Ch 12: Self Harm

Rated T for language and, well, self harm

Characters: Edward, Riza

Timeline: general

Notes: I've read some self-harming-Ed stories and even some suicidal-Ed stories…while I generally have enjoyed them, I don't think of Ed as a suicidal person. He has far too much determination for that, and he would never leave Al or winry behind. However…he does have enough of a guilt complex that I could see him getting to the point of self harm if pushed enough—thus this story featuring some parental!RizEd. But, of course, if anyone out there reading this is truly struggling with thoughts or actions of self harm, know you're not alone. I'm sure it just sounds like empty platitudes, but it's true; you can make it through any tough times, and it will get better. Sending love to all of you! 3

Edward trudges through the rain toward work, barely able to keep himself going. He hadn't wanted to get out of bed today—and in fact, he wouldn't have…if Al hadn't asked if he was okay. Al only ever asks if Ed is okay when he can tell he isn't…so Ed had to get up and get going because he couldn't admit that to his little brother. He hopes Al will assume it was because of the weather; Al is not unaware of the effects bad weather has on Edward, despite his attempts to hide it. And Ed is feeling rather achy and under-the-weather because of the storm, so it isn't like he was lying when he affirmed Al's suspicions. He just…wasn't telling the whole truth either. He isn't going to tell Al about last night, or last week, or three weeks ago. He isn't going to tell Al about the words he'd read in Al's little notebook—he probably wasn't supposed to read that anyway. And he isn't going to tell Al about the itchy bandage he'd tied around his left arm—no, he isn't even going to think about it.

Edward straightens his posture, trying to think about anything else. The truth is, he knows what he's been doing is wrong, but he can't really think of a reason to stop…stop…stop thinking about it! Ed shoves his hands in his pockets, walking up the steps to headquarters. After stepping inside, he taps his automail leg a couple times, trying to loosen up the light cramp in his muscles from the walk. He sighs; he really does not want to be here…but he supposes it's better than being with Al. To be fair, he doesn't really want to be anywhere right now except his bed, but being there would mean being around Al. He'd rather deal with Mustang and his team instead.

Ed lowers the wet hood of his coat, but keeps his head down as he walks through the halls of Eastern. Anytime he sees the toes of shoes that aren't his enter his sight, he shuffles out of the way, and he hasn't bumped into anyone yet. He just has to make it to the office, sit down, and go about his day. He can do that.

Two hallways from his office, he hears an approaching set of footsteps, but doesn't move out of the way in time. He stumbles into the person, clumsily tripping over his own feet. In response, a hand latches onto his forearm, keeping him from falling—and digging right into the bandage there.

Ed yelps, immediately cursing himself for the reaction. He looks up to see who caught him—and of course, it's one of Mustang's men. Or rather, woman.

"Are you alright, Edward?" Riza asks, a bit of concern in her voice from how he reacted. She releases his arm once she's sure he's stable.

Edward nods, unconsciously grabbing onto his forearm with his automail hand.

Riza takes note of this movement. "Are you sure? I'm sorry if I grabbed you too harshly," she says.

"It's okay," Ed replies. "I'm just going to see what the colonel wants me to do."

Riza thinks for a moment. She isn't convinced Ed is as okay as he claims, because he never yelps like that. He must be really out of it to let an exclamation of pain slip past his defenses. "Why don't you come with me?" she suggests.

Ed looks confused. "Don't I have to clock in?"

"Of course. Just tell the colonel I'd like your assistance once you do."

Ed still looks a little unsure, but nods nonetheless. He walks the rest of the way to the office, Riza following behind. She waits outside while he signs his timesheet and pops into Mustang's private room, hearing him say she had requested his help. Roy okays the request, and Ed comes back out.

"Ready?" Riza asks. Ed nods, and she starts leading him toward the print room. As they walk, Riza watches him, searching for any signs of something off. He's been a little quieter recently, less prone to outbursts with Mustang than usual, and that still seems to be the case given she didn't hear one insult between them in the office. She wonders what could make him so subdued. And the way he came into work today…head down, mind clearly miles away; she hopes he's feeling alright. Time to make some small talk.

"So, how have things been lately?" Riza asks casually.

"Alright," Ed replies.

"Your brother is well?"

Ed frowns. "As well as he can be."

"And you've been well?"

"Yeah. Why's it matter?"

"I haven't gotten to work directly with you recently. I was just catching up."

