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31_days2010-11-18 02:59 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-11-18 02:59 pm
[Nov. 18] [Fullmetal Alchemist] Love Dies Without a Whisper
Title: Love Dies Without a Whisper
Day/Theme: Nov. 18, 2010 "Maybe there is a beast...maybe it's only us"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee & his younger brother
Rating: PG
As per some of my other stories. More messing around from yours truly. (I need to get to more of these themes!)
"Solf?"
Solf sat impassively at the desk. He had turned around to face his brother when he called his attention over, away from his work, but he had not spoken. Lon knew he always approached a situation he could not read very carefully. It was important to him that he handled every circumstance in the best, most suitable manner. He studied the expression painted across his brother's face and judged it serious- a plea for full and sincere attention. Intently, still looking away from his work and the desk, Solf laid his pencil down upon his papers.
"Solf, there's something," it was hard for Lon to say this, "Something I want-" He paused, swallowing nervously and focusing too much on the act, "I need to tell you." His wide hazel eyes were all but welling up with emotion already.
Solf could see he was tense. But was he afraid of what he had to ask or of the answer he might receive? No matter the topic of his inquiry, Solf was certain he could handle responding to it. And in the case of nearly any subject, he had some confidence in his ability to soothe his brother's nervous spirits as he had done so, so many times in the past.
"Solf," Lon breathed his given name in some holy, horrified whisper, "Those bombings that shook everyone up last summer- are you the Mad Bomber?"
Two pairs of eyes met in a solemn standoff. Lon's bottom lip trembled as a reasonable amount of time passed for his brother to deliver to him the answer he desired. Solf refused to speak and incriminate himself any further. If there was any person he could claim to understand, it was Lon, right down to his core. If he hadn't believe almost for certain that Solf was the culprit he might have fretted privately over the subject, but he would never have made such an inquiry- such an accusation. He would not risk spattering the stain of mistrust across the surface of the most important relationship in his life. It seemed narcissistic to think this, but Solf had lived alongside Lon for every day of the younger man's life. Much of what he knew about human nature and people in general he had learned through Lon.
The moment stretched on painfully until for Lon there was no chance, no hope, for self-delusion to survive. Solf, he realized, was not sorry at all. He could meet his brother's gaze until the end of time. He, feline, barely blinked. The only concession Lon could allow him at this moment was that he had not smiled. But even as a criminal, a wanted man, in Lon's warm, watery eyes, Solf could feel a tenuous hope- a reaching out to him. "Why did you do it?" Lon was asking with those eyes, "What's wrong with you? How can I fix it?"
Because Solf could look forever, it was Lon who had to look away. His eyes drifted to his trembling hands in terror. Abruptly, without preamble, he began to weep.
He slipped, shaking, down to his knees, sitting on the floor like a child. Solf did not rise from his chair. As the source of this sorrow, it felt impolite to rise and touch him or offer his handkerchief. At the same time, it wasn't proper to turn away and get back to work. So, while Lon cried, sobbing like a mourner, Solf sat and merely watched.
Day/Theme: Nov. 18, 2010 "Maybe there is a beast...maybe it's only us"
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Kimblee & his younger brother
Rating: PG
As per some of my other stories. More messing around from yours truly. (I need to get to more of these themes!)
"Solf?"
Solf sat impassively at the desk. He had turned around to face his brother when he called his attention over, away from his work, but he had not spoken. Lon knew he always approached a situation he could not read very carefully. It was important to him that he handled every circumstance in the best, most suitable manner. He studied the expression painted across his brother's face and judged it serious- a plea for full and sincere attention. Intently, still looking away from his work and the desk, Solf laid his pencil down upon his papers.
"Solf, there's something," it was hard for Lon to say this, "Something I want-" He paused, swallowing nervously and focusing too much on the act, "I need to tell you." His wide hazel eyes were all but welling up with emotion already.
Solf could see he was tense. But was he afraid of what he had to ask or of the answer he might receive? No matter the topic of his inquiry, Solf was certain he could handle responding to it. And in the case of nearly any subject, he had some confidence in his ability to soothe his brother's nervous spirits as he had done so, so many times in the past.
"Solf," Lon breathed his given name in some holy, horrified whisper, "Those bombings that shook everyone up last summer- are you the Mad Bomber?"
Two pairs of eyes met in a solemn standoff. Lon's bottom lip trembled as a reasonable amount of time passed for his brother to deliver to him the answer he desired. Solf refused to speak and incriminate himself any further. If there was any person he could claim to understand, it was Lon, right down to his core. If he hadn't believe almost for certain that Solf was the culprit he might have fretted privately over the subject, but he would never have made such an inquiry- such an accusation. He would not risk spattering the stain of mistrust across the surface of the most important relationship in his life. It seemed narcissistic to think this, but Solf had lived alongside Lon for every day of the younger man's life. Much of what he knew about human nature and people in general he had learned through Lon.
The moment stretched on painfully until for Lon there was no chance, no hope, for self-delusion to survive. Solf, he realized, was not sorry at all. He could meet his brother's gaze until the end of time. He, feline, barely blinked. The only concession Lon could allow him at this moment was that he had not smiled. But even as a criminal, a wanted man, in Lon's warm, watery eyes, Solf could feel a tenuous hope- a reaching out to him. "Why did you do it?" Lon was asking with those eyes, "What's wrong with you? How can I fix it?"
Because Solf could look forever, it was Lon who had to look away. His eyes drifted to his trembling hands in terror. Abruptly, without preamble, he began to weep.
He slipped, shaking, down to his knees, sitting on the floor like a child. Solf did not rise from his chair. As the source of this sorrow, it felt impolite to rise and touch him or offer his handkerchief. At the same time, it wasn't proper to turn away and get back to work. So, while Lon cried, sobbing like a mourner, Solf sat and merely watched.