[FMA fic] 25 Themes: All That You Need
....*hates on* Well, at least I wrote something, ne? >__> Even though it's not a good something by any stretch of the imagination. *tosses it out, and continues to class- where she should have been studying for her history midterms.*
25 Themes:
All that You Need
Brotherly fluff? Pre-Elricest? Take your pick. 2nd person POV (haha, NOT FUNNY. >_>;; )
A flash of that cocky grin, the swing of that golden hair.
You can’t remember a time when he’s ever looked this confident, and that scares you for some reason. There’s a maniacal gleam in his eyes that seems stronger than usual with a desperate edge that you’ve seen before- on that That Night. You know all too well the consequences of that night, as you still live in those consequences.
“Brother,” You protest as you watch him draw small arrays on this paper, mumbling to himself as he erases some lines and redraws them. You stand behind him nervously, not yet daring to touch him and disturb his thoughts because you’re not sure if your touch would be rejected. “You should rest.”
He turns his head to give you a reassuring grin that once would have calmed your nerves immediately, but now it unsettles you more. His hand is gripping his pencil too forcefully, and you can see that his writing has gotten sloppier- a sign that he was too distracted to calm his left hand enough to write in uniform lines. You know that Edward had impeccable writing even as a very small child, and had to struggle to relearn how to write with his left hand after the incident. It had taken a few years, but his writing was back to impeccable and he only went back to his shaky scrawl when he wasn’t giving thought to his writing and notes, which was rare.
“Don’t worry, Al.” he tries to reassure you with his placating tone (which you guard jealously as you know that besides Mother, he has never talked to anyone else in that tone before). “A few missed hours of sleep won’t hurt me. I can always sleep a little more later.”
It was true, you knew. Edward could sleep almost anywhere, to the point where it makes you sigh in exasperation at times. But rest itself wasn’t what concerned you at the moment. You know full well that Edward has been studying all day already, and had missed both lunch and dinner, and now it was past midnight and he was still at it. To be honest, you are concerned at the fervent gleam in his eyes. You know only too well that if you didn’t nag at him to stop, Edward would continue at this until he literally passed out from either lack of sleep or substance. And with the frequent occurrences of these study sessions, you were willing to bet on the former.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to listen to you any time soon, you leave him alone for a while, trying to see what else you could do. You head to the kitchen until of the small apartment, intending to make a sandwich or at least something for Edward to eat. You can’t cook very well, not being able to taste the food you prepare, and barely able to remember how much salt and sauce was too much, but you could certainly make a grilled cheese sandwich and hot chocolate. You can see the cheese melt and the lumps of chocolates dissolve in warm milk.
You can’t remember if you were ever really good at cooking. Those memories from before are blurred and distorted, and you sometimes wonder if you’re just imagining up events, or if some things really did happen the way you thought they did. You can remember watching your mother cook, though, and know that the memory is real by the vague feeling of warmth and comfort when you climbed onto a stool so that you could see her hands preparing the meat, cutting up the vegetables…
It was usually Edward who cooked now, though. You don’t know if he’s a good cook or not because you haven’t tasted what he prepared, but you can see that his hands are just like mother’s when in the kitchen, and that has always fascinated you. You hope that when you are restored, you will be able to cook like that as well.
Until then, though, you could help feed Edward whenever he forgot to take care of himself, and watch over him. You want to chide him more for not taking care of himself properly, but you know that your words would be wasted on a careless shrug and a sheepish grin.
Stirring the saucepan with a wooden spoon, you patiently wait for the chocolate mixture to become consistent while you keep a careful eye on the break on the stove, turning it over every so often so that there were perfect zigzag burn lines on the wheat, because you know that Edward likes his sandwiches that way.
Finally satisfied with the simple foods that you made, you gather the sandwich onto a plate (with utensils, although it would be easier to just use your hands because you won’t get burnt, but Edward had been very adamant about not burning yourself, despite if you would feel it or not) and the hot chocolate into a thick mug from the shelf.
It takes a moment before Edward realizes that you’ve reappeared, but you’re not insulted even when he gives a start of surprise when the lay the tray of food in front of him. You’re used to seeing him so immersed in research, and you also know that the research he’s doing is for your sake. And in that small connection, he’s paying more attention to you than anything else.
“Eat, Brother,” You order, your tone giving no reprieve as he gives you a guilty look after a glance at his pocket-watch, which he took out in order to check the time. You’ve never been able to look inside the watch, but that’s alright. Edward would show you if he really thought it was important.
“You don’t have to stay up so late with me.” Edward says as he picks up the sandwich, fingering it gingerly with his left hand as it was still quite hot to the touch.
