Drabble the Thirty-Third. damn do i have a soft spot for Hohenheim....
Ed had fallen asleep at the desk again, head pillowed inelegantly partly on top of his own arms, partly on a book, most likely leaving the imprint of the volumes spine on his cheek. Hohenheim smiled gently even as he sighed, swinging his long coat off of his broad shoulders and placing it gently over Ed's slouched form.
He didn't want his son to catch cold.
There was something about this place, about Ed himself, that made the boy incredibly susceptible to all sorts of colds and flu's. Not that Ed did anything to try and keep from getting sick. He worked himself until his body decided it was the appropriate interval for some forced down time, which led to Ed falling asleep in all sorts of interesting and inappropriate places. Like at a desk in front of a slightly open window on an autumn night. As quietly as possible Hohenheim pulled the window closed. The library did manage to get stuffy. Ed had most likely wanted some fresh air earlier in the day, got caught up in studying, and simply forgot to close it or not noticed when the cold of the evening moved in.
When Ed was asleep it was possible, for a minute, to imagine that he was a proper father, taking care of an errant son. When he was asleep, Ed couldn't stare at him with those wide, accusatory eyes, couldn't argue, couldn't so much as turn away. He could dote on a sleeping Ed as much as he was inclined, even if all that was possible was making the young man as comfortable as possible and doing his best to preserve Ed's rather touchy health.
When Ed was asleep Hohenheim could brush one hand ever so gently across his son's cheeks, down long golden hair. Ed would never allow such attention awake, and it was torture to Hohenheim to have his son back but be unable to be a father to him. so long ago that face had smiled up at him after similar pats on the head, affectionate brushes of a calloused finger down an impish face. How easy it had been to lose his entire family…
Ed snorted once and moved, perhaps waking slightly, and Hohenheim took his cue to leave. It wouldn't due for Ed to wake and realize his father had been watching over him. It was bad enough he would wake up to realize he was warm and secure within Hohenheim's favorite coat.
Ed yawned himself awake, pulling his blanket tighter around him, then twitching as he caught a button in his fist. A coat. He blinked his eyes open to realize he was curled happily in the depths of his father's coat. Ed glanced around suspiciously, ready to toss aside the garment if the old man was there. Finding himself alone he wrapped himself in the coat's heavy fabric, breathing in the scent of his fathers soap and the earthy musk his childhood had been filled with. He closed his eyes against the sting of a tear or two. He was homesick. Not for the world on the other side of the gate, but his home, his family...
But damn if he was going to let that bastard old man see those moments ofyearning weakness.