Ed seems to accept this response. While he's never thought of Riza as an overtly emotional person, she's always been friendly and warm towards him. "Well, we're fine. The weather's kinda sucky but there's nothing you can do about that."

"It is pretty gloomy. The colonel has been complaining all day." Riza expects Ed to make a snide comment about Roy's uselessness in the rain, but he doesn't. They enter the print room, and Riza asks Ed to find the stereotype for the officer evaluation sheet. He obeys, sifting through the shelf of templates, and Riza frowns.

From what she's learned during Ed's time in the military, he was born naturally right-handed, but self-trained to be left-handed after losing his arm. She has noticed he always leads fights with his right arm (because he still has the instincts of a right-handed person) but when performing everyday tasks, he prefers his left (probably because he can actually feel with it). He writes with his left hand, eats with his left hand, and usually holds things with his left hand. However, right now, he's switched hands—purposefully. She watches him initially reach out with his left before deciding to use his right. She wonders why but doesn't want to ask, for fear she's just over-analyzing things.

So, she switches topics. Edward finds the correct stereotype and attaches it to the printing press, and she loads a roll of paper. "So, Edward, have you and Alphonse made any progress in your research?" she asks.

For just a moment, Ed freezes before resuming his task, switching on the printer. He clears his throat, looking down. "Not really."

Riza does not miss his apparent discontent. She knows about the Elrics' refusal to pursue the philosopher's stone, now that they know how it's made. She admires their morals, even if she isn't sure how she would act in that situation. Edward said they are still searching for a way to restore their bodies, even if the stone became a dead end. She still has hope that they'll succeed, however slim a chance that may be. "I'm sure something will come up. You'll figure out a way," she says.

Edward swallows thickly, thinking back to that night three weeks ago. Suddenly, he feels sick. "I'll be back," he says quickly. "I need to go to the bathroom." Then, without even waiting for Riza to respond, he dashes out of the print room, beelining for the nearest men's room.

Despite his sudden onslaught of nausea, when he collapses against one of the toilets, he doesn't throw up. He dry-heaves a few times, but nothing comes up; even still, he sits there for a couple minutes, just trying to breathe. A small part of him is sure he worried Riza, running off like that all the sudden. However, a much bigger part is thinking about what she said—and what Alphonse had said.

Of course, Al hadn't said it aloud; he's much, much too good for that. But Ed knows his little brother still has feelings, emotions he needs to get out. That was why he'd given the little notebook to Al in the first place. It's supposed to be a place to write down his thoughts. Ed isn't sure why he was so surprised to find what he found—but he was, and it hurts so damn bad.

…

It was a couple days after they learned the truth about the philosopher's stone. Ed had mustered up the courage to have a real heart-to-heart with Al the night before, where he'd promised he would find another way. He wouldn't stop until he found a way to fix them, to give Al the life he deserved. He knew it was tough right now, and he admitted he was discouraged—they'd been looking for that damned stone for almost four years, for God's sake—but he would never give up. Alphonse had agreed, and said he loved him. And Ed went to sleep feeling almost hopeful.

Until the next day.

That was when he noticed Al's notebook on the coffee table, and curiosity got the better of him. He knew it was wrong to invade his brother's privacy, but he honestly didn't think there was anything Al would hide from him. He looked at Al's lists of things he was looking forward to doing once he had a body again—eating different foods, feeling different textures, smelling different scents. There were also small journal-like writings every once in a while, probably a couple dozen spreading over the last four years. The first one was from before Ed even became a State Alchemist—and the most recent one was from the previous night. Curious, Ed began to read it.

It was Al expressing his grief over losing the philosopher's stone as a lead. Ed could sympathize, because he was absolutely clueless as to where to go next in their research. The stone had been their only lead…and now they were starting from scratch again. But, by God, he would get Al's body back. Ed kept reading, and that was when he saw something that made his heart freeze.

I love my brother so much and I'm so grateful to him for saving my life. But sometimes, I just wonder if it would have been better if he hadn't saved me. Because sometimes, I just can't handle being like this—especially now that we don't have the stone. I don't feel real sometimes and I'm scared that I'll never be real again. Sometimes I feel like there IS nothing we can do to fix things. And sometimes I just wish I hadn't been so blind back then.

