The product of boredom after going to "bed" and not being able to sleep.
Disclaimer: Obviously, We don't own FMA. We do, however, have an 898-picture Photobucket FMA subalbum, three manga, and a pair of madeup characters, Rubens and Greed. Not much, but it's good. We apologize for any typoes or misspelled words in this fic.
Rain. A relentless force, one that stopped for no one. Right now it poured from the heavens, lending a gray, gloomy sheen to everything. Including his hair.
He was only a boy, no more than seventeen. His hair was a sun-kissed gold, though rightnow it was a gloomy, nondescript blonde. Neither exciting nor anything to think much about.
He was huddled, red-sleeved arms hugging his knees. His hooded coat and black attire beneath the coat in question were completely soaked throgh, but he didn't seem to mind. He just sat, the small, ponytailed blonde. Drenched and cold, but he didn't rightly care.
The door of the house the boy was leaning against swung shut with a bang as its sole inhabitant (at the moment, anyway) opened his umbrella and his footsteps befan clomping down the walkway.
The boy didn't look up.
The man, on the other hand, had made his way down, all sweeping trenchcoat and blue, state-issue uniform. He was obviously important. He seemed to have a pale alabaster complexion, though he was really an average shade. His jet-black hair paled his skin effectively, and his black trenchcoat wasn't helping. He had a strong, slightly square face, and his midnight-blue eyes held a knowing sort of look.
Said man stopped, glimpsing a flash of waterlogged crimson out of the corner of his eye. He turned, a look of slight astonishment occupying his face only fleetingly. "Edward."
There was no real answer, just a slight acknowledgement by way of ligting his head, dulled butterscotch gazing vacantly into questioning indigo.
"What are you doing here?"
At this question, the boy tensed, though he still didn't reply.
Roy Mustang sighed, though he did approach a little more, crouching to peer into the slightly blotchy face of the blonde. "You're soaked."
Obviously he knew, Roy reprimanded himself. And he didn't care? Typical. This was the kind of selfless -- or was it simply he didn't care about himself? -- act Roy had become accustomed to from Edward Elric since that day. "Come on," he said finally, holding out a hand. "You're going to get sick." Edward didn't take it, however, so Roy simply scooped him up and brought him in.
Either Ed was clinically insane, or there was something wrong with him physically. Either way, Roy didn't mind. Standing, the darkhaired man brought his young charge back into his home. (Effectively abandoning Lucille, the twenty-five-year-old librarian. He'd have to make it up to her somehow.)
Roy placed the boy on the couch, where Edward huddled, as if it were his only security blanket. Satisfied Ed wasn't clinging to him anymore, Roy made his way both into his bedroom (pajamas) and into the bathroom (a brush and a towel). He returned with these items, sitting on the edge of the couch. Without a word, he laid the things (minus the brush) beside Edward, who picked them up with shaking hands and set off to the bathroom to dry off and change.
Roy sat back, pondering. He was lucky Rose wasn't home. She'd probably kill him. He knew she semi-liked the elder Elric, and he was pushing his luck even doing this. (She wouldn't be mad about Roy bringing him in. Oh, no. It was simply the fact he'd done it without a fuss, which could arouse questions.)
Edward returned, dressed now in Roy's pajamas (spring green with small yellow ducks), which were much too big for him, and sat awkwardly on the couch a good distance away from Roy himself, hands in his lap.
Said colonel looked up and over, fixing Ed with his customary emotionless gaze. "Come here," he finally said, placing a hand on the cushion beside him. Without a word, Edward slid over, finding the floor very interesting right now.
Roy took both this as acceptance and brush in one hand, easing the tie out of Edward's hair with the other before running the brush through it, effectively taking out the braid. He began working out the knots with a professionalism that showed he'd obviously done this for Rose many a time.
Edward didn't seem to mind, however, and just leaned against his commander, breathing in his scents: a simple cotton, some kind of cologne and sulfur. Said sniff-ee made a move to get up, but a clutch from a metal hand on his shirt made Roy stop and turn around. "What?"
"Are you leaving?" the boy asked quietly, and Roy shook his head, the ghost of a warm smile lighting his dark eyes for a moment.
"No," he replied. "I'm going to get changed. There's been a change of plans."
A change of plans, hm? Sounded like a good idea to Ed, who simply nodded and nestled himself under a large, down-filled comforter, awaiting the darkhaired man's return.
And return he did, clothed in a set of pajamas which were a deep purple and had small, yellow chicks printed on them. This image made the curled-up Elric smile a little. The first real smile since he'd found the small, tin coin with the smudged, written-in-blood transmutation circle leering up at him, a horrible memento of his quest. THe quest he'd dropped soon after his only motivation had died. But now... his lips spread into a genuine smile. That was, until Roy unceremoniously hauled the blanket off him. The blonde gave a slight whimper but quieted as the darkhaired party slid onto the couch behind him, wrapping his arms around the smaller of the pair.
And, locked in that embrace, Edward Elric simply shut his eyes and nestled into the other's chest, knowing that for once he could sleep without the fear of waking up screaming.