If only You were Mine
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly. Even if it does make me cry. Or maybe it's the story.
Rating: T
Summary: Face it… you're going to die alone. Not like I didn't already know that.
Note: Thank you to all that have reviewed! Especially those that review each chapter! You know who you are!
A lone figure walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. It won't be that hard, his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.
As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll, he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say.
Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. Ok. This is what you're going to do. You'll walk up, knock, ask if you can talk, not chicken out, and if yes, confess, if no... say you- you understand, smile and walk away and act like nothing happened.
Still, the thought of the negative answer made his chest clench until he couldn't breathe and the feeling of fear that crept throughout his body wasn't entirely unfounded as he swallowed down the bile in his throat as he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time, ignoring what he had inscribed on the cover years ago; years before; years before everything had changed; years before he had died and gone to Germany and years before he had died again and came back to Amestris.
9:32 he read without a moment's hesitation. The moment he read it, his mind tried to correct him and say it was 2132 hundred hours, but it didn't matter because he wasn't at work and the fall-winter night had fallen a long time ago. At the thought of it, he pulled his jacket closer while he also slid the silver-colored metal into his pocket. He walked on, passing the house completely.
It doesn't matter. He's not home. I'll do it tomorrow.
"Nisan."
Ed gave Al a warm smile. "Yeah?"
Al just watched him for a moment before smiling back gently and shaking his head. "Sweet dreams, nisan."
He almost found it alarming how quickly he read his mind. "Yeah, g'night, Al."
Behind him, he could have sworn he'd heard him mutter and stopped to turn and ask "did you say something?" Al only shook his head at him and said "No, no. Don't let the bed bugs bite!"
Ed nodded back the same and turned around. It wasn't like he had actually heard him say 'better luck tomorrow' right?
If only I can make him mine!
Ed walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. It won't be that hard, his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.
As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say.
Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. Tonight, though, just like every other night, a light shown through a window on the upper story, but this time, he almost swore he saw someone, even if he knew he didn't.
Ok. This is what you're going to do. You'll walk up, knock, ask if you can talk, not chicken out, and if yes, confess, if no... say you understand, smile and walk away and act like nothing happened.
Still, the thought of the negative answer made his chest clench until he couldn't breathe and the feeling of fear that crept throughout his body wasn't entirely unfounded as he swallowed down the bile in his throat as he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time, ignoring what he had inscribed on the cover years ago; years before; years before everything had changed; years before he had died and gone to Germany and years before he had died again and came back to Amestris.
9:32 he read without a moment's hesitation. The moment he read it, his mind tried to correct him and say it was 2132 hundred hours, but it didn't matter because he wasn't at work and the fall-winter night had fallen a long time ago. At the thought of it, he pulled his jacket closer while he also slid the silver-colored metal into his pocket. He walked on, passing the house completely.
It doesn't matter. He's not home. I'll do it tomorrow.
"Nisan…."
Ed gave a jolt and looked up to where Al was sitting on the couch with a book in his hand, looking disappointed. He glanced at the clock for a moment before he turned to face the older blond again. At length, Al let out a gentle smile and said "Sweet dreams, nisan."
"Yeah," he nodded his head as he discarded his jacket onto the hat rack, not bothering with the hanger for the night. There was already a lump in it from hanging there to dry on past nights. It wouldn't get any larger or anything. "G'night Al."
He walked down the hall after toeing off his shoes. He heard the echo of a murmur from his little brother as he muttered "I hope you have better luck tomorrow." In that moment, he turned around and back out of the hall to ask "Did you say something?"
Al just smiled, shook his head and said "no, no. Don't let the bed bugs bite!"
He said the same thing back and turned around. He was no idiot and he knew that Al had said that, but all he could be thankful for was that he hadn't admitted to it. Because, honestly, saying he had been doing this for a while was a lie. Eight and a half months is hardly two years! It's not that long!
Still, when he got to his room, he fell down on the bed, punched it hard with both hands a few times and finally let his eyes give out as he met his breaking point.
What was he doing up there tonight with the lights on? If only I can make him mine!
Ed walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. It won't be that hard, his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.
As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say.
Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. Tonight, though, unlike every other night, no lights shown through any windows on the upper or lower story.
