CHAPTER 6: On My Way To Break a Leg! Or Detach One, Your Choice

Akira isn't quite sure how he's gotten himself into this situation — maybe he should have said something a bit more, but his curiosity once again got ahead of itself and now him and Ed are turning the corners of Tokyo's streets, barely a word said as the rain poured out any hope of being heard without shouting.

Following someone home, especially if that someone slash friend is a prodigy who researches on interdimensional travel and also is apparently dabbling in machinery, doesn't sound like the best idea. Not to mention the incredibly cryptid words of a secret.

What did he bet on again? German ex-spy who escaped from a cult?

("Can you keep a secret?" His words were hushed, but there was an unspoken level of trust in that singular sentence. The realisation strikes Akira like a sledgehammer.

This was Ed trying to put trust in him.

Akira nodded, throat dry, but before he even completed the action, Ed laughed breathily. "That's a silly question. Of course you can. You —" he shook his head, an amused smile dangling on his face. "Come on, follow me.")

Occasionally, Ed turns around to check if Akira is still following, but other than that, they don't exchange any words.

They eventually reach a small apartment complex — painted in a drab brown, but clean and well-kept. Ed ushers him into an apartment on the second floor: Room 208A. The apartment number plate shines a dull silver, almost brand new compared to the other plates that they've passed by on the way. A grey door greets them, and it only takes a few seconds for Ed to fish his keys out and push open the door.

They carefully toe off their damp shoes at the entrance, and Akira takes the moment to soak in the small apartment. A small kitchen in the corner, an eye-wateringly red sofa in the middle, along with a small coffee table, and a battered laptop on top. Piles of loose papers litter the table, almost burying the laptop in their assortment of languages and diagrams and circles. In place of what most people would have as a television shelf, Ed has wooden bookshelves — two side by side, extending all the way to the ceiling. Gargoyles and skulls populate the outer surfaces of the shelves, the carvings intricate. The first bookshelf is crammed and close to overflowing, and the other is just starting to become populated. At first glance, nearly all the titles are on various branches of science, ranging from physics to chemistry, but he spots a few fiction titles as well: The Hunger Games, Lord of the Rings.

Ed shuffles towards the fridge once he places down his purchases on the kitchen counter, separating the salmon bento from the machine oil, and motions at Akira to sit down on the couch.

"Want anything to drink?" he asks, peering at the open fridge. From Akira's view, he can see a wide spread of sauces and vegetables, alongside cartons of drinks. "I don't have much other than shitty coffee, oat milk and orange juice, since no one comes by."

Akira feels out of place with the hospitality, briefly entertaining the idea that he might be Ed's first guest, and sinks into the couch. It's a little stiff, but comfortable. "Orange juice would be good," he says.

Ed hums. He fills a mug and hands it over to Akira, who tentatively takes a sip. Tangy and sour. His bag shakes, rustling the plastic bags beside it, and Akira very belatedly realises that he's forgotten about Morgana.

"Hey Ed, is your apartment pet friendly?"

Ed blinks at Akira, then sighs. "Of course you're the type who brings their cat to school. Why should I be surprised." He waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah. As long as he doesn't make any noise."

Akira unzips his bag and Morgana leaps out. He very pointedly glares at Akira. Akira ignores him and turns to Ed, who is now having a strange staring contest with his cat. "So, now that the cat is out of the bag, I'm curious about your cat in the bag."

Ed immediately breaks eye contact with Morgana, splutters, face red, and Akira abruptly realises his poor phrasing. "You —"

"I mean, your secret," Akira hastily adds. "'Cause. Cat and bag. Like a bag of secrets being revealed. So like…" Akira deflates at both Ed and Morgana's incredulous stares. "It's a fun pun."

"You're actually bad at this. Fucking hell." Ed shakes his head. Akira would reply, but he's busy being embarrassed that no one got his joke. It was a clever one too, he thinks.

Ed sighs heavily as though steading himself, and looks at Akira with his unnervingly golden eyes. "Akira, whatever I show you here today stays within these walls. I trust that you won't tell anyone about this." An expression of utmost seriousness comes over Ed, and the quick turn in atmosphere almost takes Akira aback.

He swallows down his nerves. "As long as it's not a bomb," he jokes. It falls a little flat, but Ed quirks a smile at it.

Then Ed raises his left foot and puts it on the coffee table with a hard thunk, and takes off his sock.

