Archive of Our Own

Mei Chang was a girl with a plan.

She had multiple plans, actually, all spiraling around her in that way of controlled chaos that was exclusive to herself. Right now, with snow beginning to fall outside her window, a bright pink qipao laid out on her bed, and an extravagantly wrapped cardboard box on her desk, all her plans were being set into motion, the first touch to a line of dominoes. 

Plan One pertained to the utter misery she was about to be forced to be subjected to. Two stories below her feet, her aunt was wearing glittery high heels and welcoming guests in dark suits into the living room of the winter house, which was decorated with fake garlands and red bows as far as the eye could see (even though her aunt and uncle didn’t celebrate Christmas) and had been liberally spritzed with evergreen-scented air freshener to make aforementioned fake garlands seem real.

This was the first step in her family’s plan to schmooze up to a few bigshots at some random company that probably had something to do with natural gas—or were they politicians? Mei didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. What mattered about that plan was that Mei, as the most accomplished Chang daughter (although not the oldest), would be expected to partake in this utter boredom and waste her entire night smiling and nodding and talking to balding old men about her experience in med school. 

(Which, for the record, didn’t even make sense--she didn’t even live in this house year-round, for God’s sake, she was only here for winter break and would be gladly returning to Uncle Scar’s apartment in January.)

But Mei had different plans for her night. And no one was disrupting them. 

Jamming her feet into a pair of fur-lined boots (they only had a two-inch wedge heel, she was being modest ), she completely ignored the qipao neatly folded at the foot of her bed and instead tugged on the warmest coat she owned, which just happened to match her boots perfectly. The fur hood covered her ears, meaning that she didn’t even have to wear earmuffs or a hat and ruin the look. Plan One, completed. On to Plan Two.

Plan Two pertained to the colorfully wrapped cardboard box that was currently resting next to her pencil jar on her desk. She had spent hours wrapping that thing using three kinds of ribbon and had labeled the tag with her best calligraphy. Its contents consisted of a single honeycrisp apple, washed multiple times at the kitchen sink until its red surface shone, because Alphonse deserved only the best. 

The apple was the product of a dare from her idiotic older half brother (who wouldn’t know romance if it bit him on the bum—the boy was a lost cause). In the Yao family, and apparently some areas of China, it was tradition to give extravagantly wrapped apples to your loved ones around Christmas. Mei had no idea why or how that tradition had sprung up, but she had Googled it, and yep, it existed. That had been good enough for her. 

Anyway, given the fact that she had had no idea the tradition even existed before Ling told her, she had bet on the idea that Al had no idea of its significance, so she had accepted the dare with only minimum deliberation. 

Turning away from the apple (just looking at it made her nervous), Mei contemplated Plan Three: get out of the house without being seen. She could jump out the window, but because she was three stories up, that would likely end in failure and broken bones. 

That left two other options: the back door and front. To get to the back door, she would have to run the gauntlet of the random collection of Chang cousins and siblings that somehow all accumulated on the second floor during the holidays. Buuuut going out the front door would mean sneaking past her mom and a bunch of businessmen, and she did not have time for that. Plus, cousins were easier to bribe. 

So, shoving her phone and wallet into her jacket pocket, she slipped out of her room and headed for the second floor. Keeping on the two-inch-deep carpet lining the middle of the hall so the sound of her boots wasn’t loud enough to wake the dead, Mei half-ran to the door at the end of it—the one that led to blessed freedom.

Miraculously, no one saw her--no pigtailed little cousins or snooty older ones, nor any of the adults that were now milling around in the front hall just over the balcony. If any of them had looked up, they would have seen a heavily bundled 5’2 med student darting down the hallway as fast as her cursedly short legs could carry her.

Two minutes later, she was absolutely freezing and hadn’t even made it to solid ground yet. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she groaned, grabbing the railing for dear life once more as her boots scrabbled for purchase on the icy steps. The Chang manor had an outdoor staircase built into the back of the house going from the second floor to the garage door, which was extremely useful at times like this but could turn into a death trap in half a second after a heavy snowfall. Her boots, stylish as they were, weren’t helping matters. Taking a careful step forward, she narrowed her eyes and began calculating the distance between each step. Okay, she just had seven more to go, that wasn’t much-

Ah, curse the faulty gutters rimming the roof of the mansion. Icy water that had once been fluffy snow collected in them, dripping from the edges as icicles or falling down in droplets to splatter on the stairs, hardening into treacherously smooth ice patches that were just lying in wait to send an unsuspecting student skidding down exactly seven more steps using her own rear end as a sled and possibly breaking her tailbone in the process.

 “Fffffff,” Mei hissed, leaning against the white-painted brick of the first floor as she struggled to her feet once more, having to use both hands to force herself into a standing position. “I did not think these through,” she muttered to herself, examining her boots as the pain subsided. 

Well, it was too late for regrets.

At least one thing went the way it was supposed to: her moped--a hot pink beauty she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday--started on the first try. Careful to not mess up her meticulously braided double buns, she strapped on her helmet and swung one leg over the seat. She’d driven this baby in stilettos before, so the boots wouldn’t be an issue at all. Hopefully.

The last thing Mei saw as she careened out of the driveway was her aunt’s back as she went inside and shut the front door behind her. The night was underway, with only one figure inconspicuously absent.

Mei grinned as she gunned the engine, aiming for the safe haven of student housing units on the other side of town. 

Her plan had been completed.

“These are the correct string lights, right?”

Riza frowned up at him, brown eyes squinted against the twinkling lights. “Yeah, but they look kind of off-kilter. Can you move that one part to the—yes. Perfect.”

If he was being honest with himself, Roy had no idea how he had been roped into this situation. All he had agreed to do was light the luminaria, and because they still didn’t have those set up, he had been planning to just relax on Havoc’s leather sofa and wait for everyone else to do their job so he could do his. But now he was perched on the top step of a ladder—you know, the one that always has a warning sign saying “do not stand on this step under any circumstances”—and trying to hang Christmas lights on nails that looked like they had been driven into the wood decades previously. 

Plus, it was cold. There was snow coating the ground like some sort of crunchy layer of powdered sugar, and he just hoped that no one would ask him to shovel the walk or something.

He descended the ladder, careful to not slip on the rapidly accumulating snow (was it coming down faster?). Riza nodded in approval, folding up the ladder and hoisting it on her shoulder with a grunt of exertion. He didn’t know how she could stand being out here one second longer , but who was he to judge? Anyway, the little snowflakes accumulating on her bangs and eyelashes were cute.

The snow crunched under his boots as he made his way to the lovely sheltered doorway, surrounded by several dead potted plants he had forgotten to throw out. He might do it later, when it was about thirty degrees warmer outside.

The only reason he had even agreed to set foot out the door today was because he had been elected to host the broke-college-students-living-near-each-other Christmas party this year at the shitty student-housing duplex house he shared with Havoc. Who, if he heard correctly, was frantically running around their kitchenette while Rebecca barked instructions at him, her heavy Southern accent that appeared whenever she was stressed making it nearly impossible to discern what she was saying. 

As he stepped inside, Roy only had a few seconds to relish the warmth of the heater before Havoc skidded past him, looking utterly terrified and halfway through tugging on a coat. “Milk,” he panted, shoving his feet into boots. “We need milk.” He paused. “At least, I think that’s what she said.” 

“Your coat’s on inside out,” Riza commented as he pelted down the sidewalk past her. 

Roy slowly backed away from the kitchen doorway, from which Angry Southern Woman Noises (indiscernible muttering, pots clanging, loud stomping accompanied by the occasional accented curse) were being emitted. He did not want to be caught in the crossfire; which was more like the fire of a gun in a marble hallway, where the bullet just bounces around with no real target. 

Instead, he plopped down into the duct-taped recliner and nursed a cup of hot cocoa, which Paninya had promised wasn’t spiked. (He would usually question her more, as Paninya was not known for her truthfulness, but right now he was too cold to care.) Riza, who might have been the only one in that house that wasn’t scared of Rebecca, slipped into the kitchen to help her friend.

Ed, who had arrived about ten minutes earlier with the explanation that Winry was doing something in his and Al’s unit, scowled at him from the couch, which had once been a lovely heather gray. Roy smiled his most sarcastic grin back. Ed wrinkled his nose. The nonverbal fight having been won, Roy turned his full attention to the cocoa, which he couldn’t taste any vodka in, so props to Paninya for restraining herself.

There was the sound of a motorcycle outside, and Ed sat bolt upright, frowning. Roy merely took another draught of hot cocoa, unconcerned. The sound hadn’t belonged to Ed’s cherry-red Yamaha with a hole in the muffler and duct tape on the seat, but to the main mode of transport of a much more refined member of their party, one who was even shorter than Ed himself, if that were possible. 

Sure enough, the front door crashed open barely a few seconds later, emitting a blast of cold air and a figure practically drowning in their fur-lined coat. “Greetings,” Mei managed, blinking around at the room and already kicking off her boots (which had heels for some reason) and chucking them on the rubber tray next to the door.

“Hot cocoa?” Paninya asked, leaning out of the kitchen doorway. 

“Only if it’s spiked” was Mei’s breathless reply. 

“Paninya & Co do not condone underage drinking,” reprimanded Paninya in a monotone, but popped into the kitchen anyway before materializing next to Mei with a mug featuring a decal of a chibi panda. Mei gulped it down, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and threw herself onto the pink beanbag chair reserved specifically for her. No one else ever sat on it. At least, not after what had happened last time.

“Where’s Alphonse?” she asked nonchalantly, rubbing her hands together to warm them. “I gotta give him something.”

Ed smirked. Mei’s huge crush on Al was painfully present to all except the two involved. “He’s finding paper bags at Ling’s. And what do you have to give him?”

“None of your business,” she huffed, hauling herself to her feet and moving her hand in a scooping motion against the floorboards. Roy raised his eyebrows. Ed concealed a snort. Mei looked down, seemingly confused. 

It was like watching a slow-motion video. First Mei’s eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again; her eyebrows furrowed, then went up to almost disappear into her bangs, then slanted dangerously. Then, finally her mouth opened. 

“SSSSHIT!” she screeched. 

“Mind the language, beansprout,” Ed said nonchalantly. 

Mei didn’t seem to hear him. “I am going to fucking die,” she said, her voice falling back to a normal volume. “ Die, die die, screw this, shit oh shit, ” she hissed, walking in circles around her beanbag, as if whatever she had reached for was somehow sewn into the lining. 