You don’t remind him that you don’t sleep anyway, that you haven’t slept since That Night, because you know that he already knows. This is just a mimicry of normality, a world of pretend where you can actually slip off into dreams during the nighttime instead of staying awake, memorizing the play of Edward’s expressions as he dreams and hoping to share some of those dreams by just watching him.
“I like staying up with you,” You say instead, and let a little satisfied huff be heard to inform him that you would be smiling if you could. “Besides, you need someone to take care of you.”
Edward doesn’t mind your chastisement, giving you a rueful grin as you seat yourself down on the chair next to his, because there were always two chairs next to each other in the apartment. Two chairs in the study, two chairs in the tiny kitchen, and two beds in the bedroom. Two to consciously remind Edward at every turn that he wasn’t alone.
You want to grin when you watch Edward sip at his hot chocolate, his expression smoothing out in appreciation and his eyes slipping closed on their own accord. It was just another way to get Edward to drink milk, because he would never drink it outright, but didn’t mind it being used in other substances.
“Thanks, Al.” He murmurs into the mug, and you realize that you’ve been staring at him the entire time. You let out a soft laugh, bring one arm to rub at the back of your head nervously. But his eyes dart to you, amusement clinging to the edges of his lips.
“You really need to take care of yourself better.” You say instead, because you don’t know how to answer him. You want to tell him not to work so hard, not to neglect himself so much in his search for the Stone. You want to tell him to rest, and stop this mad race and take some time off to grow up as he hadn’t been able to do. But you can’t. You can’t because you know that he would never listen to you, and that he wouldn’t know how to respond if you requested that.
So instead you just watch as he smiles at you, that gentle smile that no one else gets to see. This was a different side of Edward Elric than was shown to the public. How his right cheek dimpled and those sharp golden eyes softened and warmed.
And you know- know that as long as that smile was directed at you, at you and no one else, then everything would be all right. Maybe you didn’t need to learn how to cook like mother, to sleep and dream, or even remember all your childhood memories clearly. In that one very sharp moment, all you want to do is smile at him and cling to his side just like you did as a child, to let him know that as long as he was there, then everything was bright and good in your world. As long as he could still smile like that.
Perhaps your situation wasn’t perfect. Perhaps it was nowhere near perfect; less perfect that most people in the world. But you know that as long as Edward is there, then you’ll be just fine.
25 Themes:
All that You Need
Brotherly fluff? Pre-Elricest? Take your pick. 2nd person POV (haha, NOT FUNNY. >_>;; )
A flash of that cocky grin, the swing of that golden hair.
You can’t remember a time when he’s ever looked this confident, and that scares you for some reason. There’s a maniacal gleam in his eyes that seems stronger than usual with a desperate edge that you’ve seen before- on that That Night. You know all too well the consequences of that night, as you still live in those consequences.
“Brother,” You protest as you watch him draw small arrays on this paper, mumbling to himself as he erases some lines and redraws them. You stand behind him nervously, not yet daring to touch him and disturb his thoughts because you’re not sure if your touch would be rejected. “You should rest.”
He turns his head to give you a reassuring grin that once would have calmed your nerves immediately, but now it unsettles you more. His hand is gripping his pencil too forcefully, and you can see that his writing has gotten sloppier- a sign that he was too distracted to calm his left hand enough to write in uniform lines. You know that Edward had impeccable writing even as a very small child, and had to struggle to relearn how to write with his left hand after the incident. It had taken a few years, but his writing was back to impeccable and he only went back to his shaky scrawl when he wasn’t giving thought to his writing and notes, which was rare.
“Don’t worry, Al.” he tries to reassure you with his placating tone (which you guard jealously as you know that besides Mother, he has never talked to anyone else in that tone before). “A few missed hours of sleep won’t hurt me. I can always sleep a little more later.”
It was true, you knew. Edward could sleep almost anywhere, to the point where it makes you sigh in exasperation at times. But rest itself wasn’t what concerned you at the moment. You know full well that Edward has been studying all day already, and had missed both lunch and dinner, and now it was past midnight and he was still at it. To be honest, you are concerned at the fervent gleam in his eyes. You know only too well that if you didn’t nag at him to stop, Edward would continue at this until he literally passed out from either lack of sleep or substance. And with the frequent occurrences of these study sessions, you were willing to bet on the former.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to listen to you any time soon, you leave him alone for a while, trying to see what else you could do. You head to the kitchen until of the small apartment, intending to make a sandwich or at least something for Edward to eat. You can’t cook very well, not being able to taste the food you prepare, and barely able to remember how much salt and sauce was too much, but you could certainly make a grilled cheese sandwich and hot chocolate. You can see the cheese melt and the lumps of chocolates dissolve in warm milk.
