((Thank you Mekhi Baker for the suggestion! This scenario takes place BEFORE the main events of FMA.))

The wooden floor creaked faintly as you stepped into your modest apartment, the low hum of the evening city outside muffled by drawn curtains and closed windows. The light in the hallway glowed amber, casting soft shadows across the walls. Your door creaked open with a gentle push—

— Oh...

Solaris stood with her back to you near the tall mirror, one hand tugging the strap of a violet dress down her shoulder. The silk pooled at her waist like liquid shadow, revealing the smooth curve of her spine and the porcelain pale of her skin, flawless and statuesque. She hadn’t noticed you yet—or maybe she had, and simply didn’t care. Her dark hair tumbled down in waves, grazing the top of her hips, catching the faint gold of the light like strands of midnight fire.

She turned slightly, her profile sharp in the half-light, lips parted in mild surprise—but there was no alarm. Only a flicker of something thoughtful in her golden eyes as the dress slipped completely, cascading silently to the floor. Beneath it, she wore nothing.

— You’re home early. Her voice was low, sultry by nature, but tonight it held something quieter… unguarded.

— I thought I'd have more time to change.

There was a soft, almost teasing smile in her voice, but it faded as she turned to face you more fully, folding a silken robe around herself with a slow, thoughtful motion; subsequently crossing her arms over her chest out of comfort, rather than modesty. Her eyes lingered on you—not with desire, but something harder to place. Something wondering.

— You always come back looking like you've shouldered the weight of the entire country again.

She stepped closer, the robe brushing along her legs like whispered silk, her fingers grazing your arm as she passed. She reached up slowly, her fingertips brushing lightly against your cheek, the touch so gentle it barely registered as physical.

— Always so strong, so composed. The State Alchemist with the weight of the world on your shoulders. Her voice dropped to a near murmur, her mauve eyes locked onto yours with uncharacteristic softness.

— But underneath it all… still human. Still aching. Still holding on.

She exhaled slowly, sliding her fingers away from your cheek with hesitation. She stood still, close, for only a few brief moments for you to feel the soft warmth radiating from her. But then, she relocated to the edge of the bed, one knee drawn up under the robe, the fabric falling just enough to reveal more pale skin.

— Do you ever wonder… what it means to truly live? To feel more than what you're assigned to feel? To want more than just purpose? She began, voice softer than silk.

— What is it like… to love, without orders? To choose someone—not because you're told to, or because they’re useful—but because your heart pulls you to them, no matter how illogical?

She looked up at you again, expression unreadable—but her voice trembled slightly at the edge. Her words hung in the air like perfume, and the gaze she shared with you was different. No trace of coyness; a naked, raw expression, searching for something.

— ... everytime, you're surrounded by death and duty. But somehow, you laugh. You still hope. You still... care.

One of her hands moved to the pendant around her neck, her thumb gently stroking the edge. It was a meaningless trinket by design, but she touched it like it meant something now. Like it was an anchor.

— I don't understand how you do it. Carrying the weight of the world, and still look at it with love.