AN: I'm so sorry. I can't believe I made you guys wait this long. Thank you for being so loyal and understanding. I do not deserve you. I know you guys got chapter eleven in the summer and I was on a roll with writing and all, then family shit happened (I'd tell you but … it's a lot), and yeah. Then after I didn't feel like writing, school started. I'm now in college and have no time to write. I have a laptop now, which is why you're getting this chapter…

Anyways, I'm telling you this now because I didn't want to do the whole Oh! You Thought You Were Getting An Update But I'm Really Just Telling You I'm NOT Going To Be Updating. I hate those. And it's against the rules to post non-chapters…

And besides, aren't you guys excited that I haven't used the dreaded H-word (hiatus) to describe the pace of updates (it's more of a sabbatical really…)? Eh? Eh? Eh? Cause you know what happens to hiatus'd stories, THEY DIE QUIETLY.

Oh and that story Ed's writing. Yeah, that's one of my stories. Yeah. Hands off, bitches. I am so not kidding.

Regardless, here is the much-awaited chapter. ENJOY!!!

Stuttering Towards Ecstasy

Chapter Twelve

Hughes is back and the creepy sub is gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. If that sub was here another day, Russell might take one of his handy silver stakes (he's prepared for vampires and werewolves) and stab him through the heart. He'd probably use the death to prove vampires exist. But what doesn't die when you stab it in the heart?

"Alright!" Hughes says after the bell rings. "Sorry about yesterday. Elysia was in the hospital." The entire class gasps. "Fortunately, it was just her appendix. It's all out now, wanna see?" The entire class shouts 'No!' "Oh well, here's some pictures of her in the hospital, isn't she cute?"

I roll my eyes. We go through this about once a week or so.

"So, today's just a library day, scoot!" Hughes says, shooing us towards the door.

I spend the better part of the hour looking up the religion in Pennsylvania to no avail. There really isn't any thing much on it. Aside from the Quakers, but any other demographic… well, tough luck.

Sloth seems to be in luck. She keeps emailing things to herself and smiling. Of course, that might be because Russell has yet to take his eyes off of her. She's not even looking particularly vampish today. Just a black shirt that looks like it hails from the Victorian era. Sure it's the normal spaghetti strapped black shirt, at the base. But over it, there's this sheer fabric with embroidered black dots and that looks Victorian. I mean, the puffy capped sleeves, the not-quite turtle neck neckline, and the hat. The black fedora with the peacock feather definitely gives Sloth a daring look as well as hypnotizing Russell.

I sigh. Winry, for some reason, does not look murderous. Instead she's happily researching, though Wikipedia probably isn't a source Hughes would approve of…

Lunch flies by and before I know it I'm standing outside the door of Speech, just waiting to go in. I sigh. Prolonging the wait isn't going to help anything. I open the door and take a seat next to Sloth.

"Hi," she says and gives me a small smile.

"Hey, Ss-ss-ssllloth," I stutter, dropping my backpack onto the floor next to me.

"How was yuh-yuh-your day?" she asks, trying another painful looking smile.

"Hey, it's okay," I say. "S-ss-sloth, nobody cares if you st-st-stt-ss-ssst-t-stutter. Especially not here. You can relax."

"I-Iya- I uh I'll try," she says, but she still looks uncomfortable.

"Hello class," Izumi says, entering the room, her white coat swishing. A few of the brave people greet her. "I'd like to start today by getting back into the small groups we had yesterday. I will be around to check on your progress."

"So," Sloth says, "what should we be doing?"

"Probably just what we did yesterday," I say with a shrug. "You know, lllllike she'll probably want you t-to do what I did yesterday."

"And, and, and, and, what would that be?" she asks, not meeting my eyes.

"Well, I just wrote down all the s-ss-ss—substitutions I used throughout the day," I say. "Or at llleast the ones I could remember."

"So, should I—Iya, Iyah, I-uh, uh I-uh, just write down when," Sloth bit her lip. "I—Iyah, I-yah, I-uh, I didn't speak normally?"

"I think that—"

"Very good Ed, we'll make a leader out of you yet," Izumi says. Sloth's eyes widen. She's not used to the way Izumi moves without making a sound. "Sloth, I would like you to do the exercise that Ed suggested, but could you also write down the emotions you experienced while stuttering and not stuttering?"

