Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
He's been after her since the day they met. He'd been a newly-made Major and, at the time, the youngest State Alchemist ever. She'd been a Colonel going on Brigadier General.
Al loved the way his brother's face turned inward, his golden eyes unfocusing and a little smile coming to his face...
Any girl would be driven insane if she was the youngest child and the only girl in a family of six children.
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
When Winry found him, he could not help but clutch at her, babbling almost hysterically.
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
Were Riza to choose, she would be the shield rather than the sword.
Ed had confessed that he had no idea how the relationships had started.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
Always on Al's face was that soft, sad expression, paralleled by the fierce unyieldingness on Ed's.
Who was waiting for him? He tried to remember, but his mind wasn't working quite right at the moment.
Sometimes they race to see who can get to Winry's house faster.
If he would permit himself to be honest, Alphonse would admit to Roy that he hates the rain, too.
He hadn't asked Hughes to follow him to this place.
They were sharing a bed by necessity that winter, piling all the quilts onto one bed and hiding under them while the little radiator struggled to warm the small room.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her tobac tin, more to annoy her visitor than anything else.
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
He tilted his jaw and the kid struck the match, lit it, lifted it to his cigarette.
But Mustang would hold onto his control easily, manipulating the boy to lose more and more of his.
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.
Every statement directed at me now seemed to be prefaced with "you bastard." I didn't mind; it was as good a name as any other.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
This new life was staggering - more so, the feel of Alphonse's shoulder, warm and flesh beneath his cheek as the train lurched out of the station.
They would bow, they would drop into a fighting stand and extend their swords, there would be the shout of en garde. And then she would take him down.
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
Like other little girls, she wanted to be an actress, the heroine in her own perfect fairytale.
He recalled lifting it cautiously up to his nose, and then back away from the stinging, spicy herbs along with the smouldering scent of tobacco.
Inside the house, the door to the new room his father was building, with the wonderful baby-blue walls and blankets and toys, is shut and locked.
Ed shrugged, although his expression suggested he was trying to keep from being too smug about beating a man almost twice his age.
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
Tonight it is a comforting chatter, in a strange way, that takes Lan Fan's mind away from Young Master's perhaps impossible goal.
Some of the stuff he was asked to investigate was truly stupid shit. A bakery, for instance.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
The first time was not a night of magic or fireworks, not something dreams were made of, not something that either of them planned on repeating again.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
He doesn't love Scar. The idea is ridiculous, but they are all they have left, each other's bodies rocks against the tide of strangeness, unfamiliarity.
Ed started to worry that Al was sulking when the cat's neck snapped under Al's hands.
Ed glared at him, and Al sighed. Maybe today wouldn't be a good day for Edward after all.
The feel of hands on his shoulders woke him, one metal and one flesh, and it was the chill in human fingers that told him how cold the night had grown while he slept.
Winly was touched, really, that even after two years without seeing one another, Ed still wrote her letters.
He read his father's old, dog-eared textbooks, fascinated by the mechanics of alchemy.
"It's different when it's Mom," Ed said with a scowl, but he looked at Al's face, and he softened a little.
They stand and take notes, eyeing him suspiciously, but he doesn't turn to meet their eyes...
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
They'd been on the run so long, Ed had long since lost track of the last time he'd slept in a bed instead of in an abandoned barn, or under a hedge.
Ed tosses four sausages at once into his mouth and swallows almost without chewing, shooting Al a smug, triumphant grin.