#unsused snippet: fom

[th0rnback]

FoM: unused snippet - Tea time

Confession time: 🫠 I have so many snippets that never made it into FoM because most of it was domestic fluff with nowhere to go (and I totally wrote them to soothe myself after just giving Ed a shitty time) OR just alternative routes I wrote up.

I do this with so many fics its probably why writing takes long.

But yeah… Have some [unedited] Tea time since I'm back on shift for 4 nights tomorrow.

[Set during Ed’s time settling in @ Riza’s apartment during the Gray Man case]

⬇️🫖☕⬇️

Routine was ingrained into Edward.

Being under Archer’s regimented command had made it a necessity. The endless cycle of orders, travel, chaos—assignments that spanned the breadth of Amestris—always circling back to New Optain. It was a rhythm, a loop, relentless in its precision. And Edward, as much as he bristled against the structure, found something oddly comforting in it. A consistency in the repetition. A dull, familiar hum beneath the Kimblee brand style of chaos.

Even the mindless polishing of his boots had turned into a soothing ritual. Born of necessity to avoid a harsh scolding from his superior, but eventually twisted into something meditative. A task that allowed his brain to go quiet while mismatched hands moved on autopilot. Still, it wasn’t the kind of routine he ever would have chosen for himself.

Living with Lieutenant Hawkeye had opened an entirely new realm of routine. One gentler. Mundane, even. But in that mundanity was something tender. Intimate. A first taste of domesticity.

It was long, measured walks with Black Hayate before and after work—no matter the weather. Giving the pup a small treat before leaving the apartment became as natural as tightening his laces. Boots came off at the door, neatly tucked against the wall, his own set of looking silly and small next to Riza’s. Dinner was shared, even if rushed or made from leftovers. Those humble meals—thrown together from cold rice or bits of meat—tasted better than the hardtack or slop he managed to eat when on the road with Kimblee.

Then came the nudge toward the bathroom; a quiet insistence from Riza, subtle but unwavering, where a steaming bath would be waiting with sweet suds and not caustic bar soap. On top of all that, there was laundry days and other tasks that he was sure other twelve-year-olds would sneer or grumble over, but he didn’t.  Nope.

This slow pile of routines that grounded Edward in ways he hadn't known he needed, like…tea.

Edward couldn’t remember ever drinking tea before being here. If he had, it was lost in the amnesiac haze. But now? Now, tea in the evening was a ritual.

It wasn’t grand or ceremonial. It started small—just something Riza did without thinking. But Edward had begun hovering in the tiny kitchen, slowly edging closer and closer, always drawn by the faint clink of spoons and the soft whistle of the kettle. Like now, he stood there as she prepared the leaves, his metal and flesh fingers curled on the counter, nestled so near her side that she had absentmindedly tucked him under his arm like the mama birds in the trees did with their chicks…

Three mugs clinked softly as they were set down on the counter by Roy.

The Colonel had arrived shortly after dinner and had yet to leave, not that Ed minded. Like most evenings, Roy appeared at Riza’s apartment, claiming it was for the sake of “reviewing paperwork,” as it didn’t seem to matter if they were in the thick of a serial killer investigation—his hand-cramping pile of reports followed him. Tonight, there was no paperwork. Just a grumpy reason to escape the sound of Maes Hughes's endless stream of chatting to his wife Gracia, hiking up Roy's phone bill.

Although, if Edward was honest, he had an inkling Roy was forever giving flimsy reasons to be here.

Edward's eyes drifted to the trio of mugs now lined up. Normally, it was just two mugs, but with Roy’s presence, came a mildly altered routine of teatime. The first mug looked like a miniature tankard—ceramic, sturdy, with an irregular glaze of black-to-blue ink splatters. The second was far more refined, bone-white with delicate blue swirls and soft pink blossoms hand-painted across its surface. The third was pale gray, round and squat, speckled with warm yellow. Ed scowled at it instinctively.

Riza, who’d noticed immediately, slid the gray-yellow speckled mug away with the ease of someone fluent in silent communication.

Roy’s brow lifted, amused. “What did I miss?”

“I don’t drink from that one,” Ed said without looking at him, as if the idea was absurd.