Ed shut the notebook, an indescribable, crushing guilt settling over him. It all made sense, and he knew Al had every right to be feeling those things. He knew that even though Al was the strongest person on the planet, he would have times when he questioned himself. But to see it, written on paper in Alphonse's own handwriting…it hurt Edward so deeply. And then it made him feel even worse, because who the hell was he, getting hurt by that when Al was the one who was truly suffering? Ed was so selfish—just like he'd been all those years ago. Years—fucking years—because he'd spent so long chasing after a solution that turned out to be the devil's research. For four years he'd damned his little brother—whom he'd promised to protect—to a pathetic half-existence because of his own stupidity. Al had been in constant pain for four years—except he couldn't even be in physical pain because Ed had taken that away too.

Not for the first time, Ed wished he could feel the same pain Alphonse felt. He wanted to feel something, anything worthy of the hell his little brother lived in. And, not for the first time, he knew there was nothing equivalent. Ed may have had his own struggles and pains, but nothing would ever come close to what Alphonse dealt with. Still, he had to do something. Something to punish himself, for everything he'd done to his family. He clapped his hands, pulling the tip of his automail pointer finger into a tiny blade…

…

…And he pushes his left sleeve up, studying the gauze bandage there.

I shouldn't be doing this, he thinks. He doesn't remember much from those first couple months after he tried to bring his mother back, but he remembers the guilt. He remembers wishing he could go back and not have drawn that circle—and because he couldn't do that, he remembers just…not wanting to be alive anymore. He remembers offhandedly mentioning that a couple weeks before Mustang showed up, and he remembers the talk Granny had with him. She told him that no matter how tough things got or how much hurt he felt, he couldn't give up on life—or do anything to harm himself. She said that would never make him feel better, and it wasn't going to help him make peace with what had happened. He had to make internal peace with the things he'd done…and he sort of has. He knows he's going to make things right in the end (because he can't do anything less), but he still feels guilty every time he's reminded of what he did to his little brother. This is the worst it's been in a long time, he'll admit, now that he knows how much the loss of the stone has discouraged Al. Which is why…why…

Ed peels the edge of the bandage back, unwinding it from his forearm. Dozens of small cuts in various stages of healing greet his vision, the newest ones being from just last night, still red and scabbed up. He's never done this two days in a row before, but the time between has steadily gotten shorter since that day three weeks ago.

This is wrong…But so are the things I did to Mom and Al. I deserve this. Ed brings his sharpened pointer finger to his skin, slicing into the top layer of his flesh. He winces as he runs over half-healed wounds, sending sharp, stinging signals to his brain. Small beads of blood bubble up to the surface from the new cut. One for Winry. One for Granny. One for Mom. One for Al. For Al. Al. Al. Al. God, he's done so much wrong to Al. He could cut up his entire body with the sins he's committed toward his brother. His mother was wronged by him, deeply and severely, but Alphonse has to live with the consequences of what Edward did. If what he deals with can even be called living.

Suddenly, a sharp knock on the bathroom door cuts into Ed's thoughts, startling him. He physically jumps, cutting deeper than he'd intended. "Shit," he whispers, looking toward the door.

"Edward? Are you alright?" Hawkeye's voice asks from the other side of the door.

"J-just a minute!" he replies shakily, looking back at his arm. The cut isn't deep enough to hit any major veins, but it's still bleeding a lot.

A lot more than I wanted. What am I going to do? Hawkeye can't see this!

Edward hurries to one of the sinks, turning on the tap and holding his arm under the stream of water. He can see the cut now, on the right side of his forearm; it could heal on its own, but realistically needs a couple stitches. The water in the basin turns red, and the wound is still bleeding steadily. Shit, shit, what do I do?

"Edward?" Hawkeye calls again. "I'm coming in in one minute if you're not out of there."

Panic bursts in Ed's chest. She can't come in! She can't see! She'll know! There's no way he can pass this off as some kind of work related injury. He pulls his arm out of the water just long enough to clap and return his finger to normal. He's not sure if the bandage he's been using will be thick enough to stop the bleeding…but he grabs it anyway and balls it up, pressing it to the cut. That's when the door opens, and Riza announces her entry.

Ed looks at her, his eyes wide with fear. Riza looks him over, focusing on the wad of bandages pressed against his arm.

"What happened? Are you alright?" she asks, concerned. She thought he'd looked a little ill when he ran off, and that was why she'd come to check on him. She hadn't thought he was injured. "Edward?" she continues, watching his scared expression.

