warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
More than once already, Edward had regretted turning down the offer of a ride home, despite the fact that the little house he shared with Alphonse was nowhere near where Havoc lived.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
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.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
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.
It was only after the sheer sensation had abated — only when he felt on solid enough ground to focus on the subtleties of life once more — that the habit began to catch his attention.
There was a lot to be said for experimentation, Ed thought later, when Al was curled up in his arms as Winry fussed in the bathroom.
I know what I feel, I know what I think, and I don't need to chickenscratch the shit down and have the risk of it falling into the wrong hands.
It doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
Between Ed's commanding presence and the fact that Al had been an impressively large suit of spiked armor, it had been hard to get to know him much.
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
The water streamed clear and icy through his fingers- and all at once he straightened, laughing, to flick the last few drops into his brotherís face.
Tenderly, Ed's flesh fingers threaded into hair that he had created — short and bronze-gold, the same downy texture that he'd recalled from childhood.
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
It was a lousy day, depressing and the color of the sky on his way home reminded Ed of the color of the Gate and he just felt helpless and sorry and lonely and bad.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
Roy Mustang often looked back on his wedding night, recalling what he had thought about his subordinates; even now, they were his family, his safety, his friends.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
It is snowing in earnest by the time the fire has begun to burn low, but neither boy wants to move to add more wood.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that heíd spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
He had never dared to dream that things could get better, astounded as he'd been by the way air tasted spilling over his tongue...
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
It was sure to be a disaster.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.