Young at Heart

The souls within him are quiet. All 536,329 of them. Their voices are nothing but whispers, soft enough to pass for the breathy voice of the night zephyrs. How considerate, Hohenheim muses. They must know he needs some time to himself tonight.

He slips his hands into his pockets and tilts his head back, taking in the sky. Stars dot the heavens, like brightly lit islands in an upside-down ocean of ink. They are strikingly clear, thanks to the unsoiled air of the countryside. Pure, fresh air, as pure and fresh as the face he hopes to see tonight, the face with eyes as bright as these stars above him.

These stars that are years old, he realizes. After years, decades, centuries, eras, they are still alight. Someday, will he be the same? Frozen in space and time, looking on as lifetimes go by, but never being a part of it? Like watching some great drama, but it's all on stage, and he's the only one in the audience. Is he really that aloof? Is he really that old?

He doesn't feel old. Older is supposed to mean wiser, and right now, at this moment, Van Hohenheim has never felt less wise. As he stands alone on this quiet hilltop, and watches the dark second floor window of a dark house, he realizes that the years have taught him nothing. He is still the same reckless, naive boy who talked to a strange creature in a flask, one fateful afternoon. A selfish adolescent, who is willing to let others throw away their entire lives for his own happiness.

A golden beam of light suddenly appears, streaming from the previously dark window, and he sees the shadowy silhouette of a young woman moving from behind it. Then he's striding down the hillside, leaving the black sea and it's sparkling islands behind, and the front door is flying open, the hinges' squeaky protests breaking the silence, and suddenly there is a smaller, warmer figure in his arms.

"I'm glad you came."

"You shouldn't be. I am deeply sorry for what I am about to do."

As he kneels down, pulls the silver ring from his pocket, and commits his very worst sin, Van Hohenheim has never felt so young.


Next chapter: He has always loved her ocean eyes.