"Sure," Sloth says. She gets out a piece of paper and begins writing things down. Her handwriting is loopy, intricate, and cursive.

"Lovely," Izumi says before sitting down next to me. "How has not avoiding words been working for you?"

"Well," I say, "Maybe a lllittle more actual stst-stuttering than usual, but Winry t-tt-t-told me that I s-s-ss-said the word 's-ss-say' without st-st-stuttering this morning."

"Really? Well that's definitely an improvement," Izumi says. She smiles and looks impressed. "Anyone reacted to this?"

I frown. Izumi has to know that by now all my friends are used to this and don't really care. The most would be my teachers, but I'm pretty sure they already know. I mean, staff meetings and stuff do happen. Izumi looks at Sloth, who's still working on her list, pointedly. I don't get it.

"Uh, no, not really," I say. Izumi rolls her eyes, scribbles something on a scrap of paper and shoves in at me. I read it. This is mostly for Sloth's benefit, you numbskull! Oh! Right. "Nobody s-sis-seems to notice when—"

"You said 'to' without stuttering, Edward," Izumi says gently. "Good job."

Wait, what?

My eyes widen. This did not just happen. I didn't even notice. I didn't even think about avoiding that word. I don't want to say it again though. I won't be able to say it again. I know I won't. I don't even want to try.

"So, how did that feel?" Izumi asks.

"Um, I wasn't really paying attention," I say and run my fingers through my hair. I try to remember what it felt, but all that looms in my mind is what it felt like to stumble over stutter. The erratic hissing sound of 's' is all I can think about. "It fuh-ff-f-f-f—" I suck in a breath. I'm going to block. I don't want to say anything more. I just want to shut up.

"F-f-f-f-fff-ff—"

I'm just pushing air through my teeth at this point. I try harder.

"F—f—f—"

I'm blocking. I can't breathe. My lips move but nothing comes out. I feel like I'm going to throw up but my mouth is closed and there's nothing in my stomach. The word is trapped.

"Edward," Izumi says. Her face is calm but unreadable. I focus on it. I don't look at Sloth. She probably feels sorry for me or—no, she understands, but she doesn't. She can just switch her voice and everything's perfect.

"Edward, I want you to close your eyes and open your mouth." She strokes the back of my neck lightly. "Now, breathe out. Don't speak, just breathe out." I let out a gasping breath. "Good, now breathe in, slowly." I take a deep breath. "And let it out." We repeat this until my breathing's calmed down some.

"Alright, open your eyes," Izumi says. My eyes fly open. "Any particular reason for the block? I don't think you've blocked this badly during class in years."

"I didn't want t-t-tt-t-to ss-s-sss-ss-say 't-t-tt-to' again," I say. I bite my lip. It was going to be just like Humanities.

"Ed, we agreed the reason you said 'to' was you weren't paying attention. I wouldn't force you to say it again when you were paying attention," Izumi says calmly. She gives me a searching look. "Why would you expect—who's done that to you recently?" Izumi cocks her head to one side and peers at me. "I thought we'd been through this with your mom."

"No, my mom's f-ff-fine," I say. Mom has actually been pretty good about my stutter recently. "I had Humanities before I s-switched my s-s-schedule around."

"Grand?"

I nod.

"Doesn't he do a lot of presentations?" Izumi asks. "I've never really talked to him."

"Yeah, and he was pretty insensitive about my s-t-st-st-stutter," I say. "He would make me repeat st-st-stuff if I blocked. It was t-t-terrible."

"Ah, well that would explain it," Izumi says. "I'll see what I can do about it. Though I assume that he was that awful to everyone and not just you?"

"Yeah, he's not a popular t-t-teacher."

"But as you were saying before you blocked," Izumi says. I sigh. I should've known I'm not getting off the hook that easily. She'll work through it with me and everything, but after that we go right back to the problem. It's nicer than when people just demand that I fix it or assure me it's nothing. It feels like it helps too.

"It f-f-f-fuh-f-felt nice, not t-to have t-to think about it, but t-to just s-s-s-say it."

"Hmm, we'll do some more work with this starting Monday," Izumi says. She's glancing at another group. "You have homework too. I'd like the both of you to write a page or so over the week, just recording when you stutter and the emotions that come with it. Also, I'd like it if you wrote something about what it's like when you don't stutter. Sloth, this is a little more applicable. You'll be reading each other's work, so keep it g-rated or so. Edward," she looks at me. I blush.

