Author's Note: If Barry can whistle, I'll assume this works, too.
It's dark again, more so than usual. It's raining this evening, and the streets shine black with the wet. The weather has been so dreary, and Edward and Alphonse have retired early, gladly giving up the headache of study for the quiet of sleep. Ed often finds it difficult to fall asleep, though, often because his mind is so bogged down by everything he feels he has to do. He lies silent, tired gold eyes resting on the dull metallic shine of his right hand.
From somewhere behind him comes a soft, unreal piece of music; warm but sad, and very familiar. It fills his heart, and he almost wants to deny knowing where it was coming from, or why he recognizes it.
"Alphonse?"The tune stops. "Does that bother you? I can stop."
"No, it's okay," he says quietly as Al's nostalgic, if not eerie, humming once again plays back through the darkness. Mom's favorite waltz. "Don't stop..."