warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
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, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
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 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.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
It doesn’t disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
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.
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.
The water streamed clear and icy through his fingers- and all at once he straightened, laughing, to flick the last few drops into his brother’s face.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
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.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
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.
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.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
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.
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 was sure to be a disaster.
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.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that he’d spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."