"It's fine," he says, holding his arm tighter. "I'm okay, you can go."

"Did you hurt your arm?" she asks, stepping closer. He's avoiding telling me something. No way I'm leaving, she thinks. Her thoughts are confirmed when he shrinks back as she approaches. "Let me see it."

"No."

"I can help you if you're hurt."

"No!" He backs all the way up to the wall, looking an awful lot like a frightened, cornered animal. He glances around, licking his lips uncomfortably. "That…that's an order."

Riza stops, surprised. Back when Ed first joined the military, she'd told him he had the right to give her orders if he ever felt the need, being her superior officer. But Edward has never given her an order before; in fact, he usually listens to her. It worries her immensely, that this is the first time he's felt the need to use his military authority. She believes strongly in respecting orders, but just like with Roy, there are times when she cannot in good faith follow them. "I am afraid I can't respect that, sir," she says gently.

Edward blinks, opening his mouth and closing it without making a sound. He doesn't like being called "sir" by anyone on Mustang's team, and she knows that—which is why she did it: so he knows she's serious. "I…I can have you court-martialed for that," he says nervously.

"But you won't," she says, holding eye contact with him. "You know me, Ed. I'm Lieutenant Hawkeye. I would never hurt you."

Ed looks like he's debating whether or not to perform alchemy or run—or accept her request.

"Please, Edward, let me help. It doesn't matter what happened. Just let me help you," Riza says.

For just a moment, Ed seriously considers running, just bolting past her and never coming back. But then, a rational voice in his mind that sounds suspiciously like Pinako stops him.

You can't give up on life. Harming yourself will never make you feel better.

Ed swallows, mortified as tears fill his eyes. His rigid posture slumps slightly, and Riza closes the distance between them, removing the gauze from his arm.

"Oh, Ed…" Riza says, an immense wave of sadness washing over her as she looks at the dozens of cuts littering the boy's arm. That's not an accident. The bloodflow has slowed significantly from the deepest one, but she presses the bandages against it again, holding firm pressure there.

"I didn't mean to…" Ed chokes out, trying his hardest to keep his tears in his eyes. "I didn't want it to—to…" he takes in a shuddering breath. "I just…"

"You went deeper than you meant to," she finishes for him. He nods, sniffling. She runs through a checklist of things in her mind, from some kind of research pamphlet she'd read half a decade ago. "Where is the blade?" she asks.

"G-gone," he whispers. "Automail…"

"You transmuted it?" He nods again, and she internally shudders. She knows Ed transmutes his automail into weapons all the time, but she never thought he would turn one of them on himself. "Okay. Keep that gauze on the wound." She sets his metal hand on the gauze before going over to a small storage closet in the corner of the room. Every bathroom on base has a first aid kit in it in case of emergency lockdown. She pulls it out, taking it to Ed. "Sit down." He does, and she sits beside him.

"I'm sorry…" Ed says softly. "I…I just…"

"You don't have to talk about it yet," Riza says. "Just let me fix it up first." She pulls out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some cotton pads. Ed swallows again as she wets the cotton with the antiseptic, purposefully avoiding looking at his arm. "This is going to sting," Riza warns before dabbing the wound. Ed sucks air in through his teeth, fighting the urge to pull his arm away. It doesn't hurt as much as half of the things he deals with, but that doesn't change the fact that it hurts.

Once Riza is sure all of the fresh cuts are clean, she applies a butterfly bandage to the deepest one, to hold it closed. Finally, she finishes up with a new, clean roll of gauze. She glances at Ed's face, at the absolute look of despair on it, and gives his hand a squeeze. "Alright." She packs up the first aid kit, wanting desperately to ask him why he would even think about hurting himself, but she has to be patient. The fact that he's even in this situation means she can't be too harsh—she needs to be compassionate, but firm. Like…like Roy was for her.

It's no secret that the Ishvalan War had been hell, and forever changed every soldier who lived through it. There were days when she just wanted to die, and the only thing keeping her from ending her own life was the fact that Roy was still alive. She felt like she didn't deserve to live when so many people—men, women, and children alike—had perished from her bullets. She knew Roy had attempted suicide at one point, and was only unsuccessful because Maes had physically pulled the gun from his hands. And after Maes saved Roy, Roy saved her. Not because she was acting on her thoughts, but because she wanted to act on her thoughts. She'd never gone as far as to harm herself, but, God, she had sure wanted to. Now, it's her turn to help Ed.

