"Brigadier General Mustang's office, Captain Hawkeye speaking," her voice came, crisp and clear.
"Captain," Roy greeted, careful to keep up the formality on a military line. As much progress as Fuhrer Grumman was making on abolishing the anti-fraternization laws, some caution was still required, and Roy didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, for Riza's sake.
"Brigadier General,"she greeted, voice warming a couple of degrees. "How is Ed?"
Roy paused, choosing his next words carefully, eyes shifting to look out the window where Ed sat in his rocking chair, golden hair ruffling in the breeze.
His team only knew what he'd known upon leaving Central, with scarcely an update since. Things were different now. Worse. "Not good," he answered honestly. "I need a favor."
". . .What is it?"
"Can you arrange to have everyone out to visit Resembool? Maybe next Saturday? Anyone that Ed knows or might want here. It . . . it might be the last time."
Silence. Then, "I understand, Sir," she said quietly. "I'll arrange it."
"Thank you, Captain. One more thing, can you bring me the updates on the Ishval Restoration Project? I would like to review the progress we've made and how much remains to be done."
If she found it odd that he was requesting his paperwork to be delivered to him while on leave, she didn't comment. "Yes Sir, anything else?"
He thought a moment. "Just make sure that Marcoh makes it."
"He will be there," she promised.
"Thank you, Hawkeye," he said. He wished she was here. She always knew what to do, what to say. "I will see you in a few days."
"Yes, Sir. Take care of those boys."
"I will."
She hung up first, leaving Roy listening to an empty dial tone before he placed the phone back in its cradle. He stared at it another moment before reaching a hand into the couch cushions beside him, withdrawing Ed's journal.
He had a lot to think about over the next few days.
XxXxX
Mustang had disappeared indoors not ten minutes ago, and Ed was expecting to be alone for a while.
Then Winry materialized from the corner of Ed's vision, making him jump before realizing who it was. Cat startled in his lap, diving off and under a nearby bush for cover. "Winry!" he yelped, coughing into his blanket before rolling the corner to hide the blood. "What . . . are you . . .?"
"I told you I'd be back for my coat," she responded, her voice cheery. Her steps faltered however when she got to the base of the deck and caught sight of the wheelchair beside Ed. Her blue eyes slid to meet his, questioning.
Ed could feel his face heating at the reminder, at her knowing. He knew it shouldn't bother him so much, but it did. "Want to help me set it on fire while Al's not looking?"
"Ed . . .," she started, the cheeriness gone from her voice. "What's wrong? Is it something with your automail?"
Ed brushed the comment off. "Of course not. Your automail is perfect. I . . . well, I had some problems yesterday and the doctor wants me to lay off the walking for a while. I should be back up in a week." The doctor hadn't said that part, but it was what Ed was planning, anyway.
Funny how much he missed his crutch when the alternative was the wheelchair.
Winry didn't look convinced. This was why Ed didn't want her around the house; as much as he loved seeing her, she was way too perceptive. "You look pale," she commented.
He offered a half-shrug. "I am pale. You going to just stand there, or are you going to come kiss me?"
She smiled a bit at that, stepping onto the porch to plant a kiss on his lips. He wanted nothing more than to keep that going, but he knew Mustang couldn't be long, so he reluctantly let her pull away all too soon.
"Where is everyone?" she asked, looking back behind Ed into the house.
"Colonel Idiot is inside," Ed explained. "Al is . . . well, he went that way," he said, pointing to the side of the house, back where fields met the beginnings of the forest and the river curled past Resembool.
Her expression soured. "What did you do this time?!"
"Me?!" Ed demanded, trying very hard to stifle a cough. "Who . . . who says I did anything?!"
She glared down at him. "Al doesn't head down to the river unless you do something incredibly stupid. So, what was it?"
Ed scowled. "Nothing. I just disagreed with some of the doctor's instructions."
"You're lucky I don't have a wrench on me."
"So you keep saying," Ed countered. "You might have to pick up the coat tomorrow, though," he said. At her frown, he turned away. "I might have dropped it in the mud on the way home. We haven't had a chance to get it cleaned up yet."
She narrowed her blue eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, really? Did you happen to be inthe coat when it dropped?"
". . . I don't think that's important."
She turned away and exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was trying to force out the anger. Ed thought she succeeded because when she turned back to him, she had that closed, disappointed look on her face.
