Kyaa... It's Friday, it's 12:03 am, and I'm boreeeed to death. Well, not really, I'm just sitting in front of the computer having a glaring contest. And before it wins I think I'll write sth XDD...mm... I'm listening to Rewrite... oh, I know!
I don't own FMA... if I did... Envy would get more time in TCoS! XD...
The bouquet of bordeaux roses remains untouched on his night table. To its left, and below it, notes and a couple of broken pens can be found idle, gathering dust. An inkwell, some seals, yellowed envelopes containing letters he never read. Inside the drawer, he's tucked papers and a handkerchief with an odd design.
The whole room's would-be idea of coziness would appear to be the dusk light that has found its way past the generally ignored windowpanes. Sometimes, and paying special attention, the occasional guest may trace the hint of the scent of some old, sweet tobacco. Which doesn't have to mean he smokes, and even so, that perfume seems to follow him wherever he goes.
Perhaps that could explain the bouquet of roses that lays unaltered on the night table of the heavy European style. But he isn't one to tell. He has never really liked flowers.
Currently, he is lying on the bed, one hand behind his head and the other one marking the page of some weathered book he's found in that place's aged library. He yawns loudly, and as he searches for a suitable bookmark, his honey gaze falls upon the roses.
It'd always occurred to him that boys gave flowers to girls, and not the other way round.
But he reasons that there is still a lot of things he has to learn, from the world in the other side of the Gate.
He stands up, tossing his golden ponytail over his shoulder. At the time he reaches for a vase under the ginger light, a jeep passes by outside his window, delivering Nazi propaganda pamphlets.
In the window of the extremely self-conscious me, there are no dates in last year's calendar.
BTW, just in case, the character in this fic is Ed, and it would take place during TCoS...