“Allow me to infer,” Ed said almost gleefully, gesturing to her with his own mug of cocoa. He only spoke like this when relishing someone else’s uncomfortableness; Roy was 99% sure Ed had learned it from him. “You forgot the lover’s token you were about to give my dear brother?”

Mei paused in her frantic search just long enough to fling a throw pillow at his head, which only succeeded in spilling some of his hot chocolate on the couch and eliciting a startled squawk from the blonde gremlin. “It—I swear it was right here ,” she shrieked, voice rising again. 

Riza appeared in the kitchenette doorway, looking concerned. “What happened?”

“My APPLE!” Mei shrieked in reply, shaking her beanbag with considerable force. Apparently this was supposed to be some sort of explanation.

“Your apple,” Ed deadpanned, looking at the scene with an expression of unbridled glee. 

“Is that supposed to be a euphemism for something?” Roy murmured, eliciting a sharp glare from Riza.

Mei whacked her forehead with the palm of her hand repeatedly. “I left it at home and I can’t give it to Alphonse and I can’t go back because she’ll make me talk and I don’t wanna talk and—”

At this extremely inopportune moment, the door decided to open.

Roy twisted around, an explanation on his lips, when who should walk in but one Ling Yao. A Ling Yao who was bundled in a thick yellow puffer jacket, looking very sorry for himself.

Ling was somewhat of a self-proclaimed beach bum, even though there were no beaches for miles around. One day, you would wake up to find him crashed on your couch and the contents of your pantry half gone. The next, he would be gone like a wisp of smoke and no one would hear from him for two months, only for him to turn back up again at a party uninvited, wearing a large sunhat and in possession of way too much knowledge on how to make complicated drinks capable of paralyzing a small rhino. He was...an entity, to say the least.

Mei immediately pounced on him, rather reminiscent of a cat who has just captured an unsuspecting mouse (did mice come in bright yellow?). She grabbed him by the faux fur of his hood (having to stand on tiptoes to do so). “LING!”

“Whaaaat,” he mumbled, looking too dejected to care about the short, pink demon yelling in his face.

“I need you to retrieve my apple!”

A flash of recognition appeared on his cold-reddened face, which was quickly replaced by more dejectedness. “Noooo…” he groaned, throwing himself facedown on another chair without bothering to remove his boots. “Nothing matters and everything is dead .”

Mei whacked him on the back of the head. “Oh, are you still sad because she rejected you? Well, too bad , bucko, because you’re going to man up, break into my room, and retrieve my apple.”

Roy sipped his cocoa. This was interesting, like watching one of those trashy soap operas his aunt liked. He was vaguely curious as to how this would go, but was perfectly content to merely watch it play out. 

Ling seemed to perk up at the mention of breaking and entering, something Roy tried not to dwell on. “I get to break in?”

“In fact, it is imperative that you break in. Get in my room and take the apple on my desk.” She hauled him off the couch by the back of his jacket, planting a firm knee in the back of his leg to push him to the door.

“Ow, meanie —what’s it look like?”

“It’s in a pretty box. Just get the damn thing!” Mei shrieked, forcibly shoving him onto the sidewalk as he fastidiously adjusted his collar. She slammed the door with more force than was probably good for this already-rickety house and leaned against it, panting.

Roy took another sip of cocoa. “Anyone up for Monopoly?”

As he clung to cold, white-painted brick three stories above the ground, Ling Yao began rethinking his life choices. 

Or, namely, the life choice he had made in which he had decided to climb the outer wall of the Chang mansion instead of knocking at the front door. No, scratch that--the life choice he had made when he had agreed to retrieve the product of a dare between siblings that his sister had left behind in her flight from the very house he was now about to enter. 

He supposed this was his fault for liking the idea of breaking in so much. 

In any case, there was snow in his eyes, his fingers were aching, the fur lining around his jacket’s hood was now crusted with ice particles, his sister’s window was just an arm length away, and he had forgotten to ask her if she had locked it. 

Well. This would be fun. 

Mustering his strength, he dug the toes of his shoes into the nonexistent footholds--note to self, painted brick was much harder to climb than normal brick--and made a desperate grab for the window ledge. His numb fingers curled around a rough outcropping and he grinned. His nails would look like absolute trash after this, but hey, he wasn’t going to die. That was certainly a fair trade. 

Acutely aware of how much like a criminal he would look to outside observers, Ling began a process that involved a lot of scrabbling, heaving, and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Teetering on a ledge that had to be maybe four inches wide at most, Ling blindly fumbled with the window behind him. His position made it impossible for him to turn around and look at what he was doing, and he couldn’t move an inch without falling, so he just prayed to whatever deity was listening that Mei had left her window open. 

There was a creak as the glass panes swung inwards, and Ling barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before he plummeted backwards, almost somersaulting over himself  and hitting his head on what might have been a floor lamp before coming to a bruised halt on ridiculously deep white carpet. 

He sneezed. Near-death experiences did that to a guy.

Groaning, Ling hoisted himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. He should sue Mei for damages. Or criminal solicitation. Or whatever Ed always pleaded the Fifth for.

He surveyed the room with an appraising eye. This was the only time his dearest beloved sister had allowed him into her room on her own free will, and that was something he was going to savor. He could hear the muffled murmuring and clinking of wineglasses below him, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or conversation. He vaguely remembered Mei complaining about an “exceedingly boring” Christmas party her parents were preparing to hold at one point during the last week. This fact didn’t heighten the stakes much, merely added a new piece of information to his mental log. 

Finding a pink ceramic jar of pencils on the corner of a desk, he tipped it over with one finger and watched writing utensils roll across the wooden surface and onto the floor with the pleasant sound of unprovoked destruction. 

“Fun,” he said aloud.

It didn’t take much looking around to find what Mei had sent him here for. The box was wrapped neatly in patterned white wrapping paper, with what looked like two different kinds of ribbon and an oversized tag. Shaking his head sagely at his sister’s extravagance, he lightly tossed the box in the air and caught it. From the weight, he came to the conclusion that yes, in fact, it was the apple Mei so desperately needed.

The box did show a lot of effort, he decided, covered with tiny little leaf-and vine designs that had been painstakingly painted on. And was that gold leaf? He wasn’t exactly sure that Alphonse was worth all this effort (he wasn’t sure anything , human or otherwise, was worth the effort applying gold leaf ), but this was Mei’s odd choice to spend her time on. And he was the pinnacle of supportive half-brothers, so of course he would rifle through her desk drawers before being her apple-wielding savior. Because that’s just what older half-brothers did .

After a few minutes of fruitless searching for a diary that did not appear to exist, or was at least very well hidden (curse Mei and her secretive habits!), Ling turned back to the window with a sigh. He wasn’t quite sure how he should get down now. Maybe he could mingle with the crowd of cousins twice, thrice, double-dice or triple-spice removed that was probably downstairs (he had been perfecting his “high and mighty rich dude” face for a while) and save himself the trouble. But no, that would be too risky. If anyone recognized him, then they would either kick him out or talk politics and sponsorships until he wanted to ram his head into a wall just to escape the pain . He wasn’t quite sure which outcome was worse.

So, the window was the only option.

He was contemplating whether he should toss the package down first or carry it with him as he climbed when a knock sounded on the door.

“Mei? Are you in here?”

Ling froze. Had she not told her family she was going out? Did they think she was just sitting quietly up here, doing schoolwork or something? If so, did they even know her? (Although, if he was being honest, not telling her family about leaving the house in the middle of a party to attend a different party was completely on brand for Mei.)

Making a split second-decision, he decided to-

“Mei, you should be downstairs. I’m coming in.” The door creaked open, revealing a woman who, judging by her stature and face shape, was probably one of Mei’s aunts. She blinked. Her earrings glittered faintly. 

In her direct vision, illuminated by the light spilling in from the hallway, stood Ling. An intruder. Carrying something very fancy that at least looked very steal-able, though its contents could be bought in the produce section of the nearest grocery store. And Mei was nowhere to be found.

The woman’s screams could have shattered bulletproof glass.

With no time for second thoughts (or any thoughts, really), Ling catapulted himself out of the open window, cradling the box in his arms. Screwing his eyes tight, he surrendered himself to free fall and hoped for a softer landing than the one he knew he would get.

There were three seconds of complete weightlessness, and then the wind was abruptly knocked out of him as he slammed into a snowdrift.

Gasping for air, he lay in the cold wetness for a few seconds before struggling to his feet and beginning to try and find some sort of cover, panic making slogging through the snow remarkably easy. A bushy evergreen tree standing solitary in the bordering courtyard provided exactly that. Still cradling the (hopefully undamaged) gift box, he scrambled up the branches like some sort of yellow-clad monkey, hoping the likely-vengeful woman wouldn’t come after him.

Ling peered out from his perch deep within the branches. A head poked out of the window he had just unceremoniously exited, and, probably relieved that there was no messy corpse staining her well-trimmed bushes, disappeared back inside a few seconds later. The window was shut with a slam, and no further sounds disturbed the cold night. 

It wasn’t like Mei’s family couldn’t pay tenfold for whatever he might have “stolen”. Calculating the odds as quickly as his rapidly freezing brain could manage, Ling guessed that she was going to probably search the room to see what was missing (well, besides her niece), and, finding that nothing important was, wouldn’t call the police. Actually, scratch that--common sense dictated that when one found a stranger in one’s house, one called the police. It was simply how the world worked. But, knowing her extended family, they would probably just keep on partying.

He’d get Mei to tell them what had happened at some point. Destructive chaos was fun, but making petite aunts believe that their house had been robbed was just cruel.

But for now, he was getting the hell out of there.

Lan Fan glanced out the window of the apartment, onto the cul-de-sac of independent shops that made up the shopping district. The roofs were rapidly being covered by snow, lending the little shops a sort of gingerbread-house-y feel. They had been lucky enough after Grandfather’s house had been foreclosed to be able to buy a relatively nice, if small, unit above a bookstore downtown. When Grandfather was teaching martial arts class and she didn’t have homework, she could simply ride the elevator a floor down and completely lose herself in the endless shelves. 

She was considering doing that now, actually, given the fact that she wanted to be alone for a bit and books were always a good option for that. But no, the bookstore wasn’t open today, and she doubted she could pull off the I-don’t-speak-English act a third time. 

So she decided to go for a walk. It was snowing faster than it had been a few hours earlier, but that wouldn’t matter if she wore a jacket and Grandfather’s scarf. Which, for the record, she wore more than him, so it was practically her scarf at this point. 

