warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
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 wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
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.
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.
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...
It was sure to be a disaster.
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.
"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'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.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
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.
You're the only person on earth who will ever be able to read this message.
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.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
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.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
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.
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.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
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.
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
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.
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 is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
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.
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 doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
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.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.