It was kind of ironic, and kind of inconvenient, that Rush Valley, the capital city of automail, was also hot as hell for half the year.
But he still flinched away from that metal skin, and held his own burning automail arm a little further from his body in hopes that he would not bump against it.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
Brother wasn't the only one hiding his fears; I was so afraid everything I knew was a lie -- that our brotherhood was a lie.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
Hadn't he survived a month on a deserted island when he was ten, equipped only with a little knife and one pair of shorts? He was tough. He was rugged. He could fall asleep anywhere. He could totally do this.
Ed should have remembered this from that month on the island, back when he was a kid: you can only be in the great outdoors so long before you start dreaming of hot showers. And of dumping the people you're travelling with in them.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
Of course he came through the window.
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.
Fullmetal smiled a long, slow smile, the sort that promised evil things were in the near future, and put his boots up on Roy's desk.
Every line in his chest and back was defined; he hardly seemed to have any body fat at all.
They shared the same eyes, the same hair, and a level of intelligence ... and sometimes, Ed felt far too much like he was his father's son.
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
He decided, then, quite firmly, that he wasn't ever going to drink coffee again, with anybody. It was too risky.
"Well, I guess she can't keep him away from every bitch in heat around this place."
Tomorrow: having to talk to fucking Hohenheim. The day after tomorrow: the apocalypse. No pressure, eh?
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
"You don't think doing grown up things makes you look older?" Ed said after a while.
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.
"When I walked in on you in the bath, Edward, I wasn't expecting Al to be there too."
The audience fades away; the chatters dies, their twin breaths are the soft herald of thunder to come.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
Okay, his hair wasn't brushed, and it had been a while since he'd gotten a bath, but he didn't think it was anything to blush at.
He's getting so awfully, awfully tired of pictures, but they won't just stop coming.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
If Al could have frowned suspiciously, he would have. Instead he relied on his expressive vocal stylings as he propped his brother upright. “What’s in that glass, Brother?”
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
If Al began to forget things, then Edward would remember anything and everything for the both of them.
Alphonse worried, but was rapidly won over by his brother's promises.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
You've only been awake for thirty-six hours, staged a coup, fought a bunch of monsters and nearly died a few times. It's not as if you've had a tough day.
rated:M-L-V | GEN | Mangaverse | post-series | SP: up to ch 108 | DF: ch 105 | Dr Marcoh | Alex Louis Armstrong | Alphonse Elric | Cdr Grumman | Dr Knox | Edward Elric | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | death | mystery
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
Alfons Heiderich, this universe's most cruel mistake, came round from the other side of the crumbling brick wall, and Ed found himself again wondering if the man existed solely for his personal torment.
He didn't play anymore, not with reports to file, books to read, notes to scratch out.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
"Just who're you calling..." Edward's voice stuttered to a halt as he saw where the man was pointing. "...short?"
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."