"Half the time you get surprised it's with some shit you didn't even want, the other half of the time you get surprised, you barely avoid getting killed."
Al himself had asked for nothing, except the one thing that Hohenheim wouldn't give him. Freedom.
Alfons had never had anyone his age to horse around with, Edward thought, and as cerebral as he was he probably didn't get in many street fights.
"I have to spend a year at Northern Command, and you can't come with me."
He had lost everything in a heartbeat, on a chance, and deserted his brother, although against his will.
"How old are you?" The answer was on the wanted posters, of course, but he wanted to check.
Sometimes he feels like an actor, playing to an especially difficult audience.
All it took was a push of his hand and the twist of a small brass key to put it out of sight.
Sex isn't comfortable. It's wet, hard, satisfying, but never comfortable.
No one talked of Equivalent Exchange in England, but they had a saying that came close: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
But he kept going back. She knew, and confronted him at one time.
When you live in a small apartment, it's hard to miss when your brother comes home smelling like sex and absinthe.
The door opened, and all the energy Ed had been ready to put towards transmuting the door into a pile of sticks drained out of him through his feet.
"It was a while ago," he offered nervously. "Before your time. He's, uh, well, he was a persistent bastard, and... You're not mad, are you?"
This is not how normal people behave, Ed's mind warned him.
"It's cold and dark and raining, and there are thugs roaming the street - brother, have a heart! He could be killed! He could become kitten stew!"
They were Scientists; this was Nature. They were Modern; God is dead.
Here's the game then: I'm gonna tell you what I want you to do, and you're gonna do it exactly as I say.
He didn't know exactly what he found so captivating, seeing Edward like this, but he couldn't stop looking.
See him move, see him train, see him jump into that air and swing his leg in a complete arch before he lands heavily to the ground in a perfect execution of Sensei's teachings.
The hand under Edward's intact leg shifted, and the fingers snapped. A wave of heat danced across his skin, and he shivered in fear as the failed experiment died.
The air feels cold against Al's face, and even colder down his naked back.
"I am not obsessed with Edward Elric!"
It was an old argument — practically every night, the ritual sparring for who'd be in control.
His flatmate is a night owl and is always knocking around at odd hours, reading well in the early morning; if Alfons didn't remind him to sleep he most likely never would bother to.
"He misses me," came the quiet whisper, a hope that maybe this madness would end, that maybe, maybe, he could be released, that he could go home.
The room had gotten hot and stuffy, and there was sweat on both of his hands, though the sheen on the automail had not come from his own body.
The first thing he was aware of when the aftershocks faded was an automail hand on his throat.
He could imagine the words Fix typed as coming from his brother, and it afforded him a little bit of indulgence in his horrible, sinful, uncontrollable urges.
"Stop that," he snapped, flicking the tap on. "Change into something a little more appropriate. You're not him, brother."
Ed was pretty sure that the Colonel had an office fetish.
Typical Ed; overprotective, hypocritical, condescending, and for some reason fundamentally incapable of treating Al as an equal.
Ed had confessed that he had no idea how the relationships had started.
...Ed looks bored, but Alfons knows that it's an act, that Ed loves learning and these impromptu history lessons are favourites of his.
"Alphonse... why are you wearing a blouse?" The younger boy buried his face in his textbook, and mumbled something inaudible. "...and a miniskirt!?"
He was glad his expression rarely reflected what he felt on the inside.
Of course, the jar was really the professional female companionship fund; or, as Ed liked to sarcastically call it, the pussy kitty.
"Come on," he snorted. "As if I could say no to Al AND Winly looking at me like that."
Dodge or block, it was still a whirlwind of events that could end up with him either winning or losing.
"Hey! She did it blindfolded! No one else could do that! And better her than that old hag!"
The easiest way to destroy an enemy is to destroy those he depends upon.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
"Fuhrer my ass," Edward said. "He's still nothing but a perverted old man."
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.
"You just can't get enough punishment, can you, you little masochist?"
One never grew entirely accustomed to having nightmares, Ed had found.
"Your arm," said Al, smiling apologetically. "It's kind of heavy."
Open Mike Night at Rush Valley's one and only coffee house attracts a great many of the town's most ridiculous people.
The sweet morning snaps like a fragile pane of glass and Al is sobbing, the sounds tearing up out of his chest and throat before he can stop them.