He paid it no heed until he heard his name being said from nearly right in front of him. He jumped clearly five feet and looked to where Roy, dressed in a rain coat and hat, was walking up to him like it was nothing. "Mustang?" He asked, startled, and looked back down to the watch in his hand. It was 9:32, like always, but why was he out of his house? He's never out of his house! He always has one of those slut one-night-stands by now on the bed instead of him.
Not that I wouldn't mind being a one-night-stand, so long as that was what he wanted.
"What are you doing outside of my house?"
"Checking the time," he instantly pointed out and slid the already soaking wet watch into his pants. It had started raining a few minutes into the walk but he hadn't had the guts to go back inside his apartment to get a slicker when moments before he had declined the one from Al.
"Why on my street?"
"Because it's where my boyfriend lives."—The moment that Mustang's eyes widened, he felt his cheeks heat a million times hotter—the fact that the rain against his cheeks making it feel even hotter than that didn't help. Shit, I said that out loud?
Mustang looked like he had been drinking enough for a buzz but not enough to not remember this in the morning. Being that inebriated, it made it hard to read the emotion in his eyes as his eyebrows arched up and fixed themselves under his hairline.
He could, however, notice it was either disappointed or disgusted.
"What?"
Disgusted—it had to be; that was the only thing that made sense.
"U-Uh… my boyfriend lives on this street," he repeated, this time going so far as to bite his lip and look away before he turned back and clarified, "Well, he's not actually my boyfriend officially, but we still… you know… um… this is really embarrassing to talk about." Since when have lies become this easy?
"Oh."
"Well, later." And Ed bypassed the man in his hurry to get away. The rain fell heavier now, but he could still feel Mustang's gaze on the back of his neck, making his stomach turn in a way that made him want to curl into a ball and cry. He might as well be doing the latter; he couldn't tell if he was from how hard the rain was falling.
And there it was, that tiny, almost inexistent, inaudible murmur of "I can't believe he's a fucking flaming faggot". Ed wasn't sure if it was his mind taking on Mustang's voice to say the most logical thing for him to say before he was kicked out of the Military for something stupid like stealing from Hawkeye (because he would really do that) and he forced himself to disappear. Maybe he could cross the Garkyu-ah Ocean to that New Gramaick place that's been getting a little more popular these past few years and start all over again over there.
Yeah. That would do. Because that's the farthest he can get from Mustang without any communication at all or platonic thoughts.
Face it, he told himself as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mustang had gone inside so he wouldn't have to pretend to go up to some stranger's door and knock, you're going to die alone.
Not like I didn't already know that.
He dragged his feet on the still-soaked sidewalk, watching the way they disturbed the constantly-disturbed puddles that had formed from where the water had flooded over most of the street. He probably should have gone inside an hour ago—the time he usually went inside—but he couldn't seem to get himself to go up the steps and inside yet.
He looked up in time to see the crosswalk he was going to take to get back home switched and a man already half way across the street. He hurried his footsteps and made to run out through the street when something hard pulled him back, tugged him onto the sidewalk and pressed him against the wall. Tires squelched sickeningly and water splash everywhere to the point where even his face got smacked from the ice cold water.
The car had stopped half-over the crosswalk and had narrowly missed the man that was already in the street and he would have been where it is now; he would be pinned under that car right now, nearly dead and drowning had this person not saved him.
He looked up at his savior to see Mustang's wide eyes looking down at him, startled, and even the color of them seemed breathless.
"I have no fucking idea why the hell I would be saving a fucking flamer like you, but feel lucky that I did."
Ed didn't care that the man wouldn't want it; he couldn't handle it anymore. He reached up and cupped his neck in his hands and pulled him down, hard. Moments before their lips touched, though, he fell into a desperate, hacking cough until all he saw before him was the crimson on the uniform on his chest.
Reality snapped back into place and he struggled, one last, futile time against the car. The man that had nearly been hit was in the phone booth over there, looking panicked, but the driver of the car was over him, pressing his hands into where a piece of metal from the car's hood had ripped off and plunged itself into his gut. He was careful not to jostle it as the man ran out from the phone and yelled that an ambulance would be there ASAP.
The scariest part of this all was that being impaled hadn't even hurt; was that being impaled still didn't hurt.
He coughed, hard, splattering rain water and blood over his chin, chest and the other man's arm before it happened again and again. Eventually, after his chest hurt, his eyes sparkled and his heart felt like it wasn't in pain anymore, he managed to croak "thank you."
