warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
It doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
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.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
"Tall girls need not apply," Hughes read aloud, without even the trace of a smirk.
rated:K | M+F S+S | Fullmetal | mid-series | First Place, Het & Non-Het | Green Lion Winner | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | angst | humor | sweet | Elric Kyoudai | 354th FG HQ | 2004 First Kiss, Non-Het
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
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.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
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.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
He wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
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.
It was sure to be a disaster.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
"That's what you said last time. And the time before that. And," he added, dragging the feather upward with maddening slowness, "The time before that."
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
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.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
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.
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.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
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.
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.
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.
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.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
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.
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.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."