Leave A Scar

Marco was a desolate, windy town made up of sand.

It reminded me of passages I'd read describing Ishval; how people covered their faces with hoods and masks to block the sand from getting in their eyes, their nose and mouths...

It reminded me of my own damn hideaways, and I thought about it until my head hurt.

We weaved through passageways in search of a place to stay. Upon question, Ed and Al both admitted they'd never trekked to Marco, and that left me feeling like unmarked territory on a map. I'd wish I could say the same...

We finally came to a stone-molded place to rest our heads, and he spoke in a tired voice, handing over enough money for a room.

"Whatever you have left."

And just like that, we were in a single-room inn. Ed in one bed, me in another, Al against the wall in the space between the two.

Edward was giving me a look I could only describe as ŀust; eyes glazed over and completely lost in some memory, some spark of his imagination.

I knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to sink his teeth into my neck, listen to my mȯȧn meld in a gasp as he rotated his hɨps, gyrating them upwards and pressing himself firmly against me.

"Brother?"

Neither of us moved at Al's voice. I wanted to do something; widen my eyes, nod or motion my head a little in his direction. But Ed didn't move his look away from me, and eventually his lips moved, wetly parting as I saw his tongue glisten for a moment, rolling into the right shapes.

"Yeah, Al?"

His voice was normal, for the most part; there was a distance there, and I wondered how much he was having to force himself away from straddling me completely. He was just seducing, smoldering me with his eyes instead.

I wanted that look on his face, permanently.

"Do you... Ever think we'll stop running?"

Ed was silent.

"Not sure, Al," he said, his eyes closed. Once again hiding that color, that emotion away from me. I saw the lines below his eyes, the strikes of tiredness. I guess he was having bad dreams, too.

"The Homunucli..." Al continued, helmet creaking as he looked down at himself. "They're getting even stronger..." And then he continued, telling me once again how I'd gotten hurt last time. A light split of the skin. One that could've been avoided, if I had been thinking right.

"And you can't heal like Brother can..." he finished.

I looked back to Edward, looking at his expression. It was distant, as he stared at the floor or the nightstand or somewhere in between.

I wanted him to answer... to give us all something to smile at...

But it never came.

Could I really rely on cheerfulness right now?

Before I could think anymore, before I could do something to lighten the mood, Ed stretched. Automail clicking above his head and underneath the sheets.

"We'll handle it," was all he said. And then he looked to me, a soft smile on his face. Saying how I could take care of myself.

I felt myself break, hearing those words. And I forced myself to smile once again.

It was hard, lying like this. A balloon floating up to a ceiling of spikes. I'd pop, eventually, and my remains would deflate back down to the ones who'd blown me up in the first place.

[I'd pop, and leave my remains in shreds.]

I just hoped they could cover themselves.