Making up her mind, Lan Fan jammed her feet into her too-small boots and tugged on her winter jacket--black, because there were no other colors as far as she was concerned. “Yeye, I’m going for a walk,” she called out as she wrapped the scarf around her neck. It was too long, but it smelled nice. Like old paper and cranberries.

“Don’t shout in the apartment,” was Grandfather’s concise reply as he appeared in the kitchenette, gray eyebrows drawn down in a perpetual expression of vague disapproval. “And be back soon--we’re having dinner at eight.”

Lan Fan checked the time on her phone screen. It was barely past six--she wouldn’t be gone that long. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes at the most. Goodbye, Yeye.”

He waved a gnarled hand in her direction as she shoved the apartment door open with her shoulder--it always stuck in snow or rain. “Don’t take long, child.”

-

Her breath made puffs of frothy white as she tramped down the street, the thin crusting of snow making that weird squeaking sound underneath the soles of her boots. It seemed like every store had a different way of decorating for the holidays, from fake garlands that at least looked vaguely real hung around doors; inflatable Santas ranging from cartoonish to disturbingly realistic were propped up in flower beds. People, Lan Fan had noticed, took every opportunity they could to display seasonal shiny things.

She shivered as she passed a plastic reindeer. Maybe going outside, at night, when it was really cold was not the best idea. But she had made a commitment, and she was going to follow through. If worst came to worst, she could always take shelter inside a Starbucks until an employee kicked her out for not buying anything. 

It took a while before she noticed, but her feet had begun to trace the well-worn path toward her usual haunt. It was a subconscious thing now, like her legs had a mind of their own and would take her to that same coffeeshop whether she liked it or not. Which was weird and creepy, once she thought about it. But the entire point of subconscious is that you don’t think about it and it still happens, so Lan Fan tried her best to not.

Lost in thought, she paid no attention to the rather disheveled teenager who hopped onto the sidewalk and started walking in front of her. As long as he wasn’t following her ( that had happened exactly once, which was way too many for Lan Fan’s liking), she wasn’t going to say anything. Grandfather always told her to “talk to people your own age” and “make friends.” And she had tried that, yet they never seemed to stick around. But that didn’t matter.

The guy in front of her stumbled. Lan Fan snapped out of her thoughts, preparing to help him up. But he quickly righted himself and stood straight again, muttering a curse at himself under his breath. Must be drunk or something , she thought to herself, and continued on, her thoughts doing the same.

Only to nearly run into him once more as he came to an abrupt stop next to a full display of Santa’s sleigh, complete with all eight reindeer plus Rudolph. At the last second, she halted, her nose nearly touching the back of his ponytail. He swayed on his feet, then buckled, looking almost like he was melting as he pitched to the side, heading straight for Blitzen’s pointy plastic antlers.

On instinct, Lan Fan’s hands shot out to catch him, catching him under the arms and heaving him upright just before he gave himself a concussion via miniature reindeer. Staggering under the sudden deadweight--damn, he actually passed out in the middle of walking down a sidewalk? Just how much did he drink?--she sighed. She was responsible for this idiot now, wasn’t she.

Fate had a way of sucking.

Managing to wriggle her phone out of her pocket without dropping her new unconscious companion, she sent Grandfather a quick text stating that she’d probably be out a little later than anticipated. She had a feeling this would take longer than half an hour.

Now, what should she do with this guy? She couldn’t just leave him here, that would be cruel and would probably end up with him either being run over or taken to a police station. And, even though she had never seen him before in her life, Lan Fan didn’t want that to happen. She was a compassionate person.

So that’s why she would make someone else deal with him. 

Grimacing, she sat down on the icy sidewalk and placed the black-haired teenager (who could have passed for a sack of flour for how helpful he was being) next to her. If this man had a phone that was anywhere near today’s standards, she could use his thumb to open it through Touch ID and text his friend to pick him up or something. Searching his pockets, she came up empty handed.

Lan Fan whacked herself in the forehead. Hard. With her prosthetic hand. Ouch. 

What was wrong with this guy? Did he have anemia or something? Was he just extremely drunk? Whatever. She’d drag him someplace warm and wait for him to wake up, then pawn him off to his friends. That was a wonderful idea.

Lan Fan sighed again. She had a feeling this would take much, much longer than half an hour.

“Alphonse Elric, I’m going to kill you one day,” Roy said, tone completely neutral as he counted out stacks of neon-colored paper money.

Alphonse held out a hand as he dropped the bills into it with a sigh. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, tone just as deadpan.

“Kill my brother and I’ll eviscerate you and leave your entrails to a pack of wolves,” Ed said, tone considerably less deadpan. 

Riza sighed. As much as she hoped, she doubted Ed would ever grow out of issuing viscerally detailed death threats on the slightest of whims. It might damage his chances later in life, but that would be his problem. “Might I remind the three of you that you’re issuing death threats over slips of construction paper?” 

“What’s a friendly board game without a few death threats?” Al responded placidly, spreading his hands out in front of him, above the stacks upon stacks of fake money he had collected from Ed and Roy. He was a veritable tycoon of little plastic houses. 

“Board games with death threats don’t seem all that friendly, per se,” Mei remarked from her perch on the ottoman behind Alphonse. She had declined participating in the game, claiming that she would destroy them all in two minutes, and had instead become Al’s financial advisor. She hadn’t said anything else about the mysterious “apple” she had wanted to give him since she had physically kicked Ling out the door, and seemed perfectly content to keep her mouth shut until he got back. 

Ed pointed a pencil at her. “Exactly. This is life-or-death. Every man for himself. Battle royale. The Hunger Games. Whichever.”

Riza glanced at Roy over her friends’ heads, thoroughly exasperated. Roy just grinned. Riza narrowed her eyes. As always, he was perfectly content to merely stoke the flames of impending chaos instead of even attempting to put them out. She hadn’t expected anything less.

Deciding to do her best to prevent an all-out war, Riza nudged Alphonse with her foot. “Are the luminarias all prepared?” she asked when he looked up. As the (presumably) more responsible Elric brother, Al had been in charge of the lanterns’ basic setup.

“Um, I think so,” he said, not sounding very sure. “The paper bags are in a box by the door, and I was going to set them up, but then I didn’t know where any sand was, and then there was Monopoly, and I just...didn’t set them up?” He at least had the decency to look apologetic. 

Riza sighed again as she handed off the cans of turkey broth she was holding to a surprised Havoc, who was walking past her carrying a carton of milk. “I’ll go find the sand. And on a side note, does anyone know where Winry is?”

Ed shrugged. “Dunno. She texted me a few minutes ago, saying she’d be here in a little while. I think she was just doing some different preparations.” He was pretending not to care, but Riza could tell not knowing his girlfriend’s whereabouts was starting to worry him. “Maybe something to do with Den?”

She had a brief vision of the Rockbells’ old three-legged mutt wearing a Christmas hat and a plaid bow tie. “If she doesn’t show up in ten minutes, text her again,” she instructed, shaking her head to clear it. 

“Yes ma’am,” Ed responded, saluting crisply without looking up from the game board.

Ignoring him, Riza tugged on her coat as she opened the front door, causing a few whines of discomfort at the cold wind from the Monopoly-players. “The sand is supposed to be in Ling’s shed, correct?”

“That’s correct,” Roy said from behind her. “Now, please close the door?”

“Suffer the cold winds of judgement,” she responded as she stepped out into the snow. Deciding to be merciful, she only waited a few seconds before shutting the door. 

Hunching her shoulders against the cold, Riza made her way down the sidewalk bordering the student duplex housing units that they all lived in. Ling’s was just a few houses down, one that he had all to himself (much to his delight and everyone else’s extreme jealousy). It wouldn’t take too long to get there, even in this cold, so taking her avocado-green Kia wouldn’t be necessary. Save the planet, and all that.

She flipped her hood up as a particularly violent gust of wind whipped her bangs around her face. This would just be a quick trip. Get the sandbags and drag them back. She was strong, she could do it. It would be easy.

Unfortunately, nothing was ever easy for Riza Hawkeye.

Ling’s shed was not much more than three pieces of plywood along with a few bricks that had been attached to the back of his duplex with a mixture of nails, simple physics, and prayers. The top of its roof came up to Ed’s chest, which meant it was only large enough to provide a modicum of shelter for various tools and miscellaneous outdoorsy items (and the occasional raccoon). But since no one else had any room to spare, it had been chosen by consensus as the sandbags’ area of residence. 

Ling’s side gate was broken, so Riza could walk into his backyard without having to take her numb hands out of her jacket pockets, which was a bonus. Each housing unit had a narrow strip of gravel on the left side and a wider strip to the right--which functioned as side yards and driveways, respectively--as well as a tiny plot of land in both the front and back that was usually more dirt than grass. At this time of the year, it was ice and snow. 

It was only about three inches deep, though, so it didn’t take long for Riza to get to the shed. Bending over so she didn’t have to crouch, she surveyed the darkened interior, her own breath fogging her vision. 

There was nothing there.

Well, she was pretty sure there was a yellow-handled screwdriver at the bottom, but other than that, there was nothing. 

Exactly who had overseen this?

Riza groaned and stood upright again, already trudging back across the yard. Ling had said he had sandbags just a few days ago. And she was pretty sure there wasn’t some kind of underground black market for the things that he might have sold them off to. She’d make someone else go buy some more--the hardware store in the shopping center at the edge of town had an entire aisle devoted to different kinds of sand. Ed would be more than willing to do it if he got to ride his tacky motorcycle, but that wouldn’t be practical for carrying sandbags back, so she’d make him take Winry’s truck. That was, if Winry was back yet.

Which she was, apparently--as Roy’s house came into view at the end of the street, Riza noticed a white Toyota with a distinctive dent in the fender parked in the driveway. Winry’s truck was their second area of storage, but as it was usually packed to the brim with prosthetics and various mechanical pieces that she assured them were delicate and highly breakable, it was rarely used as one without the owner’s explicit consent.

Riza rubbed her reddened nose as she shuffled onto the stoop. It was definitely too cold to go out at this hour, especially in a truck that was notoriously unreliable on heating. Ed would hate to be dragged away from his girlfriend, but she could promise him extra shortbread cookies or something. (That would probably work—food was usually his ultimatum.) Besides, she would most certainly be needed in the Monopoly game. A mediator would definitely be required if the game was to continue bloodlessly, judging by the muffled yells coming from inside the house.