He was torn between asking her to sit with him on the porch or telling Mustang to clean her coat so she could go and stop looking at him like that. She and Alphonse shouldn't have all that power over him. "Winry," Ed began, but she interrupted him.
"I'm going after your stupid brother. And then we're going to talk," she said, stepping off the porch.
"Wait!" Ed called, making to get up before reality set in. He felt his left lung spasm in his chest, driving out a series of rough, painful coughs. He saw Winry falter, but she didn't stop, marching around the house and out of his sight.
The blood stains doubled, then tripled in size, and Ed couldn't breathe. His throat was on fire, his body ached, and he really hoped Winry wouldn't come back now to see this. Let her find Al.
Whatever it took to keep her away and to not see any of this.
XxXxX
With a slow breath, Alphonse stepped forward, movements sure and precise, slipping into the next pose with ease.
Another breath, another pose, one leg in front of him, hands pulled back for support.
Another, this time the other leg out, body low.
The poses were simple exercises Teacher had taught them all those years ago. When he was able, Al had used them after he got his body back to help improve his balance and strength, and now they served to cool his hot temper, taming it into something more manageable.
If he couldn't beat Ed to a bloody pulp, shadow boxing would have to do.
Warm-up completed, he took a few test jabs, left and right, then left. He proceeded to attack an enemy that didn't exist, leaping forward and striking out with a foot into the empty air. He landed light, sliding through the sand at the river's edge, then swinging his leg behind him to catch another invisible foe.
As a suit of armor, Al had been adept at using his fists, while Ed preferred landing blows with his feet, jumping and flying around like a caffeinated monkey. Now that Al was in a flesh and blood body, though, he saw the appeal. It felt good to move through the air, his body flying fast and the wind ruffling his hair and kissing his skin. Al didn't take sensations for granted anymore, and he marveled in the simple joy of it.
Until he reminded himself that Ed couldn't do things like this anymore.
It was funny, in a sad sort of way. Now that Al was no longer trapped in a body that was slowly failing him, Ed was, his spirit in a body that was sick and tired and trying to reject it.
Al had come out to forget his problems for a while, but it seemed that nothing could distract him from his brother dying.
Alphonse was torn, because on one hand, Ed trekking out across Resembool while sick was such an Ed thing to do. It was heartening in a way. But on the other hand, Ed needed to understand his body couldn't keep up with his whims anymore. Al was just afraid when he finally understood that, it would effectively kill him. He would sit in that wheelchair and wither away into nothing until his soul passed from his body.
Either Ed acted as Ed had always acted and drove himself into the grave, or he acted with a caution and reason that did not suit him at all and killed his spirit. There really wasn't any winning, was there?
Lost in his musings, Al didn't see the partially-buried river rock until it was too late. He caught his foot on it, overcorrected, pinwheeled, then fell in an unceremonious heap on the ground.
That's how Winry found him, sprawled in the sand.
"Al?" she asked, blue eyes concerned. "Are you alright?"
Alphonse sat up slowly, panting hard and cradling his shoulder that took the brunt of the impact. He grunted, "Yeah, just tripped."
Winry stared down at him a moment, assessing, then sat down under the shade of an oak a couple of feet away. With a little pain, Al scooted back to join her under the cover of the tree and away from the burning sun, breathing and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
The river rushed in front of them, a dull roar that Al had always found so soothing, the sun glancing off its surface and making it glisten and shine like serpent's scales. The wind picked up a bit, rushing over the water and cooling the air around them. It was warm today, but not as warm as it would be in a few weeks. Al didn't like looking that far ahead anymore, though. He was never quite sure if he should be picturing the next month with or without Ed in it.
"It's a nice day," Winry said, the words awkward, like she was gearing up to address something else.
"Yeah," Al agreed. "What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for you." She avoided his gaze, her pale, calloused hand reaching beside her to pluck a blade of grass from the ground. She twirled it back and forth between her fingers. "I figured Ed did something stupid if you were out here by the river."
Al felt his lips twitch in a sheepish grin. "Guess I'm a little predictable that way."
She suddenly turned to him, fixing her electric blue eyes on his in a way that made it hard to look away. "Alphonse, can you be honest with me?"
Al frowned, not liking where this was going. Winry was his best friend, aside from his brother. Why would he lie to her? What was she asking? "Of course, Winry."
