Hmm, drunken musings, I'm assuming? I turned Havoc into a habit drinker. This is sad. It's not even particularly angsty, even a bit fluffy towards the end, and really it has no point, kinda like this author's note…I apologize. Two hours of sleep. It's bedtime. Enjoy if you will.

Disclaimer: Note the distinct lack of the phrase, "This is mine." It's not there. You can look if you want.

Three hundred sixty-six words: Addiction

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It burns, sometimes. Well, most of the time. It's a good burn, though. Not like cigarette smoke up the nose or hot metal skillet on flesh. It's that feeling of being just close enough to the fire, the place where it's almost too hot, but still bearable. That is the burn of alcohol.

Maybe it's those damned animals he keeps, but Kain seems rather well adapted for a young sergeant major. I dunno – talking is therapeutic, and I know the kid talks to those animals.

More than he talks to me.

Anyway, it's not like I drink because of him. Sometimes alcohol's just about the only thing that digs underneath the calluses enough to burn.

Mustang says a woman'll take care of that problem, that if I could find enough passion in a woman that I'd be able to feel the burn without the drinking. Yeah, maybe that's all good for someone with fire buried in his every fibre. Or someone who constantly steals his subordinates' women. My women.

Not for me. Not for fingers callused by triggers and one too many burns of a loose ember falling from a cigarette. Not for a heart hardened by war and loneliness. Not for a farmboy's rough hands and toughened skin. Not for me.

Back to Kain. Kain Fuery. Ah, with a mind loosened by liquid fire, I would submit to him in a heartbeat. Fuh, but he's gone for the weekend. Left the animals with me. 'S funny. Can't take care of goddamn animals. But I guess if I can't take care of his animals, I can't take care of him, either.

Fuck him. I don't need it. Next thing I know after I get him, Mustang'll turn gay and whisk him away to tepid climates and romantic, candlelit dinners.

Whatever.

So as it is, I'm gonna finish off this bottle, feed the iguana, stumble around with a dog or four outside until they do their damn business, and then I'm gonna go curl up in his bed – no, my bed – aw, hell, his is closer.

And it smells better.

'S comforting, y'know.

The smell of Kain Fuery and the burn of alcohol. It's like coming home.