Work Text:
When you first learn of space, you hear about black holes, nebulas and supernovas — facts that sounded further than fiction. You know you’ll never be close to one to know for sure, but the idea of it tugs at you. After all, you must still be a scientist, an explorer at heart.
It’s late, but you’re walking up to the deck. The constellations are still many, many lightyears away, but from here you can see the whole earth. It’s stunning.
“Can’t sleep?”
You turn to his voice, and he’s walking up to join you.
“Edward? How did you know I was here?”
“‘Cause this is everyone’s favourite room,” he answers with a cheeky grin.
You smile, turning back to the window.
“Doesn’t this feel like a dream?”
There’s been this strange floaty feeling since you came up here. You’ve chalked it up to the lack of gravity, but somewhere you still feel delirious.
“Kinda, yea,” Edward says quietly. “If it is though, I don’t wanna wake up.”
“Scared you’ll have to take another exam?” You tease.
“Ugh,” Edward’s face scrunches up. “I liked learning but the exams are just horrible.”
You laugh, feeling the cold air rush into your lungs. It tickles your chest, and you cough a little. It’s already been better, but every trickle rushes you into worry anyway.
“Are you cold?” Edward asks, frowning with concern.
He reaches to take your hand in his. He’s a little cold too, but it’s a nice gesture and you fold your fingers over his.
“Just a little bit,” you reply.
---
The library had always been a special place to you. You’ve loved it as a kid, and then even more as you got better at reading. It was like a dream factory; words and knowledge that you used as stepping stones to craft even bigger, bolder worlds.
It was also where you met Edward for the first time.
You were looking for a book, a title you had picked off the lecturer’s recommendation. You know reference books can’t be checked out, but it wasn’t on the shelf. Still, you check the neighbouring ones, hoping it was just misplaced somewhere. Then you stumble upon him.
Or rather, his stack of books.
There’s a painful clatter as paperbacks and hardbounds are scattered left and right. He rises to stop it, but you’ve already crashed elbow-first into the third volume of The Biology of Life, among others.
“Shit, are you alright?” He asks, slight panic creeping through his voice.
“Somewhat,” you say, carefully extracting yourself from the mess.
When you finally get to look at him properly, you realise he’s looking at you funny.
“...What is it?” You ask, wondering if you had bumped your head, or was bleeding.
“No, no nothing!” He says quickly. “Sorry, lemme help you up.”
He tugs you up from the mess, and clears a corner so you can sit.
“Sorry about the...mess,” he remarks, looking rather sheepish about it. “I got a little carried away.”
You sigh, thinking how ‘carried away’ was a complete understatement. The man looked like he had robbed half the library.
“The librarian will be mad if you don’t return them proper-”
Your eyes chance upon the title: Astrophysics: Theories and Findings
“It was here!”
You snatch the book up from where it lay on the floor, shooting him the dirtiest look you could muster.
“Ah- sorry…” He looks down, embarrassed.
You want to scold him for leaving books lying everywhere, but you know that this was his haven, too.
“It’s fine,” you say, the earlier irritation already falling away. “Come on, I’ll help you clean up.”
You pick up various books, noting that they were of various sciences and maths. It appeared as if he was something of a madman, grasping at books like straws.
“I’ve never seen you around, what’s your name?”
“Edward,” he answers, beginning to pick up a few books as well. “Edward Elric.”
“I’m Alfons Heiderich.”
Edward stares at you like he’s waiting for you to say more. You shift the paperbacks in your arms, suddenly self-conscious.
“Were you planning to read all these by yourself, Edward?” You ask, turning away to sort the books by subject and call number.
“I was just…just looking,” he says.
“What do you study?”
“Um, various things,” Edward replies.
“I can see that,” you laugh. Even at a glance, there’s a sea of subjects around him.
“What about you, what do you study?”
“Me?” You blink. “I’m majoring in engineering now but I’m hoping to switch to aerospace.”
“Aerospace?” Edward frowns.
“Like planes, or rocketships,” you explain. “Things that fly, maybe even out of this world.”
Edward looks interested.
---
Sometime after spring, he starts showing up in your classes. You learn that he’s attentive and bright, though careless at times. He seems to enjoy class, one of the few who didn’t whine about additional readings, but devoured them without complaint. Still, when his eyes aren’t sparkling with interest, that old distant look creeps back in. It was like an old wound, something aged and secret; something he would never divulge, even if you became his best friend.
He leaves almost immediately after each class, moving like a hurricane, packing hurriedly and then disappearing. You think what a waste it is - he seemed like a charming person, and you were sure he could be making many friends in his classes if he bothered to stay.
Well, you would have liked him to stay.
Then one day there’s a class assignment that requires everyone work in pairs, and Edward comes up to you.
“Alfons, wanna work together?”
You’re surprised to say the least.
“Sure, Edward,” you say, then as some afterthought, you add
“Would you like me to check your equations?”
“Oh- shut up!” He grumbles, falling into the empty seat beside you.
A week into working with Edward and you’re learning that his mind is chaotic.
Although he has a bright mind, his work is messy and difficult to follow, his handwriting almost illegible. He also skips steps and is careless with details, something the professor had pointed out as well.
“Are you writing in a secret code?” You frown as you look over his work. “You know if the professor can’t read this it won’t matter.”
Edward grimaces, apologising as he retrieves his paper.
Another thing you learn is that Edward possesses certain gaps in his knowledge, as if he had skipped chapters or even entire syllables in his earlier years.
“What’s this ‘law’?” Edward asks, beckoning you over.
“Ah, Newton’s law of energy. It says that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed from one form to another.”
“Got it, thanks.”
Finally, one afternoon you learn that his right arm is a prosthetic.
He had gotten up to stretch, tearing off his gloves when you notice the stark contrast in colour and the unusual texture of his right hand.
“Oh. Yea, lost it in an accident.”
“Does it hurt?”
It felt dumb, to ask if a limb that was already gone hurt. But before you could rephrase it, the words had already left your mouth.
“Nah, it just gets stiff when it’s cold,” Edward shrugs.
Despite his odd traits, you enjoy working with him. His enthusiasm outshines anyone else you’ve ever known, and when he speaks you can feel the stars in his eyes; the spark in the air around him. Before you know it, you’re being pulled into his pace.
---
Early in December, there’s a snow day at the university. People in the hallways are marvelling as snow covers the earth, inches and inches of soft clouds falling from the skies.
“Hey Alfons, wanna go outside?” Edward asks, the biggest grin on his face.
“Why, do you want to play in the snow, Edward?” You laugh, because he looks like a five-year-old and even more so when he pouts in response.
“Come on, it’s rare!” Edward whines.
Your body has always been weak to the cold, a tragedy when winter hits. But Edward is grinning like you’ve already said yes, telling you to ‘hurry up’ even though all the snow won’t be going anywhere for the rest of the day.
What else can you do, but stumble after a force like that?
Your coughing fit, later, is completely predictable.
Edward is apologising, worry evident in his face as he tugs you back into the building.
“I’m so dumb, of course the cold would be bad for you,” he curses at himself. “Hey, you alright?”
He squeezes your gloved hands in his (just his left one) and you huddle a little closer, the cold hugging your chest tighter still.
Then once you’re out of the common hallway Edward pulls an arm over your shoulder and tugs you towards him. You’re still a few inches taller, but he holds you anyway, and the warmth crosses back to your body.
“There...better?”
“...yes,” you manage and he releases you slowly.
---
Almost two years into meeting him, you move into an apartment in Munich together. The arrangement had come about suddenly, yet felt only natural. Both of you are still majoring in aerospace engineering, and wanted to stay close to the central of your work.
The apartment was small, but well-furnished. There was just enough space for both of you, if you shared and took turns.
The first three rows on the bookshelf were yours. Edward had the last three. The desk in the room was Edward’s, while you would use the dining table. Groceries and food are shared, and chores were split. Edward had to store the spares of his prosthetics somewhere too, so those took a corner of the bedroom. You had your medicine - those went in the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. After that was clothes, which the both of you split into two drawers each in the bedroom dresser.
