19. — fireworks
"That was gorgeous, Crimson."
Envy can't tell whether his cheeks are flushed from the desert heat or from their compliments. (Maybe it's both).
"It could have been better," he says carelessly, and claps his hands again. Crimson sparks light up the air, and thunder roars, and the buildings below erupt into a sea of ashes, dust flying a hundred feet into the air.
"Could have been better?" Envy scoffs. They stretch upward, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Then prove it. Show me your best."
It's satisfying, seeing his expression shift slowly from blank to darkly grinning. "If you insist."
08. — rules
"You're not allowed to talk to me like that."
"Like what?"
They're playing innocent, when they're anything but. It's almost infuriating. "You know very well." Kimblee says calmly, eyes fixed on his book. Envy isn't currently allowed the luxury of eye contact. "I don't appreciate you blaming my shortcomings on my humanity."
"Aww, Crimson. You are human. You need reminding, sometimes."
Kimblee flips the page; he's reread the lines five times and remembers none of them. "Perhaps you're the one who needs reminding."
There's a heavy silence. Kimblee doesn't need to look at Envy's face to know what they're thinking.
04. — numb
"The fool. They shouldn't have toyed with Mustang. Although, I would have acted the same, if I'd been there instead."
Lust's voice wavers.
Kimblee should say something to comfort her, but he's so tired.
Her hand rests against his shoulder—although he can't feel it. Would he notice if her Spear pierced him? Pain would be better than this void.
"Your father couldn't…?" The sound of his voice surprises him.
"No. Envy's… gone." Her smile is hollow. "You loved them, didn't you? Poor thing."
"Yes. But so did you."
"We're both so human," she laughs bitterly.
They sit numbly together, silent.
15. — afterlife
He should be dead.
Blood, his blood, is smeared across Envy's skin, but not as much as there should be, and it hurts, but not as much as it should, and —
"Don't talk," Envy whispers sharply, and Kimblee obeys. "You're alright," they murmur. "I… won't let…"
Their concern would be adorable if it weren't for the tears gathering in their eyes. He wants to say something, but he has no strength, no voice. He can only lie still, can only feel: Envy's fingers digging into his shirt, Envy's breathing, ragged and uneven, Envy's mouth, cold, pressed against his cheek.
16. — daybreak
The light never completely fades, now that Father holds a Sun in his hand. But the ordinary sun still rises, and sunbeams still stream through the window.
If Kimblee wakes up, he'll want to get to work immediately. There is so much to do, after all. So Envy stays as still as possible, barely breathing, feeling his warmth.
It's almost uncomfortable, being close to him like this. A part of Envy wants to escape, to run away and pretend that he doesn't exist. But his heart is beating steadily in Envy's ear, a needed reminder that he's alive, and theirs.