42. — foolish
"You kill so carelessly. You didn't even look at his face. Now there's no face left to look at."
Kimblee looks almost disdainful, the way that he's staring down at Envy's kill.
Envy shouldn't feel the need to justify it to him, but they still do.
"It's called improvisation, Crimson. It was spur-of-the-moment. There wasn't time for art."
"But even improvisation is an art. Your improvisation is slap-dash and messy." He turns his eyes away, and Envy, too, sees another Ishvalan running for his life.
"I know you're capable of artistry, Envy," Kimblee murmurs. "Try again. This time, with care."
27. — boxes
"What do we have here?"
"Please don't," Kimblee says evenly, and closes the lid of the box.
"It's private," he says eventually, and then later, after an hour of Envy's begging, "it's where I keep my writing," and finally, after another hour of incessant questions, "it's my discoveries."
It's his observations, his scientific discoveries. If he weren't a heretic, he would share them with the world and be hailed as a genius. As he is, they're for his own interest. They're observations, facts; that's all. But somehow, he doesn't want Envy to see how passionate he is for his subject.
40. — wired
"You should go to sleep." Kimblee calls from the kitchen, voice somewhere between scolding and amused.
"Don't tell me what to do." But Envy lets their head fall against the couch cushion. "I'm not tired." They're exhausted.
"They don't let you sleep, do they?" Kimblee sits on the arm of the couch, teacup in his hand. "Poor thing."
It's not that they won't let Envy sleep. Envy just can't sleep alone.
"Poor dear," Kimblee says, and sips his tea. His free hand strokes their hair, and Envy can finally close their eyes. "I'll wake you when you need to go."
28. — hope
"Do you…"
Envy can't finish the question, because they know he would say no. The fear of death is what gives Kimblee's life meaning. To have their heartfelt offer rejected would be humiliating.
"Do I what, dearest?" His smile is warm, and so close to genuine.
He does like them, doesn't he? More than he's liked anyone else.
"Oh, never mind," Envy says casually, chasing the thought to the back of their mind, keeping it for a hypothetical time, a time where he might be fond enough of Envy to say yes.
Do you want to live with me forever?
38. — clear
"I still can't say it. After all this time, I still can't say it."
"Your intentions are clear; don't worry. It's taken me ages to realize it, too. We're equally obtuse, I think."
"It's easier to just call you mine. But you don't like that."
"Not really. But I appreciate the sentiment."
"It's ridiculous. It's just three stupid words. And I can't say them."
"I can, at least. Maybe you'll be able to, someday. Would you like me to say them now?"
"Not… not yet. I'm not ready. Just… kiss me instead. That's easier. Isn't it?"
"Whatever you like, dearest."