Things mostly fell into place. Except Edward’s habits.
For a start, he couldn’t cook. Edward blamed it on ‘never having a kitchen’, although he won’t elaborate on that either. He was also messy, leaving books and papers all over his desk. He also stayed up often and had difficulty getting up in the morning, unless there was something exciting to do.
He kept to himself a lot, too.
When you had met him in school, he talked a lot, but it was mostly about the subjects, and rarely about himself. Slowly, you came to realise that you barely knew anything about him.
---
When it comes to building rockets, calculations are critical. The margin of error should be as small as possible, as a single deviation of as much as half a degree is akin to sending a ship hurtling into the wrong star.
Edward thinks he’s in a different world. Funny, when you’re the one burning up with a fever.
“You stayed up again, didn’t you?” Edward scolds, removing the damp towel from your forehead.
“You stay up too, Edward,” you protest.
“That’s different, I’m-” he starts, then pauses as he rinses out the towel in the pail. “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten much today, have you?”
“It’s fine, I’m not hungry,” you say amicably.
“My cooking’s not that bad, is it?” Edward frowns. He folds up the towel and replaces it on your burning forehead.
“It’s alright,” you laugh. You do most of the cooking. “It’s edible.”
“High praise.” Edward rolls his eyes.
You laugh a little again, but your traitorous lungs are twisting on your little joy, and you’re coughing and heaving painfully again. Edward rises from his seat, hands reaching out to help you sit up, help you breathe better.
“You okay?” He asks, peering at you with concern again.
The coughs finally die away a little, and you can choke out a reply.
“Yea.”
Edward looks relieved, and he releases you so you can rest back.
“You’re pretty good at taking care of people aren’t you, Edward?”
He blinks at you.
“Well, of course! I used to take care of my little brother, you know.”
“You have a little brother?” This is new.
“Yea,” Edward looks down, moves the hands in his lap like he’s clutching at something. “He’s not here right now though.”
You’re not sure what those words mean.
“I guess you are older than me after all huh?”
“What do you mean ‘after all’? Was that a jab at my height?” Edward retorts, shooting you a glare. You know he’s always been sensitive about his height, but even that feels half-hearted now, like there’s something heavier in his heart.
“You’re only one year older,” you say. “If anything, you’re more like an upperclassman.”
“Upperclassman huh?” Edward huffs.
There’s that look again. That weird, brooding look he casts your way when he thinks you’re not paying attention.
“You really look like him though.”
“Your brother?”
Edward nods, quiet.
You should leave him be. He looks upset enough, and you’ve always known how to keep your distance. But the fever had been burning away the whole day and your medicine hasn’t been working as well as it should be.
“Does it bother you?”
Edward blinks, staring at you for a moment before he shakes his head with a small smile.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Go get some rest.”
He starts to get up.
“Edward,” you say quickly.
“What is it?”
“I can’t fall asleep.”
“What, are you a kid now?” he scoffs, but there’s no bite in his voice and he’s sitting down again. “Your medicine isn’t working again, is it?”
You nod. It should be calming the itch in your chest and lulling you to sleep, but the symptoms are stubborn and restless.
“Fine, guess I’ll take a little break too. Hm, you want me to talk? Or is that too noisy?”
“It’s fine,” you answer as another cough bubbles through your throat. “I think the distraction will help.”
“That so…” Edward looks away, pondering over it. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s a world similar to this one, and I used to live there.”
Back then, you had taken it all as fiction. You had thought he was just making up stories to entertain you - though for a fairytale, he was terribly invested.
Edward tells you about alchemy; how advanced it is and that he was so good at it he was even a ‘state alchemist’. His brother was good at it too. And then he travelled the country helping people, saving them from crisis.
If you had the energy you would refute him - say that alchemy died out many years ago, and it’s impossible that it could be more useful than steam engines. But instead you listen and he continues talking, the stories sounding distant but real.
Edward continues to tell his stories, long after you’ve recovered from your cold.
“So what happened after that?” you prompt, amused. “Did you save the princess too?”
“No, there isn’t a princess, idiot!” Edward scoffs. “I gave them all a good beating and saved the town!”
“That’s heroic of you,” you say, lifting the kettle off the stove and pouring out the tea.
“Damn right it was,” Edward huffs. “But that damn Colonel just laughed at me and said I did his job for him!”
“You really don’t like him, do you?” You laugh. The tea smells good, and the steam is soothing too. “Did your brother travel with you?”
The kitchen is silent.
“Ah- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”
“He did. My brother travelled with me too.”
His tone softens.
“His name is Al, really similar to yours.”
“Oh.” You replace the kettle on the stove. There’s something tight in your chest, reminiscent of your stubborn colds.
“Was he taller than you too?”
“N-no!” Edward responds, visibly offended. “Of course I’m taller, I’m the older brother!”
“That isn’t always how it works, Edward,” you laugh, moving to stand next to him. There’s at least two inches between the two of you.
“Stop it, you bastard,” Edward grumbles, ducking away and grabbing his tea off the counter.
As usual, your stubborn cough cuts off your laugh. Edward looks concerned, torn between handing your cup to you and waiting it out. It’s not too bad, you try to say, there’s just something sitting in your chest.
Not exactly a bad feeling. Just something that feels...off. The wrong star.
---
Sometime in summer, there’s a carnival. Edward wants to go, even though it’s far out in the country. You rent a car and drive there, setting out early in the morning and arriving just past noon.
You thought he would be tired from the drive, but he’s full of energy when you arrive.
“Oh Alfons, look! There’s tons of stalls!”
“We have enough time to look through them all slowly, Edward!” you call out after him.
When you finally catch up to him, Edward is already holding a packet of food in his arms and seemed to have stopped to get even more.
“Alfons, they’ve got ice-cream! Do you want some?” Edward grins.
Oh, the cold again. It’s summer but you know your body won’t tolerate it well, so you refuse.
“You should just get it for yourself, I’m alright.”
“Hm? Okay then.”
Since the heat starts melting the ice-cream as soon as it leaves the freezer, Edward starts consuming that first. You find a bench to sit, and he plops down beside you.
“Want a bit?” Edward offers, sticking out a spoonful at you. “If it’s just a bit, it’s fine right? Besides, it’s hot today.”
You know that’s not the point, but at his insistence you give in and bend the rules a little.
“Good in this heat, huh?” He says. “Ya want anymore?”
“No thanks,” you grimace. “I get the feeling that if I had any more my body would start to hate me.”
“Ah, yea.” Edward looks a little guilty.
He finishes off the rest of the ice-cream, then sticks the spoon in the corner of his mouth like a kid.
“The truth is, I’m not a very good big brother.”
“Hm?” You peer at him. What brought this on?
“When we were really young, I used to pick on Al all the time,” Edward continues. “I did it ‘cause I thought our mum liked him more, and I found him annoying so I’ll hit him and stuff.”
Edward told stories all the time, so it wasn’t unusual, but this one felt personal.
“Though that just made our mum fuss over him more, so that didn’t really help me,” Edward laughs. “I guess after that I grew out of it, and decided I was going to be a proper big brother to Al. We still fought all the time, but I thought that when it mattered, I’d be the responsible one.”
You wait. Edward picks out the spoon and throws it into the bin across the path.
“In the end, I couldn’t take care of him.”
“What happened?” You ask without thinking. Somehow, you felt that this was related to how he lost his limbs.
“It was...was an accident, yea.” Edward mumbles. “I bet mum would be mad at me, though.”
“If it was an accident,” you begin carefully. “Then you can’t be entirely to blame for it then, can you?”
Edward turns toward you, staring at you for the first time since he’d started rambling.
“I-I guess, maybe.” He shrugs. “Still, I was the one who got him involved.”
Involved? Involved in what?
“Anyway, forget about that. Let’s go back and check out the rest of the carnival, okay?” Edward says, rising to his feet.
You get the sense that he’s forcing a smile, but you meet him in the middle with one of your own, too.