"Thank you?" An unfamiliar voice yelled. "I ran you over and you're thanking me? Just hang on a little while longer and the ambulance will be there! Take deep, even breaths. What's your blood type? You'll need a transfusion at this rate!"
"O," he said, and smiled through the pain, showing where his blood had stained his teeth. "And thank you for not… not leaving me… me to… die…." He felt consciousness slipping away. Another hard pound on his stomach and his lungs expunged a few more pints of blood from him as another voice yelled "Damn it, boss, hang on!"
By then it was too late.
Sobbing. That was what brought him back to the surface. It was someone's sobbing that sounded a good deal like Al's and his chest felt wet for some reason as he took in a long, strained breath. His lungs hurt, pleading with him to shut up and just let them do their job and he left it to that as he croaked "Al?"
His brother's head snapped up and he saw where the tears started up again, this time his eyes obviously much redder and much warmer; much more joyful.
"You're alive. Thank Alchemy, you're alive nisan! When- when you didn't come home, I thought- I thought that you had finally said it, but- but then Havoc called and said- said you had been run over by some notorious drunk or something. Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? Anything, nisan, just ask!"
"Could you stop yelling." He deadpanned.
Al smiled and nodded as he winced and reached up, wiping the tears from his face. "You look more shaken up than I feel."
"Havoc said you were thanking the guy who ran you over when he got out of the phone booth. I thought you wanted to die; I thought something went bad. Why would you thank him?"
He blinked a few times and searched his memory, trying to remember what had put him in here. He remembered a metal beam, a car, water—lots of water, colder than ice to the touch—and two men. Havoc and that drunk. What happened? Oh, yeah…. "I was thanking him for not leaving me to die. Sorry for the delay; I was trying to remember."
"Brigadier General Mustang was in here earlier," Al pointed out as he wiped his own eyes. "He said that you had talked that night. What did you say?"
"I made an idiot of myself and said I had a boyfriend before immediately saying I didn't. I just sort of walked off after that. What do you mean 'that night'?"
"Nisan…. You've been out for two and a half weeks. The doctors were getting ready to declare you dead and pull the plug. Oh- I have to go tell them you're awake."
"Bring me back some ice. My throat hurts." Al nodded before he nearly ran out of the room. He had no doubt he was the moment the door closed.
Why would Mustang visit a flaming faggot like me? He wondered.
Almost as if by magic, the door opened again and Mustang walked in. He looked relieved to see him awake and gave him the first smile he had ever seen off his face that moment. "How do you feel?"
I'm not repeating myself in my own head.
"S-Sore," he grunted and winced as he tried to sit up. Mustang pushed him down and he gave him a bad look before trying to kick his feet up, except that it took too much effort for someone who lost nearly all their blood and had hospital corners keeping his feet down.
"Lay down and rest. You died briefly out there."
He recognized the look in the man's eyes and stilled. He was… he looked ashamed and disappointed. It must be because I'm still alive. That's the only excuse. Why else would he look like that after finding out I'm homosexual?
"What's with the look, Ed?"
"N-Nothing," he shook his head. "Why do you look ashamed and disappointed?" Go ahead. Say it. Say it's because you wish I hadn't survived. Say it's because I'm disgusting and should be Dishonorably Discharged. Go ahead; call me what we both know you want to!
"I'm ashamed because if I had just held you back for a minute—just one—I could have stopped you from being run over. I could have kept you out if this entire thing."
He wanted to tell himself that it was a lie, because there was no way Mustang would be saying that to him; no way that he would mean it. But… still, he felt, as he laid there beneath him, that he was telling the truth. He felt a touched smile pull at his lips and squashed it down. Mustang just felt guilty for calling him that and him being run over. He probably heard the story about him thanking that guy and probably thinks he's suicidal, too.
"Continue."
"You're milking this."
"C'mon, I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm not going to tell you why I'm disappointed."
"I will kick you. I'm not useless. Tell me."
"Why do you want to know?"
"You're the one that's disappointed."
"You won't believe me anyway so what's the point?"
"Try me."
"I'm disappointed that you have a boyfriend."
"I told you-"
"Are interested in someone, whatever. You're annoying."
In someone? You mean 'in a man'. I just know it. You're disgusted that I like men, aren't you?