"I guess we'd better start writing," I say and smile at Sloth. She just nods and continues. I sigh. I don't know why this makes her so unhappy. I mean, I know why, it's just I don't understand. She's so timid and almost sad in Speech. I like it. I like being with people who stutter, it's almost normal. But Sloth just looks like a fish out of water.

We walk out of the class together. Envy's waiting for us. He smiles and waves.

"Guess what? The Italian teacher is—Sloth, what's wrong?"

Sloth just slumps against him. She murmurs something and he supports her. I watch as he gently rubs her back.

"It's the play," she chokes out and I realize she's crying. "I—Iya Iya I-uh can't be in it now. The switching voices isn't working and and and and it and it Iya, Iya-ya Iya Iya I uh can't do it. And, and, and, and—"

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," Envy whispers slowly. "It'll work out, something'll turn up."

"No it won't," Sloth says. She wipes her eyes. "It just won't."

"Hey, don't worry," Envy says, smiling at her. "Trust me."

"Unless there's some way to write in a stutter for the lead character or Iya, Iya, Iya, I don't know, make it a musical," Sloth says swishing her hair back. She's regained her composure. "And, and, and we can't switch. Not in the middle of it. So, it'd have to be something specially written."

"We'll see," Envy says with a grin. "Something will turn up."

"Right," Sloth says. "Well I'm off to drama, y-y-yyou two have fun ditching or whatever."

"We're not ditching," Envy says after Sloth leaves. "I mean, we can if you want, but I'm not. Ditching Italian that is. Teacher got sick; no time to find a sub. I'm not ditching."

"It's okay," I say. I reach out to touch Envy, but stop. He freaked out last time. Only now he sees my hand and he stares. I start to drop it but he moves into and grins.

"'Sides, we couldn't go anywhere. Unless Grievous Moron has moved. Stupid GM boxed me in," Envy says, as if I'm not touching his arm. "I hope he ditched last period."

"Oh, you're driving t-today?" I ask, and walk towards Ceramics.

"Yep," Envy says cheerfully. Then: "You won't by any chance know someone who can write a musical arrangement for the play, do you?

"Not, can't help you there—"

"I think I can help," Russell says, appearing suddenly. I jump and Envy looks startled and annoyed. Which is a how normal person looks when presented with Russell.

"S-s-since when do you write musicals?" I ask.

"You're the writer, Ed," Russell says, his tone cavalier. "I have the musical touch. We could probably come up with something. The biggest concern is the rest of the cast. Do they sing?"

"Yeah," Envy says and shrugs. "I suppose most of them do."

"Call me," Russell says, but he mimes typing. Envy shoots him a strange look and turns back to me. Russell heads off to math, but not before making a kissy face at me and mouthing the phrase 'Kiss him.'

As if that's going to happen.

"S-s-so," I ask him as we walk into the classroom. "Are you just going t-to hang out in here or what?"

"Oh, uh," Envy says. He giggles nervously. "I know the teacher, I had him last year. Mr. Paul loves me, thinks I'm a creative genius."

"Right," I say. I can't see Envy creating anything that wouldn't be termed 'needlessly creepy' or 'art by a deranged madman.'

"No, really," Envy says. "I took this class freshman and sophomore year. Just didn't have enough room this year. Mr. Paul adores me."

I shrug. Mr. Paul only adores a select set of students: True artists and those on the water polo team. I am none of those and I doubt that Envy is either.

"Envy!" Mr. Paul exclaims upon seeing him. Envy shoots me a smug look. "Good to see you back. You're not taking ceramics this year?"

Mr. Paul seems genuinely let down, like he actually likes having Envy as a student. I don't think that anyone has told Mr. Paul that more than half the kids in his class are only taking it because it fills up an arts requirement. Or that he's not teaching AP ceramics… which is probably his dream.

"Not enough room in my schedule," Envy says with a shrug. "Italian was canceled today, mind if I hang around?"

I sigh. Mr. Paul is notorious for not letting friends of students spend free periods in his room.

"Sure," Mr. Paul says. "You might be able to help Edward brainstorm ideas for his next project."

"I s-suh-suck at art," I say and sit down. Ling joins us quickly.