The carnival is closing off with fireworks. The crowd gathers around the display, pushing to get the better view. You look back, fretting for a moment that you would have lost Edward in the bustle, despite staying together for the whole festival.
“There…!” You turn to his voice just as you feel a tug on your hand, and then you realise that he is holding your hand. “Now we won’t lose each other, a foolproof plan huh?”
You laugh. You wondered if two grown men holding hands in a crowd would be weird, but you know Edward won’t care anyway. He was just like that.
“You’re weird, Edward.”
“Shuddap! If I didn’t we’d spend ages looking for each other again, and then it’ll be dark too!”
“I guess that’s true.”
“What do you mean ‘I guess-”
The rest of Edward’s voice is lost to the boom of the first fireworks. You look up in time to see the second, an array of colourful sparks bursting over the night sky. Your mind races to think of the chemicals - magical chemicals mixed in just the right amounts to form each firework. Then Edward squeezes your hand, and you let the third firework quiet your mind.
It’s just beautiful.
When the show ends, much faster than you had thought, Edward turns to you.
“Next year, let’s send up rockets!”
Unbelievable, you think.
“Then we’d better work hard,” you say.
Edward grins and you turn back to the sky, imagining a rocket ship chasing those colourful fireworks, flying further than ever.
---
You start working harder than ever. It’s been your dream to begin with, but with Edward at your side, you want to fulfil it even more.
The both of you manage to land an apprenticeship with a famous professor, and you start to think that maybe, maybe it all isn’t just a pipe dream.
Edward had been excited about it too, but after some time you notice that his enthusiasm fluctuates. Some days he’s be poring over equations and blueprints, offering his own revisions and alternatives. Other days he does nothing, seeming to just stare out the window or sleep, and heading out for walks even when it was getting dark.
You can’t wrap your mind around it.
You have the cosmos laid out before you - constellations and planets yet to be discovered. You were a scientist, an explorer. But outer space was a vacuum, and you didn’t want to be alone.
“Edward, are you still sleeping? I’ve made breakfast,” you say, peeking into the room.
He’s buried under the blankets, head turned away and hair splayed over his pillow. One of those days, it seemed like.
“Yea, I’ll be up in a moment,” he mutters back.
You’re already working at the table when he eventually gets up, hair wrapped in a loose ponytail. You would think it was a good look on him, something casual and even pretty with his golden hair, if it wasn’t put off by the dark shadows under his eyes.
And then he’s returning to the room before you can even get a word in.
“Heading out again?” You say when he emerges later in the afternoon, dressed and looking marginally more presentable. “Will you be coming back for dinner?”
You completely pass on trying to ask where he was going.
“Nah, don’t worry about me.”
Then he’s gone.
You know it’s none of your business. Edward has his own situations, his own problems. He just stews in it more on some days. He’ll come around again, if you gave him time — and distance.
Edward returns sometime after midnight. You’re still up, stuck figuring out the discrepancies in your calculations.
Just a bit more, just a bit more and you’ll get it right. It would’ve been easier if he’d- no. No, you’ll do it. You can do it.
Edward leaves his coat at the door, walking past the kitchen.
Your chest heaves at this moment, a painful squeeze that throws up a fitful of coughs. Lately it’s been bad, even worse as it gets late. You know this - your body’s been tearing itself apart even as you force down stronger and stronger medicine.
“Alfons, you okay?” Edward pauses behind you.
“I’m fine,” you choke out. You feel like your stomach might force up your dinner, or oxygen might stop going up to your head. But right now you’re focusing all your energy into hanging on for just a bit longer, because you just need more time-
“You’re working too hard.”
You turn around.
“Yea, and what about you?” You spit out.
“W-what about me?” Edward steps back.
He looks genuinely confused.
“I’m jealous of you, Edward-san,” you say, rising up to meet his eyes. “You have such a healthy body - a body that will listen and keep up with you, a body that could work hard if you wished - and yet you’re living here without putting in effort for anything.”
“Alfons-”
“But I — I have to struggle! I have to compromise because I’m stuck in a terrible, terrible body that won’t do anything right! So what if I’m working too hard? You of all people shouldn’t get to say anything about it!”
“Well-” Edward pauses, sucking in a breath. “You’re not the only one struggling, you know! I just can’t have a one-track mind like you and be working on those stupid rockets all the time, alright? You have no idea how messed up everything is for me and how shitty it feels being stuck here!”
“And how would I know when you never tell me anything about yourself!”
You’re so upset you’re ready to scream despite your already painful chest, caution be damned. And then — traitor of traitors, your body is throwing in the towel when you’ve only began baring your fangs.
“H-hey!” Edward panics when you lose your vision for a second, crashing into the table behind you.
“I don’t need-” you protest with difficulty, stubborn even though you’re already struggling to stand. You’ll crawl to the room by yourself if it’ll come down to that, dammit.
“Alfons! Don’t be stupid, come on,” Edward scolds, reaching around to support you.
No, no don’t do that. Oh for god’s sake, Edward.
He’s trying to support you, clumsily stumbling into the room as if you were only drunk. He’s not even good at this; the way he drops you onto the bed is painful, your elbow immediately crashing into the bedframe.
But hell, you feel like crying.
“‘Sorry,” he says. “I was a real jerk.”
It’s pathetic how fast your body betrays you, how you can’t even keep it together to finish up a night’s work, how you can’t even steel yourself if only to keep up with your stubborn anger. You want to hate Edward. He’s a terrible, callous genius who messes up the third and fourth law of energy, your grocery lists and everything in between. To top it off, he’s aloof and inconsiderate, and now you’ve learnt he’s bad at controlling his temper too.
But he’s the only person who had ever been so generous with his kindness.
“You’re right, I’ve never told you anything.” Edward sighs. “I’m such an ass, and I’ve got a shitty temper too.”
“Edward,” you say, hoping your uneven voice passes off as your lungs struggling to breathe. “Will you still help me build rockets?”
“...yea. I still want to.”
And it’s enough. It’s enough for you.
---
You oversleep in the morning, and you’re surprised to find breakfast on the table.
“Uh, I just made toast since you probably won’t want me touching the eggs and stuff,” Edward says sheepishly. “Last time I did I think they stuck to the pan and we couldn’t eat them.”
You can’t help smiling a little.
“That’s because you need to oil the pan first.”
It’s a simple breakfast, but the sentiment is good enough. Besides, you really don’t mind.
“Thank you for making breakfast.”
“I-it’s nothing, I just thought you’d be tired...after last night so-” he starts, flustered. “...I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine now,” you tell him, taking your seat at the table.
There’s still a bitter aftertaste to the memory, but you can forgive most of it.
“Anyway Edward,” you begin cautiously. “If you’re struggling too...I want you to tell me about it.”
Edward looks away.
“It’s...it’s my own burden and pain. You don’t have to do anything really, Alfons.”
You sigh. He was always so stubborn.
“Isn’t it difficult to keep everything inside? You don’t have to tell me everything.” You push on. “Just don’t suffer by yourself.”
Edward looks torn. There’s still that guarded look in his eyes, but he’s wavering, weighing the options.
He takes the seat across from you. And he starts talking.
It’s unbelievable. Or rather, completely unscientific. Edward knows this too, but he insists it’s the truth. All the stories he’s been telling — the existence of alchemy, his brother, everyone else — were from another world.
You want to believe him, but you couldn’t help letting uncertainty swim in your mind. After all, with barely any evidence to his stories, it was more likely that he was making everything up.
Still, you listened.
“And how did you get here, Edward?”
“Through the...gate.”
“Gate?”
“Yea,” Edward continues. “I was sent here as a price...a punishment for me, I guess.”
His words sit in your mind, solemn and heavy.
“You miss him after all, don’t you?”
“Yea,” Edward lowers his gaze to his hands again. “It’s wrong - I know you’re not him, but I couldn’t leave you alone either.”
“...I know I’m basically a stranger compared to your brother, but I wish you won’t be so cold sometimes,” you tell him. “It hurts.”