"I want you to tell me what's going on, Al. All of it." She looked away. "I saw you two when you walked up to my house all covered in blood, you without a body and Ed without half his limbs. I know I'm not as strong as you guys are, but I've seen a lot. I'm tired of you two keeping me in the dark. All I know is that Ed is sick, and he won't tell me how or with what or let me help. Ed and I were going to get married. I think I deserve to know why he thinks we can't anymore." Her voice was thick, but she didn't cry.
Al looked away. He generally tried to avoid talking to her about Ed's condition, mostly because Ed had asked him to. Ed said he would tell her what he thought she should know, and knowing his brother, that probably wasn't very much.
But, if anyone could talk Ed out of being an idiot, it was Winry. Even Al didn't have that power, and Al didn't like keeping her in the dark. It wasn't that he thought she should know all the horrible details, but he thought, of anyone, she deserved to know what Ed was up against.
So he told her, and he held her when she cried into his shirt.
XxXxX
"Are you alright?"
Ed didn't bother looking up at Mustang. He settled for cradling his stomach with one hand and his head with the other. "Just peachy," he mumbled, voice sounding weaker than he would have liked.
Over the past couple of hours, Ed became increasingly aware of the rising pain in his gut. He thought it on par with the pain he'd felt trying to walk home yesterday, but it was somehow worse, more pervasive than before. With it came a roiling nausea that had him fairly convinced he was about to lose his lunch. Oh well, he'd kept it down for a few hours. That was enough to get some nutrition out of it.
His coughing fit from earlier had taken a while to pass, but when it did, Ed thought he was in the clear. It hadn't ended in vomiting, so that was always a plus.
Apparently, he'd rejoiced a little too soon.
If Al had been around, Ed would have almost begged him to work his alkahestry on him despite it not being quite time for a treatment, but Ed had ticked him off and now he'd been gone well over four hours. Winry hadn't shown back up either. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably be a bit worried that they were gone so long, but as it was, he was trying really hard not to vomit.
"Let's go inside," Mustang suggested. Ed heard more than saw him getting to his feet.
Ed made a grunting noise instead of words and tried again. "No. Don't move me." Sweat pricked at his forehead and neck, beading and sliding down his skin, and a shiver just made him wince.
"Ed, what is it? What's wrong?"
Really, what was right? He screwed his eyes shut and breathed, riding through a particularly stunning wave of pain. Wow.
The nausea climbed in his throat.
Yeah, he was going to lose it.
Something hard and cool was pressed into his hands. Ed opened his watery eyes to find the trash bin Mustang had placed under his chin. Ed hadn't heard him go get it.
Just in time, too. His stomach clenched hard, driving up what little he had eaten mixed with bile and blood. The way it pulled at his stomach caused his side to flare with bright pain, making him gasp and choke then vomit again, stars swirling in his field of vison.
He really hoped he wasn't about to die from drowning in his own mess. How embarrassing was that?
He couldn't get a good breath in to even cough and his vision blackened around the edges. He pressed his hand to his side, writhing as his stomach felt like it was splitting open from the inside out. Apparently, he leaned too far forward, because the next thing he knew he was on the floor.
Which was fine by him, because it gave him some leverage to press and push on his side, like he could push the pain back down where it belonged. His hands shook and he vomited again.
Ed wasn't sure when it happened, but Mustang was on the ground with him, forcibly pulling him onto his side. On a cold, intellectual level, Ed knew that it was just to keep him from drowning. Instinctively, though, Ed didn't want him touching him because everything hurt, and Mustang's hands made it hurt worse. Ed would have screamed, but his open mouth only allowed more blood to escape.
Mustang murmured something Ed couldn't hear, then pulled up Ed's shirt and pressed his hands down against his stomach, pinning his knees against Ed's back. Ed was probably bleeding from both. His hands slipped on the blood and Ed tried to scream again at another wave of pure agony, choked, then kept choking.
He couldn't breathe.
"I'm sorry," Mustang murmured in his ear, voice sounding muffled and far away and with an undernote of fear that made Ed's panic kick up another notch, because if he was scared, it must be pretty bad.
Of course, not being able to breathe didn't help at all.
