Colonel Mustang hates the morning.
His worst hour is the waking hour.
He hates waking up alone and having nothing to do but reflect on the past...
Feeling alone. Feeling regretful.
When he awakes in winter to a cold empty bed and chill darkness all around.
When he awakes in summer to the mockingly bright sunshine stabbing his ebony eyes.
What he wants... no, needs ... someone who can be close by in that nightmarish waking moment.
Someone to hold... someone who he can wake up to see...someone beautiful.
Wide, understanding eyes which can meet his own the moment they open.
Long fair hair to entwine his fingers into, its softness somehow comforting him.
He needs someone to hold him in the morning... a pair of arms to embrace him.
Arms that can encircle him and protect him...
One flesh arm.
And one auto-mail.