Everyone was against him.

Life was a series of ups and downs, that’s just the way it was. And Ed understood that. You couldn’t have a high without having a low. But when everyone was against you, your life just progressively got worse. Your money ran out, you had to sell a house. You barely had enough to feed yourself. Your only place to stay was a tiny, mold-ridden property on a street by the name of “States Avenue.” Your friends wouldn’t loan you money, you kept having to pay incredibly high rent, and the catlike grin of the dark-haired landlord always haunted your nightmares.

That was what Ed was up against.

(He didn’t like his chances).

“Dear god, Edward, it’s just Monopoly,” Mustang snapped. “Get your feet off the table, and either eat that cinnamon stick or throw it away. Stop acting like a nineteen-hundreds bar bum.”

Easy for him to say, Ed mused, grudgingly kicking his sock-clad feet off the wooden table. It was a sad world when the people you had considered friends turned against you. “Spare some money for a poor old bar bum?” he placated, glancing at Alphonse.

Behind him, Mei wrinkled her nose. “Don’t give sympathy to commoners,” she advised Al, who was looking a bit sorry for his older brother. As he should.

Ed threw up his hands while Mustang smirked. “So I’m a commoner now? I’ll have you know that I was once a successful businessman, owning three railroads and a water treatment plant, before you asshats— oh, hi, Winry. Nothing to see here.”

He smiled a bit too widely as she squinted at him from the doorway, snow dusting her hat and Den’s fur. Next to him, Al was shaking with barely contained laughter, and Mustang’s smirk was widening. To her credit, Mei’s only gesture of ridicule was a superior eye twitch. “Are you guys playing Monopoly?” Winry asked, glancing at the board between them. Den pressed her nose to the ground and began snuffling at the carpet, probably looking for the stray bits of food that had undoubtedly accumulated there over the past few weeks. Ed noticed a puffy flannel bow tied to her collar, along with a strand of jingle bells. 

“We are, but Edward doesn’t seem to understand that this is a game,” Mustang said. 

Ed glared at him. “You wouldn’t, either, if the entire real estate economy was personally invested in your downfall,” he muttered.

Winry ruffled Ed’s hair and plopped down on the rug next to him. He grinned as she grabbed his meager supply of property cards and started shuffling through them. To be honest, she more than anyone could probably pull him out of the deep black hole of inter-estate debt. She was just incredible like that.

“Way to remind some of us that we’ll always be forever alone,” Roy muttered, arranging the leftover houses despondently.

Alphonse grinned, rolling the dice and moving his little top hat seven spaces forward. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so alone if you finally manned up and asked Riza out instead of practically stalking her.”

Roy scowled, glancing around furtively as if Riza would suddenly materialize out of thin air. “Shut up.”

“Never,” replied Ed and Al in unison. It had become a little ritual for them.

The game progressed, with Winry managing to score Ed enough money to put a house on Kentucky Avenue. Alphonse was still winning by several thousand, with hotels on both Boardwalk and Park Place, the neon orange of his three five-hundred-dollar bills proclaiming that he was better than all of them. Mustang was in second, owning all of the railroads and somehow managing to stay in the game without any assistance from Riza. Ed had honestly doubted he could pull anything off without her help, but maybe the guy had a modicum of self-sufficiency after all. And Ed, of course, was at the very bottom, down by several hundred with very few options other than hoping he only landed on his own few properties. He doubted he could ever come in first, but hoped that, with Winry’s help, he’d at least be able to get past Go with more than fourteen dollars to his name at least once. 

The door was thrown open with a bang, letting in a gust of cold wind that made both Mei and Roy shriek at similarly high notes. Riza stood silhouetted in the doorway, her shoulders hunched against the cold and pale bangs sticking every which way.

“Riza! Where are the sandbags?” Ed asked, attempting to palm money out of Mustang’s stash while all eyes were focused on the conspicuously sandbag-less blonde. Al shot him a dark look but didn’t stop him. Score one for the sibling code.

“Ling didn’t buy them,” she huffed, tugging off her jacket. “So I need someone who is not me to go to Ace Hardware or something and get sand.”

Mei sighed heavily. “I’ll call him.”

Riza plopped down next to Roy on the sofa with a huff. Mei poked in Ling’s number on her hot-pink phone, scowling and muttering about how dumbass half-brothers couldn’t be trusted with anything nowadays.

She put the phone to her ear and gestured for them to continue with their game, facial expression making it obvious that Ling was going to get an earful as soon as he picked up.

The faint sound of an upbeat Korean pop song emanated from under a cream-colored blanket.

“I do not believe this,” Mei growled, snatching a phone with a worryingly cracked screen from beneath it. 

“I’m assuming you chose the ringtone?” Roy asked, tone neutral.

“Yes, but that is not the point right now,” Mei snapped. She tossed the phone across the couch, sending it spinning across faded fabric to come to a rest beneath a threadbare throw pillow. “The point is that my utter dumbass of a half-brother went to retrieve something from my house, hasn’t been back in forty-five minutes—and my house is ten minutes away, so using simple math he should have been back at least twenty minutes ago—he’s still somewhere outside, and he forgot his phone. ” She let out a groan and slumped into the sofa. “The world is against me,” she muttered. 

“Join the club,” Ed mumbled, surveying the depressingly thin stacks of paper money in front of him. Beside him, Winry snorted quietly. 

“Someone should go find him,” Al offered. “He could have gotten lost on the way back. He walked, right?”

“Either that, or he took my moped,” Mei grumbled dangerously. “And in that case, he had better have walked.”

“We still need sand,” Riza reminded them. “Why doesn’t someone take Winry’s truck and try to find Ling and buy some sandbags in one trip?”

“Good idea,” Mustang said immediately. “I volunteer Edward. Everyone in favor, raise your hand.”

“Now, hold on a second,” Ed protested, but broke off as four hands were hurriedly thrust into the air. Winry followed suit a little slower, having the decency to at least look a little sympathetic.

“What the hell, guys,” Ed said, less genuinely hurt and more annoyed. “Why me? ” 

“Expendable,” Mei said promptly. Next to her, Al pressed the side of his hand to the bridge of his nose. 

“So I’m going to die now?” 

“Well, Ed, you know Ling best—well, aside from Mei—and you’re one of the only people here that actually knows how to operate my truck,” Winry reasoned. 

Ed threw up his hands. “Even you’re against me?” (That last statement was true, though—she, he, and Al had both learned to drive using that 1992 Toyota, and its control arrangement was more than a bit different from the current models that the rest of their party was used to.)

“Would you trust me with your real estate investments and bank account?” she said, blue eyes strangely intense.

He blinked, a bit caught off guard. “Uh, yes-”

“Good. Then off you go,” she said, neatly sliding his stacks of little paper rectangles over to be arranged in front of her. “It probably won’t take long, anyway, and I’ll manage your economic situation until you get back.”

Ed groaned, taking much longer than was necessary to stand up and walk over to where he’d tossed his coat. Everyone was most definitely against him, in more ways than one. Why did he have to go and find Ling? It was Ling’s own fault that he was in this mess, his own fault that he was such a dumbass that he forgot his phone.

Actually, scratch that, everything was Mei’s fault. If she hadn’t made Ling go get the vaguely-described apple, then Ling wouldn’t have gone in the first place and Ed wouldn’t have had to go and retrieve him.

But, nevertheless, he would go and get Ling and the sand.

If for no other reason than he wanted to chew Ling out himself.

The first thing Ling noticed as he slowly regained consciousness was the smell of cinnamon rolls. 

Now, don’t get him wrong; cinnamon rolls were always welcome in his presence, as well as anything else that was edible (except dried apricots). The only issue he had with it was the fact that it did not make any sort of sense. The last thing he remembered doing was walking down a sidewalk, feeling like he was about to pass out from hunger, with Mei’s gift box under one arm and his fingers about to fall off from the cold. There was no way he could have somehow teleported from a random sidewalk to the inside of a bakery.

Unless he was dead and this was heaven, of course. But he was 83% sure that wasn’t the case, as he could feel the cold smoothness of what seemed like a table beneath his forearms, as well as the tickling sensation of his bangs on his temples. So no, he wasn’t dead.

A quick mental check of his current position let him know that he was probably sitting in a chair at a cafe table, slumped over with his head on his arms like a passed-out drunk. And he was still hungry. 

Lifting his head, he squinted at the sudden light that seemed to be glinting off way too many surfaces and launching a personal attack on his retinas. Ouch. Too bright. He squinted and turned his head, focusing on a darker blob that seemed closer to him. Was that a person?

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” 

He could only assume the voice was coming from the dark blob, which was slowly getting clearer the more he stared at it. It shifted slightly, and he blinked. 

The blob suddenly resolved itself into a much clearer image. It was a girl about his age, if he had to guess, with dark hair pulled into a bun and bangs brushing her eyebrows and pale skin. She looked Chinese, like him, but her eyes were extremely large and dark behind round-framed glasses, which was a little off-putting but also kind of cute. She looked like she was wearing a gray scarf over a black hoodie with the hood falling around her shoulders in a way that suggested that it was way too big for her. Pretty much the only color present was the redness in her nose and cheeks--probably from the cold.

She blinked at him, obsidian orbs disappearing for an instant, and Ling realized he was staring. 

“You want something?” She gestured vaguely behind her at the display case full of delectable-looking breads and pastries. She already had a half-eaten piece of lemon bread in front of her. 

Ling’s stomach growled in acknowledgement. He started to stand up, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Nope. You just passed out. You’re not going anywhere until we get your blood sugar up.”

Cute and chivalrous. He just hoped she would get him one of those mouth-wateringly fragrant cinnamon buns. And--was that apple fritter he smelled? Oh, that was absolutely wonderful--wait.

Apples.

Mei’s apple.

Heart racing, Ling quickly patted his pockets, searching for what he hoped he hadn’t dropped when he had apparently passed out. Feeling the hard-edged bulge wrapped snugly in the inner pocket of his jacket, he let out a sigh of relief. Still there. Thank God--if he came back apple-less, Mei wouldn’t think twice about killing him even before he even went inside. 

Speaking of which, should he charge her for this? The part where he passed out on his way back to the house and had to be revived by a random girl in a cafe? That ordeal should at least cost his dear sister five bucks. Well, she might just blame it on his own decision of attempting to climb her house…

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice the girl had gotten up until she placed a paper bag on the table and sat down again. “Croissant,” she said as a way of explanation, nodding towards it. “I don’t want you to pass out again.”

