Scare My Muse || Accepting
@flameleads is making my heart beat too fast:
(Scare the muse)
Roy wasn't okay.
When he got home from work that night, late due to working overtime, he swayed where he stood. Taking off his boots and coat, one he shouldn't need considering the weather, was a challenge. Was it just him, or was his face flushed? Maybe it was that cold he thought he had earlier in the week making a return. Didn't matter. All he needed to do was get to the kitchen to eat dinner and then go to bed. Simple.
Maybe tonight he could get some goddamn sleep. The couple of hours here and there weren't doing him any favors.
He didn't make it that far. A few steps away from the front door, and he swayed again as his consciousness faded. The last thing he remembered was the room spinning before he fell to the floor on his way to the kitchen. Dinner would have to wait.
It’s instinct to turn when he hears the door open. He’s later than normal. His father is swaying where he stands which lead for blond brows to raise. “Papa?” He chimes, waiting to watch the elder take a seat to remove his boots before moving to his room to change out of his uniform before he comes to the table for dinner. The fact he’s wearing his coat in this summer heat didn’t go unnoted, but before anything that should happen did, golden eyes shrink out in horror as the body that should be winding down after a long day in the office starts to plummet to the floor.
“PAPA!!!”
The wooden spoon in his hand clatters to the floor as he drops everything he’s doing in an instant and is sprinting across the house to get to the front door as fast as he could. There’s a heavy weight as he catches the falling body and said weight takes them both to the ground. The sound of clanking armor comes rushing into the room seeing them both on the ground.
“Brother? Brother are you okay? What happened?” “Papa passed out. He collapsed as soon as ‘e got through the door. Al help m’ git’im ta bed.”
Strong armored arms are lifting their elder from his place on top of the elder Elric, and he’s rushing him around the corner and into his room. There’s a pair mismatched hands right behind the younger, working to get off military issues boots and strip his father out of his both his black jacket and his uniform jacket. Edward’s left hand is too his forehead in and instant, and lips are pulling out into a frown.
“ ‘e’s runnin’ a fever, Al. ‘e’s burnin’ up. We gotta git a doctor in ‘ere. You remember his doctor’s number? I know ‘e does house calls, ‘e came after we came home from the hospital.”
“I don’t even his doctor’s name. He never lets us get involved with his medical stuff. When his doctor came he made sure we were all in other parts of the house and kept it all to himself. He was more worried about you.”
Edward doesn’t like that answer. He’s groaning as he shuffles himself out of the room for now. He needs a bowl and some cold water and from fresh towels. They need to get that temperature down. They need to get him a little more stabilized. Mustang hasn’t been sick like this around them basically ever and if he has the bastard sure hid it fucking well.
It’s okay. It’s not like he’s never taken care of a sick person before.
He could handle this. They could handle this.
They had to.