"You can get through this, Ed," he was saying, one hand smoothing sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead and face. Ed tried to take another breath, but it caught on more fluid and he coughed, lungs spasming and blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. The pain was almost just as bad as when he'd actually been impaled, and he looked down at his stomach just to make sure there wasn't a beam threading through his organs. All he could see was Mustang's hand pressed around his stomach, blood bubbling between his fingers.
Ed regretted looking.
Another wave of pain seized him and he writhed, clawing at his own stomach and hacking, the only air he was getting between gasps. He'd stopped vomiting, but maybe that was because the liquid pooling in his guts had found a new avenue of escape through Mustang's fingers.
"It's going to be okay," Mustang promised. Ed wanted to laugh, but then again, he really just wanted to breathe. "I want you to breathe through your nose, Ed, do you think you can do that? Just one breathe in, then out."
Ed tried it because he didn't have any better options, breathing in through his nose, choking, then coughing. It felt like someone was stabbing him in the chest with every gasping inhalation.
"I'm going to try alkahestry, okay?" Mustang said. "Can you just breathe for me until I get back?"
Though he'd normally be bristling at the stupidity of the question, Ed found his tone and his presence oddly comforting, so he decided to let it slide.
"Hold this," Mustang said, guiding Ed's hands over his own belly and pressing down.
Ed's mouth opened in a silent scream at the change of pressure, the horrible burning feeling searing him from the inside out. He curled tighter around himself, only half-aware of Mustang leaving, then returning. His hands were on Ed's shoulder, flattening him against the floorboards. Ed thought he heard a crash somewhere, maybe the rocking chair being kicked away. He tried to curl back in on himself, but Mustang held him down, pressing a sheet of fabric just below his ribs.
Ed threw his head back and locked eyes with Winry.
She was standing a dozen yards away, frozen. Al had already blown past her, almost on the deck, but Ed only had eyes for Winry. Her blue eyes were wide, soft mouth slack as she drank in the sight. She had those lines etched around her forehead that said what she was looking at was horrifying.
An eternity later, Mustang activated the circle.
The relief was immediate, if not as refined as Al's results. The pain spiked, then abated, receding to a dull ache that was somuch more manageable. The seizing in his lungs stilled, letting him breathe and keep the air for more than a split second. Blood had stopped running through his fingers now, and Mustang scooped him up in his arms, holding him close there on the porch. Ed really wanted to fight him off, but he was too cold and too tired and honestly, the older man's warmth felt really good to his freezing skin. Almost against his will, he curled into it, letting his head rest on the older man's shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," Al whispered, shadows of guilt chasing each other through his golden eyes as he crouched down in front of them, his hand touching Ed's side. "I shouldn't have left, I'm so sorry."
Ed wanted to tell him that it was fine, but when he tried to move his lips, no sound came out. He shuddered in Mustang's arms, a much more manageable cough expelling the remaining fluid from his throat and lungs.
Winry stepped up to the porch and crouched beside him, shock carved into her beautiful face like scars. Ed reached out a hand, but he was too weak to hold it and let it fall. She caught it, fingers automatically weaving through his.
Ed wanted to apologize, but with no more luck than when he'd wanted to talk to his brother. His eyelids felt as heavy as the rest of him did, but he looked at Winry and willed her to understand how sorry he was.
He never wanted this for her. He never wanted this to happen to him, and he never wanted her to have to see it.
"Ed," she whispered, tears welling then spilling over her eyes.
Here he was, making her cry. Seemed like he'd gone and screwed up everything. Again.
Ed shivered, thankful for Mustang's warmth at his side and his arms around him, but it wasn't enough to fend off the ice that had found its way into his chest. His eyelids closed before he even knew they had, and it took him a moment to open them again.
"Let's get him inside and cleaned up," Mustang said. "He's freezing. He needs a transfusion."
His eyes slipped closed again and he couldn't open them.
XxXxX
Ed woke up a long time later, he thought.
He was in the living room, sprawled across the couch. His head was pillowed against something warm and soft and he probably had five blankets piled over him and he still shivered.
It was with no small amount of irony that Ed decided he felt like he'd been impaled.
"Ed?" Winry asked. So, he was in her lap. Well, there were much worse places to be.
Ed spied Alphonse sitting on the same couch at his feet, a forgotten book in his lap as he looked at him with concerned eyes, but Ed didn't have the energy to address it. An IV line bright with blood ran from his inner arm. Ed followed the tubing to the tree stand above them with a conglomeration of bags and tubes hanging off it, then another red tube that disappeared under his blankets, probably into his own arm.