“Edward’s rather taken with the failed attempt I made at pottery class with Rebecca,” Riza said, opening the tea tin with a casual grace. “Middle shelf. Red.’’

“The wonky one,” Ed clarified helpfully, pointing with his automail finger toward a mug tucked at the back of the shelf—a red one, oddly shaped, a little too lopsided and thick around the middle like it had sagged in the kiln. “S’the best one.”

Having a preference felt surreal and made his tummy flip in the best sort of way.

A small, twitchy paranoid part of Ed expected to be given a glare or be dismissed. Instead, Roy let out a snort and retrieved the misshapen mug.

“Naturally,” was Roy’s drawled remark.

Ed gave a nod, satisfied that the routine was reestablished correctly, and settled into the quiet comfort of the moment. He missed the knowing glance of affection exchanged above his head—Riza’s soft smile met Roy’s lopsided one, the kind of silent exchange that came with long-standing familiarity and a shared softness they didn’t need to put into words.

Edward, for his part, was too busy watching Riza's hands.

The boy always did during this part of the evening. There was something calming about the ritual of watching Riza make tea or putter around the tiny kitchen —the way she worked without hurry, her movements precise and growing steadily familiar . She measured the tea, tapping the leaves into the strainer, snapping the lid shut with a gentle click. It was a blend she’d served him every evening since the first night he’d been welcomed into her home with Black Hayate embedding fur into his uniform.

Chamomile and passionflower with a few additional things she added during the process.

The Sharpshooter once told him the pairing was supposed to ease restlessness and invite sleep. It never really worked. Not for him.

But Ed never said anything. The taste was nice enough and the scent alone was akin to a balm. Event he routine itself -  the boiling water, ceramic clinks and peaceful scents – was soothing after a long day.  He watched her like she was preparing some kind of magical potion or an alchemical solution of some sort…

Like the act of steeping tea could transmute the day’s weight into something lighter.

Finally, she poured the soft, golden tea into each mug. No milk. Edward watched her add a spoonful of honey to hers and Roy's, and pushed himself up onto his toes to see her stir it in. Then, as she spooned a generous dollop of honey into Ed’s, he dropped back onto the flats of his feet. Fingers twitching and waiting the what would follow, he watched her add another spoonful, unaware of the happy hum that escaped him.

“And the kid gets two spoonfuls of honey, why?” Roy asked, his voice soft, almost too casual.

If Ed didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a touch of jealousy in his voice.

Riza didn’t miss a beat. “Edward could use a little extra sweetness.”

Roy leaned his elbow on the counter, his tone smug “Ah. Or is it because I’m sweet enough already, right? I always suspected you —”

“Because you don’t need extra honey,” she cut in, dry as the desert.

Roy blinked, affronted. “Why does that sound suspiciously like an insult?”

Riza said nothing, her silence loaded and expertly delivered. Ed bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the grin tugging at his mouth. He still had trouble reading decent people—figuring out if kindness was real or some kind of trap—but this... This was the Colonel and the Lieutenant’s strange sort of banter and affection. Familiar and gentle. A rhythm they unconsciously danced to.

“I’m in perfect shape,” Roy added, mildly affronted.

“I didn’t say otherwise,” Riza replied, voice laced with amusement as she stirred in that second spoonful into Edward’s tea.

Edward could practically hear Rebecca Catalina in his head—sharp-tongued and unfiltered— and always seeking to tease Roy mercilessly. She’d have pounced on that moment without hesitation, no doubt reminding Roy that circle was, technically, a shape. Not that Roy was out of shape. Not, really. He was broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and thick through the chest and arms with muscle despite not moving much from behind his desk.  

Roy was stocky sturdy and, dare Ed admit it, felt safe.

Regardless, the big felt a ticklish laugh curl in his throat. Edward swallowed it down, turning his head just enough to not be seen, using Riza’s arm as a shelter. Before the conversation could continue, routine continued as it always did and – like clockwork - Riza pulled the spoon from his mug while the honey still clung to it.

She held it aloft without looking in silent invitation, waiting.

