quieter and quieter still. Something about the way he's able to tread so carefully along my ruined sense of morality despite his earlier aggressive behavior is remarkably admirable. Praiseworthy even.

"But, what you're doing - this running away from people who are growing attached to you," he pauses to shake his head in exasperation. Almost shamefully, I glance down. "You can't.."

"Why?" I whisper to the ground, drowning his words. And as if hearing it said aloud once wasn't enough, I repeat a bit louder, folding nails into my sticky palms.

"Why?"

Roy takes in my question for a moment, processing. He purses his lips, resting his forearm along his knee, appearing deep in thought as if it really did matter to him what the answer may be.

"Why would you be selfish enough to spark these relationships just to sever them?" he asks.

"That's not..." I mumble, trembling, fighting back something painful from my eyes. It's bubbling up in small watery bursts of - frustration? Sadness? What? What am I feeling? How am I supposed to feel?

"That's not what I mean," I finish, dry at the mouth. These tears that are trying so desperately to escape are leaving me parched. What little hydration remains in my body begs to be released in forms of frailty and helplessness. It's positively aggravating.

"Then what do you mean?" Roy asks patiently.

I swallow a heavy lump, running my fingertips together in restlessness.

Never would I have thought I'd reach a day of wondering over something like this. Never would have assumed I'd be deserving enough to have the privilege of asking why I'd been condemned to such a "selfish" act. A selfish act of leaving others behind in a broken heap, left to ask themselves "why"? Why would she leave after leaving such an impression? How could she do something so cruel?

As if leaving them could ever be considered a bad thing.

"Why would you all go as far as to take me in? Why would you all enjoy my company?" The words pour out in a frenzied stutter, crashing in frantic waves, chaotic and self destructive. Half of it makes sense, the other is absolute gibberish that I refuse to - that I can't - comprehend. It's baffling the things I'm being driven to say. It's horrendous the fact that there's not even anything here to make me speak, yet I do so anyways. Roy only sits here, listening, grasping to every word looking - what?

Upset?

Upset?

Freezing mid sentence, I throw an accusing glare.

"What?" I snarl. "Why are you looking at me like that? As if you have a right to be upset?"

Roy slammed his palm down dramatically upon his knee, boiling with a sudden rage.

"I damn well have a right to be upset as do Maes, the lieutenant, and Gracia."

"But why?" I bury my burning face into my heads, groaning unintelligible phrases. I simply couldn't put my finger on it. I couldn't make any sense of it. "Why should you - why would you even bother-"

I can't seem to finish.

Human contact. It's a powerful thing. Especially in such a moment as this.

"Because we're human," he whispered.

Warmth. A lovely, comforting warmth igniting along my fingers, crawling up my wrist. I watch shadow fall over my skin, covering it in such a sweet, gentle, mindful way. Fingertips brush; send shivers. Blankets. Calming.

Perfect. How a hand - my hand - could fit so perfectly beneath warm, living skin, the hand of another, boggles me. It's a puzzle I'd never have thought to concern myself over. Something I'd seen to be ridiculous. A waste of time. But here it was. Perfect. Safe.

And Roy.

There's nothing romantic about it. There's no indication he's trying to make a pass at me or seek ways of earning my affection. It's merely a comfort. A message.

Because we're human.

Human. I was still human, right? I was still capable of...feeling. I still loved. I still cared.

Alive.

No words are said. All anger disintegrates. Everything hideous in the world seems a bit brighter. All I see, all I comprehend is the hand over my own and those eyes. Soft, beautiful eyes. They look like sparks. Fireworks.

In them, I see dashing streaks of light. Stars. Shooting stars.

"You-"

I don't hear what he has to say because I'm suddenly lost in a memory. A memory of falling stars. Spending the night beneath the twinkling sky. Whispering secrets in hushed voices. Holding the hand of the one I loved.

I spin around to gawk at the active skies, taking in the beautiful paths of mystery. Bright, trickling rain of red, orange, and yellow. Almost like dancing flames.

Our hands remain linked.

"I've only seen them once," I breathe in awe, forgetful of the pain; the mental and the physical. The grip, however, I'm perfectly aware of. It gradually tightens. I face him once again, blinking away the wonders of what I'd witnessed in the black sea of a night sky.

"What is it?" I ask. Slowly he shakes his head, smiling to himself.

"You're... Interesting, Miso," he answers.

It's the way he says it, so confidently, topped with just the right amount of humor and the proper dash of exasperation. It's almost uplifting. This man, this stranger of a person who I've known for only a few number of days, speaking to me as though we had always been there for each other. These minutes of being in his presence complaining, listening, and discovering. It feels like a lifetime.

"Misaki," I automatically correct, frowning.

It's a tragic gift. A beloved curse.

"Right," he says, offering a yet another squeeze. "Miso."

I know that I should be pushing him off. I should be putting up with more of a fight, demanding I be released, insisting I be allowed to head off in the direction of isolation for the security of everyone. I know that's the right thing to do, the path I should take, the path I was supposed to have been stuck with. I know.

But here, watching the stars fading with a man I'd grown to hate and ended up admiring, it feels so undeniably right that I can't bear the thought of leaving it all in the dust. How am I supposed to depart with the heat that's sure to linger within my worn palm? It couldn't be that simple. Not for me at least. Here we are, two souls with our ghosts, lost in the streams of light forming lines of the past.

These are the lines we'll always see, for they never truly fade. We'll always be looking back. We'll always see the imprint that's been left behind. What was done cannot be undone and so all we do, all we manage to do, is watch.

It's all we can do to remind ourselves we are human, after all.