Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > Come
Disclaimer- not mine. merely borrowing. no profit made.
The floor was oddly, inappropriately clean. There seemed to be so much more space, sound even carried differently, echoing off of floors bare of their usual clutter of clothing, both clean and dirty. So much clothing to compress into a tiny battered suitcase...it defied logic and positively ignored physics. Combine that with a fantastically large assortment of colorful and outlandish garments that were usually hung off of every available surface with a casual disregard for whatever said surface was actually to be used for, and the sheer cleanliness of the place seemed daunting.
His shallow, too fast breathing echoed back to him, almost lending the appearance that there was another person in the room, cleverly hidden. Maybe they were curled in the comforting embrace of the scruffy armchair, merely hidden from view as they reclined. It could be they were in the bathroom, doing a peacock justice with preening and primping, a hidden, amusing vice...
No. The smell was wrong. The air was thick with a sort of musty, moldy disuse. The mold had taken the liberty of taking up residence in a cup of coffee that had never gotten around to being emptied and cleaned, giving off that sickly sweet scent that was the bane of all kitchens. The warm, soapy smell of long, indulgent showers was missing, the sharp tang of oil and metal replaced with the musk of abandoned upholstery and a languishing carpet. Even the weird and somewhat spicy scents of failed experiments in cooking were missing.
He hated it. His booted steps were just a little forced, an attempt to restore some sense of life back into an apartment he had been avoiding. It seemed far too desolate...
With far more force than was necessary he hauled the sink faucet into the on position, filling the silent apartment with the hiss of running water. At least it was sound, and it covered up the infuriatingly upset sound of his own shaky breathing.
Havoc had called.
He bit down on his lower lip, wanting to believe the wetness he could feel gathering in his eyes was due to the pain the action inspired. Havoc had called, and had nothing positive to report- quite the opposite in fact. A bit of Ling's shirt being used to dress a doll in some middle of nowhere hole of a town, and the rest of the shirt having been found nearby in rather dubious condition...
Without thinking, Ed wandered into the bedroom, carefully ignoring the merrily unmade bed, reaching a hand into the closet to almost reverently caress the nearest in a small army of elaborate, soft shirts. Ling had been such a damn clotheshorse.
He snatched his hand back, angry. Here he was thinking of the bastard in the past tense. No damn way Ling was dead. The whole apartment, with its missing smells and sounds, shivered with the tension of his preemptive mourning.
"No fucking way." Ed growled. He was quitting. He was actually considering quitting. When the hell had that happened? Somewhere between fumbling the key into the rusty, stuck lock of the apartment and realizing there was no one waiting for him inside? He was not going to give up on Ling, not until he got the chance to punch the bastard in the face for causing so much trouble.
Havoc had bad news to report. Big deal. Ed smiled as he made his way back to the kitchen to stop the sink from flooding. That just meant Ed was going to have to get involved himself, Mustang's advice to stay put be damned. Office work was a bore, and honestly Ed didn't have the patience for the plotting and planning Mustang was trying to get him to do.
When it came right down to it, Ed really did prefer the hands on sort of approach.
The floor was oddly, inappropriately clean. There seemed to be so much more space, sound even carried differently, echoing off of floors bare of their usual clutter of clothing, both clean and dirty. So much clothing to compress into a tiny battered suitcase...it defied logic and positively ignored physics. Combine that with a fantastically large assortment of colorful and outlandish garments that were usually hung off of every available surface with a casual disregard for whatever said surface was actually to be used for, and the sheer cleanliness of the place seemed daunting.
His shallow, too fast breathing echoed back to him, almost lending the appearance that there was another person in the room, cleverly hidden. Maybe they were curled in the comforting embrace of the scruffy armchair, merely hidden from view as they reclined. It could be they were in the bathroom, doing a peacock justice with preening and primping, a hidden, amusing vice...
No. The smell was wrong. The air was thick with a sort of musty, moldy disuse. The mold had taken the liberty of taking up residence in a cup of coffee that had never gotten around to being emptied and cleaned, giving off that sickly sweet scent that was the bane of all kitchens. The warm, soapy smell of long, indulgent showers was missing, the sharp tang of oil and metal replaced with the musk of abandoned upholstery and a languishing carpet. Even the weird and somewhat spicy scents of failed experiments in cooking were missing.
He hated it. His booted steps were just a little forced, an attempt to restore some sense of life back into an apartment he had been avoiding. It seemed far too desolate...
With far more force than was necessary he hauled the sink faucet into the on position, filling the silent apartment with the hiss of running water. At least it was sound, and it covered up the infuriatingly upset sound of his own shaky breathing.
Havoc had called.
He bit down on his lower lip, wanting to believe the wetness he could feel gathering in his eyes was due to the pain the action inspired. Havoc had called, and had nothing positive to report- quite the opposite in fact. A bit of Ling's shirt being used to dress a doll in some middle of nowhere hole of a town, and the rest of the shirt having been found nearby in rather dubious condition...
Without thinking, Ed wandered into the bedroom, carefully ignoring the merrily unmade bed, reaching a hand into the closet to almost reverently caress the nearest in a small army of elaborate, soft shirts. Ling had been such a damn clotheshorse.
He snatched his hand back, angry. Here he was thinking of the bastard in the past tense. No damn way Ling was dead. The whole apartment, with its missing smells and sounds, shivered with the tension of his preemptive mourning.
"No fucking way." Ed growled. He was quitting. He was actually considering quitting. When the hell had that happened? Somewhere between fumbling the key into the rusty, stuck lock of the apartment and realizing there was no one waiting for him inside? He was not going to give up on Ling, not until he got the chance to punch the bastard in the face for causing so much trouble.
Havoc had bad news to report. Big deal. Ed smiled as he made his way back to the kitchen to stop the sink from flooding. That just meant Ed was going to have to get involved himself, Mustang's advice to stay put be damned. Office work was a bore, and honestly Ed didn't have the patience for the plotting and planning Mustang was trying to get him to do.
When it came right down to it, Ed really did prefer the hands on sort of approach.
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