Ed has a metal foot.

"This is automail, my prosthetic leg," Ed says. The shining metal toes wriggle. He raps a knuckle against his thigh, ringing metallic. "Goes all the way up to my thigh. It's connected to my nerves so I can move it like a real leg, though I can't feel anything from it."

His eyes are probably saucer-sized, god. That's…

How long has Ed been living without a leg?

"Lost it in an accident when I was eleven," Ed continues, unknowingly answering Akira's silent question. Eleven! Akira's brain unhelpfully shrieks. "Usually the leg works like a charm, but my mechanic isn't around, and it's a pain in the ass to detach and reattach it on my own. Toss in the shitty weather we've been having, and the port aches like hell."

His brain finally connects to his vocal cords, and Akira makes a strangled noise in his throat.

Morgana, somehow, does an excellent job as an unpaid therapy cat and curls himself around Ed's side. Ed, for some reason knowing exactly how to pet cats and take care of them despite not having owned one, automatically starts petting Morgana.

"Right, most people don't have metal legs. But it's good, I'm used to it, I've had it for years! Don't worry about it."

Ed, ever the contradiction, manages to make one worry despite saying the exact opposite. The metal leg might be old news to Ed, but it is very very new to Akira. Then, the implications of his sentences finally hit Akira: "Are you telling me so I can help you with your…" He swallows again, the word strange in his mouth. "Automail?"

"Yep!" Ed really shouldn't sound so cheerful after telling someone he was an amputee since age ten. But then again, it's Ed. "The weather has really been fucking up my port, and I want to take a look in case it falls apart. That would suck."

Yeah, that'll definitely suck. God, he can't even imagine. Morgana gives him a say-something-you-idiot look. "Yeah, that'll suck," he repeats aloud.

"So you'll help me with it?"

"Mmm." He doesn't really have a choice here. The last thing he wants is for Ed to slip and his strange, metal leg to fail on him.

Ed is distinctly pleased, grinning. "Great. Let me grab my tools." As Ed shuffles away to a room, Akira hears it dimly — the quiet whirls of machinery, pieces of metal clinking against each other with every step Ed takes, barely noticeable in the silent apartment.

Morgana shares a look with Akira. "I can't believe I didn't notice it sooner," he marvels, ears flicking in Ed's direction. "I had been wondering about that faint machine oil scent in the cafe."

"Yeah, it's..." Now that Morgana mentions it, Akira detects the strange scents of old books and machine oil filling the apartment, along with something terribly familiar that he can't quite put his finger on. "It's peculiar."

"Yeah. To think it was a metal leg, of all things…"

"Can't believe Yusuke's metal sheet theory was the closest," Akira mutters.

The creak of the door handle signals Ed's return, who's now wearing a pair of loose shorts and carrying a bag of tools. Without his usual leather pants covering the metal leg (the metal leg!), Akira can see the full appendage exposed. A myriad of scarring gathers around the area where the metal leg attaches at the mid-thigh. The grey metal panels reflect the yellow ceiling lights of the apartment with Ed's every step. "Did you say something?"

Akira tears his eyes away from the metal limb and meets Ed's eyes instead, tilting his head towards Morgana. "Just talking to the cat."

Ed snorts, setting down his bag of tools on the table and planting himself next to Akira. "Yeah sure, a metal leg can make you go a little stir crazy." He pats his leg affectionately. "Hold on to the leg, I'm going to detach it."

The metal is cool and smooth to Akira's touch, even though he can see various nicks and scratches on the metal plates up close.

"Dropping in three, two, one!" Ed pulls a lever on his port, and holy shit this thing is heavy. Akira very nearly drops the leg even with two hands supporting it, hands shaking as he hoists it onto the coffee table.

Ed just smiles, amused. "I thought you worked out at the gym. That's what Ryuji said, at least."

Akira wrings out his sore fingers. "Yeah, but clearly not enough." He looks at the leg, then back at Ed. "That thing weighs a ton. Is that why you're —" Oh, no, stop talking, Akira. Don't mention the height stunting. Maybe it's because of the lack of milk.

"Limping," Morgana suggests. Therapy cat and saving Akira from certain short-fused doom? Dear lord, he's buying fatty tuna this week.

"Limping," he finishes lamely.