“That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Ling said through a mouthful of pastry. The girl looked a little alarmed at the speed at which he was able to stuff the croissant in his mouth--he did admit that his skills could be a little disconcerting to someone not used to being around him--but she didn’t say anything. 

Oh, that reminded him. “What’s your name?” he asked, swallowing a piece. “I’m Ling.”

“Lan Fan,” she said, nibbling on her piece of lemon bread.

Ling snorted into his croissant, causing a hacking fit that caused Lan Fan to look even more alarmed. “‘Cold rice’?” he asked once his coughing was under control.

Lan Fan blushed crimson and rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheek. “I didn’t choose it.”

Ling shrugged, polishing off the last of his pastry. “Pretty name, anyway.”

That didn’t seem to help matters, as his companion simply turned even more scarlet. “Thanks, I guess,” she muttered, before biting into her lemon bread with gusto. Probably to avoid future conversation.

Unfortunately, the one she had chosen to rescue was one Ling Yao. And Ling Yao never let people off that easy.

“So, why’d you help me?” he asked, leaning forward.

“You passed out on the sidewalk,” she mumbled around a mouthful of bread, scrunching her eyebrows together. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Ling blinked. “But I could have been a serial killer, or a drunk guy.”

“You don’t seem like a serial killer. And you weren’t drunk, there was no alcohol scent coming off you.”

“Why don’t I seem like a serial killer?”

“Why all the questions?” Lan Fan muttered, before answering. “Y’see, serial killers don’t usually wear yellow puffer jackets or pins with a cat face on them.”

He was quite proud of that pin--he had bought it for Alphonse’s birthday a few years ago but had decided it was better off as his own possession. “Maybe this serial killer has good fashion sense,” he said. “See, not all of us drive unmarked vans and wear black all the time. Some of us are broke college students with annoying little sisters.”

Lan Fan nodded slowly, but it was probably just to show she had listened to him and processed the information, but didn’t have an answer. 

Ling tended to have that effect on people.

“So,” Lan Fan said finally, breaking off a crumb of her lemon bread. “Um. Where were you going? I mean, where do you live. Wait, no, that sounds creepy. Sorry. Okay.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth and stared hard at the lemon bread for a few seconds, then continued speaking. “So I told my grandfather that I’d be back at my apartment in thirty minutes, which is more like fifteen at this point, so I should probably go pretty soon. Unless you need anything else?” She blinked again, then blushed. The girl did a lot of blushing. Probably more than the average human. “I mean, I don’t know what to do for a person who passes out on a sidewalk right in front of me.”

“You got me a croissant. You’ve done plenty,” Ling said, gesturing at the sprinkling of pastry crumbs in front of him. 

She nodded.

“But,” he continued, “it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to not even thank you for saving me. So, as the absolute picture of eloquence and gentlemanliness, I must present an offer to walk you back to your apartment this evening. My lady Lan Fan.” He executed a sweeping bow--or as much of a sweeping bow as one can execute when one is sitting down at a cafe table. 

She blinked. “Um. You really don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Nonsense!” he cried, drawing a few stares from other cafe patrons. He lowered his voice. “I mean, it would be my pleasure.”

“O-okay.” Lan Fan looked like she was too surprised to disagree. Excellent.

“If you said you had to be back in fifteen minutes, we should probably leave now,” Ling said, folding up the now-empty paper bag. Standing up, he executed a much better bow, offering his arm to his new companion with a flourish. “My lady?”

She stared at it. “So, um, how am I supposed to-” 

Ling nodded sagely, understanding. “Ah. Not versed in the art of nineteenth-century British etiquette?” When she nodded, he shrugged. “I’m not either, the only reference I have is from Jane Austen novels. I’m just winging this.” 

That--finally, finally --elicited a smile from her. “I suppose they’re called timeless for a reason,” she sighed, standing up. “All right. The apartment’s just on the other side of the shopping center. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Utterly splendid,” Ling said cheerily. Linking his arm with hers before she could protest, he led her out of the shop with much more pomp than was really necessary. Because that was just what Ling Yao did. He was both the hero of a Jane Austen novel and a fashion-conscious serial killer. He could be both. And he had just met a very cute girl who seemed to like him and was additionally (and perhaps most importantly) well-versed in centuries-old British authors.

If only Mei could see him now. 

the pink one at 8:22 PM

Oi weakLing

I know you can't see this

Considering that you left your phone at the house somehow

Sheer Force Of Dumbass™ maybe

But it heals me spiritually to know that when you come back you’ll have all these lovely notifications waiting for you

As well as me

Who will gouge out your eyeballs

And yes I CAN REACH YOUR EYEBALLS LEAVE YOUR BAD SHORT JOKES FOR ED

But seriously I will kill you if you don't bring back my apple in tiptop shape you hear

I accepted the challenge and am following through

It’s you with the problem

the pink one at 8:28 PM

jESUS FUCKEN CHRIST LING

AUNT HUA IS TEXTING ME LIKE CRAZY

SHES SAYING THERE WAS SOMEONE IN MY ROOM THAT JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW HOLDING A BOX 

THAT WAS U WASNT IT

the pink one at 8:30 PM

Should I respond

Should I say it was you

Or should I just let them drive themselves insane

I mean I should at least text her back to say u didn’t kidnap me right

But still holy Mary mother of God my esteemed half-brother

When I said “break in” I was like only abt 43% serious

And I thought you would be a better burglar than one who gets spotted by my aunt

We need to get you larceny lessons from Paninya

the pink one at 8:34 PM

I’ll text Aunt Hua back but I won't say it was you

Yet

Bring back my apple damaged in any way, shape, or form and I won't hesitate to

the pink one at 8:37 PM

So she knows that I wasn’t kidnapped and that nothing of value was stolen

It’s not like the party would have stopped anyway

Don’t you just ✨love✨ rich Asian business tycoons

“Lan Fan.” 

Lan Fan stopped walking and looked over at Ling, a bit apprehensive. He had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and was staring out into the night, looking strangely intense. And unless he somehow had a personal grudge against that one tiny park, she had no idea why.

“What is it?” she asked after a few seconds, walking backwards a few steps to stand next to him. They had just left the cafe a few minutes ago, and Lan Fan had soon learned that she had yet to encounter a more talkative human. After a while, she had sped up just a tiny amount to be walking a few feet in front of him--not anything rude, just to make the endless one-sided conversation a bit less omnipresent. 

(She didn’t think he minded it being one-sided, actually.)

Ling narrowed his eyes and peered out onto the park. Lan Fan followed his gaze. It was a nice park, she concluded--a few trees wrapped in string lights, some benches, walkways leading from where they were standing out in a bunch of wavy lines that seemed to connect to something in the distance. The flowerbeds were all dead, of course, but that seemed to be its only shortcoming. A few people wandered across the paved areas--walking their dogs, holding hands, or even just walking normally, which Lan Fan genuinely couldn’t understand. (It was snowing , for God’s sake.) At least none of them that she could see were jogging .

Ling finally spoke up. “There is.” He paused, probably for dramatic effect. “A dog. Right there.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t the answer she had expected. “Um. Yes. A dog.” She didn’t know which one he meant, but nodded along anyway. “Mhm. Yes. Dog. Canine.” She was just digging herself into a hole, wasn’t she?

“I mean that dog,” Ling said, taking her wrist and pointing it where he had been staring. The boy had no sense of personal space, did he?

Lan Fan blinked. “Oh.” There was indeed a dog--a shiba inu, if her eyes could be trusted without her glasses--with black and white fur, snuffling around at the base of a tree. But, most importantly, it didn’t have a collar, a leash, or anyone standing near it denoting human ownership. “Do you think it’s lost or something?” she asked tentatively, still unsure where this was going.

“Hm? Oh, maybe,” Ling said, releasing her wrist. He didn’t even seem to be listening to her, with both eyes locked firmly on that dog. “I’m gonna go pet it.” He strode purposefully off the sidewalk and hopped onto the stone walkway of the park, heading towards it before Lan Fan could stop him. 

“Hold on,” she said, following him before she could stop herself. “What if it bites you? Or it’s someone’s dog and they don’t want you to pet it?”

“But who wouldn’t want me to pet their dog?” he responded, stepping off the walkway and crossing the snowy grass over to where the dog still was. “I, Ling Yao, am the veritable champion of dog-petters. They should pay me to pet dogs, I’m so good at it.”

After a few seconds of mild confusion, Lan Fan decided to completely ignore that claim.

Ling moved toward the snuffling black shiba with a kind of low, shuffling walk that Lan Fan assumed was supposed to be stealthy. The stealth factor was severely diminished when one was walking in a public park, coated in bright light from the Christmas decorations, and wearing a yellow jacket. But Ling didn’t seem to notice--or maybe he did, but didn’t care.

Lan Fan hurried along behind him, debating whether to drag him away by the back of the collar or just pray to whatever god there was that the dog was friendly.

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” Ling cooed, still sliding closer.

The dog looked up, startled as it finally realized that there was, in fact, a human coming towards it. It growled, backing up and tensing its shoulder muscles. Ling froze.

Lan Fan readied her prosthetic hand, which could probably do some damage even covered with a glove. Not that she would hit the dog unprovoked, of course--she would just shove it away if it tried to bite. Or, as she briefly considered, she could smack Ling upside the head for being an idiot. But no, that wouldn’t be necessary. Probably.

“A good boy,” Ling repeated, beginning to inch closer once more. “The best. Such a good boy.”

“Ling. Please stop. Come on,” Lan Fan hissed, flicking her eyes from her companion’s outstretched hand to the dog in front of him. “I’m pretty sure that dog doesn’t want--”

But, to her complete surprise, the dog stopped growling and tilted its head to the side, seeming to regard Ling’s hand as less of a threat and more of a mildly interesting anomaly. Perking its ears, it stepped forward and began to sniff his fingers.

“Told you,” Ling whispered triumphantly. “Dog whisperer.”

Lan Fan sighed, slowly lowering her arm with her stare still fixated on the dog. It might still bite him or something. Ling seemed to have none of her caution, beginning to scratch its ears with coos of “Who’s a good boy? You are! You are!”

The snow was falling even faster now, flakes accumulating on Lan Fan’s shoulders and making her prosthetic arm ache. She shifted in her boots, wondering if she should take the stray to an animal shelter. It was getting colder, and she didn’t want to be responsible for a dog dying.

