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It’s quiet moments like this that make Roy wonder if he might’ve been suited to growing up someplace more rural than the bustling streets of East City.
The dirt road from the Rockbells’ house wound lazily through Resembool’s spring-bright fields, warm earth and wildflowers sweetening the breeze. Farmers worked in the distance beneath a bright blue sky, their voices carrying faintly over the hills, and for once there was no urgency to anything– not the schedule, not the passersby, not even the boy walking beside him.
Edward was quiet in a way Roy rarely saw, his usual sharp edges softened by the familiar countryside and mild weather. The empty right sleeve of his coat, pinned neatly at the shoulder while Winry worked on his automail back at the house, was the only thing that looked out of place. Roy glanced at him, then out across the rolling fields, and found himself thinking– not for the first time– that he might have liked growing up somewhere like this. Somewhere the world moved at the pace of seasons instead of society. Somewhere peace felt less like something to chase, and more like something you could simply walk beside.
Roy noticed the change in atmosphere before Edward said anything.
They’d only just reached the crest of the hill that would lead them directly into town, when Edward slowed slightly. It was subtle– just a hitch in his stride– but Roy had spent enough time around him to recognize when something had caught his attention.
“…huh,” Edward said.
Roy followed his gaze.
For a small town in the east, Resembool was… busy.
Gone was the sleepy stretch of buildings Roy had been greeted with when they had disembarked the train only yesterday. Now, every corner of the town was filled with people, bustling between the shops like they were approaching a deadline, and there was a steady hum of voices carrying up the hill. Stalls had been assembled along the main road, wooden frames going up in uneven rows, most of them still only-half finished. Fences were mid-assembly, lanterns strung between the posts and, threaded through it all–
“... Are those sheep?” Roy said, stopping.
Edward huffed a quiet laugh, and slowed to a stop beside him. “Sure are.”
Roy blinked, watching the throngs of fluffy white, black, and brown animals milling about the outskirts of town. There were quite a lot of them.
Edward glanced at him, then back at the town, and something like amusement tugged at his mouth.
“Forgot,” he admitted. “Sheep festival’s tomorrow.”
Roy turned to him. “I’m sorry– the what?”
Edward just grinned, sharp and bright, and began to descend down the hill. “You’ll see.”
Roy followed after a moment, feeling oddly overwhelmed for a reason he couldn’t quite place. When they reached the edge of town, and he was able to read the cheerful banners and festival signs, Roy realized two things.
One: Edward had not been lying. There really was such a thing as a festival for sheep.
And two: Roy was, perhaps for the first time, profoundly out of his depth.
“Ed!” someone called the moment they stepped past the first stall.
Edward didn’t even hesitate, turning immediately and grinning broadly.
“Clark, hey!”
A middle-aged man dressed in overalls and a sweat-stained shirt waved them over to the stall he had been finishing up. Ed bounded over as if he were seeing an old friend.
“Back in town, huh? Heard from Maisie you got in yesterday. Winry’s got you under the wrench again?”
“Something like that,” Edward said, easy in a way Roy had rarely seen. “Just maintenance.
“Well, you picked a good week to be stuck here, at least. Plenty around town t’ keep you busy!” The man’s gaze flicked up to Roy then, curious. “Friend o’ yours?”
Roy opened his mouth, but Edward beat him to it.
“Yeah.”
It was said without hesitation. Simple. Certain. Whether it had been to avoid further questions or because Edward actually thought of him as a friend… Roy wouldn’t have imagined he was held in such a high regard in Ed’s mind, but… perhaps.
Something in his chest shifted.
“Colonel Mustang,” Roy supplied a moment later, inclining his head politely.
The man raised his brows but didn’t seem particularly impressed. He extended his hand anyway. “Well, Colonel, welcome to the chaos.”
Roy almost smiled, and accepted the hand with a firm shake.
A woman leaned out of a nearby shop, causing their small group to turn. “Ed! Y’ here for the festival?”
“Just passing through, Arnette,” Edward called back.
“Shame! We could use your help with the fencing again!”
Edward laughed. “You say that every year!”