"So, today's a sketching day, huh?" Ling asks. He doesn't remark on the fact that Envy is there, sitting next to me. Ling's very circumspect. He doesn't ask questions often. Instead, he just pays attention and eventually presents you with his analysis. It's normally right. And tends to leave the person wondering when exactly they told Ling that specific fact.

"Yeah," I say. I don't know what I want my next project to be. It's the stupid design your own project. You know, the type of thing actual art kids love but everyone else hates because they're not creative like that. Well, maybe Envy can help with that.

"I've already got my idea," Ling says proudly. "So, Mei's birthday is coming up, and you know how she likes Hello Kitty?"

"You can't be s-serious," I say, not looking at Envy. He's currently doodling something on a piece of paper. Maybe he is an artist after all. I peer over but Envy leans away.

"Hey, don't look," he says, curling the paper away from me.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me brainstorm ideas?" I ask, but back off. Envy's been acting strange the entire day and now, well, he's acting almost normal. I don't want to set him off again.

"Oh, um," he says. He twirls his pencil around his fingers. "I don't know, it's a build-your-own assignment thing right?"

"Yeah," I answer, "pretty much." The paper in front of me is still blank. I have no idea what to do.

"Okay, so, um you could pick something that interests you, like, I don't know," Envy says. "Okay, let's come up with a list of things you like or something and we can work from there or something."

"I—"

"Like Sloth likes drama and theater and that sort of stuff and fashion," Envy says suddenly, "So she'd probably do something like that. Probably with the comedy-tragedy mask, and then she's really into all that Eastern mediation stuff, so she'd probably find a way to work that in. Or she's go with that one Shakespeare quote about the word being a stage." Envy turns the paper over and sketches something quickly. I lean over and watch. Quickly something begins to take shape. It's a stage, but the floor is a quick sketch of the world. "Or she might prefer this," Envy says. He erases the lines on the stage and instead draws a globe around it.

"You really are good," I blurt out. I'm in awe of him. I've never seen anyone draw something that fast. It's not even for a real project and it looks amazing.

"Told you," Envy says, but he smiles faintly. My heart flips over. I lean closer. Russell said—I can't kiss him in Ceramics. I just can't. That be way too awkward and Envy might get the wrong idea or something though I'm not sure how you could take a kiss the wrong way, but if anyone could it's Envy and that's why I don't kiss him.

It's not like I'm scared or anything.

"So, Edo," Envy says, looking at me. "What's your favorite subject?"

"English," I mutter and look away. It's stupid really. I can't speak. I am the most inarticulate person and I love words. I love just writing. But I can't talk. I haven't really tried to write anything. I mean, I think I remember my mom telling me, that before I started to stutter, I'd make up these bizarre stories for Al. I stopped doing that after I stuttered.

"Oh?" Envy says. He sounds interested. "What exactly do you like about English?"

"I—this is really st-st-st—t-t-t-stupid, but—"

"Ed is an excellent writer," Ling interrupts with a smirk. I glare at him. Last time I ever let him read anything I write. "Speaking of which, have you worked on that one story, the one about Anne, at all?"

I flush. I haven't worked on that one at all. I realized after the first twenty pages that I didn't know what was going to happen or why she left or what on earth she was going to do next. She needed to run into someone, but I hadn't gotten around to figuring out whom and then summer had started and there wasn't any time to write…

"Really?" Envy asks and he smiles. "That's, that's really cool."

"It's not very good," I say quickly. I'm blushing. I don't see why that's cool. I shouldn't—me writing is like, it's like, it's like if you're allergic to apples, but you love them so you eat them, even though your throat swells. It's stupid. "I haven't had much time to work on it either."

"Still," Envy says. He rests a hand on my arm. I stare at him. It feels like my whole body is flushing. I'm filled with a sudden heat and my face has turned bright red. "It's cool, and I—" he pauses. "I wouldn't mind reading a few of your stories, if that's okay with you."

"I—ah, sure," I say. I try to think of a story that I'd be willing to let anyone read. The story featuring Anne is probably the best thing I have, even though it's not finished.

"So what stories do you mainly write?" Envy asks. He's looking at me with this really intense look on his face. My stomach turns. He's not smiling but he looks happy.