Edward looks up at you, and you meet him with a bitter smile.
“I don’t know if being around me is comfortable or painful for you, but I’m not your brother,” you continue, steeling yourself. “He’s someone irreplaceable, after all. In that case, this is different, isn’t it?”
You reach across the table, taking his hand.
Edward seems startled by your gesture, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I want you to like me for who I am.”
---
For a while things return to normal. Edward helps you with your work; you discuss theories with him and work out assignments from your professor. He seems happier, or more relaxed at least. He doesn’t really talk about the other world.
One night, you make Edward drive out to the country with you. There’s too much light pollution in the city and you’ve never been able to look at the stars properly, even though you’ve studied them. Balanced on your lap is an astronomy guide book, your map of the stars, but you soon realise you’ll hardly be able to read the pages.
“I think you can pull over ahead. It’s dark enough here.”
As soon as the car stops you’re eager, abandoning the book in the backseat and darting out to the field. You wonder how much of the milky way is above you.
“H-hey Alfons, wait!” Edward calls out, stumbling after you. “Be careful, jeez!”
You find a spot somewhere away from the road, and lay down to take in the sky. You’ve seen photos, and you’ve tried observing stars from the university, but this is a whole different experience.
“Real pretty out here, huh?” Edward remarks, taking the spot beside you.
“It really is,” you breathe.
“Oh! I think I see the orion belt, that’s over there right?” Edward points.
“You can see the orion nebula too,” you add on, picking out the constellations as your eyes adjust.
“Great, it’s probably the only one I know. What’s the rest?”
You laugh; Edward had always been more interested in engineering and physics than learning celestial maps. So you guide him along, picking out the brightest stars first and finding your way from there.
He listens intently, though he also argues that the stars look nothing like what they’re supposed to look like, but that’s just him.
“Are you having fun?” You ask, peering at him though it’s hard to make out much in the darkness.
“Hm? Kinda, I guess,” he answers non-committedly. “What’s up?”
“The other night...you said that being here was a struggle for you.”
“Oh- that.” He frowns. “You don’t have to care about it so much, you know.”
“I want to care,” you say softly.
You wonder if you will really send rockets to space someday. You know the closest star is still several lightyears away, and before that there’s the problem of even getting the craft through the earth’s atmosphere.
It’s an impossible dream, but you’d like to try.
“But...why?” Edward prompts. He’s looking at you curiously.
You purse your lips, letting the words run through your mind.
“To be honest, I still have a hard time believing your stories of the other world,” you say. “But it seemed to mean a lot to you - this other world and Al.”
“...yea,” Edward hums softly.
“When you were telling all of this to me, I thought you sounded really lonely.”
And now, too.
“I don’t want you to think of me as your brother, or even here as your home, if that’s not what it is,” you continue. “I just want to be someone you can be happy with, and somewhere to go so you don’t have to be lonely.”
“Alfons…” Edward looks pained. “Why are you being so nice? I don’t-”
“I want to,” you press. “And…”
You figure you might as well say it.
“I like you, Edward.”
He inhales sharply.
“Alfons, I-I…”
He’d always struggled with feelings. You knew that, but you threw your desires, your wishes, at him anyway.
“I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Oh. You should’ve known.
“No...it’s fine.”
I want you to like me for who I am.
What ever made you think you could shift the center of Edward’s world when he always had his eyes so fiercely in the distance? For all that you’ve studied and known, you’re still an idiot.
Then it starts getting chilly; you feel it even though you don’t want to. It always follows you like this, a cold that creeps through your coat; slipping into your chest, your bones. If you didn’t know it so intimately you could have mistaken it for heartache.
“Is it cold?” Edward asks, scrutinizing you.
“Yea, just a little chilly,” you say weakly.
“We should get back to the car.” He frowns.
You pick yourself off the grass, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as the wind follows. Edward is ahead, trudging towards the road.
Distantly, you think about Edward looking up at the stars and dreaming of flying out of this world.
Summer is ending, after all.
---
At this point, you hate going to the hospital.
You’ve been waiting for over two hours as the queue numbers crawl, running in some haphazard order that you couldn’t fathom.
You think about how you won’t be able to prepare dinner in time.
Edward is sitting at the table when you get back, reading by the last bit of daylight.
“Sorry I’m late,” you say. “It was slow today.”
“It’s fine,” Edward answers as you head into the kitchen. “How was it?”
“Same old,” you say, checking through the fridge and cabinets for something easy to prepare. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
Unfortunately, the answer wasn’t sufficient for Edward. He cuts you off at the counter, pointedly staring you down.
“Look, if you don’t start telling me then I’m gonna start cooking.”
“Is that your idea of a threat?” You sigh helplessly.
“Alfons,” he continues, letting his shoulders slump. “I care about you too.”
Neither of you had brought up your intimate confession again. You had felt the force of Edward’s rejection like the collapse of a star, tumbling into the consuming force of gravity. So you know to give up on it, to not look hope in the face again.
Maybe it would have been better if he was colder.
Edward has gone back to glaring at you, so you give in and tell him.
“It’s not better.”
You had known it yourself, but still you wished there was some minute part of your sick body fixing itself.
“And did they give you anything to help?” Edward presses.
“Not really,” you sigh.
That was the part that frustrated you the most. It was bad enough having a stubborn chronic sickness. You waited months between appointments, dropping money that could have gone to utilities, rent, groceries, just to have a doctor glance over your tests and give you the same old medication.
They had already stopped working.
You told them that much, and then they suggested other treatments - that were more than you could afford and were not exactly guaranteed to help. So all you got months after months are dead ends and a still worsening condition.
“Those goddamn doctors,” Edward gripes. “Are they all fucking useless?”
“It’s fine,” you say, turning away. You appreciate Edward getting upset for you, but you’re really too tired to be angry.
“Hey...you okay?”
Edward is reaching towards you tentatively. You think he had known it too, despite mostly behaving like a oblivious brute, but since your confession Edward had given you more space than before.
“Sorry I’m not very good at figuring out how other people feel. All I know is how to get mad...do you want me to leave you alone?”
It’s selfish of you, and you know it. Edward is sympathetic and guilty. It’s an easy Edward.
You shake your head.
Edward touches your shoulder, watching you carefully to test the waters. Then he slowly coaxes you into his arms, and you sink into them like an anchor to the ocean floor.
That night, you ask him to lie next to you. You’re not sure what you want out of it, but he obliges, climbing into the cramped bed, laying on his back and turning to the ceiling.
Your arms are touching, but that’s just because the bed is too small to have any room. You know he’s only here because you asked, and only staying because he’s nice.
“Edward, can I kiss you?”
You stare into the darkness, waiting in mortification.
“That’s not what I agreed to,” he eventually says in reply.
“I won’t do it if you didn’t agree…” you protest weakly.
Edward turns on his side, propping himself up on an arm.
“You’re pretty childish, yknow?”
The exasperation is clear in his voice, and you want to shrink away in shame.
“I’m sorr-”
You freeze when Edward leans over you, pushes the bangs from your face. In quiet panic you continue staring, watching the way his eyes closed, the way his neck strained to reach you and the way his jaw tilted-
And pressed his lips to your head.
“Go to sleep,” he says, and then pulls back to his side of the bed.
You would have — should have — been happy with everything Edward gave you. And yet all you felt was sharp, petulant disappointment.
He turns away.
---
One morning in winter, you find that you can’t get up.
It had started snowing the night before, soft flecks of snow falling over the city. The chill followed soon after; a shiver caught between the walls of the apartment, the layers of your blanket. The heater never worked well enough.
When it was light you found that your body was too heavy to move, your head too hazy to think and your chest so tight you could barely speak.
“Alfons, you still sleeping?” Edward’s head appears by the door.
He’s frowning, scrutinizing you.
“Hey...you alright?”
You try to move your head, open your mouth to speak - anything. But god, doing anything was hard .
He strides into the room, stopping at your side. Without a word he presses his left hand over your forehead.
