warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
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.
You're the only person on earth who will ever be able to read this message.
It was sure to be a disaster.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
"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
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
"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."
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
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 so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
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.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
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.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
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.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
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.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
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 ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
It doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
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.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
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.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
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 is snowing in earnest by the time the fire has begun to burn low, but neither boy wants to move to add more wood.
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.
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.
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.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
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.