You can’t remember if you were ever really good at cooking. Those memories from before are blurred and distorted, and you sometimes wonder if you’re just imagining up events, or if some things really did happen the way you thought they did. You can remember watching your mother cook, though, and know that the memory is real by the vague feeling of warmth and comfort when you climbed onto a stool so that you could see her hands preparing the meat, cutting up the vegetables…
It was usually Edward who cooked now, though. You don’t know if he’s a good cook or not because you haven’t tasted what he prepared, but you can see that his hands are just like mother’s when in the kitchen, and that has always fascinated you. You hope that when you are restored, you will be able to cook like that as well.
Until then, though, you could help feed Edward whenever he forgot to take care of himself, and watch over him. You want to chide him more for not taking care of himself properly, but you know that your words would be wasted on a careless shrug and a sheepish grin.
Stirring the saucepan with a wooden spoon, you patiently wait for the chocolate mixture to become consistent while you keep a careful eye on the break on the stove, turning it over every so often so that there were perfect zigzag burn lines on the wheat, because you know that Edward likes his sandwiches that way.
Finally satisfied with the simple foods that you made, you gather the sandwich onto a plate (with utensils, although it would be easier to just use your hands because you won’t get burnt, but Edward had been very adamant about not burning yourself, despite if you would feel it or not) and the hot chocolate into a thick mug from the shelf.
It takes a moment before Edward realizes that you’ve reappeared, but you’re not insulted even when he gives a start of surprise when the lay the tray of food in front of him. You’re used to seeing him so immersed in research, and you also know that the research he’s doing is for your sake. And in that small connection, he’s paying more attention to you than anything else.
“Eat, Brother,” You order, your tone giving no reprieve as he gives you a guilty look after a glance at his pocket-watch, which he took out in order to check the time. You’ve never been able to look inside the watch, but that’s alright. Edward would show you if he really thought it was important.
“You don’t have to stay up so late with me.” Edward says as he picks up the sandwich, fingering it gingerly with his left hand as it was still quite hot to the touch.
You don’t remind him that you don’t sleep anyway, that you haven’t slept since That Night, because you know that he already knows. This is just a mimicry of normality, a world of pretend where you can actually slip off into dreams during the nighttime instead of staying awake, memorizing the play of Edward’s expressions as he dreams and hoping to share some of those dreams by just watching him.
“I like staying up with you,” You say instead, and let a little satisfied huff be heard to inform him that you would be smiling if you could. “Besides, you need someone to take care of you.”
Edward doesn’t mind your chastisement, giving you a rueful grin as you seat yourself down on the chair next to his, because there were always two chairs next to each other in the apartment. Two chairs in the study, two chairs in the tiny kitchen, and two beds in the bedroom. Two to consciously remind Edward at every turn that he wasn’t alone.
You want to grin when you watch Edward sip at his hot chocolate, his expression smoothing out in appreciation and his eyes slipping closed on their own accord. It was just another way to get Edward to drink milk, because he would never drink it outright, but didn’t mind it being used in other substances.
“Thanks, Al.” He murmurs into the mug, and you realize that you’ve been staring at him the entire time. You let out a soft laugh, bring one arm to rub at the back of your head nervously. But his eyes dart to you, amusement clinging to the edges of his lips.
“You really need to take care of yourself better.” You say instead, because you don’t know how to answer him. You want to tell him not to work so hard, not to neglect himself so much in his search for the Stone. You want to tell him to rest, and stop this mad race and take some time off to grow up as he hadn’t been able to do. But you can’t. You can’t because you know that he would never listen to you, and that he wouldn’t know how to respond if you requested that.
So instead you just watch as he smiles at you, that gentle smile that no one else gets to see. This was a different side of Edward Elric than was shown to the public. How his right cheek dimpled and those sharp golden eyes softened and warmed.
And you know- know that as long as that smile was directed at you, at you and no one else, then everything would be all right. Maybe you didn’t need to learn how to cook like mother, to sleep and dream, or even remember all your childhood memories clearly. In that one very sharp moment, all you want to do is smile at him and cling to his side just like you did as a child, to let him know that as long as he was there, then everything was bright and good in your world. As long as he could still smile like that.
Perhaps your situation wasn’t perfect. Perhaps it was nowhere near perfect; less perfect that most people in the world. But you know that as long as Edward is there, then you’ll be just fine.