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Ed stared up at him for a moment before he shut his eyes and relaxed back into the bed. "I'm just tired." Within moments, he felt Roy shaking him, trying to wake him when the door opened.
"Oh, he fell asleep again?" Al asked.
He didn't say anything, but Ed was certain that he nodded. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"
"You mean other than being impaled by a faulty machine?" Al joked.
"I mean emotionally."
"Why?"
"He was crying."
The silence was heavy as he felt Al's hands take his thin blanket and move it up over his shoulders. "No," Al lied for him. "No, nothing is wrong." He smiled as he fell over the edge, back into unconsciousness.
Because of that, he did not hear Al say "but nothing's right either."
Ed limped, slowly, down the street before he turned back around and went back inside. Al was at school so he didn't know that he was out and about and pushing himself, so he was free to walk into the bathroom and puke from the pain and over exertion. He sat there for a while before he flushed and washed his mouth out a few times.
He couldn't make it to his bedroom to lay down and settled for spreading himself out on the hardwood in the living room. The flat surface made his back feel better and he took a few breaths to calm his stomach. His head felt like it was spinning and that didn't help his gag reflex, but still, he managed to calm down as he shut his eyes and forced himself not to gag.
The door opened and he strained to hear Al as he walked in. He moved into where he heard something like the ice chest opening and the gentle pad of feet until he felt something like ice wrapped in a rag press on his forehead. He groaned deep in his throat and grumbled "thanks".
Except, it wasn't Al's voice that asked "Why are you on the floor?"
He opened his eyes to see the black cloth from the rag. There was a moment where he contemplated moving it before he shut his eyes and ignored it. It took too much energy to talk, let alone move his arms. "It makes my back feel better. 'Ve go' back problems."
"Like what?"
"Ah, cronic pain, mostly. Nothing other than that. Had scoliosis, but my friend from Xing used her Alkahestry and reset it normally. Pain's decreased. It's supposed to completely disappear in a few months. Stop letting me talk."
"Well, you just answered all my questions in two breaths, so I think I'll let you continue talking."
"What are you doing here in the first place, Brigadier General?"
"If Al asks, I'm hiding from Hawkeye."
"But I asked."
"I wanted to make sure you're alright."
"What's with you and my welfare?"
"Well, when your subordinate walks by your house night after night for nine months and suddenly gets hit by a car, you can talk to me."
He fell silent and blinked into the rag. Sure, this is the only time he won't mention my liking a man. Why the hell are you torturing me by avoiding that? Just say it already—fucking say it!—say I'm a flaming faggot. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't lie. You walk by every night at nine thirty and check your watch every time right outside my lawn. You idle for a few minutes and you walk away. It's annoying. The only reason I caught you the day I did was because I am tired of it."
"I don't do it every day."
"You have for the last six months. It started out weekly and it went every other day and now it's daily."
There was a silence and had he been standing, his shoulders would have slumped. "You really noticed it? Every night?"
"It's hard not to. You kind of stand out." Because I'm gay, right? You've known for a while now, is that it? Is that why you haven't spat on me yet? "Your hair and your watch catch in the streetlight."
"I didn't realize- ah, shit, my stomach." He groaned and with one hand pushed up the rag and with the other touched his skin. He lifted it up and felt the world spin as his hand was covered in blood. He moved to get up when he felt the rag being shifted again and Mustang's voice told him "Where are your gauze?"
"In the bathroom."
"Where's your bathroom?"
"Hall… right… first door."
Within seconds he was being lifted up into a sitting position and he quickly undid the buttons on his shirt (since his tee was too hard to put on without puking from pain). He managed to get the shirt off before the world spun again and he grabbed onto the first thing he could. Mustang didn't seem at all hindered at having his shoulder rested against as the bloodied gauze was removed from his stomach and his wound cleaned. Slowly, he redid it, his hands moving slowly across his skin.
"How do you feel now?"
"Diz…zy." He mumbled.
"Take a few deep breaths. Don't fight me on this, either."
Slowly, he let his body take over for him until he lost all balance and leaned completely on him. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not." He snapped.
"Edward."
"Don't call me that," he demanded. His chest gave a hard, burning squeeze.
"Ed…?"
"I'm serious; don't."
He felt the man take his chin and tilt his head up so that they were looking at each other, forcibly. "Edward, why are you crying?"
"Don't call me that."
"Why? It's your name."
"Just don't."
