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: 070. Giddiness
Dedication: Chibijac, thank you!
Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Scar would not just have been horribly stabbed.
Angles
070. Giddiness
His hands are shaking cold.
"Hawkeye, I think you have given me a disease." He is giddy and feels as though he could collapse. His unbeatable knowledge tells him there is no such thing as love; that one can only pretend it exists because it is caused by chemicals and therefore he reasons it cannot hurt him. He has always been so very clever. So very clever. More clever than her, although she has always had the edge for some reason or other. He thinks this moment right now is probably why.
"I have not been sick, you caught whatever illness you have by your own means." She answers with impeccable formality, the kind he has remembered hearing from her since a long time ago. She used to call him by his name, he thinks vaguely, but that time was a century away. Back then all she ever said was that they would sort a problem the next day. But now she is so very in order. He thinks she changed because of him, but he will not tell her.
"Is this what you have felt like all this time?" He asks her, his vision blurry in the freezing winter air. She wants to shake her head, say the snow has made him ill; but he knows she is not as assumptive as this and she does not care to repeat things more than once. She has become a lover of order and neatness, a perfectionist who wanted to make everything the way she felt it should be. He felt she should lead her own life, be safe, but he knew better than to say this. She would never listen even if he did.
"Pardon?" She mutters, raising a single pale hand as if to check his temperature like she had forgotten who they were, and then thinking far better than to do such a thing. Her blood coloured eyes fixed on his face for a single moment as a look of confusion passed across her features. He grabbed her hand midair and pulled it to his thumping chest.
"My heartbeat is through the roof." He tells her, as if it makes any change. These are the days when her sensibility is in fashion, and she pulls away her hand sharply, clicking it back. He can hear how painful it must be, but she does not betray this with as much as a single hitched breath. She trembled slightly, and stood up straight.
"You were right. You are ill." She frowns slightly, as if the statement is not going to make them both feel like this is a fact that they need to write down because he will not remember it otherwise. As if this is a way to weed out medication, the practiced solutions telling him this is love and finding a way to make this worthwhile.
Her fingers curl around his, and for now he fakes a cough.
Doing art, history, English literature and government & politics at sixth form will eat you alive; ill or not. If you are clever, do not choose all the subjects with the most work like I did. Then that way, you will probably have far more time to be the non-enforced kind of creative.
Preview: A premonition is the sort of magic only he can feel.
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