Breda/Havoc. Yeah, you heard me. Breda reflects on just how lucky he is.
Heymans Breda had always been an unusually lucky man. He had a knack for lucky finds, an uncanny sense for bargains, he strangest moments of random serendipity. When he was a child, his arm had been torn up by an angry dog. Where luck came into it was that the week he was home recovering was the week the scarlet fever hit his school, laying out several of his classmates for months, even killing two of them. He'd come through the War with little more than a few scratches and bruises. He'd managed to find a comfortable apartment with low rent and close proximity to one of the best bakeries in Central (which probably accounted for the weight he'd put on since he came back from the front lines, but it was a trade-off he was willing to make.) He had a pretty cushy desk job, agreeable co-workers, and a boss worth working hard for. Usually. Even his cat was a stroke of luck: as her name suggested, Ace of Spades had been won by royal flush in a very lucky game of poker.
Overall, Lady Luck had been kind to him for much of his life. He'd never won the lottery or had the solutions to all his problems fall out of the sky, but his life had nonetheless been veritably dusted with small blessings and gifts.
And if Jean Havoc in his bed wasn't a blessing, then he didn't know what was.
They'd been together during the War, and not just in the sense of sharing a tent. Handsome, friendly, affectionate, honest... aside from his cigarettes and his unfortunate fondness for dogs, Havoc was more or less perfect, in Breda's eyes at least. That had been one of the greater strokes of luck: meeting and becoming friends with a person like that. Luckier still that said person would not be frightened away by Breda's interest; even luckier that he would respond to it, and in such wonderful and memorable form. Thanks to Jean, the Ishvar War had the distinction of being one of the best and the worst times of Breda's life.
Then Mustang came along, and it all went to hell.
Mustang never tried to interfere with them. Far from it. And much as it annoyed Breda, Mustang was a good man, a leader, someone worth following. He couldn't really blame Jean for being fascinated by him. But that didn't stop him from being angry, from saying things he shouldn't have said.
Which made it all the more lucky - all the more unbelievable -- that years later, Jean was willing to give it another try.
Breda had never questioned his luck. He knew that the moment he started to rely on his luck, it would abandon him. That was how the universe worked. But as he watched Jean sleeping, his handsome features relaxed and content, his blonde hair falling in his eyes and across the pillow, Breda couldn't help feeling that he was the luckiest man alive.