"They tt-tt-t-tend t-t-to be f-f-f-fantasy more than anything," I mutter. All my favorite books are fantasy: The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The Merlin Conspiracy, most of Terry Prachett's books, Neil Gaiman, and I'll read anything about Merlin. The Harry Potter series goes without mentioning, of course. "I read a lllllllot of that tt—t-too."

"Okay, so if you had to choose a favorite character, who would that be?" Envy asks. He reaches for another sheet of paper.

"Merlin," I say slowly. I love reading about that time. I've read almost all the books on him, from The Mists of Avalon to The Once and Future King. Envy's eyes light up.

"Okay, so what about this," he says and moves the paper so that it's between us. "It'd be like a spell book, or something." He draws the shape of a book. "You could do the spine in segments and then wire them together after firing. Or well, that might be a little too complicated. Maybe you could wire just the front cover or something. But you'd probably want to be able to turn more pages than that. Let's see." Envy pauses for a moment to scratch a few more lines on the paper. "So if the spine wasn't clay at all, but maybe you'd just add something on later or just make it out of wire and cover it with something, but that way you would just do that pages and covers out of clay. You'd put holes in the pages here." Envy circled two spots more inward than I would've chosen. "That way they're far enough away from the edges that it'll be strong. So yeah, what do you think?"

"I think you're brilliant," I say, looking up from the sketch. The thing is, as amazingly complex as this sounds, it's actually pretty simple. It's mostly going to be thin slabs of clay. The really challenge is going to be in the decoration and glazing. But I'm decent at that.

Envy blushes; he actually blushes.

"It's nothing really," he says and looks away.

"So what would this f-ff-fall under, I mean, what s-ss-ss-sort of project is this?" I ask.

"Oh, that's easy," Envy says. "It's an inanimate object of something from a book. Like you're choosing Merlin as the character, well, while this might not be an exact copy of a spell book or whatever, it's something that he could have or that would—it's like taking an object and making it—Actually, I don't know, you're the writer, you come up with something."

I blink at him.

"I don't," I begin. I'm not a writer. I stutter.

"Sure you can," Envy says, he grins suddenly. "I mean, shit, I'm awful at coming up with stuff for my sketches and projects and stuff. You'll be much better than I am."

"If you s-s-ss-say s-s-s—so," I say and shrug. It's a brilliant idea.

"So basically, you just have to come up with a set of requirements and criteria for Mr. Paul, probably ought to include a good description of what it is too and why it's important to you, he likes it when students elaborate on stuff like this," Envy says. "You know?"

"Sure," I say. I've never really paid much attention in this class. It's always been right after Humanities and after that class all I wanted to do was hide away forever. Grand can have that affect on people.

Mr. Paul looks impressed when I show him the project that Envy and I have created. It's too late in the period to actually start with clay, but I can do that tomorrow. I'm surprised when the bell rings at three. Ceramics never goes by this fast and I don't remember being this happy after it, either.

"See ya, Ed!" Ling calls out before leaving.

"So, um, yeah," Envy says. All the confidence that he had during Ceramics is gone. "Do you want to—um, we could wait for Sloth and I guess Wrath, but then your brother…"

"Doesn't she have practice?" I ask Envy.

"Oh, yeah," Envy says and he runs his fingers through his hair nervously. "Yeah, and I guess Wrath, then, and your brother?"

"Al can deal," I say. "He's not counting on a ride home with you."

"Oh," Envy says. He walks towards the parking lot. I follow him closely. "Yeah, and I think Wrath's getting a ride home with Lust or Greed or whatever."

"Or Al might kidnap him again," I suggest. Envy laughs. Our hands brush, accidentally, and he flinches away. I sigh, and bite my lip. We're back to this again. And fuck, I'm going to be in a car with Envy and I think he's driving too. And so what if we're not going to a hotel, we're going to his house, which is almost worse. And I'm spending the night and what if I dream and he—

"So, yeah," Envy says. "Car."

"Oh, um, right," I manage. We're such an awkward pair, the two of us. Neither one knows what to say or do.

"I should unlock it," Envy says. He pulls out his keys and drops them. He scrambles around to pick them up. "Sorry about that, I'm such a klutz." He laughs nervously. He tries to jam a random key in the car. It doesn't fit. He swears softly and jiggles it.