And, like the many times before during evening tea, Ed gently plucked it from her hand and popped the spoon into his mouth. The warmth of honey bloomed on his tongue, and for a heartbeat—for one small, perfect moment—it felt like the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing beneath him.

[th0rnback]

pspspspspsps thornback !!!! you write parental royai perfectly in everything even when you haven't tagged them as a couple - do you have any royai moments in your from snippets? sorry for being greedy i need them to breathe. feed me cuteness even with their son

Blergh! As a gen/parental only writer I tend to think my romantic moments I write be icky or lame... hence the hit and miss tag of slapping Roy and Riza together in a tag unless I got that burst of confidence or need to makesure their link is obvious. Uhhh... lemme see. Royai moments, Royai moments that got scrapped in Full of Mettle... I got so many snippets, bud. Errrrrr.... (first come, first serve, you can have this one) but it could easily be platonic. Which is... if you're not writing soft moments and if love isn't built on suicide pacts and war crimes being besties, then are you even lovin' right??? Don't hate, just appreciate the quickly edited scraps, with FoM! Ed bearing witness to how semi-healthy relationships work. ⬇️❤️‍🩹📻🎶 ⬇️

It felt like a sharp, hot blade had been shoved into Edward’s left thigh.

The feeling tore through his sleep and had him snapping upright with a strangled gasp, his brain instantly recognizing the sudden unforgiving pain as cramp. Instinctively, mismatched hands flew to his left leg—one warm and calloused, the other cold metal—grasping at the throbbing muscle just above his automail port. The boy doubled over with a hiss, grinding the heel of his hand into the tight knot of pain beneath the red and black checkered pajama shorts that had somehow slipped into his limited possessions.

The twinges weren’t unusual. Hell, they were practically expected given his rushed automail rehabilitation. Daily stretches helped but – sometimes – the searing burn of lugging around extra weight still happened without being prompted by weather changes. Regardless, with teeth clenched and rocking slightly, he hissed out a curse and heard a long-suffering huff from the bottom of the bed.

Even in the dim light that spilled from the partially open bedroom door,  the source of that tired sound stirred, and Black Hayate’s soulful eyes gleamed. Ed was still waiting for the moment that the dog would soon be fed up of disturbed sleep, just like he expected with Riza. So far, neither Hayate or his owner showed signs of being exasperated with Ed’s nocturnal struggles of cramps, night terrors, sleep mutterings.

It was still natural to force a smile and grunt out an apology. “S-Sorry.’’

Black Hayate shifted, creeping closer and nudging gently at Ed’s back in sleepy solidarity, cold nose pressing against the strip of skin exposed by his frayed t-shirt. The sensation was both absurd and grounding, and despite the pain, Ed let out a snort, scooting away from the whiskery snout to avoid the ticklish sensation.

With a stifled groan, Edward slid off the bed, his automail knee briefly rattling as he staggered upright. He knew what needed to be done: walk it off.

Riza’s apartment was all wooden flooring and wainscoting, though.  Edward hated how even if he put socks on his feet, the uneven clunking would be heard regardless of how careful his steps would be. It needed to be done and, with a groan, he slid off the bed, his automail knee briefly rattling as he staggered upright.

He was already calculating how many laps around the couch it’d take the loosen the damn thing up when he noticed it. The light. Riza had realized quickly how Edward was selective of tightly closed doors and his temporary bedroom was already ajar. Like always, the door was cracked open, but the light spilling through was brighter than it should’ve been given the late hour.

Edward nudged it wider with his shoulder, one hand still clamped on his spasming thigh. The soft creak was drowned out by low voices and the muted hum of a radio. The living room was awash in golden lamplight and, after a few blinks of adjustment, tired eyes zeroed in on Roy and Riza.

They were exactly as he’d last seen them—just as he’d drifted off to the sound of Roy’s low, fond chuckle and the feel of Riza’s gentle hands tucking the blanket around him. Still caught in the remnants of uniform: weapons stored away, boots neatly placed at the entry. Roy’s white shirt was half-untucked, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, his blue jacket draped over the armchair like an afterthought. Riza mirrored him—black t-shirt creased and hair loosened from its usual tight hold.

