FMA fic: Untitled [HyuAi]
This is a temporary resurgence, since school is kicking my ass. Inspired by daringu's fic, "prison food", done by request for whom else but merryhellraiser? So of course, this is HyuAi and was excruciating to write because I kept wanting to put in more, but pulled myself back to get a more distant feel that I think fits my conception of HyuAi better. And I couldn't think how to end it. 90% of the time, my endings bother me unless that was the line I was working towards in the first place. -_-;
They lay in bed, fully clothed, but even so he held her close-closer-spooned against him as if trying to fit her into all his curves or trying to meld himself to all of hers. Feeling her shoulder blades press into his chest gave him the illusion of having become a pair of matching wings, as if he could graft himself there and lift her high and away-so very far away. But like everything cruel and tantalizing in the world, he could find no perfect fit. They were not a perfect fit.
“It’s because he’s broody, isn’t it?” he asked at length, when his eyes began to droop. She said nothing but he knew she wasn’t asleep by the way her muscles tensed against him. He could almost feel the coiling of her gut-that was how close they were.
“It’s because he has demons,” he continued in soft, whispery exhalations that tickled her bare, unprotected neck. “The ones with demons are always the most attractive.
“Do you know why?” he asked in his customary, playful tone slurred by exhaustion. “Because we think we can fix them. Because we think they want to be fixed.”
“He does want to be,” she said finally. “You think so, too. You still think so.”
“Yes,” he breathed out in a sigh and it was the sound of something longing and sorrowing. “I do. I have. It feels like a very long time.
“But I didn’t count on you. I didn’t imagine that I’d find someone else who needed-who needed to be fixed. And I’d never thought I’d actually succeed. When you’ve been trying for so long, you start to think that nothing you ever do will work. But then it does.”
She was very quiet. So quiet he almost couldn’t hear her breathing, even though he could feel every inhale and exhale, like a thousand other breaths he had had too much time to analyze and learn. Calm breaths. Steady breaths.
“But I have no regrets,” he told her. “Tomorrow we’ll wake up and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” His smile brushed the back of her neck. “It’ll be like waking up from a dream. A good dream….” He closed his eyes. “Good night, Hawkeye.”
And minutes later, when he had drifted into sleep, she said, “Good night, Hughes.”
In the morning, when she woke up alone, she thought for one bitter moment that he had lied. He’d said that they would wake up, but he was already gone and the spot where he had lay very cold against her back, as if he had been a dream. But she could still remember how his arm felt around her, how he held her close, and she thought it very likely that she would never forget.
She thought it funny then, how, in the end, she thought she was the one leaving him but he had been the one to leave her. But having helped healed the wounds, having made her closer to being whole.
Because he had happened. Because they had happened. And that she would never regret.
They lay in bed, fully clothed, but even so he held her close-closer-spooned against him as if trying to fit her into all his curves or trying to meld himself to all of hers. Feeling her shoulder blades press into his chest gave him the illusion of having become a pair of matching wings, as if he could graft himself there and lift her high and away-so very far away. But like everything cruel and tantalizing in the world, he could find no perfect fit. They were not a perfect fit.
“It’s because he’s broody, isn’t it?” he asked at length, when his eyes began to droop. She said nothing but he knew she wasn’t asleep by the way her muscles tensed against him. He could almost feel the coiling of her gut-that was how close they were.
“It’s because he has demons,” he continued in soft, whispery exhalations that tickled her bare, unprotected neck. “The ones with demons are always the most attractive.
“Do you know why?” he asked in his customary, playful tone slurred by exhaustion. “Because we think we can fix them. Because we think they want to be fixed.”
“He does want to be,” she said finally. “You think so, too. You still think so.”
“Yes,” he breathed out in a sigh and it was the sound of something longing and sorrowing. “I do. I have. It feels like a very long time.
“But I didn’t count on you. I didn’t imagine that I’d find someone else who needed-who needed to be fixed. And I’d never thought I’d actually succeed. When you’ve been trying for so long, you start to think that nothing you ever do will work. But then it does.”
She was very quiet. So quiet he almost couldn’t hear her breathing, even though he could feel every inhale and exhale, like a thousand other breaths he had had too much time to analyze and learn. Calm breaths. Steady breaths.
“But I have no regrets,” he told her. “Tomorrow we’ll wake up and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” His smile brushed the back of her neck. “It’ll be like waking up from a dream. A good dream….” He closed his eyes. “Good night, Hawkeye.”
And minutes later, when he had drifted into sleep, she said, “Good night, Hughes.”
In the morning, when she woke up alone, she thought for one bitter moment that he had lied. He’d said that they would wake up, but he was already gone and the spot where he had lay very cold against her back, as if he had been a dream. But she could still remember how his arm felt around her, how he held her close, and she thought it very likely that she would never forget.
She thought it funny then, how, in the end, she thought she was the one leaving him but he had been the one to leave her. But having helped healed the wounds, having made her closer to being whole.
Because he had happened. Because they had happened. And that she would never regret.