"Envy," I say softly. I think he's got the wrong key but I'm not sure if I should say anything. He'll probably take it the wrong way.

"This doesn't happen a lot, I'm really sorry, I swear this is my car too," Envy babbles on. He looks really upset and frustrated. I'm pretty sure that no one else in the school drives a beat up Honda Civic.

"Envy," I say, firmer. I place a hand on his arm. He looks at me, wide eyed. "Just relax, I'm not going t-to llllllaugh at you." He stops trying to spastically jam the key in the door and sighs. "I think you might have the wrong key."

Envy looks down suddenly. He grins up at me.

"You're right, chibi," he says and unlocks the door. I smile and walk around to the passenger side. Envy leans over and unlocks the door. He tosses his backpack into the backseat. I hesitate.

"You can put your backpack in the back," Envy says airily. "Unless you want to hold on to it or something. There's no airbags, so that might actually be a good idea. Not that I'm going to crash the car or anything, it's just that—"

I put my pack in the back.

"Right then," Envy says as he pulls out of the parking lot. There's a lot of cars and the parking lot is busy. Fortunately, Envy doesn't crash the car into anyone. He's ignoring me. I bite my lip and look out the window. There's no way those two things are related.

There's an awkward silence until Envy remembers that he has his iPod in the car and tries to sync it to play. It's the thing where you have to find a fuzzy radio station and then… I actually have no idea how it works. Envy gets it work when the light turns red instead of ki—I am not going to think about that.

"I ain't diggin' pygmy by Charles Hortree and the death-aydes. Phase one in which Daris gets her oats," a rough voice while someone chuckles. What the? Light guitar strumming picks up. Envy's eyes widen.

"Two of us riding no where," two voices sing out. I smile and tap my fingers to the beat. I know this song. 'Two of Us' by the Beatles. It's a pretty song.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Envy says looking at me worriedly before swerving to avoid a parked car. He straightens the car. "Turn here?"

"Yeah," I say. Envy turns the car and heads down Maple Avenue. We're almost home.

"It's just that Greed left his iPod in here and I think mine's at home, it's green," Envy blurts out as we cross the bridge. "He, umm, has just a lot of Beatles songs and stuff like that. It's really just embarrassing and—"

"Envy," I say calmly. "You want t-to—"

"Fuck, I missed the turn," Envy says and looks like he's considering banging his head into the steering wheel. "And I am really sorry about—"

"You can t-t-turn on this st-st-street and do a U-t-turn," I say pointing to the left. Envy follows my directions. "And you don't have to apologize about the Beatles. Who doesn't llllike the Beatles?"

"Oh, um," Envy bites his lip. "Here?"

"Yes," I say as Envy turns on to Arcadian Drive. He doesn't look at me. I sigh and murmur along with the music softly:

"Writing letters on our waaahm hom, you and me burning matches, picking latches on our way back home. We're on our way home. We're on our way home, we're on our way home, we're going home."

"You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches about our heads," Envy sings in carefully. He hits the notes firmly and confidently even though they're higher than what I can dream of reaching. He smiles at me and gives me a strange look.

"Two of us wearing rain coats standing so low standing in the sun," Lennon and McCartney sing alone.

"Laurel Court, right?" Envy asks finally. I nod.

Envy parks his car in the drive and walks up to the porch with me. I rummage in my bag for the key, but before I even have a chance to drop it or anything, the door opens on its own and I jump back. Dad stares down at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Dad! What are you—"

"I had lunch at home today, I thought you were—Hello, Envy," Dad says shaking his head slightly. He mutters something about teenagers and opens the door wider. "Why don't you come in?"

"Ah sure," Envy says nervously. He twirls the car keys around his finger. They jingle and flash but he doesn't drop them. He looks at me before glancing at my dad. Dad eyes us both warily.

"I, um, I'm just going t-to go upstairs and grab my st-st-stuff," I say before dashing upstairs. I don't look back, but I don't hear Envy following me. I guess he stayed downstairs. I don't envy him. He gets to make small talk with my dad now, which I guess is bad, for him. But I'd rather not have him watch me pack.

I grab one of the duffle bags that we always take on family trips. It's bright blue with black straps and I shove my clothes into it. A pair of jeans, khaki cargo pants because I want to change out of the leather ones, only not here, because, because they give me an unfair advantage, a shirt for tomorrow, a top to sleep in and boxers because briefs are embarrassing.

