Leave A Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Equations

"Run away, run away

So predictable
Not far from here
You see me crack
Like a bone, like a bone
I'm so breakable"

- Prodigal, OneRepublic

______

It happened when the moon was highest. I woke to an empty bed, and I could only think of all the reasons why.

I heard rustling—the sound of glass on glass.

So, in perfect predictableness, I moved, slipping from the bed and heading towards the silence that noise left behind.

"Ed...?" I took a step forward, crossing the entranceway.

He looked up at my voice, one half of his hair swinging into his eye. That tired stare... I hated the look of it

He looked away, clearing his throat. Bowing his head again.

"Hey," he said simply. I only glared a little, upset he was so casual about looking so exhausted.

"You should try to get some sleep," I said quietly but he just shook his head.

"Can't," he said.

A silence came between us.

"Is there—" Another shake of the head, and then he replied.

"No. Thanks."

I pouted a little.

"Anything?" I inquired, head tilting a little.

Another head shake.

"I'm alright."

I sighed quietly. At least Al was reading in the other room... I wonder how far he'd gotten into that new book on Alchemic myths...

"At least let me make you some tea..." I stepped into the kitchen, sensing his stare follow me. He didn't object.

We were in silence, as I boiled the kettle of water. One person on opposite ends of the stove. Each thinking about the same person, hopefully.

I looked over, seeing his head hung so low... Stare so low to the ground as well. I could only think of how tired his eyes looked—how they probably reflected mine.

You know you can come to me for anything, the thought was on the edge of my tongue, but it stayed there. Sealed off between weak lips.

He spoke my name gently, coaxing my focus away from something that didn't matter.

"What keeps you going?" he asked, voice hushed.

What keeps me... Going?

The fact I need to get away from something.

I didn't say this, of course. I didn't have the guts to. I just stayed silent, listening to the light hum of the gas stove.

"You and Al," I lied, looking back to him again. "Seeing that strength. That resolve to do what some say can't be undone."

He didn't respond.

His foot moved, gently kicking the floor beneath him. Gently making a scrape or two on the tile, however microscopic. But it was still an impact; still a change.

The kettle whistled, and I set about making the tea. Flipping the lid and inserting the bags. Basic. I could do basic.

Ed watched me, eyes following my hands as they moved. Trying to tend to both of us at the same time. I flipped the lid shut, turned the heat down lower on the kettle, and waited again.