Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or it's characters and all that jazz
Summary: So those 20 partially done fics I was talking about that are sitting on my computer? Yeah, this isn't actually one of those. It's just a little drabble from Doubleverse that pestered me until I wrote it.
Arms wrapped around him in the dark. They were familiar and warm and free of metal. Soft breath ruffled his hair, and finally, finally he was home. Relief washed over him, soothing and liquid, and he snuggled closer. How long had it been since he’d been home in his bed with his Roy? Days had bled slowly into weeks, until he’d finally lost track, beginning to think he might never make it home, that he’d die there in what was becoming a nightmare.
The first light, a bleary gray that promised morning on its coat tails, shone through the curtains, and Ed rolled over to face it. A shaggy black mop of hair confronted his face, and he was fairly certain he’d never been so happy to have hair up his nose as he was right now.
“Roy,” he whispered, grinning like he’d never had a care in the world. Roy, though, did not answer. It was no matter. He’d waited what felt like ages for this. A couple more hours wouldn’t kill him. It would be worth it to see the look on his face after all this time.
It was little things at first. He blinked, and the light seemed like it might be fleeing. Roy’s grip on him seemed to loosen, and surely it must be his imagination. The room was turning shadowed and ethereal, dripping away to nothing. He reached out, but his hands only came up empty.
Edward’s eyes snapped open, a choking sob jarring him from sleep. No no no… this could not be happening, but there steel fingers draped over his stomach, and he could not deny the truth. He realized in horror, that his eyes were wet when he blinked, his slumbering self betraying a grief he would never admit to in his waking moments.
Edward could only hope he’d been quiet enough not to wake the bed’s other occupants. He was quite sure he couldn’t handle the pitying look Roy would almost surely bestow upon him, unable to help and not quite sure what else to do. Ed, at least, would just grumble at him for being a baby about all this and making him look like a girl, but even that was too much right now.
He let out a shuddery breath, pained but relieved. Roy’s breathing was slow and steady, completely undisturbed by his outburst. Ed… Ed slept through everything.
Edward stared into the blackness where the ceiling probably existed for a long time, sleepless and lost and sinking. It was harder to school the pain from his eyes here in the silence and darkness, but he tried.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Ed moved, fingers curling around his side, and tugging until he was facing his double. Edward waited for long moments, unable to quite make out the expression on the face inches from his. He rather wished this other him would get whatever rant he was working up off his chest and go back to sleep so that he would be alone with his burdens once more.
The hand that ruffled through his hair was awkward and stiff, but gentle all the same. He sighed shakily as it threaded through his hair a few times before smoothing down his spine, up again, graceless at first. Slowly, Edward allowed himself to relax, caught the edge of an uncomfortable half smile in the dark as Ed tried to be comforting.
He let the fumbling rhythm, the warmth of Ed’s petting soothe him somewhere near sleep. The ache of something missing remained, and they both knew there was nothing either Ed or the Roy of this place could do to ease the hollow feeling. At least for tonight, though, he was not alone.