The Empath Alchemist {Edward Elric X Reader}

43

A/N: 

Happy New Year to you all! With the new year also comes another anniversary for The Empath Alchemist (two years). Thank you all again for your incredible support, and I would like to apologize for the delay. I have been very distracted with school and relationships, and have been putting my effort and attention into adjusting to new environments and socializing. I can not promise a consistent publication of new chapters going forward, however, I will proceed with this story to the best of my ability. Updates may roll in slowly, but don't worry, I will not abandon this story. I hope you all have had a wonderful holiday and I'm happy for you to jump back into the book. Enjoy!

"Is (Y/n) okay?"

It was 1:35 am on the fifth day approaching the Promised Day. The final day, and that very question seemed to be the question of the hour- of the century. Was (Y/n) okay?

It had been Heymans Breda to ask the very question that had been circling the minds of the other members of the Unit. The said teenager and her friends had retreated to bed moments prior under strict command, and now that they were no longer a part of the situation, it only felt right to voice what every person in the room had been silently pondering. (Y/n) Mustang's wellbeing.

Eyes darted about one another, searching for some kind of answer that none of them withheld. The silence grew loud, almost statically so as feet shuffled with awkward glances and subtle movements. Riza looked at each of the faces she had failed to see within the past weeks, brows knitted and eyes dull. Her head was leaned back against the door frame, her arms crossed stiffly across her chest, her stature similar to that of Roy's who leaned against the other side of the frame. The blonde noticed the occasional hesitant look tossed to the ebony haired man's way before the same eyes snapped away almost instantly.

The atmosphere had never been so drab amongst these old friends. Despite Roy's long established authority over them, this was the very first time they felt his presence looming overhead dominantly, as if they were to remain silent until he granted them the permission to speak.

It all felt so very unnatural, and even Breda asking such a simple question felt like a crime.

Breda cleared his throat, fishing his hands into his pockets as he turned to look off to the side, the fading discoloration of his right eye meeting the light above.

Jean sighed, tilting his head to rub his fingers across his forehead, eyes on the table he felt permanently glued to. "Honestly?" he began.

"Some truth would be nice," Falman commented, accepting the possible negative conspiracy that Havoc had been brewing.