Yep, another bordom-induced FMA one-shot... This one's way shorter though, only 400 something words. My first attempt at shonen-ai. (Shut up, Brendon!)
Disclaimer: You don't want me to own it... ::drools while thinking about all the things she'd do if she owned Envy...::
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Blood.
A bright, intense red.
Dripping off the walls.
Covering the floor.
Coming from both him and the thing he had created.
The many-limbed monstrosity that was spewing more blood all over the room.
All over him.
All over the empty chair where his brother had sat.
His brother.
Al.
Was gone.
Everyone was gone.
Everything was gone.
He was alone with his pain.
Alone in the dark.
In the dark alone.
To die.
Covered in blood.
He screams as he wakes from a nightmare, sweat covers him; it has the same wet feel as blood. So much blood…
He screams again, reaches out for his mother.
Strong arms wrap around him, pull him into someone's lap, and hold him tight like his mother used to.
It's not his mother of course… mother is dead. But someone's holding him, and that's good enough.
He stops screaming, puts his face in the crook of the person's neck, and sobs.
He can't see who they are through both the darkness and the tears clouding his eyes, all he knows is that he needs a shoulder to cry on, and they are willing to give one.
He sits there crying, the person gently stroking his back and whispering words of comfort into his ear.
The voice sounds familiar, but he can't place it.
Eventually, he cries himself out, and just sits shaking while the person wipes the tears from his eyes with a cloth.
Then, they gently lift him up, and carry him bridal-style back to his bed, set him down gently, and pull the blanket up over him before kissing him sweetly.
A tongue darts into his mouth and is out again before he can react, which is fine with him, he's too tired to do anything.
"Good night."
The person says, then they're gone, and sleep is overwhelms him…
He wakes up to sunlight pouring through the open window, though he distinctly remembers closing it and drawing the curtain before he went to bed.
He shivers, remembering the nightmare he had, and then frowns as he remembers the person who had comforted him.
Who was it?
Who had come through the window to hold him like a mother?
He blushes at the memory of the kiss, but before he could think any more on the subject, he spots a hair on his shoulder and pulls it off, holding it in front of his face as he tries to figure out what it means.
It answers his first question, but raised many more.
The hair lying in his palm is a deep, vivid shade of green, glinting in the light coming through the open window.
