Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairings/Characters: Gluttony, Lust.
Warnings: Angst, gen.
Notes: This is a complete deviation from the corner of the fandom I usually inhabit. I'd never really given much thought to Gluttony as a character before, and I certainly enjoyed writing this. ^^ Written for eyesofthenight
over at the fma_exchange::Ravenous::
Deep, deep, something beyond the physical. It was a hunger that he could not sate, no matter how much he consumed. If he ate enough, it might take the worst of the edge off. Sometimes, when he ate the right things --the taste of blood and the crunch of bone, screaming, screaming, and he could not bring himself to care--
the hunger would recede enough that he could actually think. When he could he think, he could remember. Wide blue eyes that crinkled at the corners and a kind smile. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew that she was someone he had loved.
When he remembered, he knew somehow that she would be ashamed of what he had become. When the hunger returned in force, he welcomed it because it drove away the memories, drove away the knowledge that she would be so very disappointed. He did not know who she was, but he knew he could not bear her sadness, and so he was grateful to hide from it.
The others believed him stupid. They treated him like a simpleton, and he was content to let them do so. They did not understand his hunger, they did not share his memories of a life lost. They did not have to hide from blue eyes. Sometimes he envied them, but Envy was not his nature and the emotion soon faded into the white noise of his thoughts.
So he retreated behind his hunger, both curse and haven. He did as he was told, followed the orders he was given; an obedient puppet. If he obeyed, he did not have to think, and if he did not think, he would not remember. It was safe behind his hunger, in the white noise. It shielded him from blue eyes and a broken heart. In lucid moments, he wondered if he was a coward.
He wondered if it mattered if he was.
So his life went, and endless progression of days marked only by the rise and fall of his hunger, punctuated by the memories he longed for and hated.
She was different from the others. She reminded him of the woman with blue eyes; more beautiful and less warm, and while she was not precisely kind, she was gentle with him. Lust, they called her. He had to take them at their word because he could experience no such desire. For him there was only hunger.
She understood him as the others did not. He thought that maybe she, too, had a hunger of a different sort that could never truly be sated. Kindred they were, more than the others. Sometimes, he would catch her frowning in a distant sort of way and he knew that she was remembering her life before. Her memories were as fragmented, as torturous as his and sometimes he wondered if she could hide from them as he did.
Or perhaps she could not escape them at all.
He hated and loved it when she remembered. He did not wish any suffering on her, but after a time her brow would smooth and she would look at him, touch his head gently and tell him to eat. The sight of him indulging his hunger seemed to wash away the memories, the screaming and the blood seemed to ground her, and he was happy to help.
Afterwards, he would wonder if he loved her.
She was not the blue eyed woman, but she was special to him. He would do anything, anything she asked of him. Her approval mattered, because if he could earn her approval, then the sadness of the woman from his memories was easier to bear. Easier to forget.
He watched the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, listened to the rhythmic sound of her breathing. This was contentment, he decided, as much as he was capable of being content. He belonged to her. She served the master, but he served her. His loyalty was to her, and her alone. He looked over when she stood, rising in a single graceful motion. “Come, Gluttony,” she said, sparing him a glance before turning away. He smiled and followed.
He would follow her forever.