“And every year you don’t show!” She laughed when Ed gave a dramatic shrug in response.
Roy and Edward moved on further into town, but the pattern repeated. Someone called Edward’s name every few steps– asking about his arm, his brother, his new “fancy” life in Central, whether he would be staying long. Edward answered all of them with easy familiarity, slipping in and out of conversations like he had never moved away.
Roy found himself… observing.
Edward– who in Central was sharp-edged and defensive, always braced for a fight– was… different here. Looser. Brighter. He moved through the crowd like he belonged to it, trading barbs and greetings with equal ease, accepting handshakes and side hugs without hesitation.
Here, he just… fit.
Edward glanced back at him after the third or fourth stop, catching Roy watching him.
“What,” he asked, suddenly bristling. Roy considered him for a moment.
“You’re quite popular.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Mm.”
They finally reached their goal of the Resembool market. The stalls here were far less crowded, but no less affected by the heightened energy for the upcoming festivities. Crates were overstocked, it seemed, in preparation for tomorrow. Edward moved with practiced ease, picking out items, trading quick words with vendors, balancing purchases one-handed with a nonchalance that suggested he had done this many times before. Finally, someone offered him a basket to carry his purchases, which he happily accepted.
Roy, on the other hand, paused perhaps a fraction too long at a display of produce, clearly unsure where to stand without being in the way. He uncharacteristically fumbled through a few greetings, caught off guard by their attention shifting away from Edward and onto him. He even embarrassed himself in front of one vendor by misidentifying a turnip as an onion. He hoped he hadn’t gone as red as the hotness in his face suggested.
Edward noticed.
“Thrown off your game by a few sheep, city-boy? Never seen you get so flustered with simple conversation.” He said, leering.
Roy lifted a brow, refusing to rise to the bait. “It was an honest mistake. It could have happened to anyone.”
“Sure it could’ve.”
Edward reached for a small sack of flour from a nearby stall, the weight of the basket hooked in the crook of his elbow shifting as he straightened his arm. It slipped down toward his wrist, the sudden pull throwing him off balance.
Roy moved without thinking.
The basket dropped– Edward with it– and Roy caught the woven handle in one hand, his other coming up to steady Edward’s shoulder before he could stumble.
For a brief second, they both froze.
Edward looked up. Roy met his eyes.
It was a small moment. Easy to miss.
But something lingered in it– something just a touch heavier than the rest of the afternoon.
Then Edward cleared his throat and pulled the basket back, hooking it more securely against his side.
“…sorry,” he muttered, looking away.
“Not to worry. It could have happened to anyone.” Roy said, smirking.
Edward huffed at the call back, but played along anyway. “Sure it could have.”
Roy stopped him before he could continue on, and extended his hand.
“Allow me.”
Edward hesitated– brief, instinctive, prideful– then allowed Roy to take the basket from him.
“…maybe you’re not as useless out here as I thought,” he admitted after a moment.
“High praise,” Roy said dryly. Edward shrugged, glancing around at the busy, familiar streets.
“Yeah, well...”
Roy thought his cheeks seemed to be a bit pink. Must be the eastern sunlight.
He followed Edward’s gaze– the half-built stalls, the sheep pens, the people calling out greetings and offers and inside jokes.
“They seem… nice,” he said.
Edward’s expression shifted, softening just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said fondly. “‘S not much, but it’s home. Everyone looks out for each other here.”
He nudged a teetering crate back into place with his foot as they passed. A simple action one might overlook, but a surprisingly thoughtful one nonetheless. To give help where it’s needed without being asked. Roy mused that Central and East City could learn a few things from its rural neighbors.
Roy looked at him then– not as his subordinate, or as the prodigy, or the state alchemist.
Just Edward Elric: a boy from Resembool.
And thought, not for the first time, that there was far more to him than Roy had ever allowed himself to see.
“Come on,” Edward said, jerking his head toward the next stall. “We still need a few more things.”
Roy followed easily this time, the basket steady in his grip, the bustle of the town no longer quite so overwhelming.
Somewhere along the way, without him noticing, it had started to feel a little less like Edward’s world– and a little more like something he was being allowed to step into.