Kimbley... I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose?
He had awoken that morning, before dawn, with that voice in his head, too clear and too familiar, and had paced around in his pajamas. He had said, 'If you want,' which was as close as he could have ever gotten to a sincere 'yes.' But, even after he had eaten a little and dressed himself-- the ribbon in his dark hair was a soft, boyish blue today-- Kimbley couldn't quite bring himself to be certain that he was going to go and see Major Frank Archer that day. It was beginning to strangely strike him as something extremely foreign and discomforting-- a relationship.
Still, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do, he told himself. Just more paperwork whilst the military figured out what they wanted to do with their psychotic bomber alchemist. It had absolutely nothing to do with concern-- Archer would be fine, with his new automail. A few lonely weeks surrounded by sterile whiteness, and the man was nearly as good as new. Nothing a good soldier wouldn't be able to take. Especially not an ambitious soldier, like Archer.
But, somehow, Kimbley had laced up his military issue boots and walked out of the dorms in the direction of the hospital, remembering the way to Archer's room this time, but walking slowly, thoughts bogging up his mind and making him less than pleasant company for those few who would seek it.