"Ed, who was that boyfriend you were talking about before?"
"I told you-"
"You know what I mean."
"It's not important-" he felt his breath hitch in his throat and his eyes shut as he pressed back against the lips against his.
"Ed," Roy, this time, not Mustang, muttered, "Why are you crying?"
"Why?"
"I want to know."
"No, why did you kiss me?"
"I-" Roy faltered. His face was flushed from embarrassment and Ed couldn't help but smile and bite his lip under it. He couldn't remember ever hearing him stutter, either. "I'm not really sure. I just… I wanted to so I…."
"You won't call me one then," he muttered, quietly, and curled into a comfortable ball inside his chest.
"Call you what? A fag?" When he gave no response, he felt Roy's hand on the back of his head, holding him against him. "You're an idiot if you ever thought I would call you that. I thought you don't care what others think about you."
"I don't," he muttered, quietly. "I care about what you think, though."
"I would never call anyone something just because of their sexuality. Especially since I'm the same way. It just caught me off guard when you admitted it outwardly. You've always acted straight."
"Look who's talking, Roy." He smiled as he settled against his chest happily.
"Hey, Nisan," Al's voice woke him up a few seconds later. Granted, he knew it wasn't seconds, but still…. "Nisan, wake up."
"Mmm, what is it, Al? I'm comfortable."
"Nisan, I have a date tonight, I just wanted you to know."
"Are you planning on coming back tonight?"
"Hopefully not."
"Ok. Have fun. Sleep time."
"Nisan, what are we doing tonight?"
"Nothing. You're going on a date. I'm going to sleep."
"Alright, just making sure you're paying attention."
"Tell Kamisha I say hi."
"How about no. I'm not going to tell the girlfriend that originally liked nisan that he says hi. And I don't think that Brigadier General can feel his legs."
He opened his eyes and lifted his head to see that he was lying on Roy's lap, facing the rest of the living room.
"Really, Alphonse, it's fine."
"See, Al, it's fine." Ed mocked as he rolled over and shoved his face into his stomach. Roy's hand rested on his head and he pulled his knees up.
"Nisan, will you be fine here alone?"
"Not alone. Roy's here."
There was a silence as he established, "the two of you together only count as one person."
"Thanks, Al." He groaned. "Go, go. You have another class and then your date. Bye."
"Bye, nisan. Bye, Brigadier General."
He waited for the door to shut before muttering, "if you get hungry, feel free to the kitchen. Please; Al will kill me when he realizes tomorrow I'm not hungry."
"Well, he'll kill both of us at this rate. Anyway, why don't you get more comfortable in your bed and I'll get you your pain pills and some water?"
"Because that requires moving."
He snorted and felt himself be pushed off his lap instantly. He chuckled, ruefully, at the loss of warmth until he rolled on his back, only to see him leaning over him with two pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighed and sat up to take them both, muttering a quick thanks.
Roy helped him limp to his bedroom (more like forced him to) and he crawled into bed before he took hold of his waist and toppled him over.
Insecurities be damned. "I- uh…."—Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am.
"What is it, Ed?"
"Nothing."
He felt a hand rest, gently, on his head, holding him down against his chest. Despite himself, he felt himself smile—"I love you."
Yeah. He could laugh right now if he wasn't so happy.
He nodded and muttered "I love you too."
And, just between he and you, he wasn't sure if the heart beat in his ear was his, Roy's or both of theirs.
Ed jerked awake and looked around the room from where he had fallen asleep on the hardwood floor. There was a note on the table over him and he reached up to grab it. Al was just writing to tell him that he had a date and wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning—hopefully—and for him to take his medicine and not forget to eat; "those pills give you weird dreams when you don't eat, remember?".
He shut his eyes and let his head fall back to where he had fallen asleep earlier. Of course Roy hadn't come; of course he had dreamed it. It made sense.
He forced himself up onto his feet. His stomach gave a hard knife of pain and he looked down to see his shirt getting red with the color of his life. He sighed and let out a groan as he went into the bathroom to fix it up, forcing the image of Mustang doing it in his dream out of his mind. He was never here in the first place, so what should it matter?
He finished and moved to the kitchen to eat a sandwich and take his pain medication. Moments later he found himself on his bed, snuggled under the covers. Still, the tears leaked from his eyes as he muttered to the empty room "Why can't I make you mine?"