“Shit, you’re burning up,” Edward mutters.
He glances out the window. It’s still snowing.
You let out a pained whimper.
Edward turns back to you. He touches your head, stroking your hair. It’s soothing, a small relief in the hell your body was giving you.
“Hang in there, I’ll get you something for the fever.”
He ducks out of the room, disappearing to the kitchen.
For a moment you’re stuck staring at the ceiling, feeling completely sorry for yourself. The fever is all-consuming, a fire over your skin even as the shiver sat deep in your bones. The contradiction was ridiculous, but painfully so. Maybe if you had studied a little more biology it would have made more sense to you.
Edward returns with a glass of water and aspirin. He helps you sit up, handing the glass to you and holding it steady as you drink.
The water is warm, and it eases the tension as it travels down your throat. He hands you the tablet next, and you swallow it in a practiced motion.
“Get some rest, alright? Let me know if you need anything,” he says, helping you lie back down. You want to protest that you’ve just woken up, but you really don’t think you could do any more than sit up for a few minutes at a time.
Edward still looks worried, but he leaves you be and you drift into a restless sleep.
It’s still snowing when you wake up again, and you still feel awful. It’s nothing unusual though, you’ve always been slow to recover. You lay on your side, watching snow fall in the streets.
“Hey, how do you feel?” Edward asks, strolling into the room when he realises that you’re awake.
“Still pretty awful,” you admit.
He’s holding a book, his finger stuck in between to mark his page. He awkwardly swaps it to his right hand, using his left to feel your head.
“Still burning up huh,” he frowns, pulling back. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” you say. You just feel tired.
“Yea but you haven’t had anything to eat today…” Edward turns away, scratching his cheek. “Look, I’ll make you some soup. Try to get some of it in you.”
Edward, cooking?
“Oh don’t look at me like that, I can do it if I try alright? Well it probably won’t be very good, but healthy food always tastes like crap anyway,” he huffs indignantly, before turning on his heel.
You start to hear him rummaging around in the kitchen; cabinets opening and slamming, the knock of a knife against the board and the gurgle of water starting to boil.
Edward’s loose idea of soup is chopped carrots and potatoes in water. He tips it into a bowl, bringing it to your room.
Still, bland as it tastes, you appreciate it.
Your stomach is uncooperative, your mouth languid and tired, but you get some of it down.
“Thank you,” you tell him.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs easily. “Anyway, do you want another blanket? I can bring you the one on my bed.”
“Yes, thank you.”
He snatches up the blanket from his bed, unfolding it and laying it over you.
“Just let me know if there’s anything else you need,” he offers helpfully.
You shoot him a appreciative smile.
“Could you get me a book?”
“Hm?” Edward narrows his eyes. “You’re not gonna study, are you?”
“I’m just going to read a little,” you insist.
“Hm...alright. But don’t strain yourself okay?” Edward concedes, already crossing the room to the bookshelf. “Which one do you want?”
“The astronomy one, the one with the constellations.”
Edward picks it out, bringing it back to you.
“Here.”
He glances at the window.
“When it stops snowing, I’ll take you to the doctor, okay?”
“Mhm,” you hum, opening the book.
You’re struggling to focus by the third page. It’s not a sleepy kind of slipping off. It’s a frustrating kind, the one that stops you from pulling all-nighters because it’s getting harder to breathe and your head is spinning.
Your lungs feel clogged again. The cough hits you suddenly, spurred by your stomach caving in. You lose your page as you toss the book aside, doubling over from the force of it.
Saliva is falling from your mouth as you clutch at your chest, desperate for it to fucking settle already. Then with a horrifying lurch you’re heaving up the food you’ve had earlier.
Edward runs into the room, kneels by your side and rubs your back.
Finally, finally it stops. The tears that had been prickling at your eyes fall into the mess on the floor.
“I’m sorry…” you mutter weakly.
“It’s not your fault, don’t worry about it,” Edward says, stroking your back gently. “Just give me a sec, I’ll clean it up alright?”
You nod numbly, too drained to say anything else.
Edward leaves the room, reappearing with a rag and a pail. You feel pathetic.
All you’ve wanted to do was to read something you liked. But now you just feel lousy, and you’ve made more trouble for Edward. He’s been so kind, gentle even, but you couldn’t feel anything past the wreck your body had become.
It’s sad.
You pull your knees up to your chest, pressing your head against them. It’s still cold, your skin is still uncomfortably hot, and now there’s the sour taste in your mouth too.
Edward seems to have cleaned up most of the mess, as he picks up the pail and leaves the room.
Your chest hurts. It hurts a lot, like your fever has taken root in your lungs and is a fire burning outwards.
You clutch at it, gasping.
“Alfons? H-hey Alfons!” Edward rushes to your side when he returns to the room. “Shit, are you okay? Can you breathe?”
Sometimes, you wish it would just end.
“It hurts-” you choke out, curling in as the pain burned through your lungs. “It always does…”
Your chest tightens as your heart sinks in despair. Even as Edward held you, you smothered under the waves, oxygen robbed from your lungs. Always, always so unfair.
“W-wait, Alfons!”
You close your eyes, thinking of going with the flow.
“Alfons, I like you! If you’re not around — I won’t know how to live here anymore!”
Edward grips you tightly.
“G-give me a year! No- a few months! I’ll study it!” He continues, words running senselessly. “I’ll figure out how to help you and then you won’t have to be in pain anymore!”
He sounded so desperate, and you could hear his heart breaking and breaking.
After what felt like a long, long moment of excruciating pain, you began to feel your body work again. Slowly, oxygen eased into your lungs.
“Edward?” you manage to say.
He pulls away to look at you. His eyes are red, his cheeks wet and his nose is even running.
“Were you crying?”
You expect him to deny it despite the obvious evidence, to get angry and flustered, but he just purses his lips.
“...yea.”
The honesty is surprising, but even more so when he pulls you close and dips his head in your shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
You blink.
“What are you sorry for?”
Edward squeezes his left hand into a fist, closing around the back of your shirt.
“For being so fucking useless, I guess.”
“You’re not useless,” you say, incredulous.
He sighs.
“I never knew how much- no, I knew,” Edward corrects fiercely. “I knew how much pain you were in yet I always acted like everything was never any of my business. I’m such an ass.”
Edward turns, resting his cheek against the crook of your shoulder.
“When I thought I might lose you...I got scared.” He huffs, breath ghosting over the scruff of your neck. “I’m pathetic huh? Guess you’re my only friend in this world.”
You slip your arms around his waist, wrapping them around his back.
“I’m happy to be your friend, Edward.”
When evening came, your fever finally broke. You had drifted in and out of sleep, rocking on the waves of delirious consciousness.
It’s dark when you finally wake. You still feel heavy with lethargy, but somewhat better. The door cracks open and Edward peeks in at you.
“You up? I got dinner.”
You push off the blankets, sitting up. He flicks on the lights, strolling into the room with a tray of food.
“Gracia heard you were sick, so she made us something,” Edward explains. “Though it stopped snowing a while back… How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” you say. Edward carefully sets the tray on your lap, a bowl of potatoes and chicken strips. Then he pushes pass your bangs and checks your temperature again.
“Yea, seems to have gone down,” he notes, relieved.
“Edward,” you start carefully. “When I was running a fever, did you say you liked me?”
He splutters, a deep blush blooming over his face. Then he looks away fiercely, but nods.
“But when I-” you begin to protest, feeling betrayed.
“L-look, I wasn’t sure how I felt!” Edward retorts, huffing and folding his arms. Then he sighs, slumping his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I thought I’d just hurt you.”
“You already have,” you mutter bitterly.
He winces. At least he looks guilty.
“Edward, you like me around, don’t you?” You bite your lip, careful. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I do.” He looks down again, torn. “But that’s just selfish of me.”
“I’m selfish too,” you continue. “I want you to care for me and stay by my side. That’s something selfish that I want too.”
Edward stares at you, dumbfounded. Then a smile breaks over his face.