She knows whatever he's been dealing with isn't the same as what she went through. He's never been to war, never killed anybody, never held a child's body and watched the life drain out of their terrified red eyes. But he's still seen hell, a kind that she can only imagine. She can only imagine spending years studying a science that's supposed to be a beacon of hope, only to watch that same science literally tear you and your brother to pieces and create something broken and monstrous in the process. She also knows that Edward takes on all of the blame for what happened to himself and Alphonse. She understands that; she sometimes feels responsible for both her and Roy's murders in the war, because if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be the Flame Alchemist. It took a long time for her to understand that just because her father's secrets are imprinted on her flesh doesn't make her responsible for the creation of flame alchemy. It'll probably take a long time for Ed, too, to realize that just because he spoke the idea of human transmutation into existence doesn't make him solely responsible for drawing that circle. It was because of a lot of things—the most prominent being that he and Alphonse were young, determined children who didn't have a knowledgeable parental figure to turn them away from the idea.

So, because she understands some of what he's feeling, Riza knows she has to be compassionate and patient. She looks at Edward with what she hopes is a tender expression and says, "Do you think you can talk about it?"

He stays quiet for several minutes, just cradling his injured arm and staring at the tile floor. Riza waits. She doesn't care that she's sitting on the floor of a men's restroom with a teenage boy. She just waits, letting his surely tumultuous thoughts calm down.

Finally, he speaks, very quietly and painfully. "I read Al's journal a few weeks ago." She waits some more, giving him time to think about what to say. "He wrote…admitted he's not sure if I can really fix him. And that he sometimes wishes I hadn't brought him back…"

Another wave of sadness hits her. She feels awful for the turmoil of the younger Elric brother, and wants to help him feel better, too—but right now her focus needs to be here, on the older brother.

"I just…I mean—I always feel bad for putting him in that armor but—I dunno, I just felt worse about it after reading that," Edward stutters. "And I—I wanted to do something to…punish myself for it. I mean, I know nothing will ever really make up for what I did but…I just wanted to…to be hurt like him." The boy's lips tremble, his eyes refilling with tears. "It's wrong. I—I know that. But I just…couldn't stop. I think…something's wrong with me…" He blinks, dislodging a few tears from his eyes. "I know it's wrong but I just want to feel something." His voice cracks on the last syllable, and with that, he breaks down entirely, his sorrow and frustration coming out in short sobs and streams of tears.

It's only the second time Riza has seen Edward cry, the first being after Nina's death. She knows that even the strongest people aren't immune to crying, but it still startles her. The only reason he would allow anyone (who's not his family) to see him break down is because he's so overwhelmed he physically can't contain his emotions anymore. Everybody reserves the right to cry (something Roy had to learn after Ishval), but seeing Edward do it has a sort of dual effect on her. Working with him for three years, she knows that he guards his emotions very carefully—almost the same way she does, but instead of maintaining a sort of coolness like her, he tends to go toward anger. He doesn't want to outwardly show his sorrow because he doesn't want to be seen as weak—a habit brought on by his age, needing to be strong and infallible as a kid in a world of adults. Riza, unlike Roy, has always been considerate of Ed's age. He may be much more mature now than the twelve-year-old who walked in three years ago, but that doesn't mean he's a grown-up. She's proud to be one of the few adults he seems to genuinely trust and respect—and she hopes that status will help her right now.

Riza picks up Ed's hands from the floor, holding them gently but supportively. He immediately squeezes hers back, accepting the bit of physical comfort. In fact, he holds on so tightly that his automail hand begins to hurt her, but she doesn't ask him to let go. Instead, she just coos in her best attempt of a soothing voice, "You're alright, Ed, just calm down. Breathe. In and out." She repeats her words for several minutes, the grip on her hands slowly loosening and the intensity of his cries slowly weakening.

Finally, he's calm enough to speak, even if it's still caught between shuddering breaths and sniffling. "What do I do, Hawkeye? How do I make it better?"

Riza has to think about how to respond. She can't tell him it'll all just get better, because she doesn't know that. She has a feeling it will, because Edward is a strong person—certainly stronger than the feelings that brought him to this. He's going through a low point, but he can make it out. She hopes that this will be the turning point for him. "Just…know you're not alone," she says finally. "No matter what happens in the future, you have people who love and support you."

