edward felt cold. ‎ ‎but he did not care for the sharp chill of the snow biting his skin. the daylight frost was merely trivial with his head swarming elsewhere. the deprivation of warmth felt aberrantly heavy, his feet nearly encased, trapped beneath the blankets of snow of the earth— but he couldn't feel anything, nothing at all. ‎ ‎his ears rang, and he tried to pretend like his hands weren't shaking, like there was no growing pit in his gut. but that seemed to grow harder to ignore. the more he try, the more volatile it became, the more his heart was spasming in his chest and his brain to swell inside his skull. ‎ ‎every detail was becoming blurrier as he grew hot and cold at the same time— his hand clammy still, stung out in cold until they're numb and limp and his automail rigid still. he couldn't feel his ashen face. he struggled to breathe. he couldn't. he thought he couldn't. ‎ ‎"tell me it wasn't true." his voice pierced through the snow, like a splash of water to his face that made so many emotions run through him. he felt like a kid again, shaking, terrified with the truth hanging over his head— that single confirmation that even mustang tried to swallow than tell and confirm that you, a sacerdos that you are, did that. ‎ ‎and as you tried to hand him a cloak to shield himself with against the cold and snow, he slapped it off your damn hand with his automail and he don't even care if that hit hurts you because you fucking hurt him and he wants to deny it but it's fucking there pinning him by the throat. he trusted you. he believed in you. and you lied. you made him believe and now he fucking hated himself for it. ‎ ‎"are you insane?!"