Ed shakes his head, blissfully unaware of the storm that just flew past him. "I'm blaming the weird, inconsistent weather you guys have. Back in —" Here, he cuts himself off and frowns. He shakes his head again. "Back home, the weather isn't as wild, and my automail works more smoothly." He wrinkles his nose. "Rain every other day and the ever changing humidity is really fucking with me. I'm not used to that at all."

"Where are you from?"

Ed taps his chin with a finger and hums, then gives Akira a terrible shit-eating grin. "Germany?"

Really, if Akira was physically capable, he would have slammed Ed with his own metal leg. Instead, he has to settle with a deep sigh. "I'm going to change my bet at the end of this." He should be safe if he expands the bet to Europe instead, right?

A laugh escapes Ed. "Have fun with that!" He leans forward to the coffee table, hands already fiddling with the arsenal of tools. Akira watches with unconcealed fascination as Ed unscrews several metal plates off the leg, revealing bundles of colourful wires underneath.

"Wow," Akira breathes, "this is incredible. I've never seen anything like this." Hesitantly, he touches the metal frame. "This technology is amazing."

Ed puffs out his chest, pride radiating from him. "Of course! Winry, my mechanic, she's a genius at this. She built this."

"That's amazing," Akira repeats, feeling like a broken recorder. He tilts his head. "Are prosthetics already this advanced?" Somehow, he thinks that prosthetics that act like real limbs would make international news.

Ed nods. "Yes, but mine is just a trial. It's not commercially available yet."

"Hmm." He'll Google it later.

Ed has already completed maintaining the leg, placing back the metal plates with a satisfied "Done!".

"Didn't you want me to help with your leg?"

"Yeah, but it was mostly with the detaching and reattaching of it, really. I've had this leg long enough to be familiar with maintenance whenever I'm away from Winry." A fond smile hangs at Ed's lips. Akira decides not to comment on this, because if he opens his mouth he will definitely tease Ed, and there is definitely something going on between Ed and his Winry.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ed looks towards Akira. "Come on, Beef Boy, lift that leg!"

Akira rolls his eyes but obliges, hands shaking less as he adjusts his hold. He hovers the leg right above the port. "Do I just shove it in?"

Ed nods. "Yeah, but count me down if you c—!"

Akira shoves the leg in.

"Youch!" Ed shrieks. Akira has never heard anyone say youch out loud. "Fucking fuck oh my fucking Truth."

Once again, soap.

"He sure has a mouth," Morgana comments mildly.

"You curse like a sailor," Akira says, watching Ed massage the scarred skin.

"You should hear how the soldiers under my CO curse when he shoves them all the paperwork. Wonderfully creative, and I learn from the best."

Right, military. In the face of a metal leg, Akira forgot that bit. He suppresses how old were you when you enlisted? and what did you do in the army? and about a hundred more questions, because he can have some tact, sometimes. Instead, he says: "Your CO sounds mean."

With a huff, Ed plants his foot back onto the floor. He sighs. "He's a lazy bastard, alright," he mumbles. He has a strange, faraway look in his eyes, and it finally clicks in Akira's brain with all the other times he's seen that expression on Ed's face.

Ed is homesick.

Akira can't say he relates, considering what happened last time he was home, but he wonders how much Ed misses his own hometown. Ed sidesteps every question directed at his origins, yet drops trivia and names of the people he's clearly fond of: his Granny, Winry, Al, Mustang. Like a constant reminder to himself.

"You miss your home," Akira says quietly, lacing his fingers together. Morgana gives him a sharp look, but doesn't say anything.

A length of silence passes, with Ed looking like a deer caught in headlights, and Akira wonders if he shouldn't have spoken up at all, then Ed exhales. "Yeah."

From what Akira knows about Ed, he doesn't seem to have anyone to talk to. He has briefly mentioned acquaintances, like the librarian from the public library or his landlord, but alarmingly, now that Akira really lets himself think about it, Ed doesn't seem to have any friends in Tokyo. Now that's a sobering thought.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I—"

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," Akira hurries to assure. "And if you do, I won't tell the others, either. I just want you to have someone to talk to."

The corners of Ed's mouth turn up in a soft smile. "That's… that's nice of you to offer." He shakes his head. "But I'll have to decline. I'll think about it, but not now." His tone turns wistful, a strange expression that goes at odds with the volatile Ed that lingers in Akira's impressions. "Maybe in the future."

Akira looks back at Ed, at his melancholic, faraway smile and it feels like the more he finds out about Ed, the less he knows at all. He swallows. "Yeah, maybe."