Just as she was about to call out to Ling, the dog suddenly stopped licking his hand and stood stock-still in the snow, ears pricked. Then, without warning, it turned around and raced away, much faster than she thought a dog of that size should be. “Wait! Come back!” Ling called out beginning to stand up, but the dog was already gone, vanishing into the distance.

Lan Fan wrapped the scarf around herself more securely. “It probably went back to its owner or something. I have to get back to my apartment pretty soon, so I’m just going to l--oh, come on! ” Ling was already racing after it, yellow jacket fading into the distance along with his calls of “Wait! I still need to pet you more!”

Lan Fan groaned, stomping her feet to get some feeling back into them while internally debating her next action. She could just leave Ling behind and make her own way back to her apartment and forget this ever happened, which was, the more she thought about it, probably the better idea. Or she could go after him, risking the little remaining time she had, and make sure he didn’t pass out somewhere and get hypothermia or hit his head on a bench. Or fall in a fountain. Or get bitten by that dog. 

With a long sigh, she began following Ling’s footprints across the park, albeit at a slower pace than his erratic run. She had made herself responsible for this idiot, and by God she was going to follow through on her end of the nonverbal bargain. Because, for whatever reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to leave him behind, like all logic dictated she should. 

Not for the first time, Lan Fan wondered what she had just gotten herself into. 

Ed grunted in annoyance, shoving his phone back into his hoodie’s pocket as it kept on making the little dings that signified Havoc’s ever-increasing panic back at the house. Honestly, why couldn’t the guy figure out what Rebecca was saying by himself? Sure, she had a pretty strong Southern accent when she got mad, but it wasn’t that bad. He’d heard and understood worse before. Leave it to a Northerner like Havoc to be completely incompetent.

There was another ding from his pocket, and, without looking, Ed reached in and silenced his phone. “Excuse me , but I’m trying to find a certain idiot that got himself lost in a relatively small town ,” he muttered to no one in particular. This part of East City really shouldn’t have been easy to get lost in. It had, like, three buildings over five stories tall. But, he had to admit, if anyone had the complete lack of common sense that led them to get lost in a town with a population of about 40,000, it would be Ling.

After twenty more minutes of fruitless searching, Ed simply sighed and looked up the nearest hardware store in Google Maps. Might as well get the sand before running off to god-knows-where again, trying to find a certain teenager who absolutely refused to be found. He hauled himself back into Winry’s truck, cranked the groaning heater as high as it would go, and started maneuvering through the road currently being re-dusted with snow.

Ed rested his head on the wheel at a red light and thought hard. If he were Ling, where would he go?

He could almost hear Mei’s voice saying “prison” in the back of his mind.

Yeah, but before that , he grumbled to himself. Ling did like food, so perhaps he was in a cafe, racking up a tab to rival the size of Jupiter? Or maybe he just got in some stranger’s van who offered him candy and was halfway to Texas by now. They’d probably dump him at the side of the road at the first bad pun uttered from Ling’s mouth, so Ed discounted that idea.

Oh, god, what if he had fainted? The dumbass was anemic , and in this cold he could just be lying in a gutter somewhere, slowly freezing to death.

Ed tried to push that thought from his mind. More likely he was in a cafe.

Taking his phone back out of his pocket, Ed parked at the edge of a sidewalk and typed in a quick search for ‘cafes near me’. As he scrolled through the list of results, trying to pinpoint the closest one, another text from Havoc popped up. Ed groaned and resigned himself to his fate, finally typing out a brisk reply. He would give Havoc two minutes of his precious time. That was it.

Havoc at 8:43 PM

COUNTRY BOY U GOTTA HELP ME

8:43 PM

You’re literally from Montana

Havoc at 8:43 PM

Not the same!!!

U lived in alabama for a while right??? 

8:43 PM

Mississippi

Havoc at 8:43 PM

Same thing!!

Meeyulk means milk right??

8:43 PM

Yes

Is that all

Havoc at 8:44 PM

Whats a canned drink??

8:44 PM

A /drink/ that comes in a /can/????

Like Coke or Sprite

Obviously

Do they not have those in Montana??

Havoc at 8:44 PM

They do but like

Y are they called canned drinks???

And not like soft drinks or smthing that makes more sense?????

8:44 PM

I don’t have time to explain years of culture to a yankee like you

Bye

Havoc at 8:44 PM

WAIT

Ed groaned. Havoc would just keep asking questions, wouldn’t he? He tapped out a quick reply.

8:45 PM

Did you forget that im trying to find a missing person

I don’t have time for this

Just get rebecca to write it all down

Bye

Ed scrunched his shoulders, shrugging his scarf higher to cover his ears. The car heater was doing even less than he had thought it would. Checking Maps again, he deduced that there was a cafe only on the next block, and it even had a hardware store next to it. Deciding that the environment could go to hell because it was too damn cold , he put the car in drive again and inched down the street to the corner where the cafe was. 

Cranking up the heater even higher, Ed rolled down the car window as he passed the cafe and peered into the interior. There was a bakery case with what looked like extremely large cinnamon rolls, a few bored employees, and a handful of patrons. None had Ling’s distinctive skinny dark ponytail and thatch of bangs, though. He frowned. If not a cafe, then where…? 

Suddenly realizing he must look like some kind of creeper, Ed hurriedly rolled the window back up and rounded the corner. He could go to the hardware store and think about Ling’s possible locations there. Yeah, that’d work. The hardware store was just up ahead--he could even see the sign from the street.

As he leaped out of the truck, Ed briefly wondered if he could just grab one of the sandbags that had been positioned out at the front and leave, like, a $20 bill in its place.

Deciding against possible theft (it was always way more trouble than it was worth, anyway), he shuffled inside the brick-and-plaster store. After an awkward conversation with the weirdly peppy register girl, he finally got the bag of sand and hauled it to the back of the truck. His teeth chattered in the cold--he noticed the wind had died down, but that somehow didn’t seem to affect the overall temperature. Why couldn’t they have sent someone else to get the sand? Did UberEats work for hardware stores? Could he get, like, a pizza delivery guy to find Ling at the promise of an extra ten bucks?

He sighed again, heaving the sand into the truck bed next to a cardboard box full of wrenches and flopping into his seat. Probably not. Could he get arrested for paying someone to do work out of their job description? Getting someone to come to the house under false pretenses? What about--

Wait.

He squinted through the smudged glass of the driver’s-side window. Across the street from the hardware store was a medium-sized park; a patch of grass interspersed with trees, sidewalks, and streetlights, with a small lake and bridge at the center. He vaguely remembered Winry dragging him and Al over there to feed the ducks the previous summer. A duck had almost bitten off his finger in its gluttonous, bread-fueled rampage, but that wasn’t relevant. What was relevant was that two figures were standing just inside the low chain-and-pillar fence, one of which was wearing a lemon-yellow puffer jacket. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that jacket had an enamel pin with a cat face on it just underneath the collar.

He fumbled with the door handle, the relief flooding his brain making him realize too late that it was locked. By the time he had shoved the door open, Ling was gone. He experienced a brief flash of panic before noticing a yellow jacket disappearing into the park, with one black-clad figure following it at a much more sedate pace. 

Ed burst out of the truck, barely remembering to lock it before tearing off toward the park. Several things about this didn’t add up. Who was the black-clad person? Had they kidnapped Ling? No, he had already ruled out that possibility. Or maybe Ling had kidnapped them and was planning to drown them in the bloodthirsty-duck-filled lake. But Ling was a pretty easygoing guy (except when board games or food were involved), and Ed was decently sure he would never kidnap someone. 

Or maybe...the person he was with had coerced him into kidnapping them!

Ed slapped his palm to his forehead while still running. That was a stupid idea. Why the hell had he even thought of that? He’d probably reread Twilight too many times. Whatever--he’d deal with the second person when he caught up to Ling. His carefully wound scarf came undone and started flapping behind him, the remaining fabric coming loose and temporarily blinding him for a few seconds. With a growl of annoyance, he bunched the thing beneath his neck and held on with one hand. Of course, he could just leave it behind, but that would be a waste of a perfectly good scarf. 

“Oy!” he yelled, a puff of mist forming in the air as he spoke. “Ling! Oy, come back! Li- gackpth !” The tail of his scarf had fluttered upwards and into his open mouth. Spitting out the yarn, he tried again. “YAO!”

The figure stopped and turned around. For a split second, Ed had the sinking feeling that he had just yelled at a random stranger in a yellow jacket. But no, it was, in fact, Ling. The thatch of black bangs and round pin on his collar confirmed it.

The person with him turned around as well, and to Ed’s surprise, they appeared to be a girl. He couldn’t really see features from where he was, but she appeared to have black hair and roundish glasses (was black the only color the girl wore?). But there were more pressing matters: how in the world had Ling managed to get a girl to talk to him?

“Ling! Yo!” Ed yelled, waving an arm and hoping his scarf didn’t muffle his speech too much. “We’ve been looking for you! You left your phone back at the house and Mei is, like, flipping out—OY!” He had slowed down, trying to catch his breath, only for Ling to grab the girl’s arm and speed up again. “COME BACK HERE, DUMBASS!” Ed shouted, panting as he resumed the chase once more. “It’s just me!”

Now, Ed was by no means a slow runner. He had come in second place when their group had done a 100-meter race at the autumn festival the past year, behind Paninya—and to be honest, it was practically impossible to beat that girl in a footrace. Even though she didn’t technically have organically created feet.

But the sad fact remained that—though it almost physically hurt to admit it, even internally—Ling’s legs were longer than his own. And so, though he was running as fast as he could, Ling was still a good fifteen yards ahead of him. He was gaining, but not fast enough, and his scarf kept whipping into his eyes and making him pause to claw it away again.

Did Ling not recognize him? Did he think he was some sort of crazy guy, chasing him across a park for no reason? Well, Ling had been the one to start running first, Ed thought grumpily. Maybe if he-

As he brushed his bangs out of his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, he felt something hit his flesh foot, making his leg momentarily seize up. His stomach dropped. Throwing out his arms in an attempt to stop himself, Ed crashed to the ground with a whuff as the air was knocked out of him.

Lan Fan hadn’t understood what Ling meant at first when he had told her that someone was chasing them. 

He had bolted after the dog, which had already disappeared and was never going to be seen again as far as she was concerned, so she had followed him, waiting to grab him by the back of his jacket collar if he started to fall into a snowbank or something. Then someone had started running behind them. She hadn’t been all that concerned—they were on a public sidewalk after all, and though it wasn’t exactly a pleasant night for a walk, she was in no position to judge.