Done right?

Err… probably should bring a toothbrush and stuff. I don't know how Envy would react to sharing something like that. Better safe than sorry, and it's normal to bring your own toothbrush. It's not normal to share… usually. Yeah, definitely bringing the toothbrush. That would be weird and the only people who share toothbrushes are married couples or not even that. Besides, that would probably set Envy off again. I hesitate before heading downstairs... Envy is there and he's probably talking to my dad and… I put one foot on stairs. I can't hide up here forever.

But, I swallow hard and head downstairs. Envy's hovering awkwardly in the kitchen while my dad is just looking at him.

"I think the weather is completely fine, Mr. Elric," Envy says shooting me a panicked look. He's twirling the car keys on his finger again.

"S-s-so we'll just go now," I say and give Dad a look. He really doesn't need to intimidate Envy, and why isn't he at work?

"You sure you don't want me to drive—"

"No," I say firmly, grabbing Envy's arm and towing him towards the front door. Dad follows.

"You sure," he says. He never misses a chance to drive anywhere in his stupid car. Especially when Mom's not here. Something about the fact that she finds the gas mileage of that thing to be unreasonable. She keeps bugging him to get something sensible, like a Prius.

"Envy drove over here, Dad," I say opening the door. Envy gives Dad a small wave.

"Goodbye Mr. Elric," he says and I shut the door. Immediately after the door closes he seems to regain some confidence. "Your dad scares me."

There's not really much I can say to that. I settle for awkwardly patting Envy's shoulder. He doesn't flinch away for once. That's good, right?

"You can put you bag in the back," Envy says opening his door. I trail my hand down Envy's back before walking around to the passenger side of the car. He drops his keys and scrambles to pick them up. The door's unlocked and I toss my bag in the back.

The car ride is awkward and silent, save for the low sounds of the Beatles. Envy doesn't say anything. He's gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles have turned white, well whiter than usual.

"S-s-so, English project," I stutter looking over at Envy. He's staring straight ahead and not saying anything. His face is set in a tense expression, with his lips pressed tightly together.

"Hmm?"

It's a monotone reply. I bite my lip. Was he listening?

"The English project," I say, looking at him. "You know, the one we're going t-t-to work on."

His eyes flick towards me and he looks… almost scared. His eyes return to the road.

"Oh, ah, right, that English project."

"Yeah," I say. I twist my hands in my lap. We're almost out of the city limits. The houses are getting more and more spread out and we're approaching the hills where the rich people have their gated communities.

"Oh, um, well, we're going to work on it," Envy says. He keeps looking ahead. "And then you can edit what I have so far, 'cause you're the editor and, um, yeah." He glances at me again. This time he is definitely worried. He turns on to the drive that leads up to the gated community. Only the extremely wealthy lived here. I raise my eyebrows.

"Um yeah," Envy says, as he pulls up to the gate. He rolls the window down and punches in the code. "Sorry about this. But my mom wanted to live here so um…" He's pink and looking away.

"No worries," I say. "It's just a house, right?" Envy gave me the strangest look.

"Just a—yeah, I guess," he says, staring at his hands as the gate opens slowly. He doesn't look up. "Just the neighbors kinda suck."

I smile.

"Yeah, they don't like me that much. Something about them being all old and rich and my hair and for some reason they're not exactly thrilled with the car…"

I laugh. Envy giggles. His eye close shut and his hair swishes around his head and his cheeks are pink and … I blush. He's really attractive and I'm just thinking that I shouldn't be staring when he opens his eyes and looks at me. All I can hear is my heartbeat. He fills up my sight, just his face and it's an optical illusion because he's not moving closer when someone honks. Envy swerves and slams on the brakes. An angry looked man in an Escalade drives by. He doesn't look happy.

"God fucking damn son of a…" Envy mutters. His face is a brilliant red. "Um, sorry about that I'm normally a good driver but I mean yeah, this is my house." Envy says. He pulls into the driveway quickly and parks outside the garage. "Yeah, it's kinda huge, but a lot of the extended family lives with us and um yeah."

He gets out of the car and I do the same, grabbing my stuff. Envy looks at me with an odd, uncomfortable expression.

"Do y—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He looks at me before glancing down. "This way," he mutters and walks off.

-fin.-