“You know, that really sounds like something we learnt in alchemy. Equivalent trade.”
You gravitate towards him like the slow dipping of toes in the tide, a cautious brush of golden hair; his flushed cheek in the cusp of your hand.
Edward sucks in a breath, and you kiss him.
It’s all clumsy — the bridge of his nose is pressing into your face, your lips are too dry and you have your hands tangled in his stupid, pretty hair. Then Edward is pulling you close, the fierce grip of his fingers like a dull ache in your chest.
You wonder if you’d hate this moment when he pulls away, when he slips through your fingers. But god, you loved him so.
---
When spring came around, you land yourselves a sponsor after one of your demonstrations. They were impressed with the designs you and Edward had created and made your team the lead engineers for their project.
With a factory and contract, you were ecstatic, and worked tirelessly towards your dream.
Most days, both of you are too busy drifting in and out of the factory. You enjoy the work, delving yourself headfirst into the challenges. Edward seems to share the same enthusiasm as well.
Compared to the hectic weekdays, the weekends are a slow drawl.
“Are you making breakfast?” Edward asks, sauntering into the small kitchen.
“Good morning to you too,” you call back. You crack two eggs into the pan, and chance a glance over your shoulder as they sizzled.
Edward’s shirt is rumpled from sleep and his hair left untied, falling messily over his shoulders. You smile fondly. He didn’t seem to care how he looked, walking to your side and eyeing the pan over your shoulder.
“Morning,” he mumbles sleepily, yawning at the end of his greeting.
You want to wrap an arm around his waist or kiss the top of his head now that he’s close enough, but you have to watch the breakfast.
“Did you stay up again?” You ask instead.
“Yeap, guessed it,” Edward answers, popping his joints noisily as he stretched. “There was this stupid problem we were running into and I worked on it so we won’t be wasting time next week.”
“Mhm,” you hum, sweeping the eggs onto a set of plates. It’s been awhile since you’ve both had time for breakfast.
It’s a small meal, but a blessing nevertheless. With the inflation getting worse, it’s been difficult to afford anything.
Edward scarfs down the meal, graceless as usual. He takes the plates to the sink when you both finish, and you trail after him as he starts washing. He scrubs at the plates with the gritty soap, clicking his tongue when his bangs fall into his face.
Slowly, an idea comes to you.
After wiping down the plates, Edward returns them to the cabinet and spins around to face you.
“What is it?” He asks, frowning at you suspiciously “You’ve been staring at me like you want something.”
“Can I tie your hair for you?” You blurt out.
“What?” Edward raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to?”
You flush, embarrassed at your impulsiveness.
“I can try,” you push on.
Edward looks unconvinced, but he strolls into the room, returning with a hair tie. Without a word he hands it to you and plops down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Just don’t take too long,” he mutters.
Edward’s hair seems to have gotten longer since you’ve first met him, or maybe it was always this long. It’s a strong, golden colour, falling pass his shoulders to the middle of his back. You always thought it was pretty.
Carefully, you comb your fingers through the strands, working out the tangles. Despite Edward’s earlier reluctance, he leaned into your touch, sighing as he relaxed his shoulders.
You start to gather his hair from behind his ears, the way he always did his ponytail. It’s harder than it had seemed, and you have to untangle your fingers from his bangs when they got caught too. How he did it all the time, so quickly and without even a mirror, is beyond you.
When you finally pull the sides of his hair somewhat neatly to the back, you realise you would have to do the same for the bottom and top. But you only have two hands, and if you let go you would have to start over.
You expect Edward to huff impatiently, or to tease you. But he continues sitting quietly, and you’re more determined to get it right.
You realise you can hold up his hair in one of your hands, leaving the other free to sweep the rest of it up. Still, it’s a struggle to pull all of it together. Just when you think you’ve gotten all of it, you’ll find a bunch of loose strands, or accidentally have some of it stick up messily.
Finally, with a lot of rearranging that your hands are starting to tire, you had a rather neat ponytail in your hands. Satisfied, you loop it through the hair tie, securing it carefully.
“It’s not gonna hold up if you don’t make it tighter,” Edward comments.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry about hurting me,” he adds.
The hair tie slips off easily when you reach for it again, crumbling like he said it would. You catch the ponytail before it falls over his back again and retie it, this time with an extra loop.
It looks sloppy.
Edward reaches behind his head, feeling the ponytail. For an inane moment you think he will pull it apart and redo it himself, but he draws his hand back.
“Yea, it’s better now.”
You lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Do you want to go out later today?”
“Hm? Do you need to get something?” Edward quips, twisting back to look at you.
“Not really, can’t we just look around for fun?” You take the chance to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and Edward sags against you pliantly.
“Sure, I guess,” he concedes.
You head out later in the day with Edward, after finishing some work and chores around the house.
The weather is good, unlike the earlier months where it had been insufferably cold. You had a light coat on and Edward fell in step beside you, strolling through the streets.
There must be prettier streets in other places, ones with more lights or people. But this was your home, one you wanted to be proud of.
A store catches your eye and you tug Edward in to look at it.
It’s a small, quaint shop with shelves upon shelves of various trinkets and house ornaments. You knew instantly that you couldn’t afford any of it, but allow your eyes to wander nevertheless.
Edward glances around the store, but stays at your side as you browsed.
There are ornaments of various objects and machinery, but something catches your eye and you tug on Edward’s arm.
“What is it, Alfons?” He responds, peering around your arm.
“This shows all the constellations in the sky,” you remark.
It’s a globe, much like one of the world, but filled with various constellations instead of countries.
“Is it even accurate?” Edward frowns, skeptical.
“Probably not,” you admit. “But it’s nice to see them that way, isn’t it?”
Edward looks at you thoughtfully.
“You like it?”
“We can’t afford it,” you respond with a bitter smile.
Edward turns back to it, looking somewhat put-off.
“Alfons...do you wanna go there?”
“What?” You blink, perplexed.
“I mean,” Edward huffs, exasperated. “Space. I’m asking if it’s somewhere you wanna go.”
“Well, we’re building the rockets but even if they’d fly, we can’t go,” you say matter-of-factly.
“Wow, you’re fun.” Edward rolls his eyes.
“I’m saying hypothetically, if you could go, would you?”
You stare at the globe, clusters and clusters of stars packed small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. In reality it would be impossible to reach even one in a lifetime.
“I would,” you answer quietly.
You turn to him.
“Would you?”
“Huh? M-me?” Edward splutters.
“Yea, you.” You smile, amused.
“Space huh...never really thought about it.”
Then before you could think better of it, you add
“It’ll be like leaving this world.”
It’s your words that scratch the surface, and Edward’s face that nearly breaks. He looks away instead, tightening his eyes before they can crumble.
Edward was still homesick.
You think of anchors sinking sailors into the sea and reach for his hand, closing your fingers around his palm. He shoots you a wry smile.
“It’s getting late, let’s go back,” Edward says, squeezing your hand.
Back in the apartment, you shrug out of your coats, leaving them at the door. Edward’s ponytail is already hanging loose, stray strands falling against his back. You’ve done such a sloppy job, after all.
Edward looks at you.
“Alfons?”
You shake your head.
“Let’s go into the room,” you say.
You linger in the doorway as Edward slowly removes his shoes, stretching out his legs and rolling his shoulders. He looks tired, even though it had been an easy day.
When he glances up at you, you take it as your cue to approach.
You sink into the bed beside him, twisting to bury your head in his chest and hugging your arms around his waist.
“Alfons?” Edward sounds surprised. “What’s wrong?”
He runs a hand through your hair, rubbing your back with the other.
“I don’t know,” you mutter.
“Are you feeling sick?”
You shake your head. You’re thinking of your dreams, the urgent grip of your illness upon your chest and Edward. Always him.
And you felt sorry - sorry for yourself, for him, for both of you.
Suddenly, you catch the trails of a melody, a song from the radio in the shop. It wasn’t something you recognised, but it eases some of the tension in you. You relax your arms, pulling back slowly.