Papers littered the far dining table, a half-organized chaos that was long overdue. Reports and approvals that Edward knew, simply due to being a spectator to their hushed conversations on the drive back from Eastern Command, that Riza had insisted Roy finish lest he fall further behind. Apparently, serial killer case or not, the Colonel still had his typical workload to complete…

And yet, despite the hour and the weight of all they carried, something about them looked...softer.

Lighter might have been a better word. The furrow in Roy’s brow wasn’t quite as deep and the stiffness forged by duty in Riza’s shoulders had eased. There was weariness in their postures, sure. But it looked more like relaxation and shared fatigue of two people who trusted eachother implicitly than something sharp and brittle.—but less of the sharp, brittle kind, and more the shared fatigue of two people simply weathering life together.

It made the constant pressure behind Edward’s ribcage ease, just a little.

The same couldn’t be said for the muscle in his thigh. It continued to burn, his mismatched toes scrunching and teeth clenching. However, the sight before him was a welcome distraction. It felt like he was learning something new about the Flame Alchemist and Amestris’ prized Hawk’s Eye each day.

Like the fact they must celebrate completed paperwork with a slow dance.

Because that was what it looked like as Ed eyed them swaying in the middle of the room, movements unhurried, their feet matching the rhythm of the tune whispering from the radio. Their bodies were close but not wrapped up and intimidating with each other like Edward had caught glimpses of in smokey bars or dank alleyways when being Kimblee’s shadow. No, this was nothing like the confusing adult-only things he caught glimpses of and vaguely understood that made him feel like he needed to flee.

This was friendly; slow and sweet. There was nothing that made his hackles rise with unease. Roy and Riza moved in simple steps as they talked, taking the moment to do whatever this was because timing and peace was kind enough to allow them a moment to breathe.

Nonetheless, Edward stared like he was trying to figure them out or wait for something amiss, brows scrunching and –

“You’ve got three days before the requisitions paperwork hits command,” Riza said softly, her cheek near Roy’s shoulder, voice tired but focused. “If it lapses again, they’ll cut the discretionary budget.’’

Roy chuckled, his voice smooth and low as ever. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about than paperwork, dear Lieutenant.”

Riza pulled back slightly to give Roy a unamused dry look.  “And that would be?’’

“Like fixing your left two feet,’’ Roy explained with a smirk. “Because if that memo about General Meyers’ compulsory charity event is real—and it is—then I’m afraid you’ll have to dance at it.”

Riza let out a low, exasperated groan. “Feel free to send me off onto an assignment or, better yet, court-martial me.’’

That made the Colonel let loose a delighted laugh—sharp, sudden, and surprisingly unguarded. Edward was half a shuffle back into his bedroom to not disturb whatever this was when russet eyes clocked him mid-slow turn. He froze, ears growing hot, feeling like he had disturbed something precious, only to find himself on the receiving end of a gentle smile and soft greeting.

“What’s got you up at this hour, Edward?’’

“Uh… sorry…’’ Edward fumbled, one hand still gripping his thigh. He wasn’t sure where to look—his feet, the fire, the shadows in the corners of the room, anywhere but—

Roy.

Edward was distracted by the way the man’s broad shoulders seemed to bristle, albeit for a moment. Clearly, Roy was either a self-conscious dancer or was briefly surprised by his unexpected presence. Yet, before unease could twist about too deeply into Edward’s gut, Roy turned his head, posture loosening as his gaze settled over Ed’s shoulder. There was no reprimand there, just that enigmatic look that made Ed squirm.

It didn’t matter how long he’d known them. It didn’t matter how safe he felt here. Reading Roy Mustang was still like trying to map constellations during a thunderstorm with only one eye. Dark eyes eyes flitted over Ed from top to toe, x-raying him and zeroing in one how he was clearly favoring his biological leg.

Nerves prickling, Edward remained stock-still. By default and warped sense of self-preservation, Ed presumed he had pissed Roy and his unit off more often than not. Almost daily, Riza kept soothing Ed while he cursed his crippling, social-emotional agnosia of sorts that was limited to decent people. Fuery and the others had reassured him that the grumpier Roy looked the harder he was thinking. Maes had also said similar things, but doubt and self-consciousness niggled at Ed the longer he stood there and –

“C’mere, kid,” Roy said finally, waving him closer. “Quit trying to disappear into the shadows. Knowing our luck, you’d fall down a crack and get lost forever.”