Then that person had started yelling something. It was garbled, and muffled by distance, so Lan Fan had had no idea what they were saying. After a few seconds of confusion, she had decided they were talking on a phone, and if they weren’t, it wasn’t her business. And she had Ling to watch, so she hadn’t really given it a second thought. 

Then she had promptly almost run into Ling, who had stopped momentarily in his flight. “What is it?” she asked, backing up and straightening her glasses.

“Do you know who that is?” he had asked, staring behind them at the person Lan Fan had been studiously ignoring.

“Um. No?” Lan Fan answered, a little confused. She didn’t know anyone who wore hoodies that red. 

“All right.” He hesitated. “Then they’re chasing us. Run!” Without warning, he had then grabbed her arm and raced down the sidewalk, seeming to go double the pace he had been going before.

  Lan Fan whipped her head around as she was being dragged across the park. Their chaser appeared to be short and wearing a red hoodie, with blond hair tied into a braid that whipped around behind them. It didn’t appear to be a girl, as the voice yelling at them was decidedly masculine.

And decidedly angry.

“I have karate training, if you want me to take him out,” Lan Fan gasped, suddenly feeling very courageous, probably due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. This string-bean teenager with her didn’t really look like he could put up a fight. “My grandfather teaches martial arts.”

“That’s very sweet, but I hope it doesn’t come to that!” Ling yelled back, the sound of feet pounding the sidewalk all but drowning him out. Lan Fan reached into her hoodie pocket and flipped open the knife part of her multitool, just in case.

After a brief period of silence, in which all that could be heard were the muffled, sporadic yells of the person behind them, Ling seemed to start to slow down. “Should we see what he wants?” he asked, still keeping a more-than-brisk pace across the park.

Lan Fan shrugged. Or tried to. The amount of shrugging one is capable of when one is running like the wind (or at least a very strong breeze) is dubious. “Mayb-”

She was cut off by a startled yelp from behind her. Both of them whipped around. The man chasing them was sprawled over some tree roots.

Ling skidded to a stop, taking Lan Fan with him. “D’ya think he’s dead?”

“...doubtful,” she murmured. “Let’s not stick around to find out.”

“Right,” Ling agreed, releasing her arm and beginning to run again, though (thankfully) much slower. Lan Fan could see the lake and bridge in the distance, meaning they were almost at the center of the park. If they went out the other side, it would take a while to get back to the area they had left, and Lan Fan would be even more late back to the apartment than she already was, but it was their best chance to leave the weird guy in the dust. 

“Are you sure you don’t know that guy?” Lan Fan asked.

“Nope,” Ling said. “I don’t think so, at least. Did you see their hair color?” They were passing the lake now. The edges were mostly covered in a decently thick skein of ice, crisscrossed with white lines where people had skated.

“Blond,” she responded promptly. “In a braid, I think.”

Ling frowned. “You’re sure it was a braid?”

“One hundred percent,” Lan Fan said, nodding. “Either that, or a short, thick ponytail.”

He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Blond braid—oh f- ”

Then, several things happened at once. 

Somehow, possibly through divine intervention but more likely through simple physics, Ling started to fall sideways. There were loud footsteps behind her, as well as a few more disjointed yells, signaling that the mysterious guy had caught up again. 

And Lan Fan, caught between two impending crises, was frozen in place as Ling tripped on what may have been his own feet and fell onto the frozen pond.

Sometimes, people talked about times in their lives when everything seemed to go right. They got a job and had enough money to pay of a mortgage all in one day, or they met the love of their life by chance on a vacation. Even more often, people talked about times when everything went wrong. When life didn’t just dive into a pit, it completed a textbook combination with jackknifes and backflips, ending with a spectacular swan dive into the pool where everything sucks.

Lan Fan was in the middle in one of those.

“Oh. Oh my. Um.” Ling had skidded across the ice on the pond, ending up about three yards away from where she was. The ice hadn’t broken, thank God, but it was making very ominous creaking and groaning noises that Lan Fan deduced to mean hee hee, hoho, I just might break and you’ll never know when.

Glancing behind her at the mysterious, frenetically yelling blonde (who Ling seemed to know, which called into question his taste in friends), Lan Fan deduced that she might be able to yank Ling off the ice before he caught up to them. 

She took a deep breath. This next moment would require careful coordination and time, which was something in short supply. “Okay. Scoot toward me. On your stomach. Yeah, that—that’s it. Good.” Ling followed her instructions, the ice still creaking underneath him as he inched toward shore. She crouched down, reached out her hand, and-

“LING!” The guy had finally caught up. “God, Yao, it’s just me! I’ve been looking for you for forever, you have no idea . Mei’s going to kick your ass into the next dimension when you get back-” And, just as Lan Fan had opened her mouth to shout a warning, he had extended a hand and walked straight onto the ice. “Here-”

He never got to finish the end of his sentence. 

As Lan Fan made a desperate grab for the backs of both boys’ jacket collars, even while knowing she wasn’t strong enough to haul both of them away, the ice made one last, loud creak and broke, sending two teenagers plummeting into freezing water before either of them even had the time to curse.

Lan Fan did, though. She let out a long, loud string of various oaths, in alternating Chinese and English as she flopped onto her stomach at the edge of the lake, ignoring the snow that was now soaking the front of her hoodie, and plunged both arms into the water. Something that felt like hair brushed her fingertips, and she grabbed it. It turned out to be Ling’s ponytail, somehow still intact. Gritting her teeth, Lan Fan managed to shove one hand under the armpit of his jacket and heaved. The boy was heavier than he looked, and a good deal taller than she was, so it took a good deal of dragging and tugging to even get his torso out of the water. His lack of sputtering and cursing worried her at first before she realized he had—once again—passed out. This time, though, Lan Fan reasoned that it was likely justified. 

After making sure Ling could breathe again, she plunged her arms into the water once more and almost screamed when a hand grabbed her wrist and started pulling. Digging her knees into the ground to keep from falling into the lake as well, Lan Fan sloshed her other arm around in the water, trying to figure out where the other guy was. She found fabric and tugged as hard as she could.

About a minute later, Lan Fan was sprawled out on the ground next to two soaking wet teenage boys (only one of which was conscious) out of breath and too cold to think straight.

“T-thanks,” the blonde managed, finally managing to struggle to his feet and offering her a dripping hand up. She took it gratefully. “I’m Edward, by the way. Edward Elric.”

Finding that words did not come very easily with her brain being an ice cube, Lan Fan simply nodded.

“Can you help me get him to my truck?” Edward asked, already grabbing one of Ling’s arms, trying to haul him upright.

“You’re sure you know him?” Lan Fan asked suspiciously.

He gave her a look. “Well, I know the Ling that racked up my restaurant tab to over 150 bucks as a way to introduce himself.”

That did seem like something Ling would do.

Deciding to trust Edward, Lan Fan took Ling’s other arm and they both half-supported, half-carried Ling in the direction Ed said his car was. They only managed about twenty feet before coming to a panting halt by a park bench.

“How about you bring your car over here?” Lan Fan wheezed, hauling Ling to flop beside her on the bench.

Edward hunched over, hands on his knees. “Yeah. That—that’s a better idea.”

“The front door is a portal to Narnia,” Al announced, sliding a red hotel onto another one of his properties. 

“Explain,” Paninya said immediately. She had finally run out of marshmallows to cover the hot chocolate with and was now sitting next to Winry, pretending to give financial advice.

“No one who goes in ever comes out,” he said, gesturing to the front door. “Ling has been gone for about forty-five minutes, and Ed’s been gone for twenty-five. And we haven’t heard back from either of them.”

“But didn’t the Pevensies come back from Narnia? Eventually?” Riza asked, trying to remember. She had read those books in fifth grade or so, and due to the fact that she was now almost out of college, her memory of the plot had faded a bit.

“I think so?” Al said, then hesitated. “Didn’t they get stuck in there for a while?”

“How long is a while, exactly?” Roy asked.

“A year, maybe? I haven’t read the books in forever,” Al admitted. “Maybe it was a bad comparison.”

“I can call Ed and see whether Narnia has cell reception.” Winry offered. 

“That’s a good idea,” Al said. “Provided that he didn’t forget his phone like Ling.”

“I’m fifty-eight percent sure your brother wouldn’t be as much of an idiot as mine,” Mei assured him. 

Winry jammed her phone between her ear and shoulder while counting her stack of fifties. “If he doesn’t pick up, I’m committing murder by wrench.”

The small group waited a few seconds while the faint sound of the dial tone filled the silence. Three rings. Four.

“He’s not picking up,” Winry said softly. It was like the breeze before the hurricane, the pulling in of the tides before a tsunami. Riza could see the whiteness in Winry’s knuckles as she gripped the phone, dialing again. She was mad, yes. But also worried.

“I’ll go look for them,” Riza volunteered, breaking the tense silence. “I’m the only one here who has come back from Narnia so far.” There were nods of assent. “Ed’s probably too distracted to pick up, or left his phone in his car or on silent or something. It’s nothing to worry about.” Probably . She patted the younger girl’s shoulder and stood up, grabbing her coat from the rack.

“You sure you can function without me?” she asked Roy teasingly, ruffling his spiky hair.

“No,” he replied promptly. “You’ll come back to see I’ve eaten all the wallpaper like some sort of crazed gibbon.”

Riza laughed as she shuffled out the door.

-

She had set out to find a teenage boy—preferably two, but one could work, as each had a female waiting back at the house ready to knock them senseless as soon as they got back and order them to find the other again. 

Instead, Riza found a dog.

She had parked the car at a street corner, in a parking area in front of a cafe, and had proceeded a bit reluctantly on foot, reasoning that it would be easier to find and chase down wayward companions that may have gone offroad. As she was passing the park and wondering whether Ed or Ling had gotten sidetracked and gone into it, a small dog padded out of the entrance and onto the sidewalk in front of her.

Riza stopped short. The dog turned and looked at her, ears pricked.

It was a nice dog, she observed. A shiba inu, with a mostly black body, white paws, and a white face. It didn’t have a collar, though, so she had to be careful.

“Hey, little guy,” she said slowly. The dog didn’t move. “Have you seen a blond kid with a braid or a tall kid with a ponytail around here?”

The dog wagged its tail, but didn’t move.

In hindsight, asking it probably wasn’t the best idea. She hadn’t expected much, anyway.