In comical contrast, Edward leaps up, nearly knocking into you. Before you can recover from your surprise, he’s holding a hand out to you.
“Hey Alfons, wanna dance?”
“W-what?” You flush, mortified. “I don’t know how to! I mean, do you?”
“Sorta,” Edward grins. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”
He shakes his hand impatiently and you take it reluctantly, allowing him to pull you away from the bed.
You feel like an idiot, standing in the cramped floor of your room as Edward takes hold of both your hands. At least he looks a little bashful about it, but he pushes on nevertheless, taking a step.
You jolt away when it almost connects with your foot.
“Idiot, you’re supposed to move back,” Edward gripes, clicking his tongue at you. He kept a tight hold on your hands so running was impossible.
“How would I know?” You huff defensively. “And how would I know which way you’d move?”
“Well I’m moving this foot-” Edward lifts his right foot dramatically. “So you move yours back.”
You oblige, awkwardly stepping backward, if only because you feared he was childish enough to step on you if you didn’t go along.
How is any of this supposed to be fun?
You continue this awkward dance, which was nerve-wrecking as it took almost all your concentration to not fumble up the rhythm. Not that there was much rhythm anyway, when you could barely hear the music and you suspected Edward wasn’t following it either.
Eventually Edward pulls to a stop, nodding to himself. Maybe he finally realised that it wasn’t working out.
“Looks like you got the basic stuff down, now we can try the fun stuff.”
What?
You stare at him, incredulous.
“Let me dip you,” Edward says, looking excited. “Come on.”
“No!” You protest, finally finding your voice. “Anyway, shouldn’t I dip you? I’m the taller one.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” Edward counters, a dangerous grin spreading across his face.
The bastard kicks out your legs, shattering your balance. For a fearful moment you’re convinced that you’ll crash into the floor, then Edward catches you.
“Heh, thought I’d drop you?” He smirks triumphantly.
“You’re awful,” you croak shakily. You’ve fisted your hands in his shirt, discarding your dignity so you could cling on for dear life.
Edward just laughs. He curls the arm wrapped around your back, helping you back to your feet. You only let go when you’re sure your feet are planted on the ground again.
“Edward,” you narrow your eyes in suspicion. “You don’t actually know how to dance, do you?”
“Well…” He still has that stupid childish grin, though his cheeks are flushed. He reaches for your hands again. “Come on, don’t sweat the small stuff.”
You sigh, resigned. This time he starts swaying from side to side, humming tonelessly. You follow his lead, swaying somewhat awkwardly.
“What are we doing?” You say eventually, exasperated.
You feel stupid, and you probably looked stupid. You glance at Edward and he was grinning so wildly you realised that maybe this was his intention - to have both of you look as ridiculous as possible.
Then you laugh. Edward breaks and laughs too. It felt good, releasing the tension in your shoulders and chest. You cough a little but recover quickly, plastering a smile over your face.
“Was this your intention?”
“What intention?” Edward blinks innocently.
You lean forward, catching his lips with your own. Edward squeezes your hands, pressing back.
He’s flushed when you pull away, a shy smile on his lips.
He’s so cute.
You kiss him again, and he lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your neck, pulling you close. You abandon caution, following in his stride.
His hands are rough, one callous against the back of your neck and another clumsily tangled in your hair. Yet the tug of his lips is soft, surprisingly gentle in the storm that was Edward Elric.
You chase him, tearing at the layers between you. Blood runs hot beneath his skin, and under your lips. Edward leads you on, reckless and challenging, yet sweet when he curls his limbs around you.
It was always him.
---
There’s blood in the sink. It’s been happening for a while. You’re bent over, fingers gripping the sides as your chest heaves from the last fit. Your lungs are burning and the coughing had been so harsh your eyes are watering.
Quietly, you run the tap.
Edward looks up at you when you emerge from the bathroom. From the way he’s frowning, he must have heard the fit. He looks conflicted, torn between showing concern and masking his worry to not make a big deal out of it. It’s been happening so much, after all. You don’t blame him.
You sit down at the table, and ask him what’s for breakfast.
Edward looks relieved. You lapse into casual conversation, though you still taste blood when you’re biting into your toast.
One afternoon, Edward finds your bloodied laundry. You had meant to wash it yourself, to scrub the flecks of blood out before taking it to the laundromat. But Edward had gotten to it first, and now he holds the shirt with its stained sleeve over your head.
Distantly, you think of passing off the reddish brown stains as food. The stew from last night, your mind scrambles to think.
But the words fall away from your mouth, dry. Edward wasn’t stupid.
“It’s been this bad?”
You nod numbly, afraid to speak.
“I’m taking you to the doctor,” Edward says, grabbing your wrist and starting to haul you to your feet.
“No-!” You protest, the voice bursting out of your chest, abrupt and painful.
Edward glares at you, daring you to challenge him.
“I’ve...already seen one,” you say, hanging your head.
“What did they say?” Edward asks, loosening the hold on your arm.
You think of dodging around the question, eating up the answer. But Edward would find out eventually - for someone so aloof, he was horribly perceptive.
“Parts of my lungs are infected.” You pause, chancing a glance at him. “And the fumes from the fuel we’ve been testing...could be making it worse.”
Edward releases your hand, and it falls to your side. You finally look up, and he’s staring at you in disbelief.
“How long have you known this?”
You wither under his stare.
“A few weeks.”
Edward opens his mouth, then lets out a sigh instead, pressing his hand to his head.
“I can’t believe you,” he mutters eventually. “What good is finishing that rocket if you-!”
He trails off, the force of his anger weakening.
“Stop going to the factory,” he says instead. “I’ll cover for you.”
“I won’t.”
“Then at least, with the fuel-” Edward presses on, fighting you back.
“I can’t,” you cut him off, your will stubborn and unwavering. “It’s too critical for me not to get involved. Besides, I worked on the formulas.”
“You- you’re fucking stupid!” Edward finally yells, all semblance of logic and reason falling away. “Do you want to die?”
You flinch at his words.
“I want to make my dream come true,” you shoot back. Then you feel the emotion well up in your chest, tremors finding their way into your voice.
“Edward, I’m so close! Finally we have sponsors and a factory! I’ve worked all my life for this!”
Edward stares at you, shocked into silence.
“Besides,” you add darkly. “This thing won’t heal. Even if there was a treatment it would take too long, and I don’t have time anymore.”
The heat of the moment drains out with your last sentence, and suddenly you’re just tired.
“I can’t watch this,” Edward mutters, turning on his heel. He grabs his coat, slamming the door behind him so sharply you felt it rattle the apartment.
You know Edward would return eventually, but part of you also knew that things won’t be the same.
When you wake up in the middle of the night it seemed that Edward had returned. You sit up, peeling back the blankets and crossing carefully to the other side of the room where he slept.
He had left his shoes in disarray at the foot of his bed and his blanket was twisted messily around his body. Edward hadn’t even bothered to untie his hair, seeming to have leapt into bed in some childish fit of anger. At least he looked to be asleep.
You think to tug off his hair tie, smooth out the blankets and even arrange his shoes so he didn’t trip over them in the morning. But you were afraid to touch him. In the end, you crawl listlessly back into your own bed, falling into a restless slumber.
For days you barely see Edward. He returns so late at night that you’re already in bed and then deliberately sleeps in until you leave the house. It was plain as day that he was still upset.
You want to speak to him, and some mornings you were so exasperated that you considered ripping off his blankets and forcing him to confront you. But you always stop, realising that you didn’t even know what to say if you did.
So you leave him be, heading to the factory.
With things moving along there was plenty of work, parts to test and problems to fix. You work tirelessly with your team, and when you got home you were often so drained you hardly thought of where Edward had went.
Sometimes Edward shows up in the factory, though he barely stays and often does his work away from you. After some time you stop trying to talk to him either, deciding that your effort was better focused on the task at hand.
Your cough worsens, as you had expected it would. The fits grow more intense, often doubling you over and even forcing you to your knees. The only consolation, if any, is that Edward looks at you worriedly, though resolutely decides not to approach you.