It was such a stupid joke. But the teasing made something in Ed’s chest pop, and then vanish—the anxiety dissolved by the familiarity of it all. He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He hobbled forward with a wince that immediately made the pair break apart, the placid mood shifting with each clunk of his metal foot against gleaming wooden floor.

Roy looked that shade of irritated that Ed was starting to recognize was actually concern. Thin-lipped and frowny. Body tense and big hands still yet fingers stretching.

Unlike Riza – always ten steps ahead of the Colonel – in stating the obvious.

“Cramp?” she asked, already kneeling beside him, brow furrowed in concern. Her hands were warm—one gently resting atop his where he’d clamped it over scar-tissue. “Here?”

“S’kay,’’ Ed mumbled. “Just gotta walk it off, y’know?’’

Unconvinced, Riza pursed her lips. She always gave him a few beats to amend his weak lies or a moment to find his voice. It was nice. Even if, this time, Roy chimed in with a quip.

“What a coincidence,’’ the Colonel said smoothly. “That’s what we were stretching our limbs to avoid after all that paperwork.”

“With slow dancin’?” Ed shot him a look, equal parts incredulous and amused.

Roy gave a casual sniff, scratching at the back of his neck, studying the ceiling. “It was more of a… joint Tai Chi type of exercise. Popular in Xing. Promotes balance and flexibility.”

“Even I can tell that’s a big fat lie,” Ed said, deadpan.

Roy’s flat expression cracked just enough for a smirk to peek through.

“Ignore him, Edward,” Riza said fondly, standing as she gave Ed’s hand a light squeeze. “Yes, we were practicing our footwork. Now, do you want an ice pack or hot water bottle? I’d offer some medication but I know you—”

“No medication,” Ed cut in quickly with a scowl.

“I thought as much.” She sighed heavily, smoothing her palm over his hair like she always did. The gesture made him feel... small in a good way. Not belittled, just cared for. “I’ll get you something to drink and a hot water bottle.”

Edward’s stomach tumbled pleasantly. He tried not to think about it too deeply. Before he could stammer out a thank you, Roy spoke up. It wasn’t said to Ed, but to Riza instead, in a way that carried something he couldn’t pinpoint:

“I’ve got him.”

And then suddenly, Ed’s hands were being taken in Roy’s own—bigger, rougher, calloused palms curling around his with no regard for pinchy metal joints. Ed blinked at being accepted without flinch or fuss, a trend he was getting used to, his hind brain buzzing peacefully at the tactile action. The Flame Alchemist didn’t miss a beat and gave a gentle tug, just enough to pull Ed a step forward. Edward blinked up at him, uncertain, until he felt confused, as Roy tugged him forward a step. The Colonel’s socked foot nudged his bare feet, positioning them slightly.

Then came the swaying. Small, slow movements. Nothing too intricate. No spins, no dips. Just that same rhythm Ed had watched a moment ago, now reduced and reshaped to something with the purpose the stretch out his thigh in a playful manner.

It should’ve been awkward.

It wasn’t. Edward didn’t think he had ever danced before. Maybe he did. Maybe he had once stood atop the larger feet of a father he couldn’t remember, or got swept up in the arms of his mother as the wireless played. If he had, he didn’t know. All he did know was that the crackly melody on the radio and hands that made his own feel tiny in comparison was what he’d think of when someone uttered the word dance.

Instead, something about this — the absurdity, the quiet care, the barely-there music that Riza was still humming to from the kitchen —made amusement bubble up inside him. It was soothing, And, better yet, each sway or extended sideways lean or slow pivot helped loosen the tightness in his thigh just a little more.

“Easy does it,” Roy murmured, glancing down. “Let’s see if you have two left feet like my Lieutenant.”

From the kitchen, Riza’s voice rang out, dry but warm: “I heard that.”

Roy didn’t reply. He merely grinned wide enough that his eyes crinkled in the corners. When a chuckle slipped free, it was low, rumbling, and infectious.

Ed couldn’t help but laugh softly too.