Leave A Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)

A Helping Hand (Or Two)

A/N: Warning, soft lemon ahead. ⚠️
Note: in story-writing, especially fanfiction, a "lemon" is any scene with explicit (detailed) sexual situations. There's only a few true explicitly sexual lines in this chapter, but if this idea bothers you/makes you uncomfortable, please skip this chapter.

Non-erotic version of this story is on Booksie :)

____

It was cold, this room of two.

I closed my eyes, and just like that I was in a small hotel, sitting in front of a fire and sitting next to a blind Ed. Our hands nearly interlinked, if I thought to move properly.

It nearly distracted me from the chill of this room, that memory.

Next to me, on the bed moments away, Ed stirred. He rolled over to face me, distress between thin golden brows. But his eyes were closed... a nightmare?

I had the thought to move, to slip from the covers and pad my feet until the organs that made up myself were closer to him. I had the thought, and then the action followed.

I cuddled close, after slipping underneath those sheets. I inched near him, hearing my heart beat in my throat like a hummingbird resting to gather nectar. I cuddled close, my forehead against the very end of his neck, one arm holding onto a metal shoulder. My hand moved, fingertips gently running across the scars rimming his automail, the edge of skin and steel.

I thought about the scales, and how distant they were in weight. One heaving so much more mass than the other.

I needed to balance them out, and I hadn't a clue where to begin.

____

My opportunity came early in the morning. A final wake-up call, but as I stirred from the empty bed I had moved myself into before sleep, I recalled my last waking thought.
The scales, and how uneven they were.

My heart disintegrated, just having that memory.

I rose from sleep as if I hadn't been dreaming in the first place. I immediately sensed him, heard his soft footsteps, one step lighter than the other. I sat up, bleary eyes looking at his back. How his hair already braided and here I was with sleep still running through aching bones.

I yawned, looking over at the clock on the nightstand between our beds. I squinted at the time, trying to decipher the small hands in the fog of my brain. Four in the morning?

I turned to the sound of weight being added to a chair. Ed sat by the door, doing nothing but stare at the space between his feet. He leaned over and to the side, practically dragging himself and retrieving the shoes he'd dropped on the floor.

The boots were pulled over until they occupied that space in front of his feet. He raised one hand to his closed eyes, fingers of his metal hand pressing against the bridge of his nose. He didn't move, didn't even breathe. I knew what he was doing, and with a heavy heart, I looked away. Letting him build up the strength he needed to get through today, the strength to fall back on another failure with a smile.

If only there was some way to make him relax...

I felt heat rushed to my face. Well, it had worked for him...

Memories began stirring, erupting old wounds I tried to keep locked away. I stood up, training every bit of focus I had on Edward. He paid no mind to me, continuing to sit in the chair by the door, slipping one shoe onto his foot.

He still looked tired. His eyes especially; they looked exhausted. My heart sank, as I rose from tangled sheets.

I leaned back a little, hands holding themselves behind me. "Hey, Ed?"