They lie together on the Ishval sands one night, looking up at the stars. Envy's telling ridiculous stories about "long ago" and "back in Xerxes," and Kimblee doesn't believe a word because he knows that Envy's far from being that ancient, but he doesn't argue and just listens to the cadence of their voice, its smooth dark timbre the same colour as the night sky.
Kimblee thinks that the "monster" is interesting, or so he says, and he claims that the worm, too, is cute–"in a different way than you normally are, of course, but hardly disgusting, believe me"–and he has to be lying through his teeth, but Envy's dying to believe the lie for once.
Envy likes watching his face while he sleeps; he looks almost delicate in a way that they refuse to acknowledge when he is awake, black strands of hair falling across his forehead, dark eyelashes against his cheek, little, tiny details that they would miss during the day, now all obvious and apparent. Suddenly, he stirs, and slowly, his eyes start to open. Somehow Envy can't bear to see them, and inches closer, burying their head in his shoulder instead.
It's suddenly very silent, and all at once, Kimblee notices how small and forlorn Envy looks, perched there alone like a cat on the couch arm. Something almost like sympathy shoots through him like a bolt from the blue, and his book falls from his hand at the shock of it. "Well, come here, then, if you want to" he hears himself say, and witnesses Envy's almost-shy smile, and observes them falling against him, and his arms tightening of their own will around the slender figure.
"Read to me," Envy demands in that coaxing way, and Kimblee complies, as he always does. By now, Kimblee has puzzled out what Envy prefers to hear; their expression, it seems, is softest when the subject matter of his tales is at its most fanciful. Envy inches closer to him as the climax of the story approaches, and by the denouement, they are asleep, curled up against him. They'll be angry when they awaken–Kimblee knows from experience–but he feels no need to break the spell now, and stays very still, letting their head loll against his shoulder, noting the sound of their even breathing.
There isn't any scar now–the Philosopher's stone took care of that–but there would have been, and Envy can see it now, can feel it now as they brush shaking fingers against his neck. He's disgustingly weak, horribly disgustingly pathetically weak, he could have… he almost– "It's alright," he says softly, and Envy gasps (a gasp, definitely not an almost-sob) at the suddenness of his voice. Their hyperventilation threatens to develop into tears, and they hide their face in his shoulder so he won't see how disgustingly weak they are.