Riza contemplated her choices. On one hand, she could leave the dog, forget about it, and go find Edward and Ling. On the other, she could take the dog to a shelter so it wouldn’t freeze to death and then find Edward and Ling.

The little dog barked, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Then it seemed to catch sight of its tail and started spinning in circles, ending with a dramatic flop to the ground where it lay on its back expectantly.

She sighed. Even Riza Hawkeye could not resist helping sweet fuzzy puppies with big black eyes.

“Come here, little guy,” she said, crouching to the sidewalk and beckoning one hand. The dog yipped excitedly and rolled to its feet, walking over to her and bumping its snout against her hand. “‘Little guy’ isn’t a good name,” Riza added, chancing a scratch behind its ears. “Black Hayate?” That had been what she had called the ratty stuffed terrier she had slept with in elementary school. She genuinely didn’t remember why she had liked the name, or how she had stumbled across it, but it seemed fitting. Somehow. 

Taking off her coat, she wrapped the dog up in the thick fabric. It didn’t even try to wriggle free, just snuffled a bit. Pulling up Google Maps on her phone as she walked back to her car, Riza located a veterinary center that was still open--that was no small relief, given the time of night. 

She bundled Black Hayate into the passenger seat, debating for all of four seconds whether to strap him (she had noticed he was male) in with a seatbelt before deciding against it. As the car moved down the road, the wheels made crunching noises against the wet, snow-laden asphalt. She’d have to wash the coat later, she mused. There was no telling what kinds of fleas or ticks or other nasties that dog had. 

It was selfish, but looking at the bundle of black-and-white fur, she hoped that he didn’t have owners. That she could take him back to the house. Maybe put him up for adoption out of decency, or keep him out of need for a companion. Her housing unit allowed small dogs, and Rebecca would be over the moon about it. 

“Think you can get along with a bunch of college students?” she asked without taking her eyes off the road. 

Black Hayate yipped happily.

9:51 PM

How would you feel if I randomly brought a dog back to the house?

Hypothetically.

Rebecca at 9:53 PM

ecstatic

in love with you for the end of time

all the happy things

why do you ask

9:53 PM

This is all purely hypothetical, but let’s say that while I was looking for Ed, I found what seems to be a stray shiba inu and took it to an animal clinic to be checked before deciding whether to leave it at a shelter or bring it home.

Hypothetically.

Rebecca at 9:55 PM

reez

what happened

9:55 PM

A series of events that led to me sitting in the front room of an animal clinic, waiting for the results of a heartworm test on a random dog that I have since christened Black Hayate.

Rebecca at 9:55 PM

REEZ OMG

WAHT

ARE WE KEEPIN HIM

PLS SAY YES

PLSPLSPLS

10:01 PM

Yes. We are.

Rebecca at 10:01 PM

YESSS

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU HAVE N O IDEA

Ling was first aware of the cold and the wet.

It was everywhere. Under his jacket, in his hair, trickling in rivulets down his skin. Even before opening his eyes, he tried to recall the events that led him to these unpleasant feelings. Did they count as feelings? Or were they sensations? Whatever they were, they were decidedly offensive. 

He had been running. With Lan Fan, if he remembered correctly. Then he had fallen onto a lake. Strangely enough, the lake hadn’t immediately swallowed him into its icy depths. Lan Fan had stretched out her hand, he had tried to grab it, there was yelling and a dark shadow over him, and then…

That was all he remembered. 

His stomach growled.

Deciding to face the world, he cracked open his eyes. He didn’t appear to be dead, which meant someone had probably dragged him out of the lake. Was it Ed? Was it Lan Fan? Was she okay? Had Ed thought she was an interloper or kidnapper and decided to roundhouse kick her head with his prosthetic leg? They were about the same height, and Lan Fan had said she had martial arts training, so, hypothetically, it would have been a decently fair fight. 

He frowned, wondering why he was mentally judging his friends’ combat abilities. 

Ah. There was light. Well, not much, but there was definitely enough to glint off blond hair, particularly the blond hair that was hovering at the corner of his vision. And that hair had to belong to a person.

He turned his head slightly. Ed was sitting next to him, wearing his customary red hoodie, which was soaking wet for some reason. The pale hair Ling had seen belonged to him, which was, strangely enough, not in a braid, and also looked wet.

Ed blinked and looked over at him. Ling just stared mutely, brain still too cold to function. “You’re awake?” Ed asked. 

Ling almost scoffed. His eyes were open. What more proof did the boy need? But even before he could open his mouth to spew a witty retort, Ed called out “YO, LAN FAN! HE’S AWAKE!” and began vigorously rubbing Ling’s face with a towel that had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

“Ackpth! Ed!” Ling protested, unable to see anything but the whirling fabric covering his face. “What the hell?!”

“We can’t have you dying of cold like a runty piglet ,” Ed huffed, removing the towel for half a second only to resume scrubbing, this time at his hair. “By the way,” he added in a slightly quieter tone, “is she your girlfriend? How’d you get her to talk to you?”

“Lan Fan?” Ling asked, his brain slowly regaining function. “No, of course not. I passed out and she brought me to a bakery and revived me.”

“Well, now you owe her double, because she just saved your ass after you passed out again , this time in the middle of a freezing lake , so I’m pretty sure that’s gonna rack up a bigger bill than the first time.”

There was a snort from the front seat. “I can hear all of what you’re saying. Just wanted to point that out,” Lan Fan said.

Ed coughed, his face reddening. “Uh, yeah. Okay. Right.”

Suddenly realizing exactly who pulled him out of the lake, Ling pushed Ed’s towel out of his face and leaned forward. “Thanks for saving my life, Lan Fan.”

He could see the girl blushing as she gripped the wheel. “It--it was nothing,” she muttered.”

“And mine, too,” Ed piped up, towelling his own hair dry. “Winry’s going to kill me when she sees the truck and my wet prosthetic, but thanks.”

The car suddenly swerved, causing Ling to slam into the car door and suddenly remember to fasten his seatbelt. “Prosthetics?” Lan Fan asked sharply.

“Uh, yeah. My left leg from about the knee down. Which reminds me, why is your grip so strong? I have bruises on my arm. Bruises!” He rolled up his hoodie’s sleeve, even though there was no way she could see from the front seat.

“Well. About that,” Lan Fan muttered. “I’ve got a prosthetic arm. Sorry for hurting you.”

There was an awkward silence. Remembering it was his job to break those, Ling quickly spoke up. “And one of our friends has two prosthetic legs! Y’all should make a club or something. Where you do amputee stuff.” He paused. “Is that a thing?”

Ed glared at him. Ling shrugged in what was hopefully a ‘isn’t-it-my-job-to-break-silences-not-my-fault-I-can’t-be-smart” way.

The car came to a slow halt. “Oh look. We’re here,” said Ed, as bland and nonchalant as if he hadn’t just come back home after being lost in the cold for over an hour. “Thanks, Lan Fan.”

“Come in with us?” Ling offered, opening her door and offering her his (not cold and wet anymore!) hand.

She tilted her head to the side. She had these little bits of hair in front of her ears that escaped her bun. They bounced around when she moved her head. “I don’t know. I’m already past my curfew. But…” She checked her watch and winced. “Sure, why not. What’s ten more minutes on top of forty-five? I mean, I’ve pretty much peaked on disobedience already.”

She hopped out of the truck, boots making crunching noises on the snow and followed Ed up the narrow sidewalk to the house’s front door, with Ling a few paces behind.

When Ed pushed open the door, grunting a little, a small pink whirlwind by the name of Mei Chang greeted him. Or rather, didn’t greet him, but simply pushed past him to practically leap on Ling. She nearly knocked him over, frantically grabbing him by the collar.

“The apple?!” she whisper-yelled, clinging to his front. “Did you get it?”

For a moment, Ling had a swooping feeling of dread. The apple was probably soaked after his dip in the lake. But maybe--this jacket had waterproof pockets, right? That had been on the description when he had bought it, he was sure it had.

Apparently his memory had actually served him well for once, because he felt the edges of the apple’s box as he dug his hand to his pocket. But he barely had time for relief before Mei, with strength disproportionate to her size, wrenched his arm into a armlock with one hand and grabbed the box with the other.

As Ling rubbed his arm, already resigning himself to the bruise that was sure to be there in the morning, Mei darted past Lan Fan and nearly knocked Ed over before leaping back into the living room from whence she had come. 

“ALPHONSE!”

Paninya was not letting them get away from her this time.

She had watched in silence as Ed and Winry stumbled around each other all throughout freshman year. That in itself had been painful, and it was only her loyalty to Winry that she didn’t steal her phone at one point and force it to happen herself. 

She was still watching Al and Mei dance around each other, but any sane person with color receptors in their eyes could see the color red Mei’s face had turned when she had given him the long-awaited apple.

And as for Roy and Riza—she just had to give them time. It was practically inevitable at this point.

And as she watched Lan Fan hide her laughter behind an overlong sleeve and Ling giggle obscenely while spewing a mouthful of cookie crumbs, Paninya knew the same would happen there as well.

If only with a bit of intervention.

She hid her grin behind a sugar cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

Ah, this would be fun.

WeakLing at 10:12 AM

Why hello my dear esteemed sister!

10:14 AM

The hell you want

I should be asleep rn

WeakLing at 10:14 AM

That’s no way to treat your dearest elder brother!

But anyway. Would you happen to have Lan Fan’s phone number?

You seem to know everyone

10:14 AM

Maybe

Let me check

OH

OH HO HO

I’M AWAKE AND REVVING AT FULL THROTTLE

WeakLing at 10:15 AM

Oh dear

10:15 AM

And why do you want her phone number, by chance?

10:17 AM

...Ling you know if you don’t answer I’m going to cook up the most elaborate stories in my head, most of which are extremely detrimental to your reputation

WeakLing at 10:17 AM

I just want to talk to her, okay? Like most people do when asking for people’s numbers?

10:17 AM

Mmmmmhmmmm

I am telling Paninya abt this and there is nothing you can do about it

But fine

[Contact: Lan Fan]

WeakLing at 10:18 AM

Thanks

10:17 AM 

I had better not regret this

Lan Fan at 11:09 PM

You know, fate doesn’t suck so much sometimes

11:09 PM

Lan Fan is this about my brother

If so consider this a warning

He’s the biggest dumbass ever

You’re too good for him

Lan Fan at 11:09 PM

Don’t argue with fate. You’ll come off worse.

11:10 PM

That’s fair 

accompanying art by @miralia on tumblr: