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Whiskey is the only thing that pushes Edward through the fear, and straight to sleep.
But it’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep. It’s that he has to.
He can’t afford to miss anything else.
*
Do you hear her? Sleep whispers.
He does.
Her voice is like a rainstorm, and he wants to be drenched but he has an umbrella he can’t put down.
Winry’s chattering stays at static level. Ed can only tell the tone of her voice. Imagine her words. The night goes, the storm pours, and he strains to listen. Begs Truth to let him understand.
*
The dream switches. It’s still dark but he can feel the change, the air pressure shifting in the room. Like clouds moving for rain. He wants to see the light.
Do you hear her? Sleep whispers.
He does.
Her voice beckons him, pulls him out of his drunken stupor and into the drifting void of dream life.
He tells people he drinks to avoid dreams. But that’s a lie.
When he strains her voice becomes clearer. Pulls away from the radio static it was, barely noticeable unless you had a well trained ear, and forms into the shape of her.
Remember blonde , he tells his eyes. Remember the smell of motor oil, the feel of calluses, well-honed over time. Remember her cupid’s bow mouth and lake-deep eyes. Remember when you were allowed dreams of sight, and how you kissed her until you woke up.
Now, he doesn’t even have that. Still, he tries to remember.
*
Do you hear her? Sleep whispers.
He does.
During the day he can banish her. Lock her away in a part of his mind built for ignoring. There are other things to do, places to go.
But at night, he can’t control anything. Sleep is a black void, a dark place where control is gone.
Tonight, the dark glows white at the edges, like it could turn into a bright dream. A could-have-been future that he doesn’t deserve.
He smells grass, feels the tendrils tickling at his ankles.
Then the wind blows, cool and crisp against his face. Fresh flower blooms waft towards his nose. In the background, there’s the faint sound of her, existing. He can’t tell what she’s doing but it must be back at the Rockbell home; she could be cooking or tinkering or about to kill him with a wrench.
He prayed to Truth: let me see.
The void keeps its glowing edges, and the only thing Ed swears he can make out is an evil smile.
*
Do you see her? Sleep asks.
No but I want to.
What makes you think you deserve to move beyond the void?
Sleep has turned into her voice. He can hear it, crystal clear.
I don’t.
Sleep sighs. Nothing is revealed.
Did I answer wrong?
He asks once, twice, and then over and over. Has Sleep disappeared? Left him to the dark depths of memory; suffering until his body gives out.
A man has to sleep. He can’t give this up.
Wakefulness pulls at his brain and as he opens his eyes, she’s there. A faded portrait, a glimpse that slips away nanosecond by nanosecond. Blink and she’ll be gone.
He catches her lips moving: try again.
*
The light of day burns his eyes. He counts the hours until he can return to the depths of night. A man shouldn’t live his life waiting for sleep, and he pretends he doesn’t.
But how else can he return to her?