"But I messed up. I messed up so bad. First with Mom and Al…and now this…How can I ever trust myself to be strong again when I gave in like this? I feel like…like I don't deserve anyone's love. Not when I'm so pathetic I can't even handle Al being upset."

"You're not pathetic, Edward," Riza says firmly. "And sometimes, love is not conditional. You could make a million mistakes and the people who truly love you would still be there."

"But I am pathetic. I'm…I've been fucking cutting myself because I'm so weak. Because…because I deserve it…"

"Listen to me." Riza lets go of Ed's hand to tip his head up, looking him in the eyes—eyes which are red and watery and so full of misery it reminds her of the first time she ever met him. "You are not pathetic, and you do not deserve to be harmed. You are not weak; you are stronger than your thoughts. The Edward Elric I've gotten to know over the past several years is loyal, and passionate, and caring. And he is very, very loved."

Ed's lips tremble. "How do you know?"

"Because I've felt the same things he's feeling, and I had to learn all of the things he just heard for myself." Riza feels a pang of shame admitting one of her greatest weaknesses, but she knows it needed to be said. It's reality, and she can't change the fact that it was a part of her.

A few more tears escape Ed's eyes, but he doesn't break down again. Instead, even through the dark, cloudy storm in his eyes, she can see a bit of hope, and she knows she's gotten through to him. "How do I…how do I stop having those thoughts?"

An immense weight lifts off Riza's shoulders knowing that she's gotten through to him, but she also knows there's no real "cure-all" thing she can say to make him feel better. Realistically, she knows that dark thoughts are extremely hard to push away, and they'll reappear when you least expect it. She still has them, and so does Roy, and everyone else she knows from Ishval. It's about learning to handle those thoughts in a healthy way, not having to eradicate them entirely. When she was at her worst, she learned that she had to just put away her weapons, no matter how unsafe she felt without them close by. She can't tell Edward to do that, because she can't tell him to just live without his prosthetic arm. Even if it's a danger to himself in moments like this, it's a little different than her guns…So she says, "Whenever you have thoughts about harming yourself, try to find another outlet for that emotion."

"So it's…it's going to keep happening?" he asks, sounding upset by the idea.

"Most likely, yes. But remember what I said: you are stronger than your thoughts." She scans her brain for things she's seen other soldiers do. "You could hit a pillow, or scream into it. Or you could find a hobby that calms you, takes your mind off of things. I learned I enjoy papercraft myself."

The faintest trace of a smile touches Ed's face. "Really?" He's never imagined Riza as a creative person, and the mental image of her folding and cutting paper is wild to him.

Riza smiles back. "Yes, if you can believe it." Her expression falls serious again. "But you can not hurt yourself like this, Ed. It is not a healthy way to handle your feelings."

He squeezes his eyes shut, his voice tight. "I know. I…I can make it out of this."

Hearing it from Edward himself confirms all of Riza's confidence. "Yes." After what has to have been at least half an hour, she finally stands, returning the first aid kit to the closet. "I am afraid, however, that I need to report this to the colonel. Not because you're in trouble, but just so he's aware. It's protocol."

Edward stands as well, looking at his feet. "...I understand."

Riza is surprised by how mature of a response that was. Normally, anything having to do with her reporting to the colonel is bound to send him into a rage. However, she shows no indication of her surprise. "I will give you some time to straighten up…" With that, she leaves the restroom, showing Ed that she trusts him not to continue his previous actions.

And, for just a moment, he considers it. His automail hand twitches, the thought almost seductive in its appeal. But Riza is right; even if it's hard to believe right now, Ed does have people who love and care for him. He does have worth as a human being. He can't let his guilt and shame overwhelm him. Alphonse may be hurting right now, but the love between him and Edward is not conditional—no matter the mistakes he's made. Edward looks in the mirror above the sink, seeing his wet, tired eyes and red, puffy face. He takes in a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides. The cuts in his left arm sting with the movement, but he doesn't look away.

He's going to face this trial head on, and he's going to win.

"wow this oneshot collection is taking a really long time to complete...i wonder why..."

maybe its because of freaking ~6k word chapters like this! dang this was wayyyyy longer than i was expecting...but i think it really needed the extra length for this one. it made me really emotional writing it, because while i've never personally struggled with self harm, some of my friends have...I hope the care came through!

riza and ed don't get to interact that much in the series and that's a real shame. i think they have great potential for their bond