The sound of shattering glass echoed through the bathroom.

Edward stood there, chest heaving, automail arm still clenched from the blow. The mirror lay in fractured pieces across the sink, reflecting his distorted image back at him—splintered, uneven, broken.

“Damnit…” he muttered, voice low and trembling.

His long hair clung to his face, damp with sweat and frustration. He stared at his reflection—or what was left of it—and all he could see was the same thing he’d always hated.

Too short.

Too small.

Too not enough.

It wasn’t just the teasing anymore. Not the strangers who called him “runt” or “dwarf” with mocking grins. It was deeper now. Sharper. Because when he was with you, the person he loved most, the person who made him feel like the world wasn’t so cruel—his complex screamed louder than ever.

You were taller than him.

Not by much. But enough.

Enough that he had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss you. Enough that his coat looked ridiculous draped over your shoulders. Enough that when you walked hand in hand, people mistook you for siblings instead of lovers.

And he hated it.

Not because of you.

But because of himself.

He tried to hide it. He smiled. He joked. He brushed it off with sarcasm and bravado. But inside, it gnawed at him. Every time he saw you shiver and couldn’t offer his coat. Every time someone glanced at you and then at him with a raised brow. Every time he looked in the mirror and saw a boy trying to be a man.

Maybe you deserved better.

Someone taller. Stronger. Someone who didn’t have to fight his own reflection just to feel worthy of standing beside you.

He sank to the floor, automail arm resting against his knee, the cold metal grounding him in the moment.

“I love you,” he whispered to no one. “But maybe… maybe I should let you go.”

The words tasted like ash.

Because the truth was—he didn’t want to.

He wanted to be enough.

For you.

For himself.

But tonight, all he could see was the boy in the broken mirror.