It’s fine, you think, folding up your bloodied handkerchief. At least you can do what you liked.
And - despite everything; all the hardships, the struggle against your quickly deteriorating lungs and Edward being a pain - you’re ecstatic. The rocket is beginning to take form, a hulking metal shell, bigger than any plane you’ve ever seen.
One night as you’re falling asleep, you hear Edward unlocking the door. You know you should give up and go to sleep - you have a long day ahead, and needed all the rest you could get. But you find yourself staying up anyway, listening to the quiet scuffle of Edward moving around the house.
A tap came on, water running before being cut off again. Edward came into the room, mismatched footsteps shuffling towards the dresser. You hear the drawers being pulled out, and clothes rustling as Edward changed in the dark.
Now he would just crawl into his own bed at the far side of the room, and the whole thing would rinse and repeat.
Except you feel the mattress dip under a new weight, and realise Edward had crawled in beside you, pressed to your back.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
You lie still, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Finally, after what feels like a long minute, you shift around to face him.
“Alfons?” Edward exclaims, surprised.
“You finally came back,” you say with a wry smile.
Edward looks embarrassed.
“Did you find something?”
Edward considers it, pursing his lips before finally opening his mouth.
“Believe it or not, I think I found some kind of cult, and witchcraft.”
“That witchcraft was alchemy, wasn’t it?”
For the second time that night Edward’s eyes went wide.
“I-its...I guess so.”
He looks uneasy, some combination of hope coupled with worry.
You reach for his arm, touching your fingers to the skin.
“Starting from tomorrow, I’ll be staying over at the factory.”
Edward looks betrayed. He opens his mouth as if ready to voice a protest, then you felt the fight drain as resignation took over.
“You’ll go even if I told you not to...right?” he says instead.
“Yes,” you answer.
Edward falls silent. You bring your hand up, pushing the hair back from his face.
“I’m happy,” you tell him. “I’m happy that I get to study and work on the things that I love. I’m happy that my dream is finally coming true. And I’m happy to have someone who cares so much about me.”
You smile.
“So don’t be sad, Edward.”
You wish he didn’t look so heartbroken.
Edward presses forward, burying his head into your chest. His arms went around you, holding you fiercely.
“I wish it could’ve been me.”
You hug him back.
“You have a kind heart,” you say. “I’m sure you’ll be able to make many other people happy.”
Then you pressed your trembling lips to his hair, and tried not to think of it as a farewell.
---
The launch date is less than a week away - the rocket is beginning to fill with machinery, engines tested and tested again. It’s a giant of steel, colossal in the confines of the factory, looking ready to burst through the roofs.
You gaze at it fondly one night as everyone retreats to their quarters, thinking about where it will be taken. You know it will still be nothing more than a speck out there, a lonesome ship lost to the seas of deep space. But here, it’s a pioneer, a mark for history.
“Alfons?”
You turn to the sound of your name, thinking it must be one of your colleagues.
“Just give me a moment, I’m almost done-”
You pause when you realise it’s Edward.
“Sorry, I kinda snuck in.” He rubs his head sheepishly. “So, how are you?”
The mundane question throws you off and you blink dumbly at him as he walks up to your side.
“Could be better,” you reply eventually, huffing with a tired smile. “There’s still plenty of things to do, things to test and things to fix but we’re really being rushed…”
You trail off as you look at Edward, who was gazing at the ship.
“It really is amazing. You’re amazing, Alfons.”
You rub at your neck. Where were you supposed to keep such honesty?
“I should have been there to built it with you,” Edward goes on, now looking guilty. “Sorry.”
You shake your head.
“Don’t be,” you say. “You helped me figure out the heat shields and the layout for the engine, remember?”
“Yea but-” Edward pauses, biting his lip. “I dunno.”
“And how have you been?” You quip, pushing forward with a not-so-subtle segue.
“Oh I’ve...been occupied, I guess.” He scratches his head, no doubt messing up his ponytail.
“Did you find out more about that witchcraft?”
Edward actually laughs.
“Yea, yea I-” Then he composes his voice into something more solemn, though there’s still the quirk of a smile on his lips. “I met my little brother, Al. He’s alive, and I think I might be able to go home.”
“You seem happy,” you remark, fond.
Edward looks at you and you give him a small smile. It seems like he’s trying to put something together; words or small talk to fill the silence.
You take hold of his hand instead and he relaxes, closing his fingers around yours naturally.
“Remember when we drove out to the carnival and watched fireworks together?” You say. “We made a promise then.”
“Yea, I remember.”
You turn to look at the rocket, standing in its quiet glory.
“Do you think it will fly?” You ask, suddenly thinking of it never even making it out of the factory, but crashing and crumbling on itself.
Edward squeezes your hand.
“Of course it will.”
He says it with a quiet confidence, fierce in its assurance but gentle in its tone. It was always his strength to be kind, after all.
---
Edward stands upon the crest of a hill, turning to beam at you. Around him the grass burns a vivid green as he tells you the name of the place - Resembool. You had never imagined he was born in the countryside, someone so restless for everything. Still, even if you could hear him complaining of boredom less than a day in, there was a fondness in the way he says it.
It was his home, after all.
Now Edward plunges, a figure tumbling from the skies. You watch in horror, the gunshot ringing in your ears. The rush of blood in your ears is deafening, too.
Edward survives with a scrape of luck - the bullet had grazed his prosthetic, missing his flesh body completely. You sigh in relief when you find him, holding him close. At least you have this. At least Edward has this, and-
You look up, taking in the surreal sight of an otherworldly portal opening, burning like a supernova.
If everything Edward said had been true, his home should be on the other side. His home - the place with his home in the old countryside, the place where his brother Al, Winry and many other people who were dear to him lived. The place where Edward had dreamt and dreamt of returning to, even if he barely dared to admit it out loud.
You were dying.
You knew it, even if the doctors never confirmed it. Your body was crumbling and failing in ways that science and medicine just couldn’t fix. Whether it would be your blood that choked you, a common cold you couldn’t recover from, or your breathing that just ceased - you knew.
Your dream had already come true. At the very least, you could make Edward’s dream come true too. You held onto that thought, heaving Edward towards a single-seater rocket.
Edward wakes up as you’re strapping him into the seat. He’s disorientated at first, and you shush him before he can blunder loudly through a sentence.
“Alfons?”
You smile at him.
“You’re lucky, aren’t you? She got your prosthetic arm.”
Edward turns to his right arm, observing the hole the bullet had sliced through the side. Then his mind seemed to catch up.
“Wait- Alfons, what are you doing?”
“Everyone is busy now as Eckhart is preparing to board the ship, so I snuck you aboard this one,” you explain. “This rocket will reach a speed of over 11 kilometres a second and punch through whatever phenomena occurs in the doorway - to get you to the other side.”
Realization dawns on his face.
“I didn’t say...I never said I wanted to go,” Edward protests weakly.
He didn’t have to.
“I want you to go,” you say instead.
Edward looks conflicted, so you take hold of his hand, covering them with your own.
“This ailing body of mine will probably give up on me soon. It hasn’t been easy for a while, but I’m glad I met you,” you tell him “This world is where I belong, but I want you to go where you can be happy.”
“Alfons I-”
You press your lips to his mouth, tasting everything you’ve wanted for the past two years. It’s a small happiness in the palm of your hand, a bittersweet dream that was tumbling towards its end.
“Please don’t forget me.”
You squeeze his hand before pulling away.
You shut the cockpit, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Edward stares at you as you run back to the controls, pressing his hands to the glass.
Maybe after everything you will barely be a scrape in history, a murky face in the papers.
You set the rocket to launch, and prayed with all your heart.
Then, pain bloomed like heartache in your chest, sharp and dull all at once. It burned like a fire in your lungs and hugged your chest like ice.
The rocket tears a fiery trail to the heavens, a supernova in blatant defiance of god. The memory of a promise burns in your head, and you’re looking down at the earth so, so far away.