Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second.
Theme: 067. Quirks
Dedication: Ruingaraf, thank you.
Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, I would make Alphonse eat cats. Really.
Angles
067. Quirks
He smiles, and the world falls in love.
Sometimes, she likes to think that it is actually because of his shocking black shadow eyes and his smell of must and whatever it is that makes him haunt her reverie. Then other times, she wants to tell herself to be still, be silent – because she has never known when to keep quite – because he cannot want a woman with chapped lips and even more fractured state of thought. He is a man who has many quirks, and each and every one of them makes him just that little more beautiful. She has never known whether to hate him for that instead or not. But she supposes that never really mattered. He would be the same even without every little thing she knew about him ingrained into her skin like something ugly.
Her quirk is being made without love. She has learnt to whitewash her thoughts and bleach her lips until she cannot remember just what it was she was about to say anymore. She tries to reason her words are only so silent because he lacerates them before putting them back together again to find himself, but it is actually more probable that she is like a cracked mirror. Her cuts are shallow, and he has not shattered her yet but one day he will. The stars in her eyes may have faded for now, but she wants to see them again at that moment.
"You are choking me." She whispers, when he kisses her. His eyes are too bright, too encrusted in everything far beyond because he has always had the cosmos at his fingertips to tear down. But instead, he is choosing to tear down her and she is not sure how to handle it.
"How long until you are asphyxiated?" He hushed her. She could wear him around her, let him weigh her down and watch her choke. She could watch him slip into obliteration. She could watch his flames devour whatever was left of him. Or right then, she could stop. Take her loaded gun and storm this country for him, although she never had any sympathy for martyrs. She had a feeling that if he was ever something religious, she would have worshipped him.
"A moment without you." She whispered, setting off the gun. The roar of the bullet as it tore through the flesh in his knee was almost deafening. But it was for the best, she told herself. Someone as bright as him was like kerosene. She was the match, and even if she burned her would always be better. It was better to injure him than to be without something to wish on. But all that rested in his eyes was betrayal. He looked at her as pain tore through his body, collapsed on the floor with an almost hallucinogenic snarling mouth.
For all his quirks, she cannot let him fall.
I can imagine Riza doing something like this. Injuring him in order to save him.
Preview: Then there is bone-shattering silence, and he figures out how it feels to be alone.
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