"Ed?" Winry said again, her slim fingers combing through his clean hair. He really didn't want to think about who cleaned what up on him or how that was done, but he did appreciate not waking up covered in his own blood and fluids. "Are you awake?"
He grunted, shivering a moment. In his movement, he caught sight of Mustang sitting in the overstuffed chair, dark eyes fixed on him. Ed decided he didn't want to be laying down anymore and tried to prop himself up on an elbow, pain clawing at his stomach.
Practically everyone in the room jumped, arms raised to force him back down, but Winry beat them all to it, barring an arm over his shoulders and easily halting his movements even if the pain hadn't already killed his ambitions. He sucked in a breath and coughed a bit, tasting blood. His throat felt like he'd swallowed a box of nails. "Ed, don't move, please," she begged.
Well, he'd already ruined her day, so he supposed complying with that small request was manageable. He settled for turning on his side so he could better hold his side, because that hurt quite a bit, actually. He tried to figure out what time it was based off of the twilight-like sky outside, but he couldn't tell if it was dawn or dusk. The lamps in the house were on, so that and everyone being awake hinted more toward dusk, but he couldn't be sure.
Everyone was staring at him, so he frowned and glared back. "What?" the demand came out more like a croak than a question.
Al, Mustang and Winry exchanged glances over his head, which annoyed him to no end, but he was much too tired to tell them off. He settled for a scowl.
"We were discussing your new protocol," Mustang finally supplied.
Joy. Ed was sure he was going to love this. "And?" he wheezed.
More looks. Then, "We'll talk about it when you're more awake," Al said. "Mustang, could you get him some water?" he asked, gesturing to his arm and how he was currently tethered to Ed.
Mustang got up without a word, heading to the kitchen with those dark eyes on Ed in a tight, closed way that Ed knew meant he was processing things.
Ed turned his gaze on his brother. "Where'd . . . this?" Ed asked, looking pointedly at the tubes over his head and hoping his little brother got the gist. Much more talking and he was going to choke. He didn't know if his throat and stomach could take much more of that at the moment.
Al understood. "Doctor Fawn showed me how yesterday," he said. "We're the same type, but we still need to keep an eye out for a reaction." That being said, he put the book down beside him and stood, taking the tubing and a bag of his own collected blood with him. He came beside Ed, staring at his face, then slipping a couple of fingers under his jaw. Ed thought he did a really good job of putting up with it. "Your heart rate's better, and so is your color. How do you feel?"
"Great," Ed supplied, suppressing an annoyed groan when Al pulled the blankets back and his shirt up, examining his stomach, his warm hands reaching around his back to check for blood. He really didn't need Winry to see this, but maybe she already had.
"Be honest, Edward," Winry warned, her voice firm but her gaze locked on his emaciated stomach, a little bit of horror in the set of her eyes.
"Like crap?" he tried, batting Al away and pulling his shirt back down and the blankets back up. It was way too cold for that anyway.
"It's like dealing with a child," Al sighed. "Brother, I need you to be specific, please."
Ed scowled at him. Al knew good and well he didn't want to get into this with Winry here.
On the other hand, Winry had seen him out on the back porch writhing in his own blood and vomit, so maybe it wasn't possible to do much more damage.
Regardless, Ed was a tiny bit grateful when Mustang showed up with that glass of water. Al relinquished his spot to the older man, plucking the IV from his own bruised arm with a wince and attaching Ed's own line to a saline bag.
"I'm going to help you sit up. Don't move," Mustang ordered, voice hard, like he expected to be obeyed.
Ed only wished he could call him derogatory names, but his throat was too dry for that. He couldn't even manage to resist as Mustang slid his hand under his shoulders and, with Winry's support, got him sitting.
Owe.
Ed breathed for a moment, slowly, probably leaning too heavily against Winry as she snaked a gentle, supporting hand around his middle and Mustang placed the glass to his lips. Ed grimaced and took it, but his hands shook and Mustang wouldn't let go. Ugh. This was embarrassing on way too many levels.
He'd gone from just him and Al, to Mustang and Winry, too. Who was next, the whole team?
He swallowed several small sips, the cool water providing some relief for his burning throat. It felt good and helped wash the stale taste of bile from his mouth. He would kill for some toothpaste right now, though. Mustang took the glass from his shaking hands, setting it on the side table. He didn't leave though, just looked at him like he might a difficult alchemic puzzle.
"Keep staring, Mustang. Maybe I'll do a trick." His voice sounded like sandpaper.
The corner of Mustang's lip quirked up, but Al interrupted any witty comeback Mustang was about to launch his way. "Ed, Winry knows everything now."
Ed didn't know why he tried to keep secrets anymore when Al just toldeveryone. "Maybe you should run an ad in the paper: 'Famous Fullmetal Alchemist, Now Disabled Bum.' It's an easier way to tell everyone we know. Has a ring to it, too." The comments had no heat in them because Ed couldn't really blame his little brother. Ed didn't doubt that watching his only sibling die completely sucked, and Al deserved to have support.
Ed just really wished it hadn't been Winry. She deserved better, too. They both did.
Al pressed his lips together, looking guilty and unapologetic at the same time. "She asked. She deserves to know."
Ed sighed. "Yeah." He reached behind him, finding her other hand and taking it. She latched on. She didn't say anything, but Ed couldn't see her face without twisting his stomach, and he wasn't quite ready for that.
"Ed, you've got to start following the doctor's protocol," Al continued.
Ed suddenly found the blanket in front of him very interesting.
"The way these fits keep progressing, you're going to have to be careful," Mustang said. "No more stunts."
"Hey! I didn't do anything this afternoon!" Ed protested. "I'd followed protocol all morning!" He coughed a bit into a blanket. That hurt.
Al shook his head. "You shouldn't have gotten up by yourself this morning and you know it."
"You didn't let me help you nearly as much as you should have," Mustang pointed out. Ed wanted to 'help him out' with a fist to his face, but that might have upset Winry and Al, so he left the general's dumb face intact.
"Ed," Winry said behind him, voice small and fragile, like dragonfly wings. Ed turned his head to the side, his hand that wasn't holding hers sliding to rest on top of the one she had around his waist. "I know you hate it so much, but please, Ed. Please stop fighting everyone. Al and Roy just want to help. I want to help. Please stop holding us at arm's length."
"We know it sucks," Al added. "We know if you could have it any other way, you would."
"You're not an invalid," Mustang said sternly. "No one sees you that way, you're just sick. It's not a commentary on your strength that your body is struggling, Ed. You're the strongest brat I know."
If Ed had the ability, he would have gotten up and left. He didn't like what they said, what they were implying, or the way all of them lookedat him. He didn't appreciate being ganged up on, either.
Ed's eyes slid to the wheelchair parked against the wall.
If he listened to them, he was probably never going to walk again. Following protocol was only supposed to keep him breathing longer, not cure him. They were asking him to sign away his freedom.
But, Ed supposed, his life had always belonged to Al—and more recently, to Winry—anyway.
A few more months shouldn't bother him too much. They were the reason he wanted to keep breathing in the first place, so he shouldn't really complain at the way they wanted him to live.
And he was so tired.
"If you want to spend your day hauling me around in a wheelchair, knock yourselves out," he mumbled, leaning his head back into Winry's shoulder.
The smiles Ed saw them exchange were small, though not exactly happy. Maybe they were relieved, but Ed didn't want to think about it anymore. This was what they wanted.
It had always been about them, and for now, Ed was satisfied with that.
I really should be careful about long updates. People are going to think I'm a competent writer or something xD
This one wrote itself pretty fast, so *shrugs* there you go.
It's ten million degrees here, so I bought a kiddie pool and I've been thoroughly enjoying it. Hands-down the best $5 I've spent all summer long. It' s got these fantastic little robot sharks on it that match my shark towel. I feel super coordinated when I'm out there lounging, reading fan fiction lol. If you're looking for a perk of being an adult, it's the ability to buy $5 kiddie pools. It really is the little things in life.
Now, blowing that thing up was no picnic, but I enjoyed the end results. I considered it vocal pedagogy. Gotta work on that breathe support #choirteacherlife
I'm going to go study for a final I take in two hours, so wish me luck lol.
Aaaaaaand, it sounds like something is breathing in my kitchen, so I'm low-key freaking out. What even.
I'm not going to look.
Hope you enjoy! If you have the time, please leave a review (they give me life) and I will see you next chapter! (Unless the thing breathing in the kitchen eats me).
God Bless,
-RainFlame