warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
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.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to 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.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
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.
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.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
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.
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 desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
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.
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.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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...
